“How can you call her belly magnificent when you get a glimmer of those hips? See how they move when she walks. Makes you want to grab! I should say,” Fradet observed.
“And legs that don’t quit,” said Whitston. “Can you see how that dress outlines her thighs? Man, what a package!”
“And we haven’t even mentioned her face and her hair,” Durocher said. “Those full lips and fun-loving eyes.”
“Who gives a damn about her head?” Whitston snorted. “I think I could fool around with the rest of her forever.”
“Women’s bodies …” Durocher waxed philosophical. “Did you ever notice how, like in ice shows-dancers on ice … the Olympics, like that-the costumes? The men are always fully clothed, while the women wear just enough not to be naked. But with the cut of what they wear, they might just as well be.”
“Time to break this up and join our wives,” Whitston said. “You know it’s time to break camp when Lou starts in on the heavy stuff. Cover up the men and let the women show what they’ve got, I say.
“Yeah,” Fradet agreed. “The little ladies are glaring at us. Oh well, an anatomical study of Babs Ulrich is worth whatever we have to suffer now.
“Let’s go.”
Father Tully paid his respects to the three VP wives. To a woman, they were far more taken with the hors d’oeuvres than they were with him. So, causing barely a ripple, he raised anchor and moved on.
As he gazed about the room, Father Tully spotted Barbara Ulrich talking with Tom Adams. Just before turning to leave him, she reached up and straightened the white handkerchief in his breast pocket. Was it his imagination, Father Tully wondered, or had she inserted a piece of paper in the pocket?
As she completed her turn away from Adams, Barbara was face to face with and only a short distance from Father Tully. He held out his hand. She took his fingers lightly, briefly. They introduced themselves.
“Now, what was it you were supposed to do?”
“Present the award to Mr. Adams.”
“Oh yes: the Peter Favor Award.”
“Claver.”
“Whatever.” She thought for a moment. “He gives your group lots of money, doesn’t he?”
“Mr. Adams has been quite generous.” Why, he wondered, should he find that question embarrassing?
She giggled. “I suppose you’re the reason his marriage broke up.”
“Hardly!” Embarrassment gave way to umbrage.
“Mickey used to give him trouble about all his donations. That’s why he split. He must have given a lot of that money to you. That’s why you gave him the award. So, instead of a wife, he’s got another plaque.” She giggled again, gave him a limp wave, and strolled away.
Somehow, for at least a few seconds, Barbara Ulrich had made Father Tully feel like a home-wrecking leech.
He heard a throat clearing behind him. He turned to face a smiling Nancy Groggins. They had been introduced when the pictures were being taken, but this was their first opportunity to actually converse.
“She’s something!” Nancy said.
“She certainly is,” Father Tully agreed.
“Did you notice her slip something in Mr. Adams’s pocket?”
“That was it, eh? I thought she might have been arranging his handkerchief. All in all, whatever it is, I thought it was a gesture halfway between wifely and sisterly.”
“‘Sister’ is not a title that fits Babs the way her dress does none of the women here would consider her a sister in the feminist context. And the men-in one glance-would know better.”
“Why would she do something like that? Such an intimate gesture, I mean?”
“Follow the money trail, Father. Her husband and I are up for the same position: manager of the new branch. It wouldn’t be any more money than we’re making now. But success at that position in that locality could mean a lot more to whoever gets it-and makes a success of it. And I firmly believe either Al or I could do just that.”
“I’m completely in the dark here. What might this position mean for the winner?”
“I-or Al-might displace one of the executive vice presidents. And don’t you think for a moment they’re not considering that possibility.”
“And an executive vice presidency would mean, that much more … financially?”
Nancy raised her eyes. “Roughly three to four times what we’re making now.”
Father Tully whistled softly. He never ceased to be amazed at the attraction high money circles held for so many people. It was almost literally a different world from that inhabited by priests and religious who worked with Christ’s poor. “That much!”
Nancy nodded. “Of course, financially, I don’t need the job as much as Al does. Only because my husband is in construction. He makes about what these VPs make.”
“And Mrs. Ulrich?”
“She’s not employed. Of course, if she ever wanted to really cash in on what she’s good at-never mind; I don’t want to go into that with a priest.”
“Well … what separates you and Al?”
“He’s white and I’m black. And it’s a black neighborhood. It’s a tough ’hood too. Are you going to confront that toughness with a feminine or a masculine personality? There are lots of intangibles. ‘We each have our own style of business, of employer/employee and customer relationships. We’re both successful where we are.
“Which of us stands a better chance in this new location? It comes down to a decision based on all these things and anything else the arbiter considers. And it’s Mr. Adams’s call.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Father, I really should mingle.”
They parted with a handshake.
Father Tully looked about. He had greeted, at least cursorily, nearly everyone. Right now there was no one nearby to meet. Host and guests had visited or were visiting the hors d’oeuvre table.
The three VP wives had clustered, balancing small helpings of appetizers in one hand and a drink in the other. Tom Adams was working the room. In a nice ecumenical move, Nancy Groggins chatted with Al Ulrich. Barbara Ulrich was flitting from one flower to the next. At the moment Father Tully spotted Barbara, she was shaking hands with Lou Durocher. Durocher exhibited only momentary surprise to come away from that greeting with a note in his hand. Which he immediately slipped unread into his pants pocket.
Just beginning his trek down the appetizer board was Al Ulrich. Father Tully reflected that he had talked with Nancy, the other candidate. And that Mr. Adams had asked his opinion on the two hopefuls. He joined Ulrich in line.
Ulrich looked up, did a doubletake, and smiled. “I haven’t had a chance yet, Father, to thank you and your order for honoring our boss.”
“Not at all. If anyone deserved the award, it’s certainly Tom Adams.”
“You just met him for the first time tonight, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be in town for a while?”
“About two weeks. I’m filling in for a local priest so he can go on vacation.”
“I hope that doesn’t tie you down too much. What I mean is, I hope you’ll get a chance to get to know Mr. Adams. He really is a terrific guy-above and beyond his financial contributions.”
As Ulrich selected another appetizer, Father Tully looked up to see Barbara Ulrich hand a paper napkin to Jack Fradet. Apparently the napkin contained a note of some sort. Fradet slipped it into his pocket.
Father Tully began to wonder about these missives. Did Mrs. Ulrich have one for everybody? Were they like party favors or fortune cookies? Strange.
Returning his attention to the table, there before the priest was a large platter containing an ample supply of
