Holy Rollers

by Rob Byrnes

  A four-term congresswoman from Minnesota jumped to her feet and led the applause. Hurley paused for a moment, affecting thoughtfulness, before continuing.

  His voice was reassuring now; almost gentle. “If you love your children, you set rules. If those rules are violated, your children are punished. This is how we teach children right from wrong. Well, we need to apply those same rules to our society. If you love homosexuals, teach them the same way you would teach your children. Help them come out of homosexuality, don’t make it easier! Don’t strive for acceptance. Strive to enforce societal and Biblical standards of decency and holiness.”

  Another round of applause. Hurley used it as an opportunity to check his watch, and saw that he was almost out of time.

  “One final thing,” he said, feet now firmly planted dead center on the stage. “I know that many of you are already planning to visit us next week for the first Beyond Sin conference right here in Washington, DC. This is the first conference sponsored by Project Rectitude and the Moral Families Coalition, and we expect to use this opportunity to bring over two hundred people out of homosexuality! For those of you who have already offered to take part in this event, I thank you. For the rest of you…I expect to see you there!”

  And he knew they would be there. They didn’t have a choice in the matter. To confirm, he found the face of Congressman Donald Skinner in the crowd, and saw Skinner nodding. Yes, he would be there. He belonged to Hurley, not New Hampshire.

  “Thank you, God bless you, and God bless America!”

  He stepped off the stage, offering only the most perfunctory of greetings to the elected officials as he made a beeline to the spot where Merribaugh stood at the side of the room. Merribaugh didn’t even warrant a perfunctory greeting.

  “So how’d I do?” Hurley asked.

  “It was great,” Merribaugh said. “They ate it up.”

  Hurley sighed. “That was really a rhetorical question, Dennis. Of course it was great, and of course they ate it up. I could read the phone book and they’d eat it up. They’d have to.” He glanced around the room. “Skinner stayed, meaning he must have at least half a brain. But I didn’t see that other problem child, Gordon Cobey. Did you?”

  “No, Oscar. He definitely wasn’t here.”

  Hurley frowned. “We should pay him a visit. I think the good senator needs some encouragement…”

  $ $ $

  They reached the suite assigned to Senator Gordon Cobey, Republican of Ohio, and let themselves in, not pausing long enough to give their names to the senator’s assistant as they walked through the anteroom and let themselves into Cobey’s private office.

  The senator looked up and smiled when he saw them. He didn’t seem surprised.

  “I love the way you make an entrance, Dr. Hurley,” Cobey said, rising in shirtsleeves from his chair and offering his hand, which Hurley took for only the briefest of moments before dropping it.

  “We missed you at the breakfast this morning, Senator,” said Hurley, taking a seat without being invited.

  Cobey smoothed his tie. “Sorry I had to miss it. Unfortunately, I was overbooked.”

  “Hmm.” Hurley’s eyes darted around the office, taking in the array of Ohio memorabilia. “Many of your constituents are members of the Moral Families Coalition.” The senator nodded. “It would be a shame if you were voted out of the senate and had to live full-time in Toledo again. Where you’d have no need for all this memorabilia, since you’d already be surrounded by, well, Ohio.”

  Cobey—a bit too aware of his smile, since he’d had his teeth bleached the week before—nevertheless offered him one. It wasn’t returned.

  “Now, Dr. Hurley. You know I’m with you and the Moral Families Coalition on ninety percent of your issues.”

  “Just ninety?”

  “Isn’t ninety percent considered pretty friendly?”

  Hurley laughed, but it was for himself, not Cobey. “Senator, I have neighbors who are liberals. I think they’re going to hell, but I’m certainly friendly with them.” Cobey’s smile vanished. “Before I start sounding too cryptic, let me spell things out for you. I’ve been getting reports back from our affiliates in Ohio that you’ve… Well, people tell me you’ve been buying into the radical gay agenda lately.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “That.”

  Cobey twisted his wedding ring and looked down at his desk. “I guess you could say I’ve been reevaluating the issue, Dr. Hurley.”

