Part 29 (1/2)
We'll talk later. You have my word.”
No answer. Just wet eyes and red cheeks. Charles cleared his throat. ”I'm sorry if I hurt you. I love you.” There, I said it. ”We'll talk more in a few days, until then, let's continue to keep it quiet.” Still no answer, just a wounded stare. His lover turned the doork.n.o.b, and left the room. Guilt washed over Charles. He'd broken his vows again, caught up in an affair he knew would destroy his relations.h.i.+p. He fastened his s.h.i.+rt, ice white, high collar, and slipped into his favorite suit, dark, slightly wrinkled. A wood framed full-length mirror as old as the building he worked in, caught his attention, and forced him to look upon the ugliness he so abhorred. He turned away, chest heaving, mouth dry, and plopped down in a blue leather swivel chair behind his desk. Losing a love that brings me such childlike joy is not something I'm prepared to do. Chocolates, he thought. I'll start with chocolates, then a shower of gifts. It's a bit pretentious, but it's a start.
Charles smiled at himself in the mirror, his jet black hair and boyish good looks overriding the monster that now retreated within. He checked his watch. I'm late. He grabbed the tools of his trade and headed for the door. The monster in the mirror right behind him.
2.
Strikingly exquisite, the ten-foot stained gla.s.s image of the a.s.sumption of Our Lady surrounded by twenty-three angels, in a montage of red and multiple shades of blue handcrafted gla.s.s, impressed Robert Veil.
Church was not his favorite place to be during the middle of baseball season, but sitting there in a spiritual ports-of-call that played host and home to Chicago's eighteenth century Northern Italian immigrants, Robert's heart pounded, and his palms moistened. He was about to see his G.o.dson, Samuel, for the first time in almost six months. ”I bet he's grown an inch or two,” Robert whispered to Donovan Napier, Samuels father. ”An inch and a half since you last saw him,” Donovan whispered back. ”Shhh,” Donavon's wife, Alison, hissed. ”You boys will have plenty of time to stick your chests out over Sam when service is over.” She gave Donavon a sly smile and sat back against the naked wooden pew.
Donavon gave Robert a We better do as mommy says look. He smiled back. She's your mommy, not mine.
Robert, born catholic, defected as soon as he could slip under his mother's radar, and had forgotten how opulent catholic churches could be, Chicago's a.s.sumption Church especially so. Below the stained gla.s.s masterpiece up front, hung a stunning recreation of Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece ”The Last Supper” that would've made the Italian master proud. Smaller, but every bit as impressive, was an extensive splattering of stained gla.s.s images, in addition to dazzling mosaics and murals prominently displayed on the walls and ceiling. Robert counted five different types of Italian marble on the alter rail, and a dozen museum quality statues standing sentry on three sides of the remarkable sanctuary. Under their feet lay a sea of deep, royal blue carpet, so rich walking on it seemed a sin. Robert glanced over at Donavon and Alison, still making goo-goo eyes after ten years of marriage. Seeing his old friend so happy amazed Robert, especially since ten years before the marriage, while they were working a CIA surveillance a.s.signment in Bohn, Germany, Donavon swore off the lifetime confinement of matrimony, saying he'd rather roll around naked in broken gla.s.s.
”After service, there's a few people we need to meet,” Alison whispered to Donavon, who took a deep breath, bit his lower lip, then sighed. He looked over a Robert. Save me.
Marry one of Chicago's treasures, and that's the price you pay, thought Robert, wanting to laugh. Melodic Latin phrases from a male falsetto echoed throughout the sanctuary, and Robert watched his G.o.dson, Samuel Napier, lead a priest, three other altar boys, and an alter girl, down the center aisle. Samuel, draped in a white satin vestment, along with the other altar adolescents, looked deadly serious holding an elaborate silver and gold cross stretched out in front of him toward the sky, marching toward the altar at a pace more fit for a funeral procession than a spiritual celebration. One look at the boy and Robert was sure Samuel had grown more than the inch and a half Donovan mentioned. The dirty-brown haired boy's shoulders were starting to broaden, and Robert could already imagine the ten-year old birthday boy playing linebacker or center field.
After readings from the book of Isaiah, several more from Matthew, John, and Luke, Robert listened to the priest, a Father Charles Tolbert, launch into an additional series of chants, and a sleeping pill of a sermon that Robert vaguely surmised as an exultation to pray for one's enemies, and those that hate you. The need to yawn was almost more than Robert could bear, and water welled up in his eyes as he fought back the urge. Samuel and one of the other altar boys, a portly, jovial kid, with fiery red hair, freckles, and friendly eyes, set up the altar for communion.
When Samuel turned to resume his position on the far left of the altar, Robert noticed the boy flinch slightly as he pa.s.sed Father Tolbert. Must be a little nervous, thought Robert, remembering Alison's earlier comment that it was Samuel's first time setting the communion table. After communion, more prayer, benediction, and then dismissal, Samuel, cross held high, lead the evangelical parade back down the aisle and disappeared through ivory painted, gold encrusted double doors.