I Only Want To Be With You

by Lisa Norato

  “I thought we’d surprise him.”

  “Uh-huh. Did anything happen last night you’d like to share?”

  Marcella nodded humbly. “Yes, I’d like to share. And no, nothing happened. Well, nothing that would keep me from holding my head up in church.”

  She refilled Sallie’s cup, then got down to the details of her evening with William — the sparks, the intimate conversation, holding hands. The infamous purple condom sent Sallie into hysterics, interrupting the story for a full minute. Marcella confessed she’d invited William up to her room. She told Sallie about their kiss in the lounge, William’s vow of celibacy, his ex-fiancée Emma, and the spontaneous marriage proposal.

  “William promised to call me later this afternoon so we could get together again this evening,” Marcella concluded, “but today is my one chance to get a feel for the life he leads. See what he’s like at work. I already have a pretty good idea of what he’s like at play.”

  “So you want me to help you put the moves on him?”

  “We all need a little help from our friends,” Marcella said. But when Sallie failed to lighten up, she narrowed her gaze and said in all seriousness, “Don’t make me call you on those nights you dragged me to jazz clubs all over Manhattan looking for Nate. You owe me, and you know it. I’m only asking for one morning.”

  “This is not just any morning.” With a sigh, Sallie took a sip from her cup. “All right, all right. So, what’s the plan, Tart? Go up for Holy Communion and lick his fingers as he puts it in your mouth?” Sallie laughed at her own jibe, then sobered under Marcella’s glare.

  “Seriously, Marcella, you can’t be interested in pursuing a relationship with a vicar. A couple of days ago you thought Lynn was either nuts or desperate for marrying Henry.”

  “Who’s talking marriage? You’re the one who preaches living in the moment.”

  “That was yesterday, before we knew William. Or his profession. Besides, what else is there for you two besides marriage? Vicars don’t fool around, Marcella. From what you’ve told me, William couldn’t have made himself any clearer.”

  Marcella sprang from her seat to pace nervously across the room. “I’m not sure what I want. That’s the problem. I need to see William up on that altar doing what he does, in that clerical collar I’ve been hearing so much about. Maybe it’ll cure me of this love jones. Maybe I’ll say, ‘A vicar? What was I thinking?’ and that’ll be the end of it. Now, get dressed. Service begins at ten. I don’t want to be late.”

  *

  “Hurry, Sallie. Our taxi’s waiting.”

  An hour and a half later, Marcella was dressed and ready to go. She wore white from head to toe, except for the soles of her strappy sandals, which flashed a striking contrast of lipstick red when she walked.

  Sallie poked her head out of her bedroom. “Have you seen my thong Birkies?”

  “Here by the sofa.” As Sallie came padding into the sitting area, Marcella gave her the once-over. “That’s not the dress you bought for the Savoy.”

  “We’re not going to the Savoy.” Sallie slipped into her thongs, then turned in her long drawstring skirt of weathered denim for Marcella’s inspection. On top, she wore a sleeveless, bright orange crocheted shell. “Nobody dresses for church anymore. Casual chic is the thing in all religious circles. I’ve been watching fashion on the BBC. If I were you, Marcella, I’d lose the hat.”

  “What’re you talking about? The English are famous for wearing hats.” Annoyed, Marcella double-checked her look in the foyer mirror. She felt confident in her Italian-inspired sun hat with its small crown and extra-wide brim that shaded her head like an umbrella. A hat was the perfect complement to the clean lines of her ankle-length halter dress. A hat brought style and sophistication to her ensemble, yet lent her an air of mystery.

  It was all about attitude. Men noticed women in hats. The hat stayed.

  “William’s giving a special service. I want to look pulled together.”

  Sallie’s face appeared suddenly in the mirror behind her. “What kind of special service?”

  “No idea.” Turning around, Marcella ushered Sallie out the door. “I really wish you’d worn that watercolor pastel chiffon skirt you picked out for the Savoy. I don’t think it’s appropriate to show your navel in church.”

  “No? And is that more or less appropriate than inviting the vicar up to your hotel room to slip on a purple condom?”

