Cross Dressing (35 page)

He looked at the medal in his hands, red and stiff with arthritis. They looked like the gnarled roots of a dying tree. He knew it was time to change his appliance, but his hands wouldn’t let him. That’s when he realized why he felt the way he did. It was the same way he felt as he lay in that building in France with his stomach blown open. Sitting in his quiet little room, all alone, unable to help himself, he saw what the future held for him and he was scared to death.

D
an was sitting on the back steps wondering how things had come to this. How was it possible, he wondered, in a nation as rich and generous as this one, that people could end up homeless and hungry? A year ago, while producing some national spots for the United Way, Dan saw all the statistics, so he knew how much money was out there. He knew that donations to the top four hundred charities in the United States were in the neighborhood of $145
billion
annually. On top of that was all the government money. Not only did the Social Security Administration pay out $365 billion a year, but the Department of Health and
Human Services, which included Food Stamps and Aid to Families with Dependent Children, spent $354 billion annually. And it wasn’t as if all this charity and entitlement money had just materialized. This had been going on for decades.

Where did all that money go?
Sure, the president of the United Way was convicted of embezzling funds back in ′92, but not
all
the charitable money got stolen. Were things so dire that it took
half a trillion
dollars a year just to keep the number of children living in poverty down to fourteen million?

And why was it, Dan wondered, that health-related charities seemed to make progress on a regular basis—discovering successful treatments for cancer and AIDS, for example—but one never saw a headline like:
Poor Problem Solved!
or
Everybody Fed!
One would think by now the problem might be under control, but in fact, it was just getting worse. How was that possible? Was Dan missing something? Was he just stupid? Did a trillion dollars not go as far as it used to? It occurred to him that if the residents of the Care Center were in the middle of the San Diego Freeway, victims of an auto accident, in need of emergency help, they’d get it. Passersby would stop to help, ambulances would arrive. It struck Dan that the difference was that
here
there was no literal carnage, no blood, no overturned cars, nothing to entice the news cameras. It was because no one really
looked
like they needed help that no one was going to give it to them. This, it occurred to Dan, was the other side of the image-is-everything coin.

Dan considered falling to his knees to pray for divine intervention or a saint’s intercession but decided that was pointless. If prayer were the answer, there wouldn’t be any more questions. Dan knew it had been left to him to find the solution for the Care Center just as sure as he knew he had failed to find it. About all he could do at this point was to go back inside and start packing; however, just as he was about to stand up and go back inside, he heard a tiny voice.

“Father, where are we moving to?” It was Alissa. She had a paper bag which held her few belongings. It was the first time Dan had heard her say anything.

Dan hesitated. He didn’t want to lie to her any more than he wanted to tell her the truth, but he had to tell her something. “Uh … it’s a surprise,” he said, splitting the difference.

Alissa sat down next to Dan. “Father, can we move to that place where the people are all dressed up where Sister Peg took us when I got to be like Cinderella?”

Dan put his arm around her. “Well, I don’t know where that is, Alissa. But I’ll ask Sister Peg when I see her.”

“It was over there,” Alissa said, pointing vaguely toward Los Angeles. “It was real fancy and there were people playing pretty music and there was so much food you couldn’t eat it all and Sister brought her friends from TV and I even got to dance on the dance floor.” She sounded amazed that something that nice had happened to her, like she didn’t deserve it.

Dan was suddenly aware of the tingling.
Friends from TV?
Dan scratched his scalp and looked away as a stream of consciousness rushed into his head.
Image is everything.
Things started to come together in Dan’s mind.
Nothing to entice the news cameras.
Dan stood and started twitching like a fool. Snapsnapsnapsnapsnap.
No one really looked like they needed help …
Alissa looked up suspiciously as Dan snapped his fingers. “Oh. My. God,” Dan said. “Right in front of me the whole time.”

“Father, are you okay?”

Dan leaned down and kissed Alissa on the forehead. “I’m fine,” he said. “And you, my little Cinderella, are a genius.”

D
AN DECIDED NOT TO TELL PEG THAT HE WASN’T A PRIEST.
If he did, Peg might admit that she wasn’t a nun, and Dan felt his plan would work better if she maintained her ruse for everyone.

Peg was propped up in her bed reading a magazine when Dan got to the hospital. “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news, Sister.” Dan pulled up a chair next to her bed. “Mr. Sturholm got zoning approval for his project. But I’ve got some good—”

“Damn.” Peg laid the magazine down on her lap. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “Where does that leave us?”

“We’ve got to be out of the house in a few days.”

Peg remained expressionless for a moment. “Have you told everybody?”

“They know,” Dan said. “We already started packing.” He wasn’t sure how she would react to the news. He saw tears welling in her eyes. “You okay?”

