Several servants bustled about, setting out hors d’oeuvre trays, decanting wine, and performing last-minute cleaning chores on already spotless surfaces. All were liveried, as was the butler who had admitted Tully and his driver to the apartment.
“What would you like to drink, Father?” Adams’s gesture encompassed the array of wines as well as the credenza bearing a variety of spirits. “We’ve got just about everything.”
Tully gazed at the display. “Yes, you surely have. Maybe a little white wine.”
“Excellent.” Adams turned to a waiter who materialized at his elbow, bearing a small tray of filled wineglasses. Father Tully had been unaware of any servants bending an ear in their direction. One must have been assigned to anticipate their desires.
“Would you care to sit down?”
“Mind if we stand by the window? I can’t get enough of this view.”
“Of course. Good idea.” Adams led the way to a jutting corner that accentuated the vista. The rays of the sunset not only made the sky seem incandescent, but lent a magical mystique to the river.
The priest shifted and looked around the room.
“Is there something you want, Father?”
“Uh, not exactly; I was wondering about Mrs. Adams ….”
The lines on his host’s face sharpened. “There is no Mrs. Adams … at least not for about a year now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“A divorce. I got an annulment.”
Tully considered the statement. It wasn’t “She got an annulment,” or “We got an annulment.” Could Tom Adams secure an annulment all on his own? Wouldn’t his wife have to at least cooperate in the process? Wouldn’t some priest-priests-need to do all the considerable paperwork? What might the stated cause be for the div-uh, annulment? Was this part of a key to Adams’s character? He seemed so warm, so open, so congenial. Yet this was a happy occasion: what would the man be like if crossed?
Both men silently gazed out the window. At length, Tully placed his nearly empty glass on a nearby tray.
“Another one, Father?”
“No. Thank you. No more. I’d better stay alert. I’m going to make a presentation, remember: your award.” Tully indicated the slender carefully wrapped package in his left hand.
“Oh yes, of course. Harry …” Again a servant materialized at Adams’s elbow. “Take this package for Father Tully and bring it back just after all the guests arrive … at eight o’clock.” He turned to Tully. “I think it would be good to have the presentation before dinner and before the liquor has had its, effect.”
Tully handed the packet over.
Adams smiled wryly. “Mickey would not enjoy seeing me get this award.” Noting the priest’s puzzled expression, he added, “Mickey’s the ex. My works of charity were one of our principal bones of contention. Well,” he said with finality, “she made fun of them one too many times.
“But”-he broke into a genuine smile-“she’s not here. She’ll never again be a part of my life in any way whatever.
“Now, enough of that.”
Father Tully was impressed. When this guy cuts you, you’re dead.
They were silent again. The sunset was highlighting the city’s architecture.
“I was wondering,” the priest said finally, “it must be some kind of thrill to have a bank named after you.”
“That’s up for grabs,” Adams said. “Sort of, which came first, the chicken or the egg? In this case, which came first, the family name or a street sign?”
“Please?”
A waiter offered wine from a tray. Adams exchanged his empty glass for a filled one. Father Tully declined the offer.
Adams sipped. “You see, my father started this bank. Its first headquarters had an address on Adams Street in downtown Detroit. Dad probably would have named the bank after himself anyway. Adams Street was the clincher.” He shook his head. “Dad’s been gone these many years now.” Abruptly, he shrugged and lightened. “I’ve never seen any reason to change the name. Besides, having the bank ostensibly named after my family sort of defines my job-what I do.”
Lights were going on in businesses, apartments, and homes as the city prepared for nightfall. Father Tully turned from the window. “You know, I’ve never actually met a bank president. Would you be insulted if I ask what it is you do? I mean, the question that is guaranteed to drive most priests up the wall is, ‘What do you do all day, Father? I mean, after you say Mass?’ It shows that the questioner cannot imagine what could possibly occupy a priest after he slips from view at Mass. So, I don’t suppose you hit the links every day before or after making an appearance at your office.”
Adams chuckled. “Actually that’s not far from wrong.”
“It isn’t?”
“Instead of saying Mass, which I’m sorry I will never be able to do, I review loans. I have to approve a loan if it’s in the neighborhood of twenty-five thousand dollars and up for a business or one hundred thousand for a mortgage.”
“Wow!”
“No ‘wow’ necessary.” Adams emptied his wineglass. The ubiquitous waiter collected it immediately. Adams indicated he wanted no more.
“What you must remember, Father, is that we’re a small bank. Compared with say, Comerica, very small indeed. While I’m checking on a hundred thousand, the big guys are looking at about five million.
“But that’s not my main concern. My job, ‘after Mass,’ if you will, is to be visible.
“I knock on doors. Call on the local Firestone dealer. I’m looking for a moderate investment in my bank. I call on as many of the merchants in town as possible. I join the Chamber of Commerce. Lots of civic stuff. I manage to get in the Bloomfield Hills Country Club so I can meet the movers and shakers of our town-to get relatively small accounts.
“I am visible, friendly. I speak before the League of Women Voters. I’m a member of the Lions Club. I do lots of business on the golf course-”
“Excuse me,” Tully interrupted, “but isn’t the game of tennis where all the movers and shakers move and shake and close deals? Isn’t golf too slow and time-consuming?”
“No, tennis has some action, as you suggest. But golf is still supreme.
“But I don’t want to give the impression that business is confined to a few specific locations or opportunities. Lots of business is done at breakfast or lunch … seldom dinner.
“Why, in the morning at Kingsley Inn or even the Denny’s on Telegraph Road there can be half a dozen millionaires discussing investments, loans, mortgages … business.
“And my job boils down to a single word: visibility.”
“Wow!” Tully breathed, with genuine awe. “I can tell you, that’s a busier job description than I could ever come up with. ‘After Mass’ you’re going at warp speed.”
Adams smiled and shook his head. “There’s much more to it than that. Remember, I said we were a small bank ….”
“Yes.”
“Well, Satchel Paige is supposed to have said, ‘Don’t look back; somebody may be gaining on you.’ In the banking game, you’d better look back or somebody is going to eat you. Mergers go on all the time. You know that, Father. Comerica, for one of many examples, used to be two moderately large banking institutions. Now it’s one gigantic corporation.
“It’s called ‘cashing out,’ Father. Some small bankers get rich by selling out. Others run scared. For instance, I’m an officer in the Independent Bankers Association. We fight the big guys off to remain independent. We fight against interstate banking.”
“Well, you must be doing all right. After all, you’re opening a new branch. In fact that’s at least part of what we’re celebrating this evening, isn’t it?”
“The new branch?” Adams’s lips tightened. “Our mayor is ecstatic. While the banking business in general is cutting its presence in Detroit, here we go opening a new branch right in the heart of one of the roughest sections of the city. And we’re getting static from some of our depositors for it. They’re worried that we’re taking their money on a goofy ride. There’s a lot of flak on this-”
“Then … why?”
“Why? I suppose this sounds silly, but because it’s the right thing to do. It’s our chance to show these people that someone cares. Not many think it’s a smart idea.…”