The Retaliation. Episode 2 - First Day at the Curious Offices

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.

Monday Nov 25^th 8.31am  Curial Offices, Scarlettfriars Street.
 

Resplendent in his made-to-measure leather trimmed mitre, Archbishop Tartuffo swept majestically up the winding marble staircase of the curial offices towards his newly decorated suite.  He waved regally and blessed the staff who were gathered there to greet him. There was a polite smattering of applause.  He was glad he had been allowed to bring his own staff with him.  He winked teasingly at his secretary Victoria Titloch, as he passed by her desk.  She looked sternly back at him with the merest hint of a sneer on her glossy, scarlet lips. Tartuffo felt a shiver of excitement go through him. At that moment he became especially aware of his green and gold vestments billowing around his body, with the custom made abrasive lining scratching and scraping against his torso and thighs.

As he passed the portrait of the previous incumbent, Clementino Biscotti, he winked and hummed to himself “The winner takes it all......the loser’s standing small.....hmm hmm hmm.....”  He chuckled as he turned the large, heavy brass handle to his office.

He hadn’t felt this happy since, well, it must have been his last visit to Skelpers in Lochgelly.

Once inside, he sat back in his blue leather armchair and gave a contented sigh.  How good it was to be in this room, at the desk which was rightfully his. Yes, he thought ruefully, he had to engage in some rather distasteful tactics to get there, but he justified those means to himself as he flicked through the dossier given to him by Emma.  A dossier containing photos and recordings of Biscotti, caught in a variety of compromising situations, including that undignified unmasking at the Gay Pride drag show, all captured by his trusty foot-soldier Emma using her special specs. Emma - “What a woman”, he thought. “I bet she was hot when she was younger. Hell, what am I saying, she’s still hot!”

Tartuffo had personally overseen the re-decoration of the offices and dining room in the Curial offices. It was now a masculine mixture of dark oak panelling, hardwood floors, leather furniture and accessories, with dark heavy brocade curtains and brass door fittings. Everything was harsh, cold and forbidding. “Perfect!” he nodded.

He was glad to be rid of all that burgundy and gold, the vulgar glitterball and the leopard print chaise longue, so beloved of Biscotti.

‘Pah!’ he spat. ‘Bampot!’ 

Still, those mirrors could be handy, he smirked, glancing up at the ceiling.....but the contents of those closets would have to be disposed of discreetly. As for the swivelling panelled doors.....well, he conceded, they could be useful....Yes, it all made sense now, Biscotti’s taste in interior design when coupled with what the dossier revealed told the whole story. 

However, Tartuffo was famous for his discretion and loyalty. He prided himself on the fact that he had kept Biscotti’s little peccadilloes quiet. That he let Biscotti retire with dignity. Hell, he even arranged his farewell party – a lavish but strictly private affair at Butterbutts Nightclub. One last little indulgence for Clementi and his “friends”.....

During his time as rector of St Pulcherius Seminary, Tartuffo had turned a blind eye to many of the students’ indiscretions. After all, boys will be boys.  In fact, he was quite prepared to take the rap when the police discovered the seminarians’ crack cocaine factory, which was being operated from Gabriel Campbell’s room, but one word whispered in the married Police Chief’s ear – “rentboys” - saw a speedy end to that little problem.  And as a result, Gabriel Campbell’s career rightly flourished unhindered. He was now parish priest of St Mocheomoc’s Metropolitan Cathedral in Kilcathclyde, known fondly by the locals as St Muckymuck’s.  “How appropriate” he mused.

“Ah the good old days” he reminisced, flicking through Biscotti’s diaries which had been dumped with gay abandon in a box, wrapped in a burgundy and gold feather boa.  He made a mental note to give Gabriel a call and arrange a little dinner and a trip down memory lane.  Gabriel also understood about discretion – he too had had problems with photos from his past. 

He also noted from the diaries that Gabriel’s Choir Director, Ina, who was a little hottie, had been suffering from a sex addiction and had been nicknamed Cinzano by the choir at St Mocheomoc’s – “Anytime, anywhere!”.

“Oh yes” he thought, “she could wave her baton at me ANYTIME!”

He sighed, and ran his hands lovingly along his manly hardwood accessories.  “Just what the Archdiocese of Kilcathclyde needs, a REAL man at the helm!” He adjusted his mitre, which was just a smidgen too tight for him, but hell, that was the way he liked it.

©2010 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.