“I know. Kinda cute, don’t you think?”
“No, it’s inappropriate and disrespectful to you and your sexuality, so, no, I don’t think it’s cute.”
“Oh, give me a break. He’s harmless.”
“Really?”
“Are you jealous?”
“What? Hardly. That’s ridiculous.”
Whistling an annoying little tune, Flic smiled broadly. “I think you’re jealous. Who’d have thought?”
Anna shook her head and walked away.
Her team of security specialists were polite, professional, and remarkably skilled at their work. They escorted her to and from events with precision, and if she were honest, she felt like royalty. The team selected expensive hotels for their state-of-the-art facilities and discretion. She was, after all, raking in the big bucks, so her comfort and safety became everyone’s number one priority.
Although her bulletproof vest was white and designed to wear under clothing, her entire wardrobe had to be rethought, especially the top half, so a stylist was engaged to select new outfits that would hide the vest, yet keep her looking smart and intellectual.
On the surface, Flic certainly appeared to be enjoying herself, and to some extent, this was true. She certainly felt safer than she had previously. Her accommodation was first class and her book was selling better than ever before, but her life had altered so drastically, she was struggling to keep up. Regular telephone calls to Laura and her family kept her grounded, but they also fueled a sense of homesickness only normality could cure. Unfortunately, she was no longer normal. She was a celebrity in an exclusive club. It was the failed assassination club, and her reluctant membership left her feeling frightened and alone.
With clockwork precision, her scheduled visits to Germany, Austria, and Switzerland proceeded without a glitch. Her exposure to the general public remained limited, and more television appearances were scheduled as a counter measure. To capitalize on British book sales and to provide a break from touring, the United Kingdom was scheduled after Belgium. Flic couldn’t wait to return home, if only temporarily.
One evening in bed, Flic reflected on the two weeks that had passed since the shooting. A team of social media and PR experts were running the “Love is Love” campaign that had taken on a life of its own, and already she had agreed to formalize herself as the founder of the movement. Subsequently, dates were tentatively being penciled into her calendar to transition from the Holy Father, Holy Secret tour to a “Love is Love” seminar type tour. She couldn’t believe the momentum of her message.
To top off everything, her friendship with Anna was no longer strained, but easy and natural. Similar to their first night at dinner, they now avoided excessive talk of work, religion, politics, or sexuality, and surprisingly, they could still fill hours of downtime with interesting conversation. It occurred to Flic that if the criteria for having an intellectual soul mate was everything besides sex and intimacy, she would have found hers, but then, if that person truly was your intellectual soul mate, there would be no exceptions. It was a confusing state of mind and was verging on hypocritical; religion shouldn’t get in the way of love or friendship, that was her message, yet here they were avoiding the subject because it got in the way. It was beyond confusing; it was infuriating.
Bruges was the last destination before returning to Britain. That thought alone sent Flic’s spirits soaring, and similar to the preparation of all other events for the past two weeks, Flic’s routine began with a shower, makeup, and a security briefing before she dressed to leave. The vest, while not initially heavy or cumbersome, could weigh her down after a few hours so she left it until last.
Whilst Flic was applying the finishing touches to her limited makeup, Anna knocked and entered her room. “You look great. Excellent choice.”
Black was one of the most effective colors when hiding a bulletproof vest, and she wore a pair of beige chinos, distressed brown leather brogues, a black knitted top, and a tweed jacket. It was one of the outfits her stylist put together. “I feel like I’ve forgotten my horse or I’m late for the hunt.”
Anna looked her up and down. “You look fine.”
“Oh, that’s a great help.”
“You look like a smart author.”
“A what?”
“A smart, English author, actually.”
“I should change.”
“Not at all. Just don’t yell ‘fox’ or you might start a stampede.”
“I’m changing.”
Anna took Flic by the shoulders. “I’m kidding. You look great. Very wholesome.”
Flic pushed her away.
Anna recovered wielding a piece of paper. “Dee’s sent this through, and I think you should seriously consider doing it as a publicity piece.”
Flic snatched the paper from her hand and read. The document was in two parts, the first being an invitation to attend a gathering for gay Catholic men and women with strong faith, who, by their own volition, established a safe environment to meet, discuss, worship, and practice their religion. Flic smiled. It was a perfect opportunity in so many ways. The second half of the document was Dee’s list of reasons why she should attend, the opportunities the invitation provided, and a statement strongly advising her to accept.
She needed little persuasion, but Anna didn’t need to know that. “I don’t know.” Flic shrugged for effect. “Do I really want to get into all of this with a bunch of strangers?”
“We’ll invite a journalist along, maybe from Time magazine, take some pics. It’s a great opportunity, Flic. Dee knows her stuff and so do I. From a PR perspective, it’s a gem.”
Really? We’ll see. “Can I think about it?”
“It’s tomorrow. We don’t have enough time to get it organized as it is. We really need to make a decision on this now.”
“Okay.”
Anna sighed in relief.
“Hang on, I said okay because I’ll do it on one condition.”
“And what’s the condition?”
“You come with me.”
“Oh, no.” Anna shook her head. “Not a chance.”
