by Rob Byrnes
He smiled. “Welcome, Constance. I hope you’ll feel very much at home here.”
“I’m sure I will.” She looked around the sanctuary. “Quite a place. How many worshippers do you get here?”
“We usually have eight thousand people in attendance for a normal Sunday service, but we’ve been able to accommodate as many as fourteen thousand.”
“Praise the Lord!” she said. “It must be almost impossible running a place like this.”
“Some days,” he agreed.
“Well, if you ever need a volunteer…”
“That’s very kind, but…”
“…I have twenty years of office management experience, and I would love to dedicate my time to helping the Cathedral.”
Merribaugh raised an eyebrow. “Twenty years of real experience?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I’ve been an office manager. HR director. Handled corporate payroll. You name it, I’ve had hands-on experience with it.”
“Really,” he said. “Maybe we can use your skills.” He leaned close to her, as if they were now confidants. “You see, we’re a bit overwhelmed right now. Our bookkeeper unfortunately, uh, had to leave our employ.”
“I know bookkeeping,” she said.
Merribaugh smiled. “Ms. Brown, I would love to talk about this at greater length.”
$ $ $
Lisa hung up the phone, then turned to Grant and said, “I got us a lawn service, Captain Nature. Now please stop scratching yourself. Especially…there.”
Grant stopped scratching there. “I’ll never understand the suburbs.”
“And I doubt they’ll ever understand you.” She would have said more but she was interrupted.
“Yoo-hoo!”
Grant frowned. “It’s that Tish lady. And what’s with the yoo-hoos? Doesn’t she know how to work a doorbell?”
“I’ll get rid of her,” said Lisa, who obviously failed because seconds later Tish Fielding was marching into the kitchen, with Lisa tailing.
“Good news, Mr. Williams,” she said. “I talked to Dr. Bradean and she’s willing to drop her rates for you.”
He cocked his head. “Huh?”
“Mrs. Bradean,” she said again. “The grief counselor from August Morning Drive.”
“Oh. Right. Maybe I’ll give her a call if I ever have a chance.”
Tish smiled sympathetically. “You’ll get through this, Mr. Williams. Just stay strong.”
“I’m trying.”
“Good!” She looked around the kitchen with a bit of envy. Even though every house in the subdivision had a similar layout, this room felt bigger than hers. She’d have to check the blueprints later. “Also, I wanted to make sure you knew about the neighborhood barbecue on Saturday.”
“Barbecue?”
“Oh.” She frowned. “I’m sorry; I assumed you’d heard.” Tish turned that frown upside down. “It’s good I stopped by! The entire neighborhood will be there. You and Mrs.…Mrs.…” She looked at Lisa.
“Hudson.”
“You and Mrs. Hudson must join us!”
“I don’t know,” said Grant. “We’re not really very social. We sorta keep to ourselves.”
Tish’s smile didn’t fade exactly, but it was clear she wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “Everyone wants to meet the new neighbors. I have to insist…”
“We’ll try to be there,” said Lisa, in an effort to shut up Tish and get her out of the house.
“Oh, good!” She looked over Lisa’s shoulder into the living room. Was that a 72-inch high-definition television mounted on the wall? She and Malcolm only had a 60-inch TV…
“So thanks for the invite,” said Grant, which refocused Tish’s attention. “Now…”
She stopped him by holding a finger in the air. “Oh, I just remembered one last thing.”
“Of course you did.”
“How many people are living here?”
Grant and Lisa exchanged glances. “Why?” he finally asked.
“The HOA rules say that no more than two unrelated people can share a home.”
Grant and Lisa exchanged another glance, and Lisa asked, “Does that include the help?”
Tish thought about that. “I’m not sure.”
“Because if you don’t include the live-in help, we’re all related.”
It wasn’t the answer Tish wanted, but until she could clarify the rules about domestic employees, she’d have to live with it. It could always wait a day or two, after all. Maybe not another week, but certainly a day or two.
Grant began to rise and said, “Thanks for coming by,” but Tish remembered yet another “one last thing,” so he sat back in the chair.
