The Prodigal
Fifty-seven
THE DAY WAS LONG. Allison picked Beth up at the airport. Mom and Dad had another opportunity to spend time with Gypsy, Oke, and Grandpa Ken. Kate entertained the parents. Not that she was alone while Melody and I were screwing. Wendy and Lissa cooked and served while all the parents and in-laws tried to make Lissa sit down and exclaimed about how big our baby was going to be.
Sunday morning at ten, we were at the chapel and Kate and I took our place in the processional that would come from the administration building about three hundred yards away. We were all lined up like it was a parade. There were priests in robes and the archbishop with a wild hat. He could have walked right onto Saturday Night Live as a Conehead. All the Jesuits were there in plain black robes and a plain rope cincture. The Father Provincial of the Jesuits was there. He’s cool. Head of all the Jesuits in the region and he still teaches math at a local high school. There was a company of nuns. Behind all the priests and acolytes, the workers came. There weren’t that many. I’d guess about one in ten of the people who worked on the church showed up for the dedication. Not every plumber, carpenter, electrician, and stone mason who worked on the building was Catholic. We filled the first five rows of the sanctuary when we filed in. The Jesuits were seated in the chancel and sang and chanted at different times during the service.
Before we were allowed to enter the chapel, the general contractor and the architect met the archbishop at the door and handed over the keys. Of course, the doors were already unlocked and there were about a hundred fifty people already inside, but the gesture turned the chapel over from the builders to the Church. The archbishop then walked up the center aisle sprinkling people with holy water. At the transept, he turned right and made a pass around the entire church sprinkling the walls. He stopped at each of the fourteen Stations of the Cross and marked twelve locations along the walls with holy water. He ended up at the altar and sprinkled it.
After reading half an hour worth of scripture—I was wondering if they were going to read the whole Bible—the archbishop preached. It sure seemed like the word ‘obedience’ kept cropping up a lot. There was a profession of faith that I sort of recognized from when I went to church. There was music and then the Father Provincial and Father Michel approached the altar and asked one of the stone masons to come forward. He approached in his work clothes. He and his two assistants knelt beside the altar and cemented in a cornerstone that contained a time capsule. All the priests and bishops blessed the altar and started putting cloths, candles, bowls, and such on it. There was a prayer and some singing that went with every item that went on the altar.
A long line of people formed for communion. Of course, the Jesuits and nuns went followed by about half the congregation. The only one I knew who went forward was Whitney. Apparently, people knew what they were doing. Kate and I just sat tight.
When everybody got back to their seats, I thought it was over, but that’s when they started reading the names of all the people who had worked on the church. This was like rolling the credits in a movie. They named every person who worked on the church, and I’m sure I was in that list somewhere. I heard Kate’s name. Then there was Benton Stone Company, Wilson Electric, Phillips Lighting… A lot of product placement. Every few names, the Jesuits would interrupt with a prayer.
When the blessing of the church and all who made it possible was made, there was a recessional that was all religious bigwigs. None of the Jesuits or workers or congregation was invited to join. It was a quarter past one and I needed to pee. We didn’t go far from the church in the hour-and-forty-five-minute break. The rest of our extended family showed up during the break and brought food and coffee with them. We had to deposit it all in trash cans before we could go back into the church at a quarter till three for the recognition service. Like most churches, the bathrooms weren’t big enough.
The second service was small and informal compared to the dedication. I had the impression that the archbishop was in charge of the dedication, but the Jesuits were in charge of the recognition. Father Michel talked about the architecture, the artwork, the crucifix, and the altar and the people who had been involved. It was warm and friendly toward the artists and craftspeople. He introduced each of us and we brought our crews up to stand with us as we said a couple of words about the piece we contributed. It wasn’t long. I remember I said something along the lines of, “Jesus taught by telling stories. The opposite of that is to turn what we’ve learned into stories that teach. That is what the panels of the entablature are.”
Kate’s summation was even shorter. “We have to clear our minds of the big picture and just see one thing. If we can take away one thing from each of the fourteen Stations, then our minds might be at peace.”
All five artists and their crews had been recognized and thanked when I saw Doctor Watts and Doctor Haywood come to the podium. I hadn’t even seen them sitting up there behind the screen. Both were in their full academic regalia.
