by Cooper, Doug
Although the drinking helped, it wasn’t enough, and she learned quickly that more was not better. Passing out and waking up late in the afternoon only made for a rough evening and a long night. Making it all worse, he didn’t even seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. Whether she was awake or asleep, he glided around like she wasn’t there, never once asking why her moods fluctuated so significantly or she slept so much during the day. She was losing. She had to raise the stakes.
That opportunity came later that afternoon. In a deck chair by their pool, Penny reclined topless, well into her third vodka. The summer sun on her bare skin along with the alcohol warmed and comforted her. She drifted in and out of sleep.
The bell for the front door rang through the intercom. She assumed it was a package delivery. Trying to ignore it, she gulped the rest of her drink and sunk back into the chair. The ringing persisted. Needing another drink anyway, she put on her top and threw on her black long-sleeve see-through cover-up and went inside. A Lamborghini Aventador sat in the driveway. Definitely not UPS, she thought.
On the other side of the door stood Fritjof Stridh, the young Swedish star center for the Blues, holding a yellow binder. She didn’t know him well other than brief interactions at various team functions and some postgame interviews. Last season he had led the team in scoring and was third overall in the league, and the rumor was he was equally as productive off the ice as on. She checked her appearance in the window, tousling her hair and adjusting her breasts under the cover-up.
Opening the door, she leaned up against it to steady herself, feeling the vodka. “Fritjof. What a nice surprise.”
Fritjof removed his Cartier sunglasses. His assailing blue eyes flashed hope and possibility as he scanned the full length of her body. He had textured, spiked blonde hair criss-crossed and bunched into an inviting, messy display like an unmade bed. “Sorry to interrupt your pool time. Alec told me it would be OK to stop by. Did he mention it to you?”
“He’s golfing.” She turned and walked down the hallway. “Come on in. I was just going to fix myself a drink if you’re thirsty.”
Fritjof followed. “No, I’ll just be a minute. We got our playbooks mixed up. Just need to do a quick switch.”
“One drink won’t hurt. It’s the off-season. Live a little.” Penny continued on to the kitchen. The Absolut was still on the counter from earlier. She held up the bottle. “You’ll be helping your country’s economy.”
“Why not?” His eyes traveled down and back up the length of her body again. “But only if you’re having one.”
Penny retrieved another glass from the cabinet and filled both with ice. Neither person spoke. The ice cracked and shifted as she poured the vodka. She could feel his eyes on her, but she wasn’t uncomfortable. She was enjoying the tension. Remaining silent, she didn’t want conversation to distract from the feeling. Still offering only a smile, she handed him the drink.
Fritjof wrapped his long muscular fingers around the glass and extended it toward her. “Skål.”
Penny reciprocated with “Cheers.” They exchanged small talk about his new car, his success last season, and the expectations for the upcoming season, skillfully dancing around anything of substance and meaning. As the level of vodka dropped in their glasses, the awkwardness in the room and on their faces diminished. Genuine laughter replaced their previously painted-on polite smiles. After Penny sipped the last of her drink, she rattled the ice in the glass. “Twist your arm for one more? I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I laughed like this.”
Fritjof put his glass to his lips, even though it was empty. He took one of the ice cubes into his mouth. “I don’t know if it’s my place, or if you prefer not to talk about it, but I’m so sorry about the baby, Penny. I know how much you and Alec were looking forward to being parents.”
Penny focused on making the drinks. She had been avoiding the topic and was hoping Fritjof didn’t say anything at all, but now that he had, she was relieved. It felt good to get it out of the way. It felt good for someone to acknowledge it out loud. She was tired of sidestepping the pain and carrying the burden all by herself. She handed him the glass, this time filled up to the top. “Thank you. It has been hard, but I’m getting better by the day. Will be good when I can get back to work. Going a bit crazy in this house every day.”
Fritjof said, “Take your time. We have a saying in Swedish, Tiden läker alla sår. It means time heals all wounds.”
