Sham Rock (16 page)
AMANDA ZIKOWSKI FOUND THE STORY involving Jay's father more interesting than he did, apparently. After the first burst of publicityâfor a week there had been follow-ups of the original story in the campus publications, but then they stoppedâJay seemed annoyed at her continuing interest. How could she be interested in the past when there was this wonderful present containing him? Well, males grow up more slowly than females, she knew that, but what a romantic glow was cast over the campus by those long-ago dramatic events. Three men and one woman and all the interesting things they had done. Amanda went to the archives, where Greg Walsh found a copy of Patrick Pelligrino's play
Behind the Bricks.
It seemed to foreshadow what was to happen. A bright golden moment, that group illumining the campus with their acitivities, and then one of them, Timothy Quinn, mysteriously disappeared. Now, two decades later, it turned out that he had been alive all along.
Behind the Bricks.
It seemed to foreshadow what was to happen. A bright golden moment, that group illumining the campus with their acitivities, and then one of them, Timothy Quinn, mysteriously disappeared. Now, two decades later, it turned out that he had been alive all along.
The archivist let Amanda photocopy the script, and she tried to interest Jay in it. “A revival, Jay. Think of it.”
“A revival implies that something was once alive.”
“Oh, Jay.”
“Casey Winthrop is the most interesting one of the whole damned bunch. My dad thinks so, too. Have you read
Tumbleweed
?”
Tumbleweed
?”
“A Western? You're not serious.”
“We should invite him to campus to talk about his work.”
“Jay, he writes paperbacks.”
“Readable paperbacks. What a sense of story.”
He was serious. “Okay. I'll go along with you if you go along with me.”
That became their agreement. She helped him write a letter of invitation to Casey Winthrop, editing out his claim that his books were all the rage on campusâthere wasn't a single title available in the bookstoreâand offering an honorarium of a thousand dollars, plus travel, etc.
“Where are we going to get a thousand dollars?” Amanda wanted to know.
“I'll donate it.”
He had told her that his mother had left him money, and she had resisted asking how much. Well, it didn't have to be a fortune to enable him to come up with the honorarium and expenses. They walked to the post office and sent off the letter.
“He won't accept,” Jay said.
“You can't know that.”
“Given his productivity, he must never leave his computer.” He asked his father if he would put in a word for them anyway and came back with the story of Peaches.
“Peaches!”
“His wife. She's expecting. She's a child bride, much younger than he is.”
“What's her real name?”
“Why not Peaches?”
“You couldn't baptize a child Peaches.”
“I never tried.”
As she had feared, he dragged his feet when she turned their
attention to putting on
Behind the Bricks
. Amanda wanted an amateur group and somewhere other than Washington Hall, although that was where the play had been put on before. There was a stage in the auditorium of the Hesburgh Center.
attention to putting on
Behind the Bricks
. Amanda wanted an amateur group and somewhere other than Washington Hall, although that was where the play had been put on before. There was a stage in the auditorium of the Hesburgh Center.
The manager thought they were kidding when they asked about putting on a play there. “It's an auditorium, not a theater.”
“We've looked it over. It would be perfect.”
The manager let his head roll from side to side. “Look, you check at McKenna, and if they give it a go-ahead, okay.”
It took two days to get through the red tape. The initial answer was no, absolutely not, but the woman who said this seemed to find Jay interesting, so Amanda let him do the talking. All three of them went over to Hesburgh to look at the auditorium.
“Impossible.” Her name was Hazel, and she seemed to hope her negatives would get a rise out of Jay.
“Did you ever see Thornton Wilder's
Our Town
?”
Our Town
?”
Hazel hadn't.
“Minimalist settings. You enlist the imaginations of the audience.” Jay paused and studied Hazel. “Have you ever acted?”
“Me!” she giggled, putting a hand over her ample bosom.
Jay turned to Amanda. “What do you think?”
“You're the producer.”
“I think you'd be perfect for the second lead.”
Did he mean the character that bricked up the victim? Hazel was flattered, but she wasn't insane. They went back to her office, and she pulled out forms, continuing to say that there was no way in which this could be done.