“They’re Catholic, for God’s sake. Why the hell not?”
“They’re gay.”
“Whoa there. Back it up and be very careful what you say next.”
“I mean no disrespect, but they can’t be practicing the Catholic faith, not properly. Their chosen lifestyle is not in line with my religious beliefs. I don’t want to go.”
“Then we’re not going. I’ll leave it up to you to tell Dee the good news.” Flic preoccupied herself with collecting her glasses, tablet, and phone.
“That’s out of line, Flic. This should have nothing to do with me.”
Flic changed her tack. “I’d very much like you to come with me and see how some people, and I’m not suggesting you have to be one of them, but how some people separate their sexuality and their faith, allowing them to coexist harmoniously.”
Anna rolled her eyes, but Flic knew she was wearing her down.
“I’m just asking that you come along. That’s all. Be an observer, nothing else.” Flic could be persuasive when she had to be. “Please? For me? One little meeting is all I’m asking you to give up your time for. I’d really like for you to come with me.”
“If I say no, I suppose you’ll tell Dee it was my fault?”
Flic determined it wasn’t in her best interest to answer that. “It’s only an hour.”
“You’re blackmailing me?”
Again, Flic avoided the question. “It’s an opportunity. Let’s take it.”
Anna shook her head with resignation. “How do I let you do this to me?”
“Don’t act so surprised. You let me do stuff to you all the time.”
Anna raised her eyebrows until Flic caught up.
“Well, that just got weird. Obviously, I don’t actually do things to you. More’s the pity, but you know what I mean.”
“I let you take advantage of me, that’s what I do.”
“I really wish you would.”
“Pardon? Stop mumbling.”
Flic spoke up, suppressing a smile. “How is it that I’m taking advantage of you when you’re the boss? I’m the one gallivanting around Europe on your schedule. If anyone is being taken advantage of here, it’s me. This could be one of your elaborate schemes to get me to agree to something I probably don’t want to do. Sometimes you just muddle me up with all your words. See, I’m not even sure if I want to do it or not.” She playfully punched Anna on the upper arm. “I’m no match for you, Anna. I bow to your superiority.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, will you just shut up?” Anna’s head lolled back on the headrest of the sofa. She grinned and shook her head. “You’re impossible sometimes.”
“But you still love me.”
“I’ll come, but I’m not participating. I won’t discuss it with you afterward, and don’t think I don’t know that the only opportunity this offers is for you, not me.”
Flic put her hand over Anna’s. “Thank you.”
“You must have given your teachers a headache at school.”
“Only the sexy ones who would put me over their knee if I was naughty.”
“I’ll put you over my…” Anna trailed off, embarrassed.
The moment was uncomfortable.
Flic let her off the hook. “So you’ll confirm it with Dee and organize the journo?” It took some effort, but she managed to suppress a tone of triumph.
Meeting some of her supporters was certainly a great opportunity. There were a growing number aligning themselves with the Love is Love campaign and also another faction calling themselves the Liberated Catholic Movement—a group openly inclusive and openly Catholic. In one sense, it thrilled her to have such a growing number of supporters willing to place a foot firmly in her camp, but on the other hand, it saddened her that a group of people who’d existed for thousands of years—open-minded, pro choice believers—were finding the need to label themselves. Did the world really need to take a step backward to facilitate a leap forward? Regardless, Flic welcomed the opportunity to meet with this group, and she was delighted Anna would be with her, arm slightly twisted or not.
Chapter Eighteen
Flic was amazed when her vehicle pulled up outside a quaint little church surrounded by a leafy and carefully manicured garden. For some reason, she imagined the group being forced to meet in secret at a local football clubroom masquerading as a private yoga group. She was a little less impressed when she found out the building was not now, nor had it ever been, a Catholic Church, but in fact was a converted five-bedroom house purchased by the group with the funds from an anonymous donor who so generously wanted to provide them with a place of worship. Of course there was a catch to such a sizable injection of funds. They weren’t to attend normal Mass, and they weren’t to actively recruit followers. Although not stated, the anonymous donor was obviously the Catholic Church.
Stealing a glance at Anna, Flic wasn’t surprised to detect any emotion other than boredom. Anna had been quieter than usual, and Flic knew she had only come along because she didn’t want to explain to Dee that she was the reason it couldn’t happen. Flic hoped their friendship would endure the conflict of opinion this visit fueled.
“Thanks again for coming.” Flic nudged Anna with her shoulder as they were lead past a country style kitchen and a wonderful living space filled with worn leather chairs, heavily cushioned sofas, and a wall with books from floor to ceiling, and finally through to the meeting room.
Helene, the thirtysomething member of the group who’d initiated the meeting, had greeted them warmly, speaking fluent English and brimming with enthusiasm. It was clearly a big deal to have a celebrity in their midst, and a strong waft of home baking floated through the building.
“I’m only doing this for you. I really don’t want to be here.”
“For me? Don’t you mean for Dee?”
Anna rolled her eyes. “No, stupid. For you. I know you want me to see this, so here I am.”