“There’s the matter of your lawn…”
“Don’t worry about it, Tish,” said Lisa. “I just hired a service.”
Grant felt defensive. “We would’ve gotten better.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Lisa, and Tish was happy she didn’t have to say it.
Instead she smiled graciously. “Thank you for doing your part to help keep Old Stone Fence Post Estates one of the world’s best residential communities.” To Lisa, that sounded suspiciously like a real estate pitch line, but Tish began walking toward the foyer, so she decided not to call her on it. Any further conversation would delay her exit.
But then the front door opened and that exit was ruined by the entrance of Chase and Mary Beth, with Constance and Farraday bringing up the rear.
“Oh, hello!” said Tish, recognizing the group she’d seen through her window that morning when she wasn’t really snooping.
Lisa tried unsuccessfully not to roll her eyes and failed, but she covered it by making introductions before anyone could do or say the wrong thing. “This is my…my nephew, Chase. And his wife, Mary Beth. This is Tish, our neighbor from across the street.”
They exchanged unenthusiastic hellos.
“And you’ve met Farraday,” she said.
Since he was the help, Tish nodded in his direction but didn’t engage him. “Yes, of course.” Her eyes fell upon Constance. “And you are…?”
Constance’s hands went to her hips. “I’m the maid.”
“I prefer to think of her as the housekeeper, not the maid,” said Grant. “‘Maid’ seems like sort of a demeaning word.” He smiled at her. “Constance is so much more than that. We think of her as almost part of the family.”
“You got that right,” Constance muttered.
“A chauffeur and a housekeeper? Oh my!” Tish was impressed, even if she didn’t want to admit it. “You’re certainly fancy, Mr. Williams.”
Grant scratched at his stomach and said, “That’s what I keep tellin’ myself.”
Farraday put himself into the conversation. “Y’know, I’m not just his chauffeur. I’m his chauffeur and his chef.”
Tish eyeballed him. “You cook?”
“Why does everyone keep questioning that? Yeah, I cook. Like I said, I’m a chef.” He held up the grocery bag in his hand. “Tonight I’m even making daeji galbi.”
“Huh?” asked pretty much everyone.
“Korean barbecued pork ribs. Lucky I found a place I could get kochujang. Otherwise, it ain’t the same.”
“So…” Tish shook her head. “So a chauffeur and a chef!”
“I’m whatcha call multitalented.”
“How…nice for you.” Tish smiled and broke eye contact, despite the fascination now mixed in with her revulsion. Still, one really shouldn’t stare at the servants. “Now, Mr. Williams, Ms. Hudson…the neighborhood barbecue…”
She was interrupted by a loud rumble from the driveway, which attracted their attention until it died off in a series of coughs of exhaust, followed eventually by silence.
“Sounds like someone needs a muffler,” said Farraday, and—as if that were his entrance cue—Leonard walked through the front door.
Grant ignored him and turned back to Farraday. “Go fix Leonard’s muffler. Can’t have him driving around disturbing th
e peace.”
“I was going to take my car in next week,” said Leonard.
“Let me explain something, Leonard.” Grant chose his words carefully, since Tish was standing just inches away. “See, when you drive a car with a bad muffler, you’re not just disturbing the nice people of neighborhoods like this one. You’re also breaking the law, and the cops might pull you over. And you wouldn’t want the cops to pull you over, would you?”
Leonard got it. “No. No, of course not.”
“Good. Farraday, fix his muffler.”
Farraday wasn’t happy, but couldn’t do anything about it. “Yes, Mr.…Williams.”
After Farraday dropped the groceries in the kitchen and stalked out, Tish looked at Leonard and said, “And this is…?”
“My accountant,” Grant told her, nodding at Leonard with a look that told him to play along. “You’ll probably be seeing a lot of him.”
“I’m impressed, Mr. Williams.”
“Call me Grant.” He said it not because he wanted to be friendly, but because he’d always react more spontaneously to being called by his actual name, and no matter how hard he tried there was always going to be a split second when he wouldn’t react to Mr. Williams.
“I’m impressed, Grant. Sometimes Malcolm and I can barely get our accountant on the phone, and you get house calls!”
“Yeah, well, we need to be very close.”
Eventually what they thought might never happen happened, and Tish Fielding went home. When they were sure she was gone, and not about to reappear like some killer from a slasher movie, Grant asked Chase, Mary Beth, and Constance how it went.
“It was all right,” said Chase.
“I hated every second,” said Mary Beth. “Close-minded idiots. They hate gays, women…even the women hate women.”
Chase cleared his throat. “Some of us maybe had a tougher time adapting than others. But…” He turned and smiled at Constance. “Some are naturals.”
Grant saw a smile playing around the edge of Constance’s face. “Sounds like you had a good day. What happened?”
Her smile broadened. “I met the Rev. Mr. Dennis Merribaugh himself. I really poured it on, and he ate it up.”
“And?”
“Give me a week and I’ll be running the place,” said Constance. “I got it from Merribaugh himself that the office is in shambles. Since he fired Leonard, he’s been trying to run the place with a bunch of blue-haired volunteers. Things keep going from bad to worse, and Hurley is riding his ass about it.”
Grant smiled, which made everyone take a second look since it was one of those rare sights, like seeing a double rainbow.
“So you’re in.”
“Like Flynn, Lambert.” She motioned around the kitchen. “Better not get used to this place, ’cause I don’t think we’re staying long.”
11
“Congressman Skinner!”
Hurley saw the congressman before the congressman saw Hurley, which gave him an important advantage. Representative Donald Skinner had been hoping to avoid him by slipping out the side entrance of the hotel after his breakfast meeting with the In-Ground Pool Manufacturers Association, never expecting Hurley to use it as a shortcut to the Moral Families Coalition rally in the ballroom.
Skinner had guessed wrong.
Turning to face him, the congressman forced a smile and tried his best to rally. “Dr. Hurley! As always, it’s a pleasure!”
Hurley’s white teeth flashed, and he put a hand on Skinner’s shoulder. “Your words of praise embarrass me, Congressman.” He dropped his voice and his eyes dashed side to side. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Uh…I’m afraid I have a full schedule back at my office, Dr. Hurley.”
Hurley sized him up. “Is there a place we could talk privately for a few minutes?”
There was a small empty room off the hallway into which Skinner led Hurley, and Merribaugh hurried to catch up, reaching them just before the door closed. When the three men were alone, Hurley shot his cuffs and got down to business.
“First, I want to thank you again for your, uh, insight into the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Internal Revenue Service. These are difficult, dangerous days to preach the word of God. It’s good to know that we have a friend in our government who is watching out for us.”
Skinner smiled weakly. He hoped this would be brief. “You’re welcome. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Of course not. Although I’m deeply troubled that you won’t be with us at the Moral Families Coalition meeting this morning.” Hurley paused for just a moment, heightening the tension, before asking, “We don’t have a problem, do we?”
Skinner cleared his throat. “Not really, but…”
“But?”
“You’ve been asking for some heavy lifts lately.” Nervousness was apparent in his whispered voice.
Hurley looked at Skinner, shaking his head slightly but not enough to make his silver pompadour move. “I’m asking for no more than the Lord asks, Congressman. To His word be true, and let your faith guide you. Not Oscar Hurley. Not the Moral Families Coalition. Not your constituents. Your faith!”
Skinner tried to puff out his chest, to no great effect. “Look, I have a tough re-election campaign coming up, and the anti-gay rhetoric isn’t playing well in my district. Not like it used to. But that seems to be all you and the Moral Families Coalition are talking about these days.”
Hurley pretended to think about that for a few beats, and moved past the pretense.
“Leaders don’t follow polls or trends, Mr. Skinner. Leaders lead. But if it helps any, the gay issue polls at…what were those numbers, Mr. Merribaugh?”
“Ninety to ninety-four percent.”
“Ninety to ninety-four percent. That should be one hundred percent, but, in any event, the numbers don’t lie.”