  Hurley looked to Merribaugh and knew they were thinking the same thing. If this conversation progressed down the path it was heading…well, it would be inexcusable.

  “Senator Cobey,” said Merribaugh, leaning forward slightly. “Are you trying to, uh…tell us something?”

  Cobey looked up, the quizzical expression on his face quickly replaced by laughter when he realized the implication behind Merribaugh’s question.

  “Not me! I’m not gay!”

  “That’s a relief, because—”

  “But my press secretary…well, he is.”

  This was better, but still Hurley arched an eyebrow. “Really, Senator? A homosexual is working in the office of a God-fearing Republican?”

  Cobey tried his smile again. “There’s a lot of that up on Capitol Hill, Dr. Hurley.”

  “But not everyone is Senator Gordon Cobey.”

  The senator shrugged, as if that were meaningless. “I’ve known the kid for more than a decade. He worked his way up. He’s a moral man. Just, well…a moral gay man. And to be perfectly honest, the more I get to know about his life, the more I’m rethinking the gay issue.”

  Hurley took his time answering, using that time to stare down the senator. “You mean ‘homosexual.’ There is nothing ‘gay’ about homosexuality.”

  “Well…”

  “Senator Cobey, you’re either with the Moral Families Coalition or against the Moral Families Coalition. There is no room for a pro-gay ninety-percenter.”

  Merribaugh jumped in, trying to play his usual role as the diplomat to Hurley’s autocrat. Their good cleric / bad cleric routine usually worked, but there were times when Hurley went too far. This was shaping up to be one of those times.

  “Senator, we know you’ve done a lot for people of faith over the years, and we appreciate that. It’d be a shame to have this become a…a black mark on an otherwise admirable record.” He paused, then continued in an effort to seal the deal. “Perhaps your press secretary should attend our Beyond Sin conference next week. Over two hundred men and women struggling to overcome the sin of homosexuality through Project Rectitude. If you can convince him to join us, I can guarantee we’ll straighten out his life.” Merribaugh chuckled. “Pardon the pun.”

  Cobey didn’t join in appreciation for the pun, intended or not. “This gay conversion thing…It troubles me.”

  Merribaugh folded his hands in his lap and smiled confidently. “This program works, Senator. It will change your aide’s life. If you really care about him, you should help deliver him to righteousness.”

  “Think about it very seriously,” added Hurley, with no smile at all. Merribaugh took an envelope from his breast pocket and set it on Cobey’s desk as Hurley continued. “Dennis has given you an opportunity—a final, one-time opportunity—to save a soul…and very possibly yourself.”

  Cobey looked at the envelope. “What’s this?”

  “Do the right thing, Senator,” said Hurley as he rose from the chair.

  When they were gone, Cobey looked at the unopened envelope for several long minutes. Then he picked up his phone and dialed a few digits. “Dan, please step into my office for a moment.”

  Less than a minute later, Dan Rowell—his press secretary—was standing in front of him. Before he had a chance to speak, Cobey said, “I’m afraid I have to ask you to do something very difficult. For me. And for America.”

  $ $ $

  An hour later, Hurley sat with Merribaugh in the backseat of a Lincoln Town Car as it sped down t
he George Washington Memorial Parkway along the Potomac River, en route to Nash Bog.

  “Do you think Cobey and Skinner are with us?” asked Merribaugh.

  “Cobey, I’m not so sure of. We might require the Ohio affiliates to turn up the heat. Maybe Indiana and Michigan, too. I don’t see that Skinner has a choice but to play ball, though. For one thing, I think it’s considered bad form for a sitting congressman to discuss ongoing FBI and IRS investigations he’s come across in the course of official business.”

  “Especially with the subjects of the investigation.”

  Hurley nodded his head toward the driver. Both men fell into several minutes of silence, looking out the window as they raced along the road hugging the Potomac.

  Finally, though, Hurley leaned back and stretched. “It might not be a bad idea to make sure some things are taken care of, though. Just in case. If Don Skinner knows what he’s talking about—and he’s certainly in the position to know—we should be prepared.”

