by Alvin Orloff
Claire scowled. “Well, yes, of course.” She lumbered into her maroon Cadillac Seville. “See you next Sunday, if not before!” She and her husband waved and drove off.
Finally, thought Rick. His first real job as a pastor was putting him in contact with a whole new class of people, and they could be a trial. He stared at the church – his church – an ugly box of tan bricks with a small stained glass window depicting The Feeding of The Multitude. Rick never caught sight of it without uncharitably reflecting on his congregation’s gluttony. No gathering transpired without mountainous platters of cold cuts, sandwiches, muffins, casseroles, cookies, cakes, crullers, and Jell-O molds full of canned fruit and marshmallows. Now that he’d reached his thirties (early, but still), it was harder to keep off the pounds. He made the effort, though. He’d already lost the delicious freedom of not knowing what the morrow would hold. Losing his looks too would just about finish him off.
Rick climbed into his faded green Toyota Tercel, baking with summer heat, and drove to his modest apartment. He wanted to nap, but his evening plans had him too excited. Instead, he took a long shower that cleared his mind of the day. Afterwards, staring in the bathroom mirror, he barely recognized the man before him with his short hair and careful beard. He flashed a smile. At least that had stayed the same, and though he knew he was indulging the sin of vanity, he had to admit he was still awfully attractive despite the nascent crow’s feet appearing at the corners of his eyes.
Once clad in a casual outfit of black jeans and tight, white tee-shirt, Rick drove for ninety minutes towards the setting sun, leaving the inland suburb where he was a Man of God for the city, where he was no one at all. He parked in a district on the edge of town devoted to auto repair shops, warehouses, and seedy clubs. Nowhereland. He looked up and down the street and found it deserted except for some guys dressed head to toe in black leather. He pulled a lighter out of his glove compartment and a joint out from under his seat. A few puffs later, he stepped into the balmy night and strolled around the corner and into his favorite hangout, a dance club favored by a decidedly younger crowd.
The place was pitch dark and half empty, just how he liked it. Who needed crowds? He walked up to the bar and ordered a whiskey, which he downed quickly. The floatiness of the pot mixed with the mellowness from the drink, and he started feeling pretty good. He looked around at the kids. The latest fad was New Wave, and they were all trying to look as decadent and artificial as possible with their shiny clothes, dyed hair, and earrings. Some of the boys even wore eyeliner. The music, too, was decadent and artificial, an abrasive mix of synthesizers and drum machines with tortured vocals: Tainted Love! We fade to grey! Love, love will tear us apart, again!
He scanned the crowd, looking for angels. Being older – a Methuselah of 31 – it would be up to him to make the first move. He’d also have to buy his quarry a drink and flatter him shamelessly, all without seeming desperate or creepy. Hard work, though rewarding. He wandered over and sat on the bench nearest the dance floor where a handful of guys were jumping around like water on a hot greased skillet. One, a slightly chunky guy of about twenty with bleached blond hair swooping over his face like a waterfall, stared right at him. The lad wasn’t really cute, so Rick didn’t return the gaze. When the song ended, though, the boy walked over to the bench wearing a tentative look.
“Rick?”
Rick froze. Who was this kid? The whole point of driving into the city was to avoid being recognized. Could this be some parishioner’s wayward child who had scoped him out? If word of his proclivities got around, he’d lose his job. Since the boy was clearly that way himself, perhaps he wouldn’t turn him in. Rick forced a smile he didn’t feel. “Hello.”
“It’s me, Leonard.” The boy’s bright, eager voice brimmed with an innocence that struck Rick as inappropriate for a bar. The kid was probably stone cold sober.
“Hey, Leonard.” Rick ran through his parishioners in his mind, but couldn’t place him. “Good to see you.”
“You don’t remember?” The young man’s searching eyes were making Rick uncomfortable.
Rick smiled helplessly.
“I visited Pleroma. In Oregon. Remember? You baptized me naked” Leonard giggled in a way that suggested this was now a funny story to tell at parties.
A spark of recognition lit up Rick’s face. Oh, yeah, what year was that again? Unbelievable. “Little Lenny?!”
“Yeah!” Leonard laughed with relief. He hadn’t wanted to be forgotten. “I guess I don’t look the same, do I? But neither do you! What’re you up to these days?”
Rick’s mind, though logy with pot and booze,managed to dredge up with a few faded snapshots of Lenny’s brief, insignificant appearance in his life. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “Yeah, um, I’m the pastor of a small church, out in the suburbs. Way out.”
“Thought you didn’t go in for churches.” Leonard looked at him, tilting his head.
“I’m afraid there’s not much call for itinerant hippie preachers these days.” Rick found himself wanting to confess. “These people can be total assholes. Judgmental, bigoted, close-minded.”
“That’s a drag,” nodded Leonard.
“It works my nerves, but you know… I figure I might actually do some good preaching out there, maybe give them something to think about besides keeping up with the Joneses.”
Leonard grinned. “Whatever happened to the Forever Family?”
“Marjorie is still up in Oregon, the rest…” Rick shrugged and looked away. “Who knows?”
One of Leonard’s friends, a hot little number in a leopard-print sleeveless tee-shirt, glanced over at Rick with a take-me-I’m-yours look. Rick returned the look with a seductive leer then forced himself to turn back to Leonard, who was staring down at his pointy black shoes.
Leonard glanced up at Rick and squinted like he was deep in thought. “Maybe this isn’t polite to ask, but… were you for real with the religious stuff? Do you actually believe in God and Jesus and all that?”
Rick guessed Leonard had been wondering about this for a long time. “For me, religion is a way of helping people find Love. I definitely believe the world needs more Love.”
Leonard looked him straight in the eye and asked, “And the boys?”
Rick shuddered slightly from the directness of the question. “What can I say? I like boys.” The uncomfortably unspoken just not you inspired Rick to change the subject. “How about you, Lenny? How are you doing?”
“I’m OK. I’m at State, majoring in art history.”
“Well, that’s fine.” Rick instantly regretted the statement and the tone. He sounded like a parson instead of his old self, which is what he suddenly, desperately wanted to be.
“I want to be a Dadaist when I grow up.” Leonard smiled to let Rick know this was a joke.
Rick couldn’t quite remember what a Dadaist was, so he changed the subject again. “You were such a serious little guy. Always looking for answers. Did you ever find any?”
Leonard giggled again. “No, I think I just forgot all the questions.” The song changed and Leonard jerked to attention like a dog hearing a whistle while the kids on the dance floor all squealed. “Gotta go. Great seeing you, Rick. Take care, OK?” Leonard bolted off to join his pals.
Rick was surprised to see that Leonard, despite being chunky, was amazingly light on his feet, skipping and twirling to the music with a capricious disregard for the law of gravity. As the boy danced, his expression changed from giddy delight to pure rapture, and a smile of startling luminosity spread across his face. Suddenly feeling old and out of place, Rick wondered if he’d ever been that happy himself.
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