The Greatest Evil

“Maybe.” Ready to face November’s cold, he reached for the doorknob.

“Oh-”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to bring dinner. I’ll make it. Tomorrow’s Friday. You want to eat meat?”

Earlier in the month, the Vatican had announced that there would no longer be a law obliging Catholics to abstain from meat on Fridays. The announcement had triggered some simplistic humor. Such as, What is God going to do with all those people who are in hell because they ate meat on Friday?

It also caused a furor among traditional Catholics who looked on as yet another ancient tradition went down the drain.

Delvecchio glanced at her sharply. “Certainly not! Besides, the decree doesn’t become effective until December second.”

She tried to cover a blush. “Just kidding.”

“Okay. Well, see you at the office tomorrow, and here tomorrow evening.”

There was little traffic; it took him only half an hour to drive home.

She cleaned up in record time. They had spooned out portions from the cardboard cartons, so there were only the coffee cups to be washed. And since they had used chopsticks, aside of the serving pieces, there was no flatware to be washed.

Neither got much sleep that night.

He felt much like a teenager after his first awkward date. By contemporary standards it was extremely odd that this was his first date. He found his reaction curious.

He lay in bed thinking of her. He imagined he could still smell her delicate perfume. He figured her to be roughly his age, perhaps a little older. He found her beautiful and intelligent. He remembered his reaction each time she’d touched him … inadvertently, of course, but touch him she had. And he had reacted … involuntarily, of course, but react he had.

He wondered about her.

That he’d had no sexual experience was one thing. What with parochial school, the seminary, summer camp, his priesthood, sexual expression had been a forbidden fruit from early childhood on. Not many men in their early thirties were virginly intact.

But what about her?

She was an attractive, available young woman. She must be experienced in sex. The way he’d acted and reacted to her tonight must have seemed foolish and adolescent-if she was aware of it.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to behave when he was alone with a beautiful woman?

Well, he knew the answer to that!

The Church demanded that he never marry. And morality demanded that any sexual expression whatsoever be confined within marriage. Chaste! That’s how he was supposed to behave when alone with a beautiful woman- any woman.

He expected tomorrow evening would present the most difficult temptation he had ever faced.

She lay in bed thinking of him. He was so talented, so brilliant, so interesting-and handsome, to boot. She had heard the expression made regarding certain priests, though she herself had never had occasion to use it. Now was that occasion. She thought of his celibate life and said to herself: What a waste!

Then she felt guilty.

She could sense that he had been aroused when she brushed against him.

The first time it was accidental. Thereafter, she certainly had not gone out of her way to avoid touching him.

Was there chemistry between them? She had been interested in this young man when she first heard of him. When he began work in the chancery, she would see him from time to time. For instance, in the elevator. She would smile at him, at least in the beginning. He rarely returned the smile-or even acknowledged her presence.

But that remote, standoffish man was not the same as the overwhelmed priest who needed help with a new job. He was not the same as the young man who had reacted to her innocent touches this evening.

He would be at the office tomorrow, still needing her help. They would work together-at least as much as she was able and time allowed.

Then … he would be back here tomorrow evening.

There was not really all that much work to do. Surely she had little more to teach him. That business about shielding the archbishop from unnecessary appointments by finding others who could handle the various sorts of demands, advice, etc.; that really was at the heart of the position that Vince Delvecchio was filling for the duration of Shanahan’s illness.

Jan Olivier had grown up sheltered by parents who treasured their one and only child. Parochial schools led to Marygrove, a Catholic womens’ college. And that led to a job in the offices of the archdiocese of Detroit.

She had dated. But her dating and her dates had had to pass her parents’ muster-the upshot being that she was still a virgin. Even though she was living through the turbulent sixties. Even though she had her own apartment.

Maybe, just maybe, after tomorrow night, she would no longer be a maiden lady.

It’s a good thing Mother couldn’t know what her fine Catholic daughter was thinking; she would be mortified!

Shortly after assuming jurisdiction over the Detroit archdiocese, Mark Boyle set the tone for diocesan bureaus. Everyone would be assembled and ready for work by 9 A.M. In the beginning he made it his practice to drop in on the various offices-unannounced and seemingly haphazardly-a few minutes before 9.

It did not take long for the bureaucrats to catch on. Boyle set the style and expected everyone else to follow suit. Rather quickly, everyone did.

Among those who followed faithfully were Father Vincent Delvecchio and Miss Jan Olivier. They both arrived within minutes of each other at approximately 8:30.

Delvecchio began by boning up on the rating system Jan had devised. He’d had no time either last night or this morning to study it.

Jan gathered the messages that had accumulated late yesterday afternoon and the few that had trickled in earlier this morning. She brought them in to the archbishop. She began reading them and, where she had some insight, commenting. Boyle gave directions for their distribution. That meant that either he would handle the matter himself or find someone to take care of it.

Actually, the archbishop had expected Father Delvecchio to be handling this by now. Realistically, he knew that was expecting a bit much. So he made no comment. In another day or so the bright young man would master the job.

Jan brought the messages to Delvecchio and looked over his shoulder as he read and interpreted them. He misread only a couple.

He was alert to her scent. He thought he had read somewhere that perfume takes on a different fragrance as it is applied to different skin. He expected he would never forget what Jan’s perfume did for her. Or what she did for it.

As she leaned over, he felt something touch the back of his neck, just above his clerical collar. It must, he thought, be her breast. That set him off on another fantasy. He certainly did not attempt to escape from her touch, or to push her-or himself-away.

Enough, of that. He had work to do.

He began his second day of phoning, or, rather, returning calls that had been directed at Archbishop Boyle.

He was getting into the swing of it. It was a kick phoning pastors, men much older than he, and, in effect, telling them where to go.

For their part, the pastors hung on his every word, trying to interpret the message within the message- between the lines, as it were.