Cross Dressing (10 page)

With his free hand Ruben signed something to Sister Peg, ending with the first two fingers of his hand quickly brushing his forehead.

“Is he talking about me?” Willy looked to Sister Peg. “What’s he saying?”

“He said, ‘hollow point,’ Willy. Do you have any idea what that means?”

Willy nodded his head and raised his hands even higher.

Ruben loved being Sister Peg’s spear-carrier. She had taken care of him when he needed it and he intended to take care of her in return. Ruben gestured at Willy’s nightstick, then wiggled his little finger. Sister Peg and Josie laughed. “Now, Ruben,” Sister Peg said. “Judge not lest ye be judged.” She nodded at Willy. “You can put your hands down now.”

Willy covered his giblets. “What do you want?”

“Well,” Sister Peg said. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we want you to put your pants back on.” Willy
grabbed his pants and got dressed. “Willy, let me ask you,” Sister Peg said. “Would you like this roll of film or should we deliver it directly to Mrs. Willy?”

Willy could see the merits of the nun’s argument and agreed to help. Willy and Ruben got Bertha loaded with around six hundred pounds of cheese in just under half an hour. As they were finishing, Sister Peg walked Josie over to her car.

“You know I can’t pay you for this,” Sister Peg said.

“No problem.” Josie gestured to her backseat. “I grabbed enough Gouda to last me six months.”

“I know it’s hypocritical of me to ask, since I talked you into doing this,” Sister Peg said, “but why not make Willy your last one? Come live with us.”

“What kind of invitation is that?” Josie asked. “I thought you were about to be evicted.”

“I’m working on that. But in the meanwhile, we could really use your help.”

Josie got into the car. “I’ll think about it,” she said. Sister Peg gave her a look. “I know you don’t believe me,” Josie said as she started the car. “But guess what. I made an appointment to get tested like you asked.”

“Thanks. Let me know what they say.” Sister Peg slapped the roof of the car as Josie drove off.

Ruben closed the back doors on the Suburban while Sister Peg climbed into the passenger seat. Willy stood by, looking defeated. His prayer had been answered, all right. Next time he’d be more careful. Sister Peg removed the roll of film from the camera and tossed it to Willy. “I suggest confession for you, young man,” she said.

D
an was cranky when he got home. He’d been on the phone with lawyers all day after being named in a host of civil law-suits
stemming from Ruth’s big-rig demolition derby. Most of the damage wasn’t covered by insurance and several plaintiffs were talking about serious pain-and-suffering claims. Depending on the judges and juries he drew, Dan was looking at cash settlements and legal fees totaling in the neighborhood of two hundred thousand dollars, which was about a hundred ninety-nine thousand more than he had.

Father Michael, meanwhile, was dealing with his own problems. Since he had given Mom his room at the Care Center, Michael had to find a cheap apartment in the Sylmar area for himself. After a hot day weeding through the seediest dwellings in the vicinity, Michael finally settled on a two-room hovel not far from the Care Center. It would cost him two-fifty a month. It was small but crappy. It would suit his humble needs just fine.

Now the thing Michael needed most was medical attention. His malady—whatever it was—wasn’t responding to prayer. And just as there was no denying the fact that a good doctor was going to cost money, it was equally certain that Dan was the only person to whom Father Michael could turn for funding. From the moment Dan walked in the door, Michael dropped hints about his deteriorating condition. But Dan was too preoccupied with his status as a defendant to pick up on the clues. He thought Michael was just being a whiner.

Finally Michael looked Dan in the eyes and said, “He healeth those that are broken in heart, and giveth medicine to heal their sickness.”

Dan looked at Michael for a moment before speaking. “You know, if I tightened that up, it could be the slogan for the new HMO campaign we’re doing.” Dan sensed his brother was about to pass the plate and he wasn’t in the mood to make it easy.

Father Michael sat on the sofa and probed at his abdomen. “I don’t feel very good.”

“Who does these days?” Dan replied.

“Do I have to just come out and say it?” Father Michael hated having to ask, but he knew that charity sometimes had to be tweezed like nose hair from the giver. He held his hands out as if asking for gruel. “I need to borrow some money to see a doctor. There, are you happy?”

Dan walked to the bar. “Now, Michael, it’s in the Good Book,” Dan said. “Neither a borrower nor a lender be.” He poured himself a stiff drink.

“That’s from
Hamlet,”
Father Michael said.

“Good Book, good play, doesn’t matter. It’s a solid policy.” Dan took a gulp of the peaty scotch. “One I should have had in effect years ago,” Dan said, alluding to the thousand dollars he had loaned his brother. “Don’t they have, like, complimentary medical assistance in poor parts of the city?” He chewed a piece of ice and spit it back in his drink. “Maybe you should try something like that.”

Father Michael told Dan about the Free Clinic and about being turned down by County Medical. It was embarrassing to have to go through this with his brother, but the shame of it was nothing compared to how sick he felt. Even though the spasms had diminished in frequency, he still sensed that he was infected with something awful.

Dan could see that Michael wasn’t well. And as much as he wanted to make a point about responsibility and obligations, he knew he had to take care of his brother. “Look,” Dan said, “being the soft touch that I am, I’d loan you the money if I had it, but I don’t. I’m so in debt it’s not funny, and now I’m being sued by a dozen people, thanks to Mom’s joyride.”

Father Michael assumed Dan was just holding out on him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. “C’mon, what about that big raise? I bet you’ve got a ton in the bank.”

Dan slammed his drink down. “You have no idea what the real world is like, do you? You think just because a person has
a nice place and a nice car, you think they’re rolling in it. Well, in the real world—”

Father Michael cut him off. He was pissed. “You don’t know the first thing about the real world,” he said. “You know, there’s a reason they call this La-La Land. The real world’s not about luxury cars and ocean views. It’s about children starving to death and dying of diseases we can cure. It’s about rebels armed with machetes chopping the hands off every man and boy in randomly chosen villages—” Father Michael went on a rant about the horrors of Africa, about mercenaries routinely invading refugee camps to kidnap children who were then beaten and tortured and “re-educated” and turned into an obedient army of rapists, murderers, and thieves.

Dan quickly surrendered. “Okay, okay, I know. Different worlds. But the fact is, in
this
world, I’m dead fucking broke.”

Father Michael took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He figured the only way he was going to separate Dan from his money was to turn up the heat. He stood and pulled up his shirt. “Look at this.” Michael pointed at a nasty purplish scar on his right flank. It was eight inches long and healing badly. It didn’t exactly look infected, but it didn’t look right either.

“What the hell is that?” Dan asked.

Father Michael touched the wound gingerly. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Dan the truth. “I got sick while I was in Africa. This, uh, this doctor had to do some surgery.”

“What, like a witch doctor?” Dan leaned in to get a closer look. “Mangy cats leave cleaner scars than that.”

“It was field surgery, not the Mayo Clinic. I think it’s infected or something. I really need to see a doctor.” He was nervous and full of regret.

“Don’t you have insurance through the Church?”

“They canceled it.”

Dan needed a minute to think. There was no need to tap
into the last few bucks in his checking account if he could come up with a better idea. He stood at the balcony door looking down at the moonlight shimmering on Santa Monica Bay. He wondered why this kind of shit always landed in his lap. First his mother, now this. His family seemed determined to prevent him from getting ahead in this life. He wondered what would happen if he didn’t bail them out every time they got in a bind. Maybe they’d learn to swim. Then again, maybe they’d drown.

Father Michael had another spasm, causing him to double over. “This isn’t getting any better,” he said. “My jaw really hurts. It’s hard to move.”

Finally it came to Dan. It was unoriginal, but it had a good chance of working. That, plus the fact that Dan didn’t think he’d get caught, convinced him. He turned around and looked at his brother. “I tell you what,” Dan said. “You probably just need a shot of penicillin or something, right?”

Father Michael sat up; a sense of hope returned to his voice. “Yeah, probably.”

Dan nodded agreement. “All right. Let’s go.” They got into Dan’s car and headed for the hospital. On the way, Father Michael felt an odd combination of relief and pain. The relief was understandable given that he knew he was finally going to receive some treatment. Ironically, that allowed Father Michael to acknowledge to himself just how bad the pain was. They arrived at St. Luke’s Hospital and parked near the top of the crowded parking structure. Walking toward the elevators, Dan pulled out his wallet and held it out to his brother. “Here, take this and give me yours,” he said.

