Man Who Loved God (27 page)

“But when I do decide you’ll be the first to know.”

“We appreciate that.” Anne Marie wiped away a tear.

Father Tully grinned. “But I still think there’s something fishy about those three execs ….”

“Leave it, brother,” Zoo said. “Intuition fits better on the womenfolk.”

They laughed and started stacking dishes.

Twenty-One

It was just after ten Tuesday morning—time to start the day.

Barbara Ulrich groaned inwardly. She looked several times at the clock on the nightstand. She never slept in. But then she also never had as much to drink as she’d had last night.

Simply, she had tried to drown a disastrous day.

The funeral had taken much more out of her than she’d bargained for. That was followed by two consecutive strikeouts: Martin Whitston and Jack Fradet.

Definitely a bad news day. Today had a lot of catching up to do.

Lou Durocher was expected at eleven, less than an hour from now.

She sat up and quickly clutched her temple.
Uhhhh!

Coffee might help. Slowly she made her way into the kitchen, where she started things percolating.

Next, a shower. She padded back into the bedroom. She let her nightgown slip to the floor and turned to study her body in the full-length mirror. Flawless. But one of these days … one of these days the new one would begin to show. Long before that, this would all have to be straightened out.

The shower seemed to help. She absorbed its pulsation and forced herself to think about good old Lou Durocher.

He wasn’t really all that “old.” Somewhere in his early fifties, she guessed. Although she and Lou had been intimate, they’d never gotten personal. While she was familiar with the others’ backgrounds, she’d never delved into Lou’s. She had always assumed it wouldn’t prove to be fascinating—after all,
he
wasn’t. Hell, she could probably get him to admit he was her baby’s father even if she’d never had intercourse with him! She laughed and blew water away from her face.

She began to take stock: what did she know about Lou and what could she speculate about with reasonable certainty?

Lou Durocher was walking proof of the Peter Principle: He had risen to the level of his incompetence. He would have made a good … what? Golf pro—though not under tournament pressure. No, just about competent to instruct men and women who wanted to improve enough to qualify as duffers.

He was good at glad-handing, acquaintances and strangers alike. He was good at meetings, as long as he didn’t have to chair them. He was trim and fit, blond and usually bland. He was enthusiastic once he knew that was the appropriate response. Hell, he even looked like Dan Quayle.

But most of all, Lou was Catholic. She was convinced that was what had triggered “the grand experiment.” At first, Tom Adams had been willing to let nature take its course. Greed, ambition, backbiting, backstabbing, dirty dealing—the natural selection of those who were aggressively proficient at these enterprises composed most of the hierarchy of Adams Bank and Trust.

For no rationally sound reason—was it that so few Catholics were really good at these capitalistic, winner-take-all games?—Adams set out to place a fellow Catholic into a position of power.

Why he had selected Lou Durocher as the guinea pig was unclear. But select him and stick with him Adams had. Adams also took the blue ribbon for bullheadedness in believing-—as no one else did—that Durocher one day would make it.

Of course Barbara saw through all this from the beginning. Except that Lou Durocher was one of the three execs, Barbara would never have given him a second look. She needed him to fill out her hand.

The doorbell! He must be more nervous than usual; he was almost half an hour early.

It wouldn’t do to go the door nude. Lou became confused too easily as it was. She threw on an opaque white robe. With that, she could go in any number of directions.

She opened the door to a visibly shaken Lou Durocher. “Barbara! Barbara!” he exclaimed before even entering the apartment.

“Get in here,” she said in a peevish tone.

He did, depositing his hat and coat on a nearby chair.

“Sit down,” Barbara commanded, “and get hold of yourself. This isn’t the end of the world.”

“It could be the end of
my
world.” It was an overstatement to be expected from this emotionally slight man. “Are you sure … I mean, are you certain you’re pregnant?”

“Yes. The doctor and I are certain I’m pregnant. Not just a little pregnant—completely pregnant, and a bit more than seven months till delivery.”

“That’s all the time we’ve got!” He was breathing heavily and perspiring profusely.

“What do you want? The most you can have is nine months for gestation. Given that, we’ve got about as much time as we could possibly have.”