Flic eyed her seriously. “I appreciate it. I can’t tell you how much, but I do.” Anna’s admission left Flic a little warm and tingly, and it wasn’t until Helene motioned for her to sit with the rest of the congregation that she snapped out of her blissful state.
Helene coughed politely to gain their attention. “If it is okay with you, we will conduct our service as we always do and then afterward, perhaps we can invite discussion over coffee and cake.”
Max’s stomach rumbled on cue, and they all sat, including the journalist and photographer, as the service began. The photographer had been given a clear brief, along with a list indicating those who wanted their identity, and therefore their face, to remain anonymous—they sat to one side of the meeting room. He had also been directed to avoid long-range shots of the outside of the building, avoiding the possibility that the location could be established.
Flic had attended Mass enough times to know the procedure. They all sat, kneeled, and stood at the appropriate time, even Max who claimed the only God he worshipped produced coffee beans and invented the espresso machine. One day, Flic would research who that person was and have a plaque made in his honor.
Flic wasn’t surprised to learn that the responsibility of conducting the service lay with a select few senior members of the congregation. Not senior in authority, but senior in knowledge and training. The atmosphere was inclusive and uplifting; even she could feel the enthusiasm. When she asked Anna if uplifting was a word she would ever use to describe going to church, she replied unless it was a funeral, she always found her experience uplifting.
As expected, coffee was barely served before the questions began. Flic was prepared and was happy to be the center of attention initially, but after her celebrity status was exhausted, she had a few questions of her own. It was her turn to take the floor.
“I suppose my first question, and the question of many homosexuals in the world, is how can you purport to be gay, yet worship and invariably support the Catholic Church?”
In reality, Flic didn’t need to know the answer. She believed in freedom of choice, but she had read many documents and Catholic teachings on homosexuality and natural law according to the church. In essence, homosexuality was a sin. The church rejected the idea that people were born gay and suggested that chastity was advisable should you experience strong homosexual tendencies that you might be in danger of acting upon.
A middle-aged man raised his hand first to answer. “I’m not gay.” This was not news to Flic; it was in her notes that at least one third of the congregation were not homosexual. “I was raised Catholic, I believe in God, and I’ve had many an occasion to call on my faith.” Flic hoped Anna was listening. “But on the subject of homosexuality, I believe the church is wrong. If you teach the scripture, and only the scripture, texts written thousands of years ago, of course the lesson is what we learn today. But life isn’t a text written over two thousand years ago. Life is now. It’s my family and friends who are gay. It’s their committed love. It’s their beautiful personalities. It’s their kindness, their generosity, and ultimately, it’s their business.” He nodded, collecting his thoughts. “That’s why the church has it wrong.”
The group clapped. Anna remained impassive.
Flic wanted to elaborate. “A friend of mine studied economics. In his lessons, the basic assumption to maintain a steady economy was that manufacturers produced tractors.” She shrugged. “Sounds simple doesn’t it? But there’s more. Consumers, in turn, purchased the tractors and worked the land, and the manufacturers purchased the produce from the farmers. Essentially, they were all producers and consumers. Without fail, the economy existed, neither expanding nor contracting because what was earned was spent.” People nodded their understanding. “So, as a demonstration of a basic economy, this model is rather effective.”
“Faith isn’t a demonstration, though,” said Helene.
“No. You’re perfectly correct. And in that mode
l, we accept it as a demonstration, or an assumption in economic terms, because it helps us understand the bigger picture. We’re not stupid. We all understand that some day, someone might want to do something other than manufacture a tractor. They might fall ill and fail to sow their crop. They might prefer to save their money, or buy a fleet of tractors, all of which throw the basic economy out of kilter.”
Flic commanded undivided attention.
“But what if I changed my mind?” she continued. “What if I decided our economy should only be a simple tractor/producer scenario in real life? What if, instead of teaching you this as an assumption or demonstration, I taught it to you as a way of life? What if I taught this to you and promised that when you died you’d move on to the bonus round where you could manufacture airplanes and produce food in factories? And what if these teachings were handed down over hundreds and thousands of years? Based on history, based on what others have been taught, based on what is written, based on what we know, without question, we should be manufacturing tractors with the view of dying and going to a place where we can manufacture airplanes, and we should be producing crops with the view of dying and being able to produce food in factories. Correct?”
Anna stared at her, eyes wide.
“I know I’m preaching to the converted.” Flic’s smile was broad. “But unlike the gentleman over there, I don’t think the church necessarily has it wrong—I understand they have been driven by years of tradition, years of teachings, years of following—but I do believe they are naive and wrong not to change.”
Anna coughed. “It’s not a sin to have homosexual tendencies controlled by healthy spiritual beliefs.”
Flic sat back, no longer the center of attention. She was interested to see how far Anna wanted to explore the subject.
“Of course,” said one member, a young man, probably gay if his high-pitched voice and heavy eye makeup was any indication. “It goes back to what Miss Bastone said. We think that, because we’re taught that. Regardless of our teachings, we are smart enough to determine for ourselves that a tendency toward the same sex isn’t a sin.”
The Fifth Gospel Page 15
