The Father Pat Stories

by Patrick Gossage

  “I know, you pathetic old fart,” she said with considerable affection. “And you can go right on loving me. And I’m relieved that we won’t be meeting in a downtown hotel. And I wouldn’t have you lie for me. And we won’t lose what we have.” She started to toy with the red ribbon in her hair. It came apart and fell on the floor. “Dammit!” And her mood broke. She too had to come clean with her friends and it might as well be now.

  “It may surprise you to know, Pat, after the other day, that I have very little taste for another affair with a married man.” Father Pat, in the middle of a sip of his malt, nearly choked. But he let her continue. “Funny about us three. We love each other, we do poke light into the dark of our souls, as you so eloquently wrote, Pat. But we skate around the real issues we all face.” Pat thought again about the unreal situation he was still in with Priscilla and Sam. Talk about not facing up.

  “You, Pat, want intimacy however much you rail about the joys of being alone. And I have to believe you’d like to have a family. And in a way with your pretend daughter, Sam, you do, although that’s so strange I don’t even want to think about it.” She turned to Terry.

  “You, Terry, just avoid responsibility wherever possible. Life s been a bit too easy, and I would hazard a guess that you’re worried about when it will end. Mortality? Have I got it?” Terry pulled his designer sweater down nervously.

  “Well, the issue I face is not career, I’ve got that. Not friends. I’ve got them right here. My issue is I want to marry and have children and time is running out. I’ve thought about finding a donor, you know. But I don’t want to bring my child into the world that way. So, I guess I have to be organized. That’s the horrible admission. That’s what’s dogging me.

  “Like you, Pat, I had a surrogate problem I fussed over. Not the real one. Mine was work. What was my next step — or was there one. I wanted more responsibility, more respect. I hated my editors. They were occupying jobs I could do, yet I never seemed to get the chance. And I had nowhere else to go. I tried magazine writing but had too little patience. And the editors were the worst egomaniacs. Bitch, bitch. At any rate, last Monday my TSE friend asked me to marry him, over breakfast, if you can believe it.

  “No, I haven’t slept with him. He’s a bit older too, Pat, if that’s a comfort. And I told him I’d tell him in a week. Then you came to my apartment, and I realized how deeply I felt toward you. And yes, I suppose I had to try before I faced the other man who wanted me. And what happened with you, Pat, made me realize how much I wanted a tender and loving relationship. But a permanent one. And clearly, in the light of day, it wasn’t to be you, Pat. There, that’s being 100 per cent truthful.”

  “And I used to think the truth will make you free,” Father Pat said. “Sort of helps me sort out my feelings, Deirdre … especially if you’ve decided to say yes to your TSE friend.”

  “I’m about to. And I think it will be yes.” Deirdre said, looking down at the floor.

  Terry was at a loss for words.

  For a moment Father Pat thought of the camaraderie of the gay friends he had made when they came to St. Bart’s and saved his career a year ago. Had they perhaps in their own way of bonding solved the bleakness, the blackness he was feeling? And Priscilla and Sam who connected him with his past of hopeless but tender romances. That might actually help.

  While he already knew that his relationship with Deirdre would stay that of friends, before there had always been the hint of more. And now a shadow fell over this distant glint, and he was not sure how he could replace it or even if it needed to be replaced. Perhaps the yearnings of a lifetime were finally being resolved. Perhaps.

  Then he thought of Brenda and her straight-up loyalty when the chips were down that Thanksgiving when he got caught in Father Goodfellow’s problems. Her absolute devotion and understanding after he had willfully cut her out of much of his mental action for many years. The huge amount of love and energy she had brought to getting them together in the first place. He felt guilt, about using Deirdre to unload his real problems on when Brenda had not seemed to be the ready receptacle for his pleadings, for his uncertainties.

  “Well, we sure did it when the gays came to St. Bart’s, didn’t we, Terry?” Father Pat wanted to refocus the discussion.

  “I didn’t exactly play a zero role in that caper,” Deirdre chimed in. “After all, it was the Record’s article that shamed the bishop. Remember, he was in Florida when the story broke. That was the best news of the whole episode, Pat, and you never heard from him again. Let’s not forget the power of the press, you old fart.”

  “I know, darling Deirdre, but that was in the line of duty, in the line of a good story. Our relationship has always been a … good story. I’m trying to think beyond that, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, my TSE friend is not a ’story.’ But he’s a good man. Maybe he shares that with you, Pat. And I think I’d better close that deal before there isn’t another. As I’ve said before, I’ve given up on you guys and your cozy suburban scenes.”

  At that precise point, Father Pat realized he had only one more decision to make. Did he have to leave the church after the pileup of disruptive incidents in the last two years, ending with his day affair with Deirdre? This was the evening of truth and it came in a flash.

  “Deirdre, is that job as religious editor still available at the Record?”

  “As far as I know, it is. You’d be perfect. And you could do other writing. Maybe the Bishop would give you a desk job at the diocese.” Deirdre started to enthuse about having her pal available at work.

  “What about me?” Terry looked crestfallen. “You know the epicentre of we three has been Ridgewood. I can’t see us keeping up the same relationship if Pat moves to the city.”

  “He doesn’t have to. No reason he can’t stay here. You know, faxes and so on.” She turned to Father Pat. Her tone changed. “It is time you created your own platform, Pat. Tried out the real world where you have to win an audience and don’t get it automatically! I know you have lots to say”.

  As she was talking, Paddy got up, and with a huge stretch and loud yawn came over to Father Pat and shoved her nose into his crotch.

  “And one girlfriend who will never leave me,” he quipped.

  “No, two,” Deirdre said as she got up and perched awkwardly on Father Pat’s lap.

  “And an old flack who will keep you from becoming tiresome and pompous, Pat.” Terry got up and perched heavily on Father Pat’s other knee. They all burst into laughter. Terry howled and Paddy took up the call. Father Pat got up. He looked down at Deirdre now on her knees patting the dog. At that moment, she looked at his feet and caught the gaping hole in his sock. She dove at his toe and grabbed it, giggling. They all hooted again. Father Pat tried to bring the conversation back to something serious. It was difficult.

  “Well, you’ve really done it to us these last ten days, Deirdre,” he said. “Don’t know how to thank you. I guess I could wave my fee if you’ll let me marry you as a last act at St. Bart’s. How about it?”

  “Done, and you both have to promise me you’ll stay sober at the reception.”

  With that they all helped themselves to a nightcap and settled in for more good, old fashioned conversation. The tension in the room and in their hearts was gone. They had passed through an open door together.