Bishop's Desire

by Normandie Alleman

  Undeterred, she went back and sat down. “Your father was Ziggy Barnes, the world-famous rockstar. Even a priest must understand the attraction his position held for women. I didn’t appreciate Ziggy’s infidelities, but it came with the territory.”

  She shrugged. “All right. I get it—you’re surprised. But I’d like to get a swab of your saliva if you don’t mind. So we can be sure.”

  I straightened. “What is the point of this? What makes you think he was my father?”

  “The money trail. He tried to hide it, but I hired a private investigator and a forensic accountant, and Ziggy left a blind trust for you. I’m sure that’s how your education was paid for. Do you still have it? I imagine it has reverted to you by now . . .”

  Her words were like a kick in the gut. I did have a trust fund. My mother made me think it was funded by the ranchers she worked for. All this time, I’d thought they felt sorry for me, that they were extraordinarily generous. Whenever I questioned it, she or later, Reverend Morley always made me feel like it was simply a blessing I should be grateful for.

  “The DNA is really for legal reasons. I can already see it. You have your father’s mouth. Other than that, you must look like your mother.”

  Vanity got the better of me and I reluctantly answered, “That’s what most people say. My mother was a remarkably beautiful woman.”

  “I was sorry to hear that she’d passed away.”

  “Thanks.” Emotions I didn’t quite understand welled up inside me, and suddenly I saw red.

  I didn’t need this woman’s sympathy. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this.”

  Taken aback she said, “I’ve come to offer you your birthright.”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I didn’t want it. Ziggy Barnes had used and discarded my mother, treated her like just another groupie in a long line of what was probably thousands. Why this woman wanted to dredge up old infidelities of her late husband I had no clue. “Look, if this is some publicity stunt for your TV show, I’m not interested.”

  “Well, of course I wish you would cooperate with my filming our journey, but if you won’t that’s fine too.”

  “Our journey?” What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  “Eduardo, you are practically my flesh and blood—a long-lost family member. I am here to welcome you to the fold!”

  I stared at her in disbelief. This woman was nuts. Why in the world would she want me in her family, a constant reminder of her late husband’s inability to keep his pants zipped? Surely she could see that I’d be like a rabbit amongst a pride of lions in her opulent world.

  “With all due respect, why do you think I would be interested in that?”

  Her black, spidery eyelashes fluttered rapidly, and her hand flew to her throat, offended. “Eduardo, I would have thought that the offer of a family, when you have none, would have come as a welcome surprise.” She sniffed. “Obviously I was wrong.”

  A pang of guilt pinged my gut. I hadn’t intended to hurt her. Not exactly. “I do have a family.”

  “You do?”

  “My church is my family.” It sounded good in my head, but the words rang hollow even in my own ears.

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  Lucinda stood up and walked around my office, making a point to take in the photographs on the wall, my degree certificates, the religious prints. When she got to the one of Mary holding baby Jesus, the pair of them surrounded by a bright halo, she stopped and turned to me.

  “I’m sure your mother loved you very much.”

  “She did.”

  “And I’m sure she wouldn’t want you all alone in this world, adrift without a family to call your own.”

  “I’ve already explained to you, I have a family. The Lord provides me everything I need right here.”

  “I don’t deny that you believe that, Bishop Soto. However, there are earthly bonds of which you know nothing.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as—each child of Ziggy Barnes is to inherit an equal portion of his estate. Even if you choose a life of abject poverty to prove how pious you are, you must admit, that kind of money could do a lot of good were it in the hands of a man whose mission in life is to serve the Lord.”

  She was here to give me money? I doubted any sum would come without a plethora of strings attached. I regarded her silently, sensing she wasn’t done speaking.

  “C’mon. Here.” She handed me what looked like a big Q-tip. “Just brush this inside your mouth, along the inside of your cheek.”

  I considered refusing, but I’d ascertained it was best to pick your battles with this woman. And if my DNA wasn’t a match, it would put a stop to all this nonsense, so I swiped the thing inside my mouth then handed it back to her.

  “Thank you. Also, I’ve done some digging, as you might have gathered, and it has come to my attention that you coach a little basketball team.”

  I nodded.

  “You must know who my son is.”

  I stared at her blankly. Kay had said he played basketball, but that hadn’t registered.

  “Nick Barnes. Unless you have been hiding under a rock for the last five years, surely you are aware of Nick.” I froze, recognition flooding my brain. My outward reaction must not have been enough for her because she kept going. “Professional basketball player. Won the scoring title last year. On the cover of Ballers 2K the video game.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Sure, I’d been a fan of Nick Barnes for years. I’d watched him win the college championship for his team practically singlehandedly. But when I found out my father had been a rock star, I hadn’t put two and two together, and now I felt stupid for it. Maybe I’d blocked the connection from my mind because it was too painful. A big star like Nick, given the birthright and the talent, and well, everything. When what did my mother and I get? Nada.