He slumped into a chair and began wringing his hands.

This not unexpected behavior she could handle coming from Lou. Now that she was dealing with a distraught weakling, she contrasted his reaction with that of Martin Whitston and Jack Fradet.

Both the latter had been cool from the outset. And why not? Each knew he could not be the father. Now near to hyperventilating, Lou certainly hadn’t even considered that he might not be the father.

She decided not to wait any longer to settle this matter. Her recent experience with Martin and Jack had taught her not to waste time on secondary issues. Cut to the chase: somebody was the goddamn father of her baby! It wasn’t Martin or Jack. And it wasn’t the presently deceased Al. It had to be either Lou or Tom.

My God, she thought, what a lineup! Could she have overstocked her pool of lovers?

No pussyfooting! “Okay: How did you do it?”

“What?”

“You heard me: How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Get me pregnant. I’m not the Virgin Mary. God didn’t do it and I didn’t do it all by myself. So don’t stand there and tell me you’re sterile or something. How did you do it?”

“Sterile!” He was indignant. “Of course not! How can you, of all people, say a thing like that? When have I not been ready for you? Why it’s all I can do to hold on without premature ejaculation! I’d rip that thing off you and take you on the floor right now if we weren’t talking about a really serious matter.”

Sure, sure, she thought. If he tried the floor bit, he’d probably trip and fall through a window.

She had to admit he had no trouble with erection. But that, of course, wasn’t the question. “I’m not talking about getting a hard-on. I’m talking about getting a baby. Your baby. From your sperm.” She shook her head. “You must have one helluva sperm count.”

He smirked. “Yeah … how ‘bout that? I’ve got ’em, I can tell you that. The sperm count is part of my annual checkup. I insist on it. And you know, babe: I’m all man!”

Her reaction was a silent but heartfelt,
Ha
!

“Okay then,” she said, “we know you’re always hot to trot. That’s not the point. The point is: how did I get pregnant?”

“I don’t know. God, I don’t know. You took every precaution. We both did. What more could either of us have done? Even with’ everything we did, something must’ve gone wrong. “Yeah, that’s it.” He nodded vigorously. “Something went wrong.”

It
was
a puzzle, she had to admit. Not unheard of, but most rare, given the amount of protection she and her partners always used.

Of course this didn’t prove that Lou actually was the father of her child, just that there was no cogent argument against that possibility. But what a relief after yesterday’s shutout!

It was such a relief that Barbara almost was willing to forgo the other two areas of inquiry. But what the hell; she’d gone this far, might as well go the distance.

She stretched out on the sofa. He didn’t stir from the chair he occupied, his head drooping as if he were a boy about to be lectured.

“Well, Lou, look at it this way: it could be worse.”

“‘Worse.’“ He raised his head and looked at her incredulously. “How could it get worse than this?”

“Al really should’ve lived. And if he had, pretty soon he’d be nailing your hide to the wall. You’d be the other man in a divorce complaint. He would’ve seen that you paid not only child support, but with your reputation too.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Al’s death” —she paused for effect—” appears to be more than a coincidence. It’s downright convenient!”

“Huh?”

“Convenient that he’s not here to point his finger at you.”

Lou didn’t respond.

“Not only is he not here to accuse you, he’s also not here to displace you.”

“What?”

“You must have heard it, Lou.” She sat upright on the sofa. “There’s been a lot of talk about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”

“What?”

“The way the talk went, if Al had made a success of the new bank venture—and he would have—he would have been promoted. He would have been given an exec’s position.”

Lou smiled nervously. “There’s only three executive positions. And they’re all filled.”

Barbara smiled in return. “Then one of them would have to be vacated.”

His perspiration increased. “What are you saying?”

What, indeed, she thought. Left to his own devices, Lou would never figure out all the ramifications. He needed help. And that, she thought, might be the understatement of the day. “This is how the talk is going, Lou ….” She leaned forward to heighten the almost palpable tension. “Some are saying you were involved in Al’s murder.…”

“Me—! But I … but that’s … that’s ridiculous. The police killed the man who shot Al. The police said he was the guy! I mean, that’s over. How could anyone say …” The uncompleted statement hung in the air.