It was done. Before leaving, Jay asked Hazel if she was a senior. She inflated in indignation. “A senior?”
“A graduate student?”
“Get out of here.”
“You're shameless,” Amanda said when they were outside.
“You have to understand the feminine psyche.”
“Ha.”
“I thought she was kind of cute. Sweat off a hundred pounds or so ⦔
“We'll need a third.”
“Whoa. One Hazel is enough.”
“A third actor. You and I and who?”
“How about Roger Knight?”
“Have you written any good poems lately?”
“I don't write good poems.”
Â
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She told Roger Knight their plans after his next seminar. Jay had stopped coming after having failed to discredit the Huneker Professor of Catholic Studies, whom he now referred to as Sherlock.
“Greg Walsh told me you had been asking about the play.”
“Oh, you know him.”
“He's one of my best friends.”
Why should she be surprised? A stammering archivist and a three-hundred-pound professor. She also told him about the invitation to Casey Winthrop.
He was delighted. “I have been toying with the idea of devoting a semester to Notre Dame authors.”
“Do you know what he writes?”
“I am one of his most devoted fans.”
Amanda gave up. She had tried to read
Tumbleweed
but hadn't made it to chapter three.
Tumbleweed
but hadn't made it to chapter three.
Some days later an excited Jay told her that Casey Winthrop had
responded to their letter with a phone call. “He said he never gives talks.”
responded to their letter with a phone call. “He said he never gives talks.”
“Oh, well.”
“Of course he wanted to be persuaded. So I persuaded him. All we have to do is settle on a date.”
“Hazel will veto it.” Hazel seemed to control the use of all the campus buildings.
“My dear, you underestimate my persuasiveness.” He closed his eyes. “Moonlight can be so cruelly deceptive.”
“Who are you imitating?”
“Noël Coward?”
MAME CHILDERS, NÃE SAYERS, WAS the picture of affluent sophistication, the kind of woman Father Carmody did not like, but then he hadn't liked her as a student either. When she called from the Morris Inn to ask him to dinner, his first impulse was to say no. Not because of her. He realized that he was no longer patient with unforeseen disruptions of the even tenor of his ways. If he didn't know himself better, he would think he was getting old. He accepted her invitation, but with foreboding.
She rose from a lobby chair when he came into the Morris Inn and swept toward him with a radiant smile. There was no way of avoiding her embrace. He felt enveloped in the invisible cloud of her perfume.
“Father, what is your secret? You don't look a day older.”
“Just years older?”
She actually squeezed his arm. “I have been sitting here wondering how long it has been she we were last together.”
The suggestion that this was the resumption of a warm friendship did not improve his disposition. He told her that the last time she saw him must have been 1989.
“Shhh,” she said. Another squeeze.
Into the dining room then, Sorin's, where Mame posed by the receptionist desk, keeping a grip on his arm. As they were led to
their table, Father Carmody did not look around, not wanting to know who might be witnesses of this grand entrance.
their table, Father Carmody did not look around, not wanting to know who might be witnesses of this grand entrance.
He declined a drink when the question was put to them, and Mame protested. “I want this to be a celebration.”
“Of what?”
She looked mysterious. “Later.”
“I never drink.” It seemed a pardonable exaggeration.
“Then I won't either.”
“Nonsense. Have something.”
“Well ⦔
While they waited for her martini to arrive, she sat across from him, smiling possessively.
“Tell me what we're celebrating.”
She hesitated, then opened her purse and took out an envelope, which she handed to him. He recognized the name of the Manhattan parish.
“What's this?”
“It's from Monsignor Sparrow.” A pause. “My pastor.”
“Aha. You plan to enter the convent.”
She stared at him, then burst into laughter.
Father Carmody opened the envelope and took out the letter, surprised to find that it was addressed to him. He read it, read it again. Monsignor Sparrow informed Father Carmody, somewhat officiously, that there were no canonical impediments to Mame's marrying again.
“Again?”
Her drink came. She lifted it in a toast, and he raised his glass of water.
“Why don't I just review the whole thing, Father.”