  As if she sensed my resentment, Lucinda said, “Your father wasn’t perfect, Eduardo. No man is.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s say you’re right, and I’m Ziggy Barnes’ son. He’s dead. No way he’s going to be a father to me now. What I don’t get is—what do you want from me?”

  “I want you to be my son.”

  10

  Eduardo

  “I’m sorry, I already have a mother,” I said straightening my spine.

  “No, you had a mother. And I’m sorry for your loss, but that only means that your siblings and I are the only family you have. We would like to welcome you to be a true Barnes.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m doing quite fine on my own. I don’t need a group of celebrities complicating things for me. I’m sure you have good intentions, but my life is fairly simple here and I am happy this way.”

  “There’s nothing thicker than blood, Eduardo. And frankly I’m surprised at your prejudicial judgment.”

  “My what?”

  “I know how it is. You are judging our family—your brothers and sisters—before you’ve even met them. You’ve decided they’re shallow and superficial because they’re successful and make a lot of money.”

  She was right, but I wasn’t ready to admit that yet. I averted my eyes.

  “I’m guessing you get a lot of the same thing. People thinking they know who you are because of that collar you’re wearing. Am I right?”

  I gave her a slight nod.

  “They think they know everything about you and they make judgments based on your clothing and your job title. That is no different than what your sister Dynassy deals with every day with people. They assume she’s stupid and insensitive because she’s beautiful.

  “I’m asking you to give us a chance. Come to California for a weekend, get to know us, spend some time. I’m not asking you to move there and if you don’t want to be on TV you don’t have to be on TV. I just know that family connections are very important. Probably some of the most important connections we ever have in this world, and I’d hate to see you throwing away an opportunity to have a fa
mily because you’re being stubborn.”

  Damn. She sounded like my mother. Not exactly like my own mother, but she sounded just like a mother scolding their child. And just like when my mother had scolded me when I was young, I resisted hearing the truth in her words.

  I will give it some thought,” I said.

  Lucinda got up, tucked her bag under her arm and said, “That’s all I can ask.”

  Then she placed her card on my desk and walked out the door, my DNA sample in her hand.

  11

  Chloe

  It had been about a week since Eduardo came to see me at Mrs. Bain’s shop, and I was on my way home after a long night dancing and working at the bakery. My feet ached, but I’d survived the chaos of Mardi Gras, and made a lot of extra money. I was only a few weeks from being able to make a down payment on my dream location for my own shop, and with each passing day I grew more excited.

  I daydreamed about quitting Lulu’s and telling Mrs. Bain I would be going out on my own.

  Rounding the corner of my block, I took out my cell phone and punched the call button for my realtor. It went to voicemail. “Hey Rhonda, it’s Chloe. Just wanted you to check and see if that location with the kitchen we looked at is still available. I should be able to make a contract work by the first of next month. Call me.”

  I was just hanging up as I unlocked the door and stepped into my apartment.

  The minute I walked in I could tell something was different, but at first I didn’t realize what it was.

  Then it hit me—there were no signs of Tawny.

  Her clothes weren’t strewn all over the floor. Her suitcase wasn’t blocking my path.

  Could she have gone on a cleaning kick?

  “Tawny?” I called.

  No answer.

  It only took a second for me to peek in the bedroom and bathroom to determine she wasn’t there. I looked around for a note, but didn’t find one.

  Maybe she finally moved in with that bartender she’d been seeing. My spirits started to rise at the realization I’d be getting my place back to myself until I realized that if she’d done that, she would have texted me or left me a note.

  My gut clenched. Dropping my purse and keys on the couch, I ran to my bedroom and looked for my lockbox. I kept it under a stack of T-shirts folded on a shelf.

  The shirts appeared undisturbed, but my lockbox wasn’t there.

  My heart in my throat, I searched frantically, knocking everything off every shelf, tossing cushions behind furniture, flipping my mattress. I went through the freezer.

  I checked everywhere. Because if I kept looking I wouldn’t have to face what was slowly starting to sink in—Tawny had taken the box and with it every dollar I’d saved for the last few years.

  Yes, it was locked away but I’m sure a crowbar could jimmy the thing, and she’d be the proud new owner of fifteen thousand dollars. Devastated, I sank to the floor and started to cry. Everything I had worked for, all those sweaty disgusting men practically slobbering on me, touching me, adding mental images of me to their spanks, all of it I’d endured night after night for years—it was all for nothing.

  I let the tears come, and I cried, even screamed for a bit. I went through half a box of tissues. Normally, I didn’t allow myself to cry. It made me feel weak, and in my world, being weak wasn’t an option.

  But now, all alone in my crappy apartment, who the fuck cared if I was weak?

  I was beaten.

  I’d given it a go.

  I’d dared to have dreams, and now it was coming back to bite me in the ass.

  I’d learned long ago not to rely on other people. They just disappointed you.

  But to realize I couldn’t even rely on myself, that was the devastating part.

  In that moment I wished like hell I had someone to turn to.

