The transition from the plane to the limo, which Carol had arranged, was effortless. But forty-five minutes later, they were bogged down in a sea of cars on the FDR Drive, whose flow of traffic had come to a halt since they’d passed overhead in the plane.
Aggravated at the delay, Ashley tossed his pages that he’d been studying aside and switched off the reading light. The sedan’s interior reverted to darkness. “We are going to miss our window of opportunity,” he growled in a voice devoid of accent.
“I’m sorry,” Carol offered, as if it were her fault.
Miraculously, after five minutes at a dead stop and a number of expletives from Ashley, the traffic began to move once again. “Thank the Good Lord for small favors,” Ashley intoned.
By exiting at Ninety-sixth Street, the driver skillfully used a back route to head downtown and was able to deposit the senator and his aide at the archbishop’s residence on the corner of Madison and Fiftieth Street four minutes before the scheduled meeting interval. The driver was instructed to circle the block, as they planned to be on their way back to the airport within the hour.
Carol had never been to the residence. She eyed the non-imposing three-story, gray-stone, slate-shingled house that huddled in the shadow of the city’s skyscrapers. It rose up from the sidewalk’s edge without a strip of grass to soften its severity. A few prosaic window air conditioners blemished its façade, as did heavy iron bars on the ground floor. The bars gave the building the appearance of a small jail rather than a residence. A glimpse of Belgian lace behind one of the windows was the sole softening touch.
Ashley mounted the stone steps and gave the polished brass bell a pull. They didn’t have to wait long. The heavy door was opened by a tall, gaunt priest with a strikingly Roman nose and red hair cropped short. He was dressed in a priestly black suit with a white clerical collar.
“Good afternoon, Senator.”
“And to you as well, Father Maloney,” Ashley said while entering. “I hope our timing is opportune.”
“Most decidedly,” Father Maloney answered. “I am to deposit you and your aide in His Eminence’s private study. He will be joining you momentarily.”
The study was a spartanly furnished room on the first floor. The decoration was a formal framed photo of Pope John Paul II and a small statue of the Holy Mother carved in pure white Carrara marble. The hardwood floor was without carpet, and Carol’s shoes clicked loudly against the varnished surface. Father Maloney silently withdrew and closed the door behind him.
“Rather austere,” Carol remarked. The only furniture was a small, aged leather couch, a matching leather chair, a priedieu, and a small desk with a straight-backed wooden chair.
“The cardinal would like his visitors to believe he is not interested in the material world,” Ashley said, as he lowered himself into the cracked leather chair. “But I know better.”
Carol sat stiffly on the edge of the couch with her legs tucked to the side. Ashley sat back as if he were visiting a relative. He crossed his legs to reveal a black sock and a patch of pasty white calf.
A moment later, the door reopened and in walked the Most Reverend James Cardinal O’Rourke followed by Father Maloney, who closed the door behind them. The cardinal was dressed in full regalia. Over black pants and white neckband shirt, he wore a black cassock enhanced with cardinal red piping and buttons. Over the cassock was an open, scarlet cape. Cinched around his waist was a broad scarlet sash. On his head was a cardinal-red zucchetto skullcap. Around his neck hung a bejeweled silver cross.
Carol and Ashley rose to their feet. Carol was taken by the spectacle of the cardinal’s sumptuous attire, accentuated by the harshness of the room. But once standing, she realized the powerful prelate was shorter than her own five-foot-six, and next to Ashley, who was by no means tall, he appeared decidedly short and plump. Despite his regal trappings, his benignly smiling face suggested a humble priest with soft, blemish-free turgid skin, shiny red cheeks, and rounded pleasant features. His sharp eyes, however, told a different story and one more consistent with what Carol knew of the powerful prelate. They reflected a formidable and canny intelligence.
“Senator,” the cardinal said, in a voice that matched his projected gentle demeanor. He extended his hand with a limp wrist.
“Your Eminence,” Ashley said, marshaling his most cordial Southern accent. He gave the cardinal’s hand more of a squeeze than a shake, purposefully avoiding kissing the prelate’s ring. “Such a pleasure indeed. Knowing full well the press of your engagements, I am so very appreciative of your finding time to meet with this country boy on such short notice.”
“Oh, hush, Senator,” the cardinal scoffed. “It is a treat, as always, to see you. Please sit down.”
Ashley reclaimed his seat and assumed his previous posture.
Carol flushed anew. Being ignored was as embarrassing as being dismissed. She’d fully expected to be introduced, especially when the cardinal’s eyes darted across her face accompanied by a slight, questioning lift to his eyebrows. She sank back to a sitting position as the cardinal carried over the rough-hewn chair from the small desk. Father Maloney stood silently by the door.
“In deference to our schedules,” Ashley began, “I do believe I should come right to the point.”
Feeling strangely invisible, Carol eyed the two men seated beside her. All at once, she recognized their similarities of character, despite their differences in appearance and beyond their hardworking, demanding natures. Both found blurring the lines between church and state to be to their respective advantage; both were adept at flattery and cultivating personal relationships with whom they could trade favors in their respective arenas; both hid personalities that were tough, calculating, and iron-willed behind their outward personas (the humble priest for the cardinal and the cordial, ingenuous country boy for the senator); and both guarded their authority zealously and were infatuated with the exercise of power.
“It is always best to be direct,” James said. He sat upright with his pudgy hands cupping his zucchetto, which he had removed from his mostly bald head.
Carol had the image of two fencing combatants warily circling.
“It has distressed me to no end to see the Catholic Church so beleaguered,” Ashley continued. “This current sex scandal has taken a toll, particularly with division in her own ranks and an ailing, aged leader in Rome. I have lain awake at night wrestling with a way I might be of service.”
Carol had to keep from rolling her eyes. She knew all too well the senator’s real feelings about the Catholic Church. As a Congregationalist and fundamentalist, he had little regard for any hierarchical religion, and in his mind the Catholic Church was the most hierarchical.
“I appreciate your empathy,” James said, “and I have had similar distress about the U.S. Congress following the tragedy of September eleventh. I too have struggled with how best I could help.”
“Your moral leadership is a constant aid,” Ashley said.
“I would like to do more,” James said.
“My concern for the church is that a relatively few priests with arrested psychosexual development have been able to put the entire philanthropic organization in financial jeopardy. What I would sincerely like to propose for a small favor in return is to introduce legislation to limit tort liability for recognized charities, of which the Catholic Church is a shining example.”
For a few minutes, silence reigned in the room. For the first time, Carol became aware of the ticking of a small clock on the desk as well as the muted sounds of the traffic on Madison Avenue. She watched the cardinal’s face. His expression did not change.
“Such legislation would be a great help in this current crisis,” James said finally.