AllFreeNovel
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I’ll be homeless, jobless, and for the first time in years, I’m looking forward to the possibilities with another woman.
Assuming she’ll want anything to do with a man who essentially has nothing.
I glance down at my watch. Ten thirty. The service begins at eleven, so I’ll be cutting it close. Real close.
“You’re a priest, right?” the Uber driver asks, eyeing me from the rearview mirror.
Observant, this one, considering I’m dressed in my collar and black button-down.
“Yes.”
“So, I had this chick call for a ride the other day. Beautiful, busty, nice bod. I mean, smokin’. She’s from Switzerland, you know? Anyway, she asks me to drive her around to do some sightseeing. So I do. And we’re about an hour into it, when she tells me to pull over in some rundown strip mall, and get this …. She wants me to bang her right there in the car.”
Here we go. I will myself not to roll my eyes, knowing he can see me in the rearview. “We have confession at the church on Tuesday night, Saturday morning, and by appointment.”
“No, no. I’m not looking for confession. I just have a question for you.”
“Okay.” Trying not to sigh aloud, I clear my throat instead.
“So, this chick says she’s never banged an American, and she wants to experience it. Well, who am I to deny a girl her dream, right?”
Right.
I clear my throat a second time, watching the city pass by the window, mentally calculating the minutes left in this car ride.
“We’re kissing, feeling each other up. I’m getting into it. And that’s when I reach up her skirt. Chick has a cock bigger than mine. No shit! Here, I’ve made out with a goddamn, I mean … pardon me, Father. A fucking tranny!”
I pinch my face muscles to keep my reaction in check. Not so much that he made out with what he realized was a guy, but that he clearly didn’t welcome it.
“I know God is against gays, and all that, so am I going to hell? I mean, I didn’t do anything. I wanted to, though. You know, for a dude, this chick was hot.”
“God is not against gays. And no, you’re not going to hell.” It’s all I can tell him without bursting into laughter.
“Good. Because if my wife found out I almost hit some tranny ass, she’d probably divorce me.”
I can’t help but frown, staring back at this guy, mentally forcing myself not to shake my head. Thankfully, the car comes to a stop in front of the rectory, and as I reach inside my back pocket to pay the fare, he waves his hand in dismissal. “On the house, Father. Need to work on my karma.”
“I appreciate it, thank you for the ride.” I gather up my two small duffle bags and exit the vehicle.
After dropping my bags just inside the door, I hustle toward the church, straightening my slacks and shirt along the way. Through the back door, I make my way into the nave, where Ruiz stands before a small gathering, giving the funeral mass. Ivy sits in the front row, wearing a sleek, black dress and a black beret hat with black netting that covers her face. I try not to stare at her smooth legs, covered in thin black nylons that undoubtedly have a black stripe up her calves. It’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen her, and it surprises me how utterly weak I feel at the sight of her. Whatever will power I worked up to stay away from the woman before is gone now.
She catches sight of me, her head lifting in my direction, and I can just make out bright red lipstick through the netting.
Without interrupting the service, I slide into the empty pew before me and do my best not to steal glances of Ivy, while sitting in front of the small congregation.
A good half hour passes, before Ivy makes her way to the lecturn to deliver the eulogy for her grandmother. I’m finally given the opportunity to drink her in, and I wish more than anything that I could sweep her up into my arms, as she dabs her eyes with a Kleenex. She’s nervous, standing before the crowd, her hands trembling like leaves on a frail limb.
“Je’taime,” she finally says, and takes her seat.
At the end of the mass, I head back to my office in an effort to avoid any suspicion. While I should be addressing the stack of paperwork accumulated in my absence, I stare through my office window, down toward the mound of dirt where two bodies now lie in a stinking cesspool of shit and decay.
Twenty minutes later, the door clicks, and I turn to find Ivy closing it behind her.
“You decided to cremate instead of burying her at the cemetery?”
She nods and clears her throat. “How was New York?” she asks, her voice still affected by tears.
“The same. How are you?”