“We’re having practice session for commencement next weekend,” Doctor Haywood said. “And we’re using this opportunity to make a special announcement. Tony Ames, please come back to the rostrum. I looked around and saw that all my family were grinning like lunatics. I stood and went forward. Father Andrew came to me and helped me into a graduation gown. Then he placed a mortarboard on my head.
“The first dual degree student of Pacific College of the Arts and Design and Seattle Pacific University is hereby awarded the Bachelor of Fine Arts from PCAD,” Doctor Watts said.
“Tony, we’re also happy to present you with this Bachelor of Arts degree from Seattle Cascades University,” Doctor Haywood said, handing me a second diploma. “This program has been an outstanding success.” There was applause, led by my family. I don’t think they usually do that in church. “Sadly, Tony is the only student that will receive his two degrees from two different schools,” Doctor Haywood continued.
“In fact, Tony,” Doctor Watts took up the narration, “this is the last degree that will be conferred by the Pacific College of the Arts and Design, and you will find that noted on your diploma. And that brings us to our announcement. We are happy to announce that the Pacific College of the Arts and Design has officially merged with Seattle Cascades University. The dual degree program was designed to bring the two schools closer together and pioneers like Tony have shown that it is possible to make something better together.”
There was more applause. I snapped my mouth shut, suddenly afraid that I’d catch flies. Holy shit! I just graduated!
“Tony, we’d like you to stay here with us, please,” Doctor Haywood said. “The end of a good thing, a one hundred-fifty-year tradition of teaching the fine arts, is also the beginning of a new and we hope even better thing. Katarina Mirela Holsinger, please, join us on the rostrum.”
This time it was Kate who looked like a deer in the headlights. Apparently, she had no more idea what was going on than I did, but our families were still grinning. Someone knew something.
Andy came forward and draped Kate in a graduation gown and placed a cap on her head.
“But I didn’t finish,” Kate protested with tears in her eyes.
“Kate,” Doctor Watts said, “I don’t know what you are talking about. Your tuition was paid and Doctor Henredon submitted your final grades. You did finish. I’d like to present you with this diploma—not an honorary degree, but a full Bachelor of Fine Arts—the first presented by the Seattle Cascades University College of the Arts and Design. Congratulations, Katarina. You are our first graduate.”
There was a lot of handshaking and our families were leading the entire congregation in a standing ovation. There were more than a few flashes that went off, which I’m sure was not strictly proper in the church. I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed Kate and kissed her. Doctor Haywood gave us a little push to get us to return to our seats. The Father Provincial came back to the podium and gave a final blessing and benediction and it was over.
Two hours later, we were all at the bookstore for the official opening of our gallery exhibition. Kate and I had original paintings and prints, and Jerome had several small sculptures as well. He’d cast a miniature of the crucifix in a bronze limited edition. Clarice had managed to get a special waiver to take orders for artwork that would be billed and delivered after the show. The bookstore received a commission on anything sold from the stock on display.
Kate and I were still reeling from receiving our diplomas and having everyone we knew come up to see us and congratulate us. Wendy was close beside us and just as many people were fawning over Lissa’s baby bump. Dad had managed to get Oke, Ken, and Jack off to a side and they were all drinking champagne. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see my dad toking with Oke when the time came for that.
“May I have a word, Anthony?” S-h-i-double-t! The fucking archbishop. This was not going to go well.
“Certainly, James,” I said. It was his code. He calls me Anthony. I’m sure not calling him “Your Excellency.” I’d been without his beneficence for four months and didn’t need it now. But now was as good a time as any to make sure the ‘agreement’ we made stuck. I excused myself from Kate and Wendy and walked with the archbishop.
He pointed to our book on display.
“You’re a clever boy.”
“I’ll let that pass since I assume you are condescending to everyone.”
“I know what you did and I don’t condone it. Telling the story of our demand was a breach of confidence.”
“I don’t recall a confidentiality agreement.”
“Perhaps Miss Mirela should know the rest of the story.”
