Contract with an Angel

by Andrew M. Greeley

  Joan was a handsome woman, slender, full-breasted, regal. Her black hair was almost certainly dyed, though by an expert. Her face had also received some careful and highly skilled attention. But in her long black dress, she was still luscious. Neenan’s imagination undressed her swiftly as his hands once had. She noted his inspection and smiled aloofly.

  Neenan ordered a second bottle of red wine. It was another cabernet from Seraphic Vineyards.

  “It is really a wonderful production,” Ben began the conversation in his usual persnickety tone. “Ramey is truly wonderful as Mephisto, and the chorus is outstanding. The Met had better look to its laurels if it wishes to keep its lead.”

  “The Lyric has come a long way,” Joan agreed. “You Chicagoans should certainly be proud of that.”

  Her eyes were now locked with Neenan’s. She was signaling that she was still available anytime he wanted her.

  His reaction, he told himself, was unbridled lust. He did not love her. He loved his wife, who was more beautiful, easier to get along with, and a better lover. Joan Harvey, however, had been one of his great conquests, and in some fashion she still belonged to him.

  “This is a pleasant little wine,” Ben said with a sniff. “Better than what the Lyric used to serve.”

  “Still a bit pretentious,” Joan observed.

  Never in their stupid lives would they ever drink better.

  On the other side of the room Michael and Gabriella were sitting with a younger and equally handsome couple, a tall, blond Viking type and a black-haired woman who looked as if she were cast from the same mold as Gabriella. They watched Neenan with languid amusement.

  Don’t worry, guys, I’m not going to act out. He raised his glass of the cabernet from the Seraphic Vineyards to them in a quick salute. They returned the toast.

  “I’m told that the New York Times has sent its regular opera reviewer here tonight,” Anna Maria informed them. “He’s been very favorable to the Lyric in the last couple of years.”

  Neither Harvey paid any attention to her. Snobs.

  Nonetheless he could not banish his desire for Joan, who, in his imagination, was now totally naked and completely at his disposal.

  “Well, we still have the Bulls,” he said with a laugh. “The Knicks will never catch up with them … . Have you had a chance, Ben, to consider my offer?”

  Harvey sighed softly, like a man about to decline a woman’s invitation to dance with her.

  “It’s a challenging venture, R. A.; ten years ago I might have jumped at it. But I’ve been with NE for a long time now and I feel that this is the time for an, ah, change of venue, if you know what I mean, for a new start. If I wait too many more years, I won’t have the energy, I fear, to make a new start.”

  Neenan had torn his eyes away from Joan, but out of the corner of his right eye, he noticed her smiling triumphantly. For reasons of her own she had shot his offer down.

  Interesting.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Ben. There will always be a place for you at NE if you want to come back. Moreover, I would suggest that you communicate your decision to WorldCorp first thing in the morning. We’re going into court before noon with a petition for a restraining order against them for tampering with our executives and our potential acquisitions.”

  “Really?” Harvey said as if he were astonished. “I’m surprised to hear that. May I ask why?”

  “It’s part of their standard harassing tactics when they want to take someone over. They’re wasting their time with us. We want to signal them of that fact early.”

  “I’m sure,” Joan cut in, “that their decision to offer a major position to Bennett has nothing to do with such a scheme.”

  “I’m sure of that too,” Neenan said with little regard for the truth. “However, I don’t want him to get tripped up in the litigation.”

  “How you men love litigation and conflict,” Joan said, her eyes wide open with invitation.

  Thanks but no thanks, Joan, he told her mentally. He wondered whether Michael and his crowd would expect him to apologize to her. Alone in a room with her, he might have a hard time with the firm purpose of amendment he had promised to Father Sixtus earlier in the day.

  “Sometimes you have to fight off barbarian invaders,” Anna Maria replied. “Litigation is not less harmful than broadswords and pikes.”

  “And more expensive too,” Neenan said with a smile. “But we don’t end up with a lot of captive women and children.”

  That put out the fire of longing in Joan’s eyes.

  Not a peep from the angel brats, who could not this time spare him even a single cymbal clash.

  His comment had been a decisive ending to the relationship, not a happy ending, but an ending nonetheless. What would Michael think? To hell with what he thought. You survive any way you can.

  They chatted amiably for a few more minutes, wished each the best in work and life, and bid good-bye. The Harveys barely noticed Anna Maria in their leave-taking.

  How could they not notice her?

  As they left, Neenan realized that Joan was a perfectly ordinary woman, with a strong streak of nastiness in her personality. How had he ever been obsessed by her?

  “Small loss,” Anna Maria said as he guided her back to their seats. “He might have some talent. She’s a terrible snob. He’d like to work for you, but she won’t let him.”

  “You’re right on both counts. We won’t miss him. The fire’s long since gone. And she’s the one who told him what to do.”

  “Do you find her attractive?” Anna Maria asked casually.

  A booby trap.

  “Not anymore,” he replied. “Once I thought her rather striking. Now I think she’s ordinary as well as unpleasant.”

  “I think she’d like to sleep with you.”

