with the two-neither of whom objected to the other. So it became a movable menage a trois.
It worked out this way: The ball remained in Goldbaum’s court. He did the calling-and picked up the tab. He counted Koesler a friend; Delvecchio was a resource. From time to time he wanted from both priests insights, clarifications, explanations, and the like regarding Church teachings and customs.
From Koesler, Goldbaum expected reliable replies tempered by an innate kindness. But there were times when he sought the “authentic word” undiluted by a humane reaction. For the
And so this day, Goldbaum and Delvecchio met at a few minutes before noon in the foyer of Meriwether’s on Telegraph Road. They were familiar patrons of this popular eatery and were greeted as such by personable manager Jim McIntyre.
They were immediately seated in a secluded booth. Decades-old volumes lined-and were glued to-time-eaten shelves. Both books and shelves were cleaned periodically, but their antiquarian nature gave the impression that they bore the dust of Caesar. From time to time Father Koesler wondered how much a decorator had charged the Muer chain to achieve this Old English effect-an effect heightened by the framed Victorian prints and the witty quotations in old-time script that adorned the walls.
But Koesler wasn’t here today, so no one wondered about those things.
Neither Goldbaum nor Delvecchio ordered drinks; both ordered fish.
As they enjoyed the restaurant’s signature teacup bread, they engaged in small talk. The dreariness of a Michigan winter. (It was February, the meanest month of the year, unrelieved by any celebratory occasion-unless one counted Presidents’ Day.) The PR firm was doing quite well, thank you. PR was such a competitive business that one had to constantly be on one’s toes and on the ball. Phyllis and the girls were well, thank you.
That took them through the salad course.
With the arrival of the piece de resistance, Delvecchio expected to learn the purpose of this luncheon meeting. He knew from experience that in good time, Merl would get around to it, but in his own inimitable circuitous fashion.
“So,” Goldbaum said, “how’s your sister doing?”
“As well as can be expected,” replied Delvecchio, borrowing the hospital catchphrase.
Goldbaum grinned. “I mean, it must be something to have a medical doctor in the family-a close relative, I mean.”
“There are perks.” Delvecchio hadn’t the slightest idea where this conversation was going.
“I mean, what do you do if you get sick? Does your sister take care of you?”
Delvecchio shrugged. “I guess I haven’t been sick … at least not since she finished her internship. I suppose she’d step in: What are sisters for?”
“What if you-or your brother, for that matter-had something that was out of her field. She’s in ER, isn’t she?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, s’posin’ you needed something that called for a specialist … say, a bypass operation: What then?”
“Hmmm. I suppose I’d ask her whom she’d have operate on her. One thing about doctors: They get to know one another, and each other’s strengths and weaknesses.”
Goldbaum chewed on that for a while.
Finally, having finished the main course, Delvecchio leaned back, smiled, and said, “Merl, I’m very proud of Lucy. She’s not only a physician, she’s terrific in her field. I’ve got a feeling that everything she touches will be gold. If I got sick or was carried into the Emergency Room, Lucy would be there for me.
“That pretty well takes care of Dr. Lucy Delvecchio.
“Now, Merl, you may think that I pay no mind to the fact that every time we meet for lunch or whatever, you always have something ‘Catholic’ that you need or want explained …” Delvecchio glanced at his watch. “Both of us are going to have to get back to work soon. What, I pray thee, is the problem area?”
Goldbaum did not meet Delvecchio’s gaze. He carefully compressed his napkin and laid it beside his plate. “Diaphragms, condoms, contraceptives.”
Delvecchio was taken aback. “Well, that’s sort of off-the-beaten-path from where you began. So, what about them?”
“Your Church is against their use … right?”
“Yes.”
“No exceptions?”
Delvecchio tilted his head. “You mean, could Father Koesler find an exception? Probably. Well …” He almost smiled. “Maybe.”
“But the straight word: No exceptions?”
“None.”
“Wasn’t there an attempt to change the rule sometime back?”
Delvecchio’s eyes narrowed. “You mean the commission that Pope Paul VI appointed to study the matter?”
Goldbaum nodded.
“You got that from Bob before you set up this lunch.”
Again Goldbaum nodded.
The monsignor shifted in his seat. “It’s true Pope Paul set up the commission and it did recommend some changes in the law. But the Pope said, ‘No,’ and wrote an encyclical on it-
“Yeah, I know that one: ‘Rome has spoken, the matter is closed.’”
“So?” Delvecchio spread his hands wide. “What is there to say when the matter is closed?”
The waiter appeared. They would have coffee, regular.
“See, Monsignor, I tend to look at things from a PR point of view. And that decision was very poor PR, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
Delvecchio obviously was not amused. He did not take Goldbaum’s remark personally. Long ago, the monsignor had concluded Goldbaum was not “convertible.” Nevertheless, Delvecchio didn’t enjoy having Church teaching questioned … no matter by whom.
“Well, Merl, the Catholic Church is not in the public relations business. Nor is the Church a democracy. In another-secular-society, you might expect an organization to follow the directives of a commission that the organization itself created. Not all the time, but most of the time. Now, the Vatican can consult with whomever it wishes. But the last word is still the Pope’s-”
“Even when poll after poll shows that the majority of Catholics in effect have rejected the Pope’s stand on this? Even when studies show there’s practically no difference between the percentages of Catholics and non- Catholics practicing contraception?”
“Merl, you’re not listening. It makes no difference.
The waiter brought coffee and the bill. As usual, Goldbaum picked up the check. He waited till the waiter left. Then he said, “Monsignor, there’s this guy in our office who has eight kids-”
“That’s a good-size family for these times. Let me guess: He’s Catholic.”
“Right!” Goldbaum nodded decisively. “It’s been a sort of joke in the office. At first, the guy went along with the ribbing. But lately it’s seemed to reach him.
“Well, to make a long story short, a couple of weeks ago, he went in for a vasectomy. It was like a last resort for him. His wife got tired of being the one who tried to prevent conception … and failing! So, he did it.
“Now, that doesn’t square with the Church, does it?”
“No. He’d have to be sorry he had that done. And he’d have to go to confession to have that serious sin-the sin of the mutilation of a sex organ-forgiven. But what’s that got to do with me? Do you want me to talk with him?”
“No.”
“Then …?”
“The guy’s wife has a favorite doctor. Even though this doctor does not have a private practice, his wife still