So he heard of her marriage to Wilfrid, a wonderful man in many
ways, and they continued to have the highest respect for one another, despite the differences in their outlook on life. She looked at him significantly.
ways, and they continued to have the highest respect for one another, despite the differences in their outlook on life. She looked at him significantly.
“He isn't a Catholic, Father. We weren't married in the Church.” She adopted a naughty little girl expression.
“Any children?”
She looked away for a moment. “That was one of the differences.”
“So you divorced.”
“We divorced. So much you will have heard from David Williams.”
“David Williams?”
“Father, you remember the group of us here. We seem to be back in the news again. Isn't it astounding that Timothy Quinn has been alive all along? Anyway, David has been my financial adviser in recent years. We realized that even after the passage of time there remained an attraction.” She stopped, and her expression became sorrowful. “Why did you tell him I cannot marry again?”
Suddenly the letter from Monsignor Sparrow began to make sense. In it he seemed to be reproving Father Carmody for his deficient knowledge of canon law.
“You want to marry again?”
She pursed her lips. “You're teasing. I know Dave has spoken with you.”
They were interrupted by the waitress, thank God, and went about the business of ordering. This gave Father Carmody time to realize the position he was in. Mame, the affluent divorcée, and David Williams, widower, had been thrown together in the fleshpots of Manhattan. Whatever their relationship, Mame interpreted it as the prelude to marriage. For all Father Carmody knew, Dave had proposed to her, but it was equally clear that Dave had used him as an excuse for not going ahead with it. The problem this posed was a
difficult one, but one that had its attractions for a man who had spent so many years in the devious ways of administration. Of course, he could simply blurt out that he knew nothing about it, that he had never discussed the matter with David Williams, nor vice versa, to make that crystal clear, but that simple path did not appeal.
difficult one, but one that had its attractions for a man who had spent so many years in the devious ways of administration. Of course, he could simply blurt out that he knew nothing about it, that he had never discussed the matter with David Williams, nor vice versa, to make that crystal clear, but that simple path did not appeal.
“What does David make of the monsignor's judgment?”
“He invokes your veto.”
He sipped his water. “Veto is a little strong.”
“Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that.”
“Canon law was never my strongest suit.”
“But Dave said you were so positive.”
“It's my manner, I suppose.”
They were served and for some minutes busied themselves with food. But already Mame was aglow with relief. The supposed veto of Father Carmody was not as firm as she assumed.
Anyone in authority must learn that, while always telling the truth, he is not obliged to tell the whole truth to every party. This carries with it the note of dissembling and can easily lead into outright duplicity. Father Carmoldy could cite instances. There was no need to tell Mame that he had never discussed a possible marriage with David. He was already looking forward to talking with David about this amazing conversation.
“He has been your financial adviser?”
“Yes.”
“These have been difficult economic times.”
“I have lost money, yes. Is there anyone who hasn't? Of course David feels very badly about it. Not that I am stony broke, far from it, but he takes personal responsibility for the recession. He has even offered to reimburse me the amount I lost.”
Ah. The bequest from Brother Joachim. The Trappist alumnus
was a useful diversion, and Father Carmody went on about that. “You mentioned your group. There is also Beth Hanrahan. Have you kept in touch with her?”
was a useful diversion, and Father Carmody went on about that. “You mentioned your group. There is also Beth Hanrahan. Have you kept in touch with her?”
“Hardly. She has become a saint.”
That was not how Beth would have described herself, but doubtless Beth's selfless life in Minneapolis would suggest heroic virtue to a Manhattanite.
They got through the meal without any need for Father Carmody to tell an outright falsehood. Except about never drinking. In recompense he joined Mame in a brandy when the table was cleared.
“I've been told it is a tasty drink.”
“Father, I can't tell you the trepidation I felt coming to you like this. I had no idea how I could broach the subject.”
“Monsignor Sparrow's letter did that.”
“Didn't it? I'll say it again. I am so relieved. Will you talk to David?”
He pretended to hesitate. “Yes,” he said. “I will talk to David.”
He suffered another embrace and another envelopment in perfume. When he went out to his car, he was rather pleased with himself. He would have called his performance jesuitical, except that he knew too many Jesuits.
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