“Same as the English phrase.” She touched her glass to his, holding her gaze upon him. “Skål.”
Fritjof shifted his eyes from hers to the binder. “Before I forget why I came in the first place, can you tell me where Alec’s office is? He said my playbook is on his desk.”
“Follow me.” She turned and breezed out of the kitchen, her cover-up flowing side to side from the movement. She could feel his eyes on her ass. She crossed one foot over the other as she walked to accentuate her hips. Her mind was swimming from all the alcohol, but more than that, for the first time in a long while, she felt appreciated and wanted.
Penny headed down the basement steps to Alec’s office, which was more of a man cave than a place to do work. He paid other people to do any real administrative tasks. The desk in the corner with the printer was the only thing that resembled an actual office. Other than that, it looked like a little boy’s room: framed jerseys on the wall, shelves lined with trophies and awards, two leather recliners and a sofa facing a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall with wires extending to a video game console, and stacks of video games.
Fritjof angled immediately to the Gretzky jersey on the wall. “I didn’t know Alec played with the Great One.”
“It was just one year. The Blues traded with the Kings. Gretzky was here only for a short time. Played in like twenty games or so I think.” Penny gulped from her glass and set it on the desk, exchanging it for the binder. “Here’s your playbook.” She turned around and Fritjof was standing in front of her. He leaned toward her and reached around to set the other binder on the desk. His perfect angular face glided by inches away from hers. She threw the playbook on the floor and pulled him in for a passionate kiss.
Fritjof pressed his body against hers then pulled back. “We can’t do this. He’s my teammate. This is his house.”
Penny removed her cover-up and untied her top. “It’s my house, too, and he’s my husband. I think I have more of a say in what we can and can’t do.” She lifted his shirt, running her hands down his sculpted core, unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down to his ankles. Taking him in her mouth, she listened to his objections fade into fevered moaning. She ripped down her bottoms and spun around, planting her left hand on the desk and reaching between her legs with her right to guide him. She pushed back into him. The emptiness was gone.
Dow Jones Close: 10,809.85
Chapter Fifteen
Date: Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Dow Jones Open: 13,107.44
In his office at the church, Les sat at his desk with his back to the door, staring at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. His eyes flashing from book to book, he attempted to recall when and where he finished each one. A knock sounded at the door. “Come,” he said, and spun around in his chair.
Sister Vera entered. “Bishop Pence and Father Bennett will see you now.”
Les followed Sister Vera to Father Bennett’s office. Bishop Pence and Father Bennett stood when they entered. Les first shook hands with Bishop Pence, a short, stout man in his early sixties with large, round eyes and a bald head with tufts of gray hair on the sides that ran above and behind his ears and connected in the back, forming a U-shape. “Nice to see you again, Your Excellency.”
“I wish it were under better circumstances, Father Banks,” Bishop Pence said. Les nodded, then exchanged greetings with Father Bennett.
Sister Vera said, “Can I get anyone anything?”
Bishop Pence answered for everyone. “No, thank you, Sister. That will be all.” He waved his arm toward the table, directing the others to sit. The room fell quiet. Les knew it was not his place to speak. Bishop Pence folded his hands and turned toward him. “Father Bennett has informed me about the unfortunate events that have transpired. First, I want you to know that we believe you, and you have the full backing of the Church.” He paused, inhaling and releasing a long breath. “But we are in a difficult position here. With the multicultural makeup of this parish, the differing racial component of the boys, and the precarious financial position of this parish and the Archdiocese of Atlanta in general, litigation, regardless of the outcome, could be devastating.”
“I understand, Your Excellency,” Les said. “I appreciate the support of the Church. It really means a great deal to me. But after a great deal of reflection and prayer, that’s why I feel it is best if I leave the Church and request laicization.”
Father Bennett was not happy when Les first informed him of the decision. He had probably hoped hearing Bishop Pence might change Les’s mind. Forgetting protocol and decorum, Father Bennett spoke out of turn. He said, “I don’t think you understand what His Excellency is saying. The Church is not going to suspend you or deliver any penance.”