  “Not a chance,” he replied, discreetly hugging her as he assisted her into her seat. “I already have a perfectly satisfactory bed partner.”

  “I didn’t feel threatened,” Anna Maria said softly. “I’m not the jealous type.”

  “No reason you should be.”

  “None at all.”

  “I’m sorry they were rude to you.”

  “I kept my Sicilian temper under control only because I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

  He had never seen her alleged temper. It might be interesting, but he was not eager to observe it.

  The second act was even more triumphant than the first. The audience gave it a standing ovation.

  “I never noticed before,” Anna Maria said as they stood, “how Catholic this story is.”

  “Charles François-Gounod was a devout, even mystical Catholic. He considered being a priest and went to the seminary for a while. That’s why it seems so strange that he would make Mephisto almost a gentleman.”

  “Evil sometimes is very attractive,” Anna Maria observed. “I wonder what an opera about an angel would be like.”

  “I suspect that angels are pretty creepy characters.”

  “I think they’d be slick and funny and charming. And maybe just a little tricky. They would, naturally, be very bright and very passionate.”

  Close enough. “You ever met one?”

  “No …” she said slowly. “But sometimes I sense they’re lurking around and loving us and maybe laughing at us a lot.”

  “An interesting possibility.”

  “I think it would be nice if someone did a script about such angels. They’d be much more attractive than the angels in the cults everyone is crazy about these days.”

  “That is not a bad idea.”

  In the Graham Room before the final act they encountered Honoria Smythe with a handsome, balding psychiatrist in tow. Her gown, unlike Anna Maria’s, was intolerably vulgar. Neenan had only minor trouble fighting off fantasies about her.

  As ordered by the ineffable Gabriella, Neenan dutifully introduced his wife to both of them. She rated one dismissive glance from Honoria, but constant visual attention from the shrink.
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br />   “Have you had an opportunity to reconsider my offer, Honoria?” Neenan asked casually, not ready to invite her to his table for a drink.

  “Yes, Ray,” she said sorrowfully, “I have. I’d love to work for NE, but I simply can’t turn down the opportunities WorldCorp has offered me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Honoria,” he said. “I’m sure you and NorthCal would be wonderful assets for the firm. But I have to respect your decision. I wish you all possible good fortune. Incidentally, you might want to, ah, consummate the deal as soon as you can. We’re going into federal court for the Northern District of Illinois tomorrow morning to seek a restraining order against WorldCorp for tampering with our executives and our potential acquisitions. It won’t be a retroactive order, so it’s not aimed at you.”

  “You really wouldn’t do that, would you, Ray? It would certainly make things difficult for NorthCal.”

  “I don’t think it would, Honoria. I sincerely hope not. However, I must protect NE from more harassment by those barbarian invaders.”

  She shook her head in sorrow and turned away, her built-in shrink right behind her.

  Neenan conducted his wife to their table and discovered a half-full bottle of the Heavenly Valley wine waiting for them. The bossy seraphs did not want either of them to drink too much.

  “Strumpet,” Anna Maria said curtly.

  “An attractive strumpet, however.”

  “They often are,” she said, filling both their wineglasses. “I’m afraid we’ll sleep through the final act.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “WorldCorp: two,” she said, lifting her glass to him, “NE: zero.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Did you really want either of them?”

  His knee found her thigh and moved gently back and forth.

  “Losing them doesn’t cause me any deep sorrow, if that’s what you mean. Ben Harvey was creative once, possibly could be again, but Joan dominates him completely. Honoria has been very successful, but I think she’d be a dangerous person to have around.”

  “Too true,” Anna Maria said with a quick gasp of pleasure.

  “I’d like to win the first two battles with World-Corp, but they might be costly victories in the long run. I thought I owed poor Ben another chance after what I did to him. I guess that debt is discharged.”

  “And Honoria?”

  “I don’t owe her anything.”

  “She wanted to sleep with you too.”

  “The problem with her is that she wants to sleep with everyone who might help her career.”

  “You see things very clearly, my husband.”

  “Sometimes more clearly than other times.”

  The seraphic couples were nowhere to be seen. Probably backstage calming down their brats. Except what was backstage in their world? Was it even in this universe?

  Ms. Krainik walked by beaming at everyone.

  “Congratulations, Ray,” she said. “You’re backing a winner. The Times man has been telling people that it is the best Faust he has ever seen.”

  People whom Ms. Krainik had undoubtedly assigned to listen to his reaction. No bets were missed in this very Chicago enterprise.

  “The chorus is simply divine,” Anna Maria enthused. “I’ve never heard them so good.”

  “Me, neither,” Ardis said with a chuckle.

  “I’d say they were more angelic,” Neenan commented.

  Someone pounded angrily on a drum.

  Too bad, brats, I’m entitled to have my fun.

  Had the whole thing been set up as a seraphic favor because he had supported the production?

  What a dumb question!

  Of course it had.

  “Did you hear a drum, dear?”

  “A drum?” he replied. “We’re a long way from the timpani section.”

  “I suppose so … . Are we going down for the third act or are you going to try to seduce me up here?”

  “Do I have to choose?”