Peg looked at the ceiling, then, after a moment, she let out a long sigh. “You know what? It’s almost a relief,” she said. Her lips formed a defeated smile. “Hey, at least we tried, right?” She forced a laugh. “Tell you the truth, I don’t think I could have gone on much longer. It was starting to wear me out.”

Dan touched her arm. “Yeah, well, I understand, but I may have—”

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” she interrupted. “I mean they say everything happens for a reason, right? One door closing means another one is opening, that sort of thing. Maybe this is God’s way of telling me to give it up.” She looked to Dan.

Dan shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “That’s not the sort of thing God tends to say.”

“No? Then what do you think?”

Dan was thinking he wanted to see that snake tattoo again, but he couldn’t say that. “I think it was His way of telling
me
how to solve our little problem.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re right,” she said. “So, Father, how many— What?” Peg perked up and looked at Dan. “What do you mean?”

Dan swaggered a little. “It’s time to kill the fatted calf.”

Peg was too disillusioned to hold out much hope for Dan’s idea—or anything else for that matter—but at the same time, she was encouraged by his shit-eating grin. “Father?”

Dan pushed back in his chair and made a frame of his fingers. “Okay, picture this,” he said, and then he began pitching his heart out. This was the first time he had articulated the idea and it sounded even better than he thought. It was a simple plan with much to recommend it, and Dan’s enthusiasm would have been hard not to catch. Five minutes later, when he finished, Dan stood at the foot of the bed, flushed and slightly out of breath. “So, whaddya think?”

Peg looked him in the eyes. “Father,” she said, “you understand that’s completely unethical, right?”

Dan sagged slightly. This wasn’t the enthusiastic response he was looking for. “Depends on how you look at it,” he said. “I think you need to consider the greater good here.” He didn’t think he’d have to defend his plan like this, especially to a woman who had recently helped frame a guy for assault with a deadly weapon.

Peg shook her head. “No, it doesn’t matter how you look at it,” she said. “It’s fraudulent and dishonest and, quite frankly, the truth is I’m just pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” Her smile was bright as the pearly gates.

Dan smiled back. “They say the Lord helps those who help themselves.”

T
hey stayed up late working out the details. “One of the first things you have to do is meet with Monsignor Matthews,” Peg said. “He’s got some great contacts and leverage.”

“Good,” Dan said. “Put a little juice from the diocese behind this thing.” Dan wasn’t worried about fooling the Monsignor. The way Michael told the story, the two of them had never actually met. The thing that did worry Dan was the man’s loyalties. “Sister, are you sure we can trust him with this?”

“Believe me,” she said. “He’s on our side.”

D
an arranged the meeting and Monsignor Matthews showed up at the Care Center the next day. This was the first he’d heard about the shooting and he was keen to do anything he could.

“Hello, Monsignor,” Dan said. “It’s good to meet you finally. Thanks for all your help.”

Matthews looked closely at Dan. “Father.” His tone was cautious. Sure, he had helped Father Michael after that business in Africa, but he wasn’t sure if the guy had ever returned from the deep end. His dependability was still in question. “Sister Peg tells me you have an idea that might save this place.”

“Faith’s a wonderful thing,” Dan said. He folded his hands in front of himself, hoping he looked pious.
“Ad majorem Dei gloriam
, right?”

“Uh huh.” Monsignor Matthews sensed something odd about Father Michael. He seemed to be trying awfully hard to be like a priest.
Who the hell speaks Latin anymore?
“Oh, by the way,” Matthews said, “Cardinal Cooper sends his regards.”

Dan responded casually, as if he weren’t a bit surprised. “Well, tell him I said hello when you see him.” Dan picked up a legal pad that contained some of the ideas he’d been jotting down. “Let me tell you what I—”

Monsignor Matthews stepped closer. “Does Peg know who you are?”

Oh shit
, Dan thought.
That’s not good.
“Uhhh, in what sense?”

“Cut the crap,” Monsignor Matthews said with a scowl. “You’re not Father Michael any more than I am.”

Dan was busted and he knew it. He just nodded. “It was the Cardinal Cooper thing, wasn’t it?”

“Let’s just say Father Michael would have responded differently.” Monsignor Matthews poked a finger into Dan’s chest. “Let me tell you something. Sister Peg is my very dear friend,” he said. “I feel very protective toward her.” He poked Dan again, harder. “So just who the hell are you and what do you want?”

Dan didn’t back down. “I appreciate the sentiment,” he said. “I feel a little protective toward her myself.” He gestured at a chair. “Sit down, I’ll explain.” Dan went through the whole story, from Scott Emmons to Razor Boy. After he had convinced Monsignor Matthews of who he was and what his intentions were, Dan outlined his idea. When he finished, Dan crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. “So?”

Monsignor Matthews cleared his throat. “First of all, I’m sorry about your brother. He was a good man who deserved better than he got. Secondly, I think your idea is damn good.” He snorted a chuckle. “You’re my kind of priest.” He extended his hand to shake. