“Didn’t get ours yet.”
“Joe, what happens when you do? With your system?”
“We’ll see.”
“I used to worry about money, Joe. No more.”
“You will, Left. You’ll get another parish.”
“Nice of you to say that, Joe. Say, would you ask Airhead to call in if he shows up there?”
“O.K.”
“And if Bill shows up here—”
Joe hung up.
At six o’clock he rose from his desk and stood by it for the Angelus, after which the phone rang — a question from the kitchen, Joe replying, “No, we’ll eat at the usual time.” He covered Bill’s typewriter and went up to the dining room where Father Felix was waiting for him. “How was the retreat, Joe?” “Not a good year.” During dinner, Father Felix spoke of outstanding men at the monastery, original thinkers but sound, some with parish experience like himself, ideal men to preach a diocesan priests’ retreat, Joe occasionally inquiring, “That so?” Nothing was said about Bill, whose empty plate, though, kept saying to Joe, “Where’s Bill?”
When the phone rang at 6:29 Mrs P. answered it in the kitchen, from which she came running. “It’s Young Father, Father. He wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll take it in the study,” Joe said, rising from the table, serene, an example to interested observers, unfortunately not noticing that he was wearing his napkin (tucked under his belt, out of his sight) until he sat down and picked up the phone in the study. “Thanks, Mrs Pelissier”—meaning she could and should hang up, which she did. “Bill, where the hell are you?”
“Father, I won’t be home for dinner.”
“You mean you weren’t.”
“Can’t make it, Father. Couldn’t.”
“Why’s that, Bill?”
“Couldn’t leave, Father. Can’t.”
“Bill, you sound tired.”
“I am, Father.”
“Bill, the thing to do when you’re tired is come home.”
“Father, I’m with others.”
“Bill, just tell others what I said.”
“Father, they’re asleep.”
“You mean passed out?”
“Father, I can’t leave ’em here.”
“Bill, where the hell are you?”
“In the city, in a place called the Bow Wow — it’s a great big bar.”
“Yes, isn’t it? Look, Bill. They know how to handle a thing like this in a place like that. I know the management there. Ask the management — Dom, if he’s there — to help you. Put others in a cab. Put yourself in one—another one — if you can’t drive.”
“I can drive, Father. I’m cold sober.”
“Good. Then you should be back shortly.”
Joe and Father Felix were watching TV when Bill’s little car pulled into the driveway. Joe, saying nothing to the monk, left the study and was in the kitchen running water into the sink when Bill came in the back door — except for the way he was dressed (overalls and T-shirt), he appeared to be all right, just a bit drawn and embarrassed.
“Thought I’d make some coffee,” Joe said. “Care for a cup?”
“Shower first, Father.”
Joe was ready with the coffee in Bill’s room and, to explain his presence there, said, “Father’s in the study” (meaning we don’t want the monk, who already knows too much, in on this) when Bill came out of the bathroom in his pajamas, though it was only eight-thirty. Only, yes, but why had it taken Bill an hour and a half — at least an hour too long — to drive from the Bow Wow? Bill had a lot to explain, but he appeared to realize this and said:
“Father, it all started last night at Holy Sepulcher, but I wasn’t there — I was here”—as if he deserved credit for that. He said that Potter and Conklin had been in the rumpus room at Holy Sepulcher when Father Beeman came in with Father Power [“Horse,” Joe said]. There had been an argument about Conklin and the married woman — they were no longer seeing each other because of his infidelity [“His, huh?”], but Potter hoped to save the relationship, or, if not, that they’d all be friends [“All?”], Conklin, the woman, and her husband [“Bill, there used to be a thing called common sense”]. During the argument, Conklin had swung on Father Power [“What? A layman hit a priest!”]. Helped by Father Power, Father Beeman, who’d been doing some work on the snooker table, going over the fuzzy places in the cloth with an electric razor, had used this to shave off Conklin’s mustache, not all of it, just one side [“Holy Moses”]. Potter and Conklin had then driven out to see Bill and stayed late [“Late?”]. In fact, they had stayed the night [“Where’d they sleep?”]. They hadn’t slept, had sat up all night talking in the study [“Talking about what?”], about the Church, the clergy, the mustache, Conk bitter about it, Pot blaming himself, saying things like “There is no greater love, than one lay down one’s life for one’s friend” [“Hallucinating, huh?”]. Bill had been sympathetic at first, as had Father Felix [“What? I thought he was in bed”], who, after a bit, had gone to bed [“Good”], as Bill had finally [“Good”]. Pot and Conk were still at it in the morning [“Still in the study?”], still in the study. Bill had said Mass [“What about Airhead?”], Pot hadn’t, and Bill, though tired, had gone to his office as usual [“Good”]. He had left Pot and Conk in the dining room arguing with Father Felix [“Arguing?”] about the Age of Faith [“Oh, no!”], when priests were priests and monks were monks [“Gotcha”]. Father Felix had come down to the other office with his breviary and closed the doors [“Hah!”], and Pot and Conk had come down to Bill’s office and sat around [“Great”] until they decided to go out for a beer [“Out, huh?”]. To get rid of them, Bill had agreed to go along, but in his car, so he could leave them as soon as possible [“Uh-huh”], but hadn’t been able to, and later had to stay and look after them [“What about earlier, Bill?”]. It had been a mistake not to leave earlier. “Father, I’m sorry about that — and other things.” Bill had had too much to drink, and for that he blamed himself. But it had been Pot’s idea [“To have too much to drink?”] to stay with, and stand up for, Conk (as Pot had failed to do when Conk lost half of his mustache) should the necessity arise, as it had [“At the Bow Wow?”]. No, but before that, they had been in other places [“Like?”], like the Blue Forest, a strip joint [“In the afternoon?”], for the businessmen’s matinee [“I see. How was it?”]. “Father, I’ve had it with Pot and Conk.” [“Good,” Joe was going to say, but said, “Oh?”] Bill — this was something he should’ve mentioned earlier — had let Conk use a razor that morning to shave, but Conk hadn’t done anything about his mustache, and was going around like that, with one handlebar, telling people [“Telling ’em what?”], “‘Catholic priests in good standing did this to me.’” [“I see. What’d people say?”] Some were sympathetic, some weren’t — Father Felix was, Mrs P. [Mrs P.!] wasn’t. It was like that everywhere — sort of fifty-fifty. [“And when he was telling people, what’d you guys say?”] Pot had been supportive [“‘Supportive,’ huh?”], Bill hadn’t been, had kept quiet, to his regret then and now. “I’ve really had it with Pot and Conk, Father.” [“Let’s hope so,” Joe was going to say, but said, “So you put ’em in a cab?”] Bill, taking Joe’s advice, had spoken to the management at the Bow Wow [“Fat guy with pimp sideburns? That’s Dom — fairly big contributor when I was at Charities”], but Dom knew about Conk’s mustache from the waitresses and he wasn’t sympathetic, even when told that Pot was a priest (and that Bill was), not believing it until Bill mentioned Joe’s name. Dom had changed then and had said it wouldn’t show proper respect to put Pot in a cab and had wanted to call and pay for a limousine. But Bill had talked him out of that, had brought his Bug around to the rear of the Bow Wow, and two kitchen workers had come out with Pot and helped him into the backseat [“What about Conklin?”]. Conk, who was able to walk, had come out minus — completely minus — his mustache [“No! What’d he say?”]. Conk hadn’t said anything, not a word, until, at Holy Sepulcher, he gave Father Beeman a little plastic bottle — an imitation Old Grand-Dad whiskey bottle — that he’d got from one of those claw machines in an amusement arcade, when he’d said: “‘For you, Father, if thou wouldst be perfect, to go with your rubber cigar.’” [“What a hell of a thing to say to Lefty! What’d he say?”] Father Beeman said thanks. That was all. [“Poor guy. Still, he had it coming.”] Then he and Bill had put Pot to bed. When Bill came downstairs, Conk was gone. Bill had then driven home.