Skinner stared at the floor. “Yes, well, that’s food for thought, but I don’t know that the numbers are the same in my district as they are at the Virginia Cathedral of Love.”
Hurley clapped Skinner on the back. His hand stayed there, threatening to become a permanent appendage.
“Congressman, let me tell you a little story. It’s about a man who came to Washington a few years back with nothing but a single cheap, rumpled suit and an old car, eating at McDonald’s because that’s all he could afford…and because it was the only cuisine his palate was familiar with. Now he’s wearing…what is that, Burberry?” He opened Skinner’s jacket and looked at the label. “Oh, Calvin Klein! Nice! Anyway, this man is now well-dressed, driving a big Cadillac, and eating at five-star restaurants.” Hurley dropped the fabric of the suit coat and his hand patted Skinner’s stomach. “Got a taste for fois gras, too, I see. And all because he has been rewarded by the Lord for doing His work on the Hill.”
“Yes, well—”
“Would you like to see that go away, Congressman?”
Skinner was sweating. “Of course not, Dr. Hurley. It’s just that…”
Hurley talked over him. “You have been rewarded—by God; through me, His servant—because although we reject material appearances, often we have to adopt an attractive façade to reach the masses. That’s why God invented cashmere.” He chuckled; Skinner didn’t, and he noticed.
“When you came to Washington, Congressman…oh, you were a sad sight. That Donald Skinner, the man in a wrinkled seersucker suit, well…maybe that works in northern New Hampshire. But that Donald Skinner was not going to be seen on CNN. Or even Fox, no matter how sincere and God-like your political positions were. But God told me to make you presentable, and now you’re on Fox, CNN, and I even hear rumors that you might be under consideration as a vice-presidential candidate. God’s will has certainly worked out for you, Congressman Skinner. Has it not?”
“Well…yes, but…”
“‘But’? I’m going to pretend I did not hear that. But if I did hear that…” Hurley let the pause linger in the air, which seemed to Skinner almost more threate
ning than whatever words might follow. “Have you practiced for your next career?”
Skinner swallowed hard. “Next career?”
“Have you practiced asking, ‘Would you like fries with that?’”
Congressman Donald Skinner’s face turned red. This, he thought, was over the line, although he doubted he had the courage to say that to Hurley. Still… “Are you threatening me, Dr. Hurley? Are you blackmailing me?”
He tried to sound like the CNN and Fox regular he was. He tried to sound vice-presidential.
He failed on both counts, and Hurley’s unworried smile was the evidence.
“No, sir. I would never threaten you. Nor would I blackmail you. But…” He took the lapel of Skinner’s Calvin Klein suit and ran it through his fingers. “The Lord giveth…and the Lord taketh away. If necessary.”
“Dr. Hurley…”
“Let me put this in earthier, less God-like vernacular.” Hurley leaned close to the congressman’s ear, so close even Merribaugh couldn’t hear him.
“Don’t fuck with me, Don.”
$ $ $
A half hour later, fifty-seven members of the United States Congress—senators and representatives; men and women; Republicans and Democrats; even one or two Jews with re-election constantly on their minds and a hope of maybe becoming president one day—sat in the audience as Dr. Oscar Hurley commanded the stage above them. And fifty-seven heads turned to follow as he paced the floorboards, the conclusion of his speech reaching a crescendo.
“You cannot claim to represent people of faith if you do not vote consistent with Biblical teachings. And when I use the word ‘consistent,’ I do not mean ‘mostly.’ It’s like that old joke about being pregnant. You can’t be just a little bit pregnant, and you can’t be just a little bit Biblical. You either are Biblical, or you are not.”
A murmur of assent rose from the assembled officials. A freshman congressman from Colorado even added an “Amen!” into the mix.
Hurley continued to roar. “Item number one—the most important thing you can do as our elected representatives—is to stop the pernicious spread of homosexuality in this society and protect our nation’s moral fiber. No homosexual marriage! No homosexuals in the military! No special rights and protections for homosexuals!”