Father Michael looked at Dan’s wallet, a regular serpent in the tree. Then he looked at Dan. “And herein do I exercise myself, to have always a conscience void of offense toward God, and toward men. Acts twenty-four:sixteen.”

Like the tempting snake’s tongue, Dan wiggled the wallet at his principled brother. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Father, but I believe it was St. Schulberg, in a letter to the Friars, who said, ‘Living with a conscience is like driving with the brakes on.’ ” Dan raised his eyebrows as though he had made an irrefutable point. “Now, take the damn wallet.”

Father Michael, in a moment of weakness, took it and followed Dan toward the elevator.

“Okay,” Dan said. “Now, my insurance card’s in front, right by my driver’s license. I think you look enough like the photo. If anyone asks”—Dan rubbed his chin—“tell them you shaved.” They were almost at the elevators when Dan suddenly grabbed his brother and dragged him aside. “Whoa! What the hell am I thinking? Take your clothes off!”

“What?”

“You can’t be using my insurance dressed like Father Flanagan.” They ducked between a minivan and a Volvo wagon to change clothes. Dan put on the black shirt and white collar. “C’mon, hurry up,” he insisted. “Take your pants off!”

“Oh my Lord,” a woman said. She had never witnessed such a sordid scene, though she had heard such things happened.

With his pants around his ankles, Father Michael looked up and saw the disappointed faces of a Catholic couple in their sixties who were looking for their car. The man put his hands over his wife’s eyes and hurried her away.

Having inadvertently reinforced the popular stereotype of the aberrant cleric, Dan and Michael finished changing clothes and headed for the emergency room.

“All right,” Dan said. “This is a piece of cake, yes? No point in feeling guilty until it’s over. Then you can go to confession and wipe the slate clean.” Dan knew that wasn’t really how it worked, but what the hell, it was close.

“Don’t worry,” Michael said. “I won’t fall apart on you.” He said this despite the fact that he was having difficulty breathing.

“Attaboy.” Dan slapped him on the back.

They entered the lobby of the emergency room and approached the Admissions window. That’s when Michael had a terrible spasm. He grabbed his gut and doubled over, groaning. He crumpled to the floor. He went into full respiratory failure.

The woman at the desk looked at Michael. She pulled out a form and looked at Dan. “Name?” Her voice lacked any human emotion.

“Jesus!” Dan said. “Get some help!” He bent over and lifted Michael’s head off the floor.

“And the last name?” She was calm and efficient in the face of a medical emergency. A doctor passing by saw the man on the floor being attended to by a priest. Thanks to his years of rigorous training, the doctor knew this was a bad sign, healthwise, so he called for help. There was a flurry of activity as medical personnel hurried to get Michael onto a gurney.

The woman at the Admissions window called to Dan. “Excuse me, Father, did you bring this man in?” Dan stood by, dazed by what had happened so suddenly. “Father?” the woman repeated. Dan looked at the woman for a moment before realizing he was the Father in question.

“Yes. Yes, he’s my brother.”

“Is he insured?”

Not for this
, Dan thought. Before he could think of something that would get him out of what was turning into an ugly, and probably very expensive, situation, one of the nurses attending to Michael picked his pocket and held up the insurance card. “Yes!” she cried. “California Life, Platinum Coverage.”

“But—” Dan could only watch as they wheeled Michael through the swinging doors.

The Admissions woman came out from behind the window,
smiling all of a sudden. She put her arm around Dan’s shoulder. “Relax, Father. He’s insured. They’ll take good care of him. Now, I just need a little information.” She sat him down and gave him some forms. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Dan filled out the paperwork, then went to the designated waiting area. He read three issues of
Newsweek
, two
Entertainment Weeklys
, and a
People
before a doctor came out. “Your brother is presenting some unusual symptoms,” the doctor said. “Dysphagia, hyperreflexia. There may be some sort of infection. We’ve got him on emergency ventilation while we’re running tests.” The doctor stood and pointed to the door. “You can see him now, if you’d like, Father. But only for a few minutes.”

Dan found his way to Room 605, a semiprivate suite that spoke well of Dan’s insurance coverage. Michael was in bed with IV lines trailing from both arms. He was sharing the room with an older man, apparently comatose, and on life support.