Codename: Mascara, part 6

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL.  ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.  

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

Wednesday: 11:35 AM

Archdiocesan Office Building

“Thank you, Juan Carlos,” said the Archbishop.  “Just a tad late but no worries, God won’t mind if I’m five minutes late.  After all, I am the Boss!”

“Si, Señor,” Juan Carlos bowed, as the Archbishop took his hand and emerged from the black Mercedes, as he had done on Monday.  He went directly into the office building, his vestments whirling and swirling as he went.

“Good morning, Jo!” he said sweeping into the reception area.

“Good morning, sir,” came the coloratura response.

“Anything for me?” he said, leaning over the reception desk somewhat.

“No, sir,” she said.  “Nothing’s come.”

“Oh, dear,” he said, his vestments deflating somewhat.  “Perhaps, tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir, tomorrow, it’ll come,” she smiled.

“And I’m very late.  I was supposed to be here at 11.  Oh well, I shall have to excuse myself!” he laughed.

“Sure, can’t you?” she asked.

“Well, of course, I can!” he laughed and then went up the hall.  As he passed the portrait of the Holy Father with the reflective protective glass over it, His Grace adjusted his miter and winked at himself.  This time he licked his finger and put it on his snuggly bum, making a sizzling sound.  “Oooo…ssssssteam heat…hot stuff!” he said, making kissing motions.

As he approached his office he noticed the door was open.  He went in to find Rafa there, sitting in a chair asleep with one leg over the arm.

“Sorry, my boy.  I’m very late!” he said, noticing the boy’s rather nice, olive-complexioned, smooth calf.

Rafa awoke with a start.  “Oh…God…” he cried out as he sat up.

“Well, in a manner of speaking, “ the Archbishop said without missing a beat.  “Don’t bother getting up, my boy.  If I could, I’d sleep with you.  I’m positively knackered!”

“Do you want to reschedule our session?” asked Rafa.

“No!” said the Archbishop, sounding very stern.  “I wouldn’t dream of it.  What shall I wear today?”

“Well, let’s get all of those clothes off you,” said Rafa, waving at the chasuble, dismissively.  “Wear your black thing.”

“Oh, you mean my cassock?” asked the Archbishop.

“Yes, that,” said Rafa.  “I’m ready – I want to do a pencil drawing today.”

“Splendid.  I’ll just get changed.  Would you excuse me?”  He disappeared into a hidden door next to the fireplace.  He reappeared a few moments later, adjusting a small, purple hat.  “How do I look?”

“Nice!” said Rafa.  “That black makes you look oh so skinny.”

The Archbishop chuckled narcissistically.  “This old thing?  Why, much more flattery and you can have your way with me!  Where do you want me?”

“Sitting in the chair by the fireplace.  Let’s turn it around.”

Mr. Leach came into the office followed by a hulking man working for UPS.  In his massive arms were four large boxes stacked impressively on top of each other.  “Put them over there, Fred!”

“Yes, sir,” said the UPS man, setting the boxes down.  “Can you sign for me?”  Stacy Leach signed the clipboard.

“Thank you, Fred,” said the Archbishop.

“Didn’t see you there, Bish,” he responded.

“No, I’m secreted over here!”

“Yes, I see now.  Have a good day, sir.  I’m running late.”  And with that he swept from the room with every remaining person watching him hungrily.  Stacy moved to one of the boxes and opened it.

“Everything in order, Mr. Leach?” asked the Archbishop.

Stacy pulled a fluffy burgundy and gold boa out of the box and wound it around his neck.  He turned to the Archbishop and struck a pose.  “What do you think?”

“Splendid!” said the Archbishop.  The Dutch Zäanse clock on the wall behind the desk struck 12:30 loudly.

©2010 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.