  “Agreed,” said Merribaugh. “I’m on top of it.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Oscar Hurley had been biding his time waiting for Dennis Merribaugh to get his act together, but perhaps it was time to have a little talk, because that act was not coming together no matter how much Merribaugh claimed to be on top of things.

  So Hurley swiveled in his seat and said, “Speaking of taking care of things and being on top of things and the rest of the drivel that’s been coming out of your mouth lately, let me ask you a few questions.”

  Merribaugh knew he was in trouble, but there was no way to escape the Town Car so he also knew he had no choice but to mumble his agreement.

  “Is the repair work to the Great Cross ever going to be finished?”

  “Two weeks. Maybe three, at the outside.”

  Hurley shook his head. “This is taking longer than it took to build it in the first place. Get it done. And speaking of maintenance, what the hell has been going on with the groundskeepers? I was out inspecting the work on the cross the other day and noticed that the landscaping is overgrown. It looks shabby, and that’s not the image we want to give our congregation.”

  “I’ll have that taken care of.”

  Hurley leaned back in his seat and stretched again. “I just don’t understand why I need to be the person who sees these things. They should be taken care of before I see them. When the repair work is finished—whenever that might be—those walkways are supposed to be beautiful paths offering visitors an opportunity to contemplate and reflect as they approach the Great Cross. Right now it looks like…like…nature! Nature untamed by man!”

  Merribaugh was sweating. “I promise I’ll take care of it the minute we’re back at the cathedral. I’ll trim them myself if I have to.”

  He needn’t have bothered. His words didn’t register with Hurley, who was on to his next topic.

  “Now, about that bookkeeping position…”

  Finally Merribaugh had an opportunity to stop sweating. “I have very good news on that front, Oscar. We have a new member of the church who was an office manager in New York, and wants to help us in any way she can. I think she’d be perfect to take care of the books while we search for a permanent replacement for Leonard Platt.”

  Hurley rolled his eyes. “No offense, Dennis—or maybe just a little offense—but I think I should meet this woman before you hand over the keys to the office.”

  Merribaugh took more than a little offense but knew who was boss. “Of course, Oscar. I’ll arrange that as soon as possible.”

  “Do that.”

  Dennis Merribaugh felt himself relax. He had managed to end the interrogation on a high note. Or so he thought, until Hurley finally added, “Now let’s talk about Beyond Sin.”

  Merribaugh tensed up. “Things are going, well…They’re coming along.”

  Hurley sighed. “Coming along? What does that mean?”

  “The program is booked and confirmed, and—”

  “How many homosexuals and former homosexuals have registered? Because it’s fine and dandy that you’ve booked your speakers and printed your programs, but unless you have a decent turnout of homosexuals—and those homosexuals are convinced to become ex-homosexuals—it’s all worthless.”

  “Applications continue to—”

  Hurley stopped him. His voice was clipped and controlled. “How many people have enrolled, Dennis?”

  That number was now twenty-two, so Merribaugh said, “Forty-four.” It still wasn’t a good number, but it was twice as good as twenty-two.

  “Forty-four?” Hurley closed his eyes. “Meaning this is shaping up to be a public relations debacle and a financial debacle.”

  “But people always take their time registering for a life-changing…”

  Hurley was having none of that. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dennis! Your little ex-homosexual experiment is shaping up to be a huge black mark on my ministry!”

  Since there was nothing to say, Merribaugh wisely said nothing. Minutes later—minutes during which Dr. Oscar Hurley kept his eyes closed, deep in thought—Hurley finally opened his eyes and broke the icy quiet in the backseat of the Town Car.

  “All right, it looks like—once again—I’ll have to fix one of your fuck-ups. I’ll pump up the publicity for Beyond Sin from the pulpit, and talk about it on this week’s TV and radio broadcasts. Maybe we can keep this from becoming a complete train wreck.”

  “Thank you, Oscar.” It was, really, the only thing Merribaugh could say.