“Archbishop, I’m not going to bow down and kiss your ring or your ass. It doesn’t mean fuck-all to me. I don’t care what you condemn or condone. I’m not asking for your forgiveness because I don’t have anything to forgive. But if there is ever a hint that there is more to the story than what is in the book, you will regret it as long as you live.”
“Don’t threaten me, boy.”
“Like you threatened my fiancée? You as much as held a gun to her head and threatened to kill her if I didn’t do as you politely asked. That negated any claim you had to the high ground.”
“If I had held the gun to your head you would have died. Don’t think I don’t understand your artistic mind. You would have scraped every painting off the walls of the church and left. But I know your type, Anthony. You will sacrifice yourself for any righteous cause, but you will do anything necessary to save someone else. I used the lever I had and I got what I wanted.”
“So did I. I do hope the Vicar General is comfortable in Rome.”
“You planted those pictures?”
“I couldn’t fake pictures of the vicar having sex with a ten-year-old. I found out after the fact. I hope it embarrassed you.”
“An adequate amount. Now listen, this is important,” he said.
“Every word that issues from your mouth is filled with your importance.” I glanced over to where Kate and Wendy had joined Melody and Lissa. It was odd that there was this pocket of isolation around the archbishop and me. People seemed to avoid the space we were in.
“I want a print of the repainted panel. Just one. An edition of one and I will receive the only numbered and signed copy.”
“I can’t have my printer gear up, photograph, and print one copy. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“I don’t discuss money.”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
“You don’t understand, James. I don’t discuss money. I have no moral qualms about taking as much money from you as I can. I don’t handle or discuss money. That woman over there is the only one you can deal with on this. She’s my agent. She handles all my sales, all my commissions, and collects all my money. She has even less respect for you than I do. If you strike a deal with her and she says ‘Make a print,’ I will. It is her you have to convince, not me. Frankly, James, if you want a print of that panel, I question your taste.” He laughed. The cocksucker.
“I will deal with Ms. Bortelli, as you say. I will pay whatever she extorts from me. This isn’t the only church that I exercise control over. And the print is not for me. I’ll buy the much cheaper but more artistic version that you’ve released as part of the Parable Suite. We are all manipulated, Anthony. In spite of the vicar’s disgrace, it is important that I send a gift to my… mentor. You see, we all have patrons. The vicar’s demise removed the middleman. Only you and I will know the irony of that gift.” He turned to leave.
“Your Excellency.” He turned to look back at me.
“Yes, Tony?”
“Your tone indicates that you intend to continue threatening me. You know that Katarina and I have already agreed to do work on two churches in Kentucky. I can’t have you threatening me with how many churches you control or have influence over.”
“That is the meaning of power, Tony.
“That is the attitude of a bully. I’ve spoken with both the rector and his minister and asked several others to teach me about Catholicism.”
“I’m pleased you are interested in the true faith.”
“Not in the faith, in the politics, though, Bishop Donnelly was an excellent instructor in the faith as well. But the problem with power is that it drives ambition. It is well-known that your name is already being considered as a replacement for the Cardinal of Chicago.”
“Such power can only be exercised by those who are pure. You will not find kiddie porn on my computer unless you put it there.”
“I wouldn’t dream of touching the stuff. I have two sons and am expecting my firstborn soon. They will never be left alone with a priest. Your… what did you call Cardinal Mendosa?… mentor would likely not be pleased with your donations to NARAL to support the pro-choice movement. I’m especially pleased that you set it up as a recurring monthly contribution on your personal credit card. The same is true of the generous donation you made to the American Leadership Conference of Women Religious. They are most thankful to have the support of such a powerful man, and understand your need to keep your sponsorship confidential, though, of course, you do appear in their list of donors. It’s clever to have a personal account that you can make donations from. You should have been more careful about having the Church direct deposit the funds, though.”
“That’s is preposterous. I have no such account.”
“I wouldn’t open that up to investigation if I were you. Your donations to the National Organization of Women and Occupy Wall Street might be exposed. Of course, that is something that is guaranteed if word of the rest of our agreement were ever to reach my wife’s ears or if you decided to stop your continued support of those organizations. Other than that, I wish you much success in your quest to become a cardinal. Good day, Your Excellency.”
I turned away from him and went to join my beloved wives. I was tired of this fiasco and wanted to go home.
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