  A woman passing in the hallway gasped, then hurriedly continued on her way.

  Marcella blushed beneath her wide brim. So maybe she wouldn’t be able to hold her head up in church, after all.

  *

  Bramble Moor was a quaint, rural community untouched by time. Marcella saw thatched roofs, green fields, and grazing cows. Church bells rang all through the village as their taxi rolled down a long country lane. She sat in the back of the cab with Sallie, watching a tall stone spire in the distance grow larger and larger until Marcella realized it was the church steeple.

  St. Francis sat at a roundabout. A four-foot stone wall surrounded the grounds. The taxi followed the turn and slowed to a stop at an opened gateway. Sallie climbed out while Marcella paid the driver. Despite their best efforts, they were running late.

  “Who knew a country church could be so impressive,” Sallie said as Marcella joined her on the curb.

  Marcella ascended the stone bell tower with her gaze, craning her neck when she got to the spire, which seemed to reach into the heavens. “It’s bigger than I’d imagined.”

  “Be mindful of what you do in there, Marcella. Think only pure thoughts. God is watching.”

  Marcella rolled her eyes. “C’mon.”

  A lantern hung from a metal arch supported by two stone columns that formed a gateway. Marcella and Sallie walked through together, then followed a short path until they reached the front entrance of the church.

  A black-faced hound the size of a small cow lounged in the grass. As they approached, the dog lumbered to his feet. Testacles the size of tennis balls hung from his groin.

  Marcella froze and grabbed Sallie’s arm. “Do you think he’s vicious?”

  The heavy double doors were closed, and she didn’t see anyone else around.

  Sallie broke free and continued forward. “He’s cool. But stop gawking, Marcella. You’re scaring him.”

  Marcella averted her eyes and quickly followed.

  They opened the door and entered the foyer. To their left, a small table held a collection of empty casseroles. Marcella puzzled over them for only a moment, then turned to her right, where a wall blocked the nave of the church from view. Service had already begun.

  “I hate walking into church late,” Sallie whispered.

  “Shhh. That’s him, listen.”

  William’s voice, strong and clear with its refined British tones, carried into the foyer.

  “…reflect on the beauty of this world, I’m quite aware it’s not our material means that fill our lives with love and purpose, but God and his creation. Our faith, our families, our friends, the flowers, birds, and trees. Nature.

  “And truly, what more wonderful gift of nature than our pets. They bring us comfort, joy, and loyalty. They open our hearts and teach us how to love. As I look out over the congregation this morning, I see faces literally glowing with that love. Pets are a precious part of our lives. And so today, we gather not to give thanks for our families, or for the flowers and trees, but for our animals.”

  Animals, Marcella thought. He was preaching about pets. She turned to Sallie, whose eyes had grown wide and shone with excitement. She pushed Marcella forward until they found themselves at the back of the church.

  Immediately, Marcella’s gaze was drawn upwards, above the altar, to three stained-glass windows fashioned in blues and greens in an impressive modern design. An amber cross provided a striking burst of contrasting color in the center window.

  “Scripture says, ‘The soul of every living thing is in the hand of God, and the b
reath of all mankind.’ ”

  William’s voice drew her eye to the left. He stood at a pulpit nestled beneath an archway. At his side sat a fawn and white saluki. Babette? She was gorgeous, the canine equivalent of a high fashion model. Thin and blonde, with a somewhat anorexic appearance, and an air of superiority and elegance. Babette sat tall, her long narrow head held high. She gazed past the congregation to Marcella with large, intelligent brown eyes.

  “It’s an animal blessing,” Sallie whispered in awe. “This is the special service?”

  Marcella tore her gaze from Babette and realized the pews were filled, not only with people, but dogs of various breeds and sizes. She saw cats on shoulders, rabbits on laps, and even a few bird and hamster cages. All were unusually quiet and peaceful, as though they understood the significance of the gathering.

  Sallie’s elbow poked her side. Marcella startled, glancing up to find William peering over his round wire-framed glasses. He had stopped speaking. His stare registered surprise.

