William Kienzle - Chameleon

Or was it women’s topics of conversation? Did they talk about babies? House decoration? Clubs? Fashion? Was that why men isolated themselves in the kitchen? Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Did men make the first move to talk about work or sports or other sorts of “male” conversation, thus leaving the ladies to shift for themselves? Or were the men bored silly and ran away to preserve their sanity?

Whatever, it did not seem so with gatherings like the one tonight. She wondered why. This tended to be a singular mix of older people, most of whom had married comparatively late. Many were thus childless. As for those who were parents, most had only one child, and the ages of those children varied widely. Almost none had grandchildren, though most were easily old enough.

Pam’s speculation was silent. Fred’s was not.

“I think,” Fred said, “the people at parties like these are mostly of very strong character, especially the women. Much stronger women than average, don’t you think?”

“I guess so, ’ Pam agreed tentatively. “I haven’t mought much about it. But now that you mention it, I guess I’ve never met any former priest’s wife whom I didn’t like. At least there are so few I don’t get along with well that a negative experience is most rare.”

“See what a great support group we’d make for each other if the Church would be reasonable and let us function again.”

“Wait a minute, Buster … Pam quickly decided to be playful to lighten the subject. “When you are beating a path back to a former life, let me tell you, I don’t want back in a convent-and I don’t think that any other former nuns here tonight want to jump back over the wall.”

“Right you are, my dear. And I know of no organization that proposes such a reentry. If any of these women wants to get back into religious life it would be as a priest.”

“Again, count me out.”

“Noted. But some do. And they ought to be able to.”

“Hey, you two, you’re not allowed to have a nice time alone. You gotta join the rest of us and be bored.” One of the male guests had peeled himself away from the small group he’d been with and joined the Stapletons on the sofa.

“Oh, come now, Cass,” Pam responded, “you are constitutionally unable to be boring. That’s why you’re such a successful insurance agent.”

“Shh!” Cass Hershey held a prohibitive finger to his lips. “There may be somebody from the IRS here.” He looked about mock-furtively. “As a matter of fact, there probably is. They’re everywhere.”

Pam was glad Cass had joined them. He didn’t attend many of these gatherings so she didn’t know him well. But on the infrequent occasions they’d been together he was always light-hearted, full of fun, finding humor where others did not. Right now, given Fred’s preoccupation, Cass Hershey seemed just what the doctor ordered. So, instead of responding to his implicit invitation to join the others, thus risking a potentially embarrassing situation, she decided to try to draw Cass into their own conversation.

“Fred was just remarking,” Pam said, “what strong women the wives of ex-priests seem to be.”

“I’ll say!” Cass enthused. “It’s certainly true of Debbie. Wanna see my bruises?”

“Cass”-Fred’s tone carried nothing but good humor-”don’t you ever get serious about anything?”

“Work. Yes, I consider that to be serious business. Involving incidentals such as food, clothing, and shelter. But …” Cass hesitated. “… even then, sometimes you can’t get away from the light side of life, even at work.” He did not seem inclined to elaborate.

This line of conversation was just what Pam thought was needed. “Go on, Cass, tell us about it,” she encouraged.

“It wasn’t all that much, but it’s a true story, a slice of life.” Hershey had been sitting relaxed against the back of the sofa. Automatically, as a storyteller will, he sat up and leaned forwards. “Remember Noel Parker?” He directed the question at Fred.

Fred searched his memory. “No, I don’t think so. Should I?”

“He was a priest. Left recently. I recruited him for Massachusetts General.”

“How old is he?”

“Mmm … mid-thirties, I’d say.”

“Too young. I wouldn’t know him.”

“Doesn’t matter. I just thought you might. He’s a bright young man. Went through our training phase with flying colors.

“Part of the training is memorizing a spiel, then personalizing it. We usually approach owners of successful small businesses, and the first contact is by phone. The object is to give the prospective customer a variety of reasons that might make him want to consider our services. So you trot out every attractive credential you can muster.

“Noel is pretty new at this, so he was kind of anxious. After all, you get only one crack per client. If you sign him up, it could mean thousands of dollars. If you blow the initial contact, that’s it forevermore.

“Noel himself told me about one of his first calls. No sooner had he started the conversation-remember he’d never actually met this guy-than he could sense that the potential client’s attention span was not gangbusters and that the guy thought this was a waste of his valuable time. So Noel was understandably nervous. But he launched into his spiel. He mentioned that, along with other credentials, he held a doctoral degree from the University of Michigan. To which the client replied, ‘Who gives a shit?’

“Noel just laughed, God bless him, and plowed on. After citing a few more credentials, Noel said he’d been a Catholic priest for ten years. And the guy says, ‘Now that interests me.’ And Noel was at least inside the door.”

They laughed. Pam’s laughter was a mixture of equal parts of genuine appreciation and gratitude that Fred had been amused and distracted.

“So you see, Freddie, all is not bleak and serious, even in the very serious arena of earning a living.

“But why am I telling you that?” Cass went on. “You look to me like you’re having a ball. A solid practice-and I see your handsome mug in the paper and on the tube with some regularity.”

Fred instantly grew solemn. “I’d give it all up in a minute to get back in the functioning priesthood.”

“You’re kidding!” Cass exclaimed.

“Not for a minute. And I’m sure that underneath it all, the guys feel the same way.”

Cass smiled amiably. “Speak for yourself, kiddo.”

Pam squeezed into the conversation. “Just before you joined us, I was telling Fred that I, for one, didn’t want to go back into the convent, nor, for that matter, forward into the priesthood.”

“Sounds nice and normal to me,” Cass commented.

“Do you mean to tell me,” Fred said, “that you didn’t want to become a priest?”

“Of course I did. Nobody twisted my arm, But that was a different day.”

“No different than today. Don’t you miss offering Mass, the Sunday liturgies, all the things you could do for people as a priest?”

“Fred, that was a long time ago.”

“But don’t you miss it?” Fred persisted.

“It was too long ago. Okay, yes, every once in a long while I remember how it was-and parts of it were very worthwhile. Some of it was even fun. But it was a long time ago, Fred. Loosen up.”

“It can be ours again, Cass. We’re making progress. Have you heard of CORPUS?”

“Sure.”

“Well?”

“Well, I’ve heard of it.”

“You don’t belong, do you?”

“Ever see me at a meeting?”

“You could still belong.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why?”

“Because,” Fred explained, “it’s our best … our most practical way of getting back into the ministry. Sure, it’s a small, gradational step. But it’s going to work. Lots of other men, converts from the Protestant ministry, are married Catholic priests now.”