The Bishop lifted his hand to silence Father Bennett and spoke directly to Les. “Let’s not be rash. You are a valued member of this clergy, and we believe that the boys have fabricated these charges to protect themselves. That is why no penance, loss of benefits or remuneration, or expiatory penalty will be levied. We do believe, however, based on the circumstances, a transfer is in order. I have spoken to Bishop Sellers of the Archdiocese of New Orleans, and he has a position open for you there.”
Les understood exactly what they were saying. They had responded just as he expected them to because he was telling the truth. What they didn’t realize was that he was already a few moves ahead. The boys had used him to avoid a potentially embarrassing situation with their parents. He was using the boys as a way out of the Church. It wasn’t clear to him exactly how much he wanted to leave until the door was opened for him. He said, “Thank you for your support and understanding. I have given this a great deal of thought. Regardless of where I go, these allegations will follow me. While you have given me your support and trust, most will not. They will assume guilt, and this will ultimately reflect negatively upon the Church.”
Bishop Pence asked, “Why so little faith, Father?”
“With all due respect, Your Excellency,” Les said, “my faith has never been stronger. I believe this has happened for a reason. It is God’s way of telling me to go in a new direction and spread His Word to a wider audience.”
“But why this extreme measure of laicization?” Father Bennett asked. “Why not a temporary leave of absence and allow the opportunity to come back to the Church?”
Les knew it was the only way. He said, “In order to embark on this new path, I must commit to it with the same will as the one that brought me here. In order to do that, I must relinquish my title, but that does not mean my beliefs will change. The hand of God will still be guiding me as strongly as ever.”
Bishop Pence stared at Les, contemplating his words. Silence again filled the room, but this time fueled by disappointment and not uncertainty. He finally spoke. “I can see that you have given this a great deal of consideration, and I respect the decision you have made, but perhaps we should take some more time to decide. Go to New Orleans. Meet with Bishop Sellers. Hear what he has planned for you. Perhaps there are aspects to this that have not been revealed yet.”
“Your divine advice is appreciated, Your Excellency,” Les said, “but I believe the best course for all parties is for me to leave the Church.” He glanced at Father Bennett and back to Bishop Pence. “If it is acceptable to both of you, I’d like to just go ahead and sign the settlement agreement that we discussed.”
Bishop Pence nodded to Father Bennett, who opened a folder and removed a document. Taking a pen from his pocket, Father Bennett placed it on top of the document and slid both across the table to Les. “I think you’ll find everything as we agreed to. Would you like a moment to review it?”
Les glanced at the first page and immediately flipped to the last. “I’m sure it’s fine.” He removed the cap from the pen and signed on the line above his typed name. In one fluid motion of the pen, he felt the burden he had been carrying for much longer than the weeks following the incident disappear. He knew he had made the right decision, or maybe it had been determined long before, and he hadn’t realized it. Although in that moment, a new path had opened, but the destination remained the same. By leaving the Church, he was not moving away from God, but actually moving closer to Him.
SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT AND MUTUAL RELEASE
This Settlement Agreement and Mutual Release (hereafter “Agreement”) is made by and between Lester Banks and the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Atlanta (hereafter “Archdiocese”), and all of its affiliated entities.
WHEREAS, Lester Banks has determined to voluntarily leave the priesthood of the Roman Catholic Church under certain conditions, as more specifically set out below; and
WHEREAS, the Archdiocese is willing to accept Lester Banks’s resignation from the priesthood of the Roman Catholic Church, and in reliance on that resignation is willing to agree to the terms set out below; and
WHEREAS, Lester Banks and the Archdiocese wish to settle and compromise all claims that either of them may have against the other, and wish to accomplish the complete and total separation of Lester Banks from the priesthood of the Roman Catholic Church;
NOW, THEREFORE, in consideration of the mutual promises herein provided and other valuable consideration, receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, the parties to this agreement hereby agree as follows:
The Archdiocese agrees to pay to Lester Banks the sum of $50,000, receipt of which is hereby acknowledged. All parties will bear their own costs and attorneys fees associated with this settlement.