  Hurley looked out the window in the opposite direction of Merribaugh. “But after this is over, I think we’ll be pulling the plug on Project Rectitude.” He shook his head. “You and your homos…”

  12

  The Town Car deposited Dennis Merribaugh at the cathedral before continuing the quarter mile to Cathedral House with Dr. Oscar Hurley as its lone passenger. Once again breathing fresh air—and away from his boss’s criticisms—Merribaugh’s head felt a bit clearer.

  In fact, Hurley wasn’t wrong. Things had been getting shoddy. There was too much on Dennis Merribaugh’s plate these days, and everything was suffering as a result.

  But now, standing in a gentle breeze outside the cathedral, he could see things with a bit more perspective and optimism. Soon the conference would be behind him. Soon the Great Cross would be repaired. Soon he’d hire a new bookkeeper.

  Soon things would be back to normal.

  Because he was standing in front of it, he walked up the handicapped ramp and into the cathedral’s entry hall, a grand atrium stretching the width of the building. His heels sounded on the marble floor until they were cushioned by one of the three large royal blue carpets placed strategically in the hall. At one end of the hall, the carpet depicted the story of Adam and Eve. The center carpet, a bit larger than the others, depicted the Crucifixion. The third carpet, at the other end of the hall, set out the Ten Commandments.

  Merribaugh respectfully walked around the image of Christ’s suffering as he crossed the center carpet and entered the sanctuary. An associate pastor was delivering a sermon to a few hundred parishioners, and Merribaugh shook his head when he saw he was using the projection screen. That was a waste of resources for a weekday service—at least for a weekday service when Dr. Hurley wasn’t preaching—and he’d have to remember to admonish the associate pastor later for his lack of humility.

  He passed unseen through the rear of the vast room and exited through a side door into an institutional hallway that shared a wall with the new auditorium. From the other side of that wall, he heard voices rehearsing a number from The Sound of Music.

  Merribaugh continued through the building until he finally reached the rear doors and let himself out to the loading dock, where he found the groundskeepers and a few day laborers hard at work.

  Unfortunately, they were hard at work playing cards, not landscaping or repairing the Great Cross.

  “Ahem,” he said, and repeated it in a louder voice until he attracted their attention.


  The head groundskeeper folded his cards on the table and nervously said, “We’re on a break, sir.”

  “Break’s over,” said Merribaugh, his arms folded sternly in front of him. “Back to work or consider your break to be permanent.”

  When they were gone from the loading dock, he continued his walk for a short distance until he reached the base of the Great Cross. He looked up to the top of the scaffolding, hoping to note progress. He was not satisfied with what he saw.

  “Mr. Merribaugh!”

  He turned and saw that new member of the congregation, Constance Brown, approach down one of the walkways leading to the cross.

  “Sister Constance,” he said in return, trying to muster enthusiasm. “It’s so nice to see you back at the cathedral again.”

  “Yes, well…I don’t want to waste any time.”

  He hiked an eyebrow. “Waste time…how?”

  “In getting to know the Lord better, of course.”

  Merribaugh chuckled. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  Her eyes traveled up the scaffolding. “Looks like you got yourself a big project there.”

  “Bigger than it should be.” He smiled sadly at her. “Come walk with me.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying so,” Constance said as they walked, “you look troubled.”

  He felt himself about to sigh, but held it back. “God gives us no burden too big to handle, Sister Constance.”

  Her agreement came through in a “Praise the Lord.”

  They circled through a parking lot and around the auditorium, heading in the general direction of the front steps of the cathedral. Now the voices and music were louder, streaming through the open skylight, and the air was filled with a slightly off-key version of “Climb Every Mountain.”

  “What’s with The Sound of Music?” she asked.

  He stopped and gestured at the auditorium. “This building was recently completed as part of a recent five-million-dollar expansion, and The Sound of Music will be the inaugural performance. Only two weeks from now.” A particularly sharp note pierced the air. “Two long weeks from now.” He turned to her. “I don’t suppose you sing…”