“Well,” Lennon said, “once again, you’ve been a big help. Thanks.” Typically, she broke the connection without giving Koesler a chance to say good-bye.
As he was replacing the phone on its receiver, the other line rang. It scarcely could be another emergency. The odds …
Mrs. O’Connor apparently thought it might rank; she called out from two offices away, “Father Reichert on line two?” It was a question because she didn’t know whether he agreed with her evaluation.
He could have postponed what he anticipated would be a disquieting conversation, but he didn’t want to fall too far off the pace. The present situation could generate emergencies by binary fission. He punched the second button. “Koesler,” he said, trying to sound pleasant.
“This is Father Reichert.”
“I know.”
“I’ll come right to the point. I want to apologize.”
“Uh … for what?”
“For everything I’ve put you through. Threatening you Monday afternoon. Castigating you after the wake. Dragging you before the archbishop. The whole thing.”
Koesler was taken aback. “You certainly don’t have to apologize … but now that you have: why?”
“Because you were right and I was wrong. Simple as that.”
“How did you reach this conclusion … uh, if you don’t mind?”
“You were right to welcome the healing power of God into your church.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. You were the last person still in the church after the incident with Dr. Green. You sure weren’t in a forgiving mood then. In fact, you laid it on pretty thick.”
“I said I’m sorry. But it wasn’t the first miracle that convinced me you were right all along. It was the second miracle, when that poor crippled woman was healed. The doctor’s return to life was going to happen, no matter what. That was a true miracle, I have no doubt. But it could have happened anywhere since it involved an unbeliever.
“But without the doctor’s miracle in St. Joseph’s, we never would have experienced the second miracle. That woman-a strong Catholic-believed in the One, True Church. Because of that faith and the previous miracle, she spread her faith at the feet of Our Dear Savior.
“It is immaterial to me how you knew this was going to happen. Only that you knew. So, I apologize. I assure you I will be there to witness and to testify. There will be more. There will be more!”
“Wait a minute ….” But before Koesler could remind Reichert that the Church was discouraging such precipitate conclusions, this zealot had hung up.
Koesler set the phone back in its cradle. This, he thought, is a good argument against allowing priests to retire. Some among his brethren needed something to keep them busy.
Chapter Twenty
It was show-or rather, sing and dance-time at Virago I.
Two young women, beautifully built and more talented than most, were waiting backstage to audition for two openings. A performer at either of the Viragos could expect the possibility of moving on to legitimate theater or lucrative advertising work. It had happened with some frequency over the years.
One who had decided, in spite of very attractive offers, to stay with the company was Susan Batson. Years ago, she had won a spot when she’d auditioned with Judy Green. The story of what had gone on between Judy and Jake Cameron had never been told in its entirety. But rumors that linked the diverse facts painted a credible scandal.
Jake was here this early Wednesday afternoon. He continued to attend every audition, though he no longer played the role of one who had the last word. Green’s periodic pummeling had sapped his self-confidence.
He was in a blue funk. Over the past several months, this foul mood had come to enshroud what had once been an ebullient personality.
He sat slumped on a folding chair. Susan Batson sat next to him. Others who traditionally participated in this pleasant avocation were nearby.
“How many openings?” he asked.
“Two,” Susan replied. A measure of how far he had slipped; in the past he would’ve known.
“How many girls?”
“Ten.”
“Did you check their resumes?”
“Yeah.”
“Any young ones? Eighteen or so?”
“Two. But I checked them out real good.” This, of course, was one of the better-grounded rumors: that Judy had faked her date of birth. Everyone familiar with Jake’s M.O. knew that the night of the first audition he would hit on her. It had been routine for him. And he hadn’t worried about age; after all, she was eighteen. Until her father the doctor let Jake in on the fact that she was underage and Jake could be put away for statutory rape.
A partnership in Virago had been Green’s price tag for not pressing the rape charge. That had taken a sizable amount of wind out of Cameron’s sails.
Everyone had thought that that was the end of it. Everyone but Moses Green.
All had been quiet until Green, cautiously at first, began pressuring the board of directors to squeeze Jake out of the enterprise entirely.
Jake had fought like a drowning man. But he had no possibility of beating Green back. Too much money, too much power, too little humanity. It was all too much for Jake.
Green’s death had solved most of Cameron’s problems-all of the more serious ones anyway.
No one was more surprised or despondent than Cameron when Green seemed to beat death and lived again. Cameron’s bitterness was all the more profound because he had so enjoyed that short, happy period that turned out to be the eye of the hurricane.
“Well,” Cameron said, “it’s show time.” He had used the cue to start the dancing since the first topless bar he had managed. Until recently, the phrase had been imbued with a sense of enthusiasm and anticipation. Now it carried not much further than Susan’s hearing.
In fact, since it was not audible backstage, Susan called out, “All right girls, let’s go. Number one.”
Number one danced onto the stage. She clutched a corner of the curtain and wrapped it around herself as she pirouetted further onstage. About three-quarters of the way, she hesitated and danced back to where she had begun. Thus she delayed for a few seconds letting everyone see how little she was wearing.
It was a well-planned maneuver. Not original, by any means. It dated back at least to Gypsy Rose Lee, if not to Salome. Number one made the move gracefully and effectively.
Cameron noted all this, but he was out of steam before the trip began.
The dancers continued in order until all ten had performed.
“Hey, Jake, you wanna get in on this?” one of the judges called. “We’re gonna vote.”
Cameron, still slumped, waved a hand. “Nah … you go ahead, Lou: Pick anybody you want.”
He looked about. His club. His Virago. Just the way he wanted it. Just the way he’d created it.
Soon he would be out of it. He would have a case full of dough. But no club. No dream.
He had considered the possibility of starting over. He’d have the money to do it-but not the drive. To succeed one had to have a surplus of get-up-and-go.
If he were to start again, not only would he have considerably more competition than he’d had when he began the first time, one of those competitors would be Moses Green.
And if Dr. Green had demonstrated anything over time, it was that he was a force to be reckoned with. Green and Cameron had tangled many times over the years; Green had won every battle.