Lester Banks presently is entitled to a severance reimbursement from the Archdiocese priests’ pension fund. This reimbursement will be paid to Lester Banks pursuant to a letter from Lester Banks directing how these funds are to be paid, so long as consistent with the rules of the plan.
Lester Banks agrees to sign a letter of resignation in the form attached as Exhibit A to this Agreement.
The Archdiocese agrees to pay for six months of medical insurance for Lester Banks, commencing on the date that he signs this Agreement and letter of resignation. Following that six-month period, Lester Banks shall inform the Archdiocese if he elects, pursuant to law, to continue that coverage at his own expense for eighteen more months. The Archdiocese shall have no obligation to pay any amount toward medical insurance following the six-month period referred to above.
In return for the payments set out above and for the mutual promises contained herein, and for other good and valuable consideration, receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, Lester Banks agrees to release and forever discharge the Archdiocese, and all of the Archdiocese’s employees, agents, officers, directors, and assigns, including, without limitation, all members of the Roman Catholic clergy, and all parishes and with the Roman Catholic Church in the territory of the Archdiocese from, and covenants not to sue them for, all schools and any person- or entity-affiliated claims, causes of actions, charges, and demands, whether in tort, contract, or otherwise, of any nature that he may have had at any time, up to and including the date of signing of this Agreement, including without limitation any claim of any nature arising from any entitlements he could assert from having been a priest in the Roman Catholic Church. By signing this Agreement and attached letter, Lester Banks hereby resigns from the priesthood of the Roman Catholic Church, and agrees never to function in any capacity as a priest, nor to seek reinstatement to the priesthood of the Roman Catholic Chu
rch at any time. He further agrees to give up any claim or entitlement that he may have to any benefit compensation support, or other attribute of the Roman Catholic priesthood, other than as specifically set out in the Agreement. He further agrees not to perform any of the functions of the priesthood, including, without limitation, administering the sacraments and the celebration of mass, and in no respect will hold himself out to be a priest of the Roman Catholic Church in the future.
The Archdiocese, and all of its affiliated entities, hereby release and forever discharge Lester Banks from all claims, demands, and causes of action of any nature that they may have had, up to and including the date of the signing of this Agreement.
The parties agree that this Agreement is not an admission of liability on the part of any party.
The parties agree not to disclose to any third party, including, without limitation, any newspaper, any electronic media, or any reporters, or to release for publicity any of the provisions of this Agreement.
In witness of this Agreement, we have signed below on the dates indicated.
Lester Banks
Date: 10/31/2012
Archdiocese of Atlanta
Date: 10/31/2012
Witness
Date: 10/31/2012
Dow Jones Close: 13,096.46
Chapter Sixteen
Date: Monday, February 3, 2014
Dow Jones Open: 15,697.69
Max, on top of the comforter, still fully clothed with his shoes on, rolled over in his king-sized sleigh bed. His head throbbed from the cognac the night before. The sunlight blazed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse apartment on the twentieth floor of the Ogden. He pulled a pillow over his head, squeezing it against his temples to contain the pulsing. The dull thud persisted. He lifted the pillow. The pounding boomed from outside his head. He lunged forward, scanning the room. A two-foot vomit stain soaked one side of the bed. His phone lay facedown in the center with chunks from the upheaval stuck to the back. The relentless banging was radiating from the front door. He wiped the phone on his pants. Five missed calls. Two from an unknown number, three from the door person. Thick black wool filled his head. He rubbed his forehead. Nothing. Not a single memory after the El Cortez. He shuffled toward the door. “All right. All right. Coming.” He reached into his pocket. Black, green, and red chips filled his hand. He opened the door. Two officers, an Asian female in her early thirties and a black male in his mid-twenties, stood on the other side.