“They call it taking out a contract. Don’t you ever watch TV or go to a movie?”

“A contract! Wha—I wouldn’t have the slightest idea of how to go about a thing like that. That’s as bad as pulling the trigger itself. That’s … that’s monstrous!”

“I’m just telling you there’s been talk.”

“But … but why would I do a thing like that?”

“Well, according to the talk—and mind you, I’m just relaying what I’ve heard-—you knew that, one, Al would make a success of his venture. Two, that he would get the reward—a seat as an executive vice president. And the seat he would take would be yours.”

“Why mine?” It was the whine of a querulous child. “Why mine?”

“Because you’re the most vulnerable. Some of the loans you make …! Well, they’re as good as down the drain. How long do you figure you can continue like this? Even Tom Adams’s patience is at an end … or so I’m told.”

“No! It’s not true! Not anymore, anyway. You can ask Jack Fradet. He says I’m doing much better. He’s even suggested some areas that escaped my attention. Maybe I did make some mistakes in the past. But that’s over. You can ask. Not the troublemakers who’re spreading gossip and rumors. Ask people who know.”

“Well, all right, Lou.” Barbara switched to a consoling tone. “Take it easy. Don’t get mad at the messenger. I’m just telling you what’s on the grapevine.

“And you’re right: we shouldn’t pay any attention to the petty people who don’t really know what they’re talking about. Just relax. Take it easy.”

Lou shifted in his chair. Suddenly a silly smile took over. “Whatcha got under the robe?”

Damn! Why hadn’t she gotten fully dressed for Lou Durocher? They’d had relations numerous times. But she felt as if she’d just played a maternal role with her frightened little boy. She didn’t want to add incest to their relationship. She didn’t respond.

“You wearing anything, babe?” he persisted. “It just came to me: we don’t have to be safe anymore. You’re already pregnant. What say we visit the bedroom? Nobody to hide from now. Whaddya say?” He stood. Plainly he was ready.

Not quite so plainly, she was not. “Really, Lou! Don’t you think we ought to wait a decent period of time? I mean, Al’s funeral was just yesterday.”

Later—too late to do anything about it—Durocher would consider Barbara’s reasoning intentionally specious. At this moment, and with his confused mind, somehow it made sense. “Well …” he stammered, “if you think so ….”

“I think so.” She rose to see him out. “One last thing: does Pat know about us?”

“About us?” He pulled on his lower lip. “I don’t think so,” he said finally. “No, I don’t think she had a clue—at least till now.”

“‘Till now’?” Her brow knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that since I got your note, I’ve been pretty nervous. I think it showed at home. Pat’s been asking me what’s wrong maybe a million times. I keep putting her off. What I mean is I’m pretty sure Pat knows
something
is wrong; I don’t think she knows exactly what.”

“Let’s keep it that way. Until we figure out what to do.”

“About what?”

“The baby, Lou. About the baby. We’re going to have to make some arrangements.”

“Huh?”

“Support. Child support. The baby and me. You’re going to have to support us of course.”

Perspiration flooded forth again. “Support? How can I afford that and not involve Pat? And how can I involve Pat without her finding out about us? Oh my God!”

“Something you should have thought about when we began this. affair. Don’t gamble unless you can afford to lose.

“Anyway” —she brightened—” let’s leave that for another day. Enough for now. Go on home—or back to work—wherever you’re supposed to be. Don’t call me. I’ll call you—and you can put your last dollar on that.”

Having experienced only a moment or two of relief during their tête-à-tête, Lou Durocher left as nervous and disturbed as he’d been when he arrived, if not more so.

Barbara closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

She’d
never
wanted to have relations with Lou. She did it, as she did with all men, only to manipulate those who sought to exploit her.

But today especially she did not want intimate contact with Lou Durocher. Fortunately, he bought the bromide of observing some interval before restoring a happy hour.

In retrospect she had her doubts about what had transpired between her and Lou Durocher.

Almost on the face of it, she was willing to believe Lou had nothing to do with Al’s death. He seemed totally incapable of such a conspiracy. If he had been a party to the deed, it almost certainly would not have been implemented as successfully as it was. Besides, it was against his religion—some of whose tenets he kept.