  Marcella gave him a wave.

  Slowly, William’s lips curled until his whole face seemed to illuminate. “Welcome,” he greeted in his clear vicar’s voice across the rows and rows of pews. “Join us, please.”

  Joy radiated deep inside her. She was aware of Sallie’s hand on her arm, trying to drag her into a rear pew, but Marcella hadn’t braved this visit to William’s church for a snooze in the back. Oh-no, not after that welcoming smile. She intended to sit front and center.

  Slipping from Sallie’s grasp, she proceeded up the aisle with the boldness of a runway model. Her heels clattered in the stillness, but she ignored the stares and fought any embarrassment over the glaringly obvious fact she had not come for the service, per se, as neither she nor Sallie had brought along an animal.

  William had resumed his sermon. “It was St. Francis of Assisi who noted, ‘There is no degradation in the dignity of human nature in claiming kinship with creatures so beautiful, so wonderful. Who praise God in the forest even as the angels praise him in heaven.’ St. Francis referred to animals as his brothers and sisters because he understood they have the same origin as man.”

  Third row from the pulpit, Marcella spied an opening and motioned for Sallie to follow.

  “Excuse me.” Marcella could tell immediately the couple on the end had no intention of giving up their aisle seat. The woman pressed her handful of a poodle to her full breasts and shifted her legs to one side.

  “Thank you … sorry … so sorry, excuse us,” Marcella apologized as she and Sallie climbed over the couple’s laps. The little dog growled.

  Meanwhile, in the pew before them, a young woman holding a long-haired gray cat had turned to stare. She eyeballed Marcella’s button-front halter dress, up its princess seaming to its squared neckline, to her white straw hat.

  Marcella could just imagine her thinking. That poor girl has no clue. Doesn’t she know you don’t wear white to an animal blessing?

  So, I’m wearing white? Big ta-da. Marcella dismissed her with a turn of the head, dusting off the pew before folding herself onto the bench. Checking her dress to make certain all buttons were secure, she glanced over at Sallie, who had taken the seat beside her, and found her friend locked in a goggle with the rude cat girl. Cat Girl gave Sallie a poised, slightly amused smile, then returned her attention back to William.

  “Most animals, unless of course they’ve been mistreated through the erring of man, live from a pure heart. The spirits of animals have never known separation from God. Animals know their creator, you see. God and nature are one. And because their spirits are one with His, animals are naturally inclined to give thanks and praise to God.”

  William smiled, then with a chuckle interjected, “Rather the way your own dog gives you a bit of praise every time you come home.”

  The parishioners laughed and nodded in appreciation, while a little voice behind Marcella whined, “Mummy, I can’t see.”

  Marcella removed her hat and placed it carefully on her knee. She gave the top of her head a quick fluff, not wanting to draw further attention to herself when she’d already disrupted the service.

  At last, she thought as she settled down to listen. She didn’t want to miss a single word. But who was responsible for that annoying sneezing? It seemed to be coming from the choir. Did no one have a tissue?

  William’s educated British baritone immediately drew her back, and Marcella soaked him up with her gaze. Before today, she’d never truly appreciated the allure a little rim of white in a high black collar could inspire. William had removed his glasses. His chestnut hair curled over his forehead. Tall, handsome, and intelligent, he addressed his congregation, the picture of humility and grace. A perfect yum-yum. Those white vestments lent him an angelic air, which was quite the novelty, quite the unexpected turn-on.

  Suddenly his eyes found hers and one side of his mouth crooked in a boyish grin before his gaze moved on.

  He’s excited I’m here! Marcella’s heart danced with the angels up among the cathedral ceiling, and she thought, Mom would be so proud. She always said she wished I’d meet a nice boy at church.

  Sallie nudged her and mouthed, “Fashion Nazi.” She pointed to the back of Cat Girl’s head.

  Huh? Marcella shook her head no, she didn’t understand, when suddenly a thought occurred to her. Sallie had obviously seen Cat Girl staring at Marcella’s outfit. Was this her witty way of saying, “I told you so”?

  “Okay, I get it,” Marcella muttered out one side of her mouth. “I’m overdressed.”

  Sallie frowned. She shook her head, then pointed again and mouthed, “B-B-C.”

  BBC? Marcella threw up her hands as though to say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” And while Sallie was going on about nothing, Marcella was missing William’s sermon. She shot Sallie a warning look.

  Sallie gave Marcella a “you’re hopeless” glare and turned away, disappointed.

  What is with her? Marcella wondered, but as she stared at the back of that strawberry blonde head, styled with bouncy curls that didn’t quite reach the shoulders, something stirred her memory. Cat girl’s porcelain complexion and perky nose had seemed vaguely familiar. Hmm. Why? Nope, couldn’t place her. Who did they know in Bramble Moor, anyway?

  Marcella let it go and resumed listening.

  “God is love. His love is the force that binds us together as His children. The giving of ourselves in caring for our animals is an expression of God’s love. For if animals are loved and give us love in return, if they comprehend love and understand how to express love, then most certainly they are part of God’s family indeed. Often, I find myself reflecting on the deep connection I feel with Babette and how it reminds me of God’s presence in all creation.”

  Gazing down from his pulpit upon his beautiful saluki, he announced, “Babes loves unconditionally and never tries to be anything but what she is.”

  Again, Sallie nudged Marcella. When Marcella turned, she whispered, “That’s what he’s looking for in a woman.”

  Marcella cocked a brow knowingly. “In a perfect world.”

  “Right then, if you’ll take up your hymn books. Hymn number ninety-one, ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful.’ ”

  As Marcella searched for a hymnal, she noticed a tall, craggy, gray-bearded man emerge from the choir and approach the organ in a fit of sneezing.

  William gestured to a nearby altar boy, who immediately stepped forward and took up Babette’s leash, while William strode up the chancel steps in his long black cassock, past the altar to the organist.

  “All right, Angus?” He laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Here, why don’t we let someone else fill in at the organ, just for today, eh? You might want to get yourself some air.”

  William turned to the congregation and asked, “Would you mind, Miss Parker? Angus here is terribly allergic to cats, I’m afraid.”

  Marcella froze, taken aback. Was William speaking to her? Of course not. He’d said Miss Parker. T
hen why did he appear to be addressing her? He was, after all, staring straight at her.

  Marcella stared back, clueless. She opened her mouth and worked it silently, not knowing how to respond, and when she shrugged, he implored her with a charming smile and a pleading twinkle in his eye.

  Slowly, the redhead seated in the pew before Marcella rose with her armload of gray cat. Marcella watched in growing embarrassment as Cat Girl made her way out of the pew and approached William at the organ, where she handed him her cat, then took Angus’s seat on the organ bench.

  Sallie gasped. “I knew it. That’s Emma Parker.”

  “Who?” Marcella wanted nothing more than to put her hat back on her head and pull it down over her eyes.

  Sallie leaned close to whisper, “I’ve been trying to tell you. That’s Emma Parker. She’s the host of a fashion makeover show on the BBC. I watched her last night. She’s pretty cool. And funny. And she plays the organ, too? Imagine.”

  Data ticked off inside Marcella’s brain, scrambling to be organized into a coherent thought. Cat Girl was the show host she’d watched briefly on the TV in Sallie’s room. Emma Parker. Emma! A girl named Emma who just happened to know how to play a church organ. Coincidence?

  I don’t think so!

  William had assured her they were over. Over, huh? Then what was Emma doing in his church? Maybe she’d stopped in for the special service so William could bless her pussy. Oh, no, that’s right. He already had!

  She hated herself for the nastiness running rampant through her thoughts, but Marcella felt powerless to control this jealousy building inside her. She watched William reach over Emma’s shoulder and turn the music page. Did no one else find the scene unnecessarily intimate? And what were they whispering about up there?

  Something else occurred to her. When William called Emma forward, Marcella had foolishly assumed he’d been looking at her. Had she also been mistaken, thinking the smile he’d given during his sermon had been for her, when actually it was meant for Emma?

  Her heart sunk.