  12

  Chloe

  My palms were sweating so bad I had to wipe them on my skirt. It had been three days since Tawny had made off with my money, and I’d had to go to a thrift shop to even find a skirt long enough and businesslike enough to wear to the bank. My usual attire consisted of jeans, shorter skirts, and a lot of ripped pants. But I wanted to look my best, and I’d heard you were supposed to dress like you were as successful as you wanted to be, so I was doing my best to play the part of a small business owner.

  Sitting across the desk from me was a girl who looked younger than me, but who had nicer clothes and a professional manicure that made me sit on my hands. Nails like hers were not conducive to working in a bakery.

  “Ms. Malloy, you don’t have any other assets—jewelry, vehicles, stocks, bonds, real estate?”

  Real estate? Was she kidding? Judging by her face apparently not.

  I shook my head.

  “How about a co-signer? Someone who will take care of your loan in case you can’t make your payments?”

  I stared at her blankly.

  “No husband? Or a parent perhaps?”

  “I pretty much wrote everything down on the form. I just thought you might have something for women small business owners, like some start-up funds.”

  Banker babe crossed her hands over each other and faked a sad look the likes of which I hadn’t seen since the mean girls in high school. “I’m sorry, but to get a loan like you’re talking about we’d need some sort of collateral, or you know, if you had a sizable CD with our bank, the size perhaps of the loan you’re asking we might be able to help you.”

  Was this bitch a moron? If I had ten thousand dollars to put into a CD, I would not need a ten-thousand-dollar loan!

  Disappointed, I skidded my chair back and started to get up. “Thanks anyway,” I mumbled.

  I was just about to leave her office when she said, “You know, you might try one of those kicks starters or fund me accounts. That’s what a lot of people are doing these days.”

  I don’t remember walking out of the bank. Everything seemed like I was in a daze. Things started to come back into focus after I’d walked a few blocks.

  Maybe banker babe was onto something. She might not be such a moron after all, and now I felt kinda bad for having thought that of her.

  It might’ve been worth the humiliation of having her check my pitiful credit and financial track record for that little idea. She was right. I’d seen people do fund me campaigns for all sorts of things—a broke down truck that needed fixing, cancer treatments, helping a high school band go to the Rose Parade, a college fund for a child whose parent passed away . . . the list went on and on.

  And I had heard about people making movies with kickstarters. Maybe that was the way, but did I even know enough people who would want to help me open my bakery? I’d stayed off Facebook for the past few years, hadn’t kept in touch with my friends from high school, and barely spoke to the people I worked with.

  The sad realization dawning in my brain was that I’d done a really good job of isolating myself.

  Then it occurred to me—the bishop!

  Maybe Eduardo would know some people, or at the very least, he might have some advice.

  I remembered what Pepper said to me a few days after I had coffee with him.

  When she’d asked how my date had gone I’d told her that he wasn’t for me.

  “Not kinky enough for you?” Pepper had nodded her head like she’d understood then giggled.

  “No, it’s not that. I don’t have time for a man in my life,” I’d said.

  Pepper laughed. “Girl, you’re a workaholic I’ll give you that. But you know what they say?”

  Rolling my eyes I answered, “No, what?”

  “Nobody on their deathbed ever said, ‘I wish I’d spent more time working.’”

  “Yeah? Well, this isn’t forever. It’s only until I get my bakery up and running.”

  Pepper shook her head. “And the handsome priest will have found somebody else by then. It’s a shame, really. I think you ought to give him a chance.”

  “Maybe I’ll give him your number,” I�
�d teased, and we both laughed.

  I wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do to help me, but the thought of seeing him again brightened my mood. Yes, I’d vowed to stay away from him, but I was having a weak moment and as much as I wanted to do this all on my own, it was time to reach out for some help.

  13

  Chloe

  When I got to St. John’s I started to question whether my coming there was a good idea or not.

  I wandered around outside for a minute before I saw the sign that said, Church Offices. Hesitantly, I pointed my feet in that direction and headed towards the door. Just as I was about to turn the door handle, it opened and a plump blonde lady came out of it.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she said, almost bumping into me. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m not sure. I was looking for Bishop Soto.”

  “His office is in there.” She pointed to an interior door behind her. “But he just walked over to the sanctuary for a minute. I was just on my way to lunch. You could wait for him here . . .” She looked nervous about leaving me by myself.

  “I’ll just mill around outside in the garden and wait for him to get back,” I said. “I’m not in a rush and it’s such a lovely day.”

  “That sounds fine. But, are you sure you don’t want to have a seat inside?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right. If he asks, be sure you tell him I offered,” she said, walking to her car which was parked a few feet away.

  “I sure will,” I said, and waved to her as she drove away.

  The weather was nice out, but after about ten minutes of standing in the sun, I grew impatient and walked over to the door to the sanctuary and opened it.

  A whoosh of cool air hit my face and I took a step inside letting the heavy door close behind me.

  The inside of the sanctuary was large and the ceiling seemed to go on forever. My shoes clicked on the stone floor, echoing through the cavernous building.