  “Come on.” She dragged him to his feet. “You’ve had far too much wine.”

  “So have you.”

  Nonetheless they were capable of wending a straight path back to their seats, his hand always guarding and protecting her back. No one looked at him with surprise during this exercise. Apparently that’s what a certain kind of gentleman was supposed to do.

  I keep learning.

  “Those women are terrible,” she said when he more or less tucked her into her seat.

  “Gaby?”

  “Oh, no, not her. She’s sweet. I know I’ve seen them around somewhere. Probably back in Lake Forest. Can’t quite remember where. Are they neighbors?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I meant the other two. They are mean and nasty and vindictive, like your mother was before she got sick and like Donna was at Vincent’s wedding. Different veneers maybe, but the same kind of person.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  The lance plunged into Neenan’s chest again. He sank back into his seat as the curtain rose on the finale, feeling that he was mortally wounded.

  Then he once more had the sensation that he was collapsing, coming apart, breaking up—like the voice of a soprano who had tried to sing one year too many.

  14

  He did not, indeed could not, challenge Anna Maria’s assertion about his former lover and his almost lover. They were indeed cruel and angry women. It was obvious, though he had never seen it before. Both were more attractive than his mother and his first wife, but they had similar personalities. Indeed his first wife was very much like his mother when he reflected on their similarities.

  He felt he was sinking into a swamp like bits of a shattered airplane after a crash. He had pursued women all his life who were carbons of his punitive, mean-spirited, grudging mother. He had thought that he was conquering them when, in fact, they had conquered him.

  He was a fool, an idiot, a clown, a hapless loser.

  Anna Maria took his hand in hers. Damn! He’d forgotten Gaby’s stern mandates. Then she rested her knee against his thigh. She at least did not fit the pattern. The only reason for that, however, was that the seraphs were meddling in his life even then.

  “Fresh!” he murmured.

  “Shush,” she whispered back.

  He had wasted his life. He had tried time after time to screw his mother. He had taken delight in seeming to punish women who reminded him of her. That they had in fact seduced him instead of the other way around made him even more the fool, a stupid, ineffectual fool. Small wonder that he quickly lost interest in his conquests, though they continued to remain physically appealing to him.

  That was what the seraph had meant.

  Did the women know what was happening? Probably not. How could they? They knew only that he was a desirable male they wanted to drag into their bed. No reason to blame them. He was the villain of the stories.

  He went through them in his head. Indeed they all fit the pattern, one way or another, some more than others.

  Was that the way all women are?

  Probably, he decided. They intuit our weaknesses and then exploit them.

  Anna Maria withdrew her knee from his thigh and placed her hand on it instead, complacently claiming what was hers as a matter of right. He rested his hand on top of hers so that she couldn’t move it away.

  She was different from the others. She candidly and frankly enjoyed him. Indeed she reveled in him. Most women were unlike those he had thought he was hunting, but he had hardly noticed, so determined was he to conquer and punish his mother.

  He was a sickie, a weirdo, a pervert.

  No, not completely. Otherwise his wife would not dote on him.

  What did it all mean?

  Had his ambition for money and power been driven by his twisted sexual desires?

  That was absurd.

  Or was it?

  A psychiatrist would certainly think so. He had spent his whole life attempting to escape from his mo
ther and had failed. In fact, while he was piling up power and money to complete his escape, he was in fact pursuing her. How he hated that terrible woman!

  But that was probably not fair either. She had been pursued by her own past, her own unhappiness, her own demons, about all of which he knew nothing.

  His stomach turned in self-disgust. He was afraid that he would have to run from the theater to vomit.

  Anna Maria moved her hand gently and tenderly on his thigh. His stomach calmed. Did she know what was happening?

  That was unthinkable. She was too healthy a person to think of such things. She merely wanted her man. Her sexual hungers were open and straightforward and honest. No wonder he had avoided her for most of their marriage.

  The good news was that he could still fall completely under her spell and luxuriate in her passion. The bad news was that he had so little time left.

  He shivered.

  “Are you all right, dear?” she whispered. “Are you sick?”

  “Hungry.”

  “For food?”

  “No.”

  Slowly he climbed back from the canyon rim of despair. He would not fall into the abyss, not as long as this marvelous wife was near him. Life had humiliated him, disgraced him, turned him into a big, silly clown. Nonetheless, and for reasons that utterly escaped him, someone found him lovable.

  Maybe that was what the seraph had been trying to tell him all along about the link between the delicious Anna Maria and whoever lurked in his experiences of ecstasy.

  It was too confusing to think out tonight. He wanted only to lose himself in Anna Maria and forget everything else.

  The opera continued. He tried to focus on it. Who needed Mephistopheles when blind human idiocy tricked humans into evil? Poor Marguerite, the innocent victim of Faust’s lust and the demon’s villainy, had murdered her child. She was in prison awaiting her execution. With Faust as his agent, Mephistopheles made one last desperate, nearly successful attempt to carry her off to hell.

  “Damnation!” the demon exclaimed; it was the cue for the angels to exult in their own conclusion to the story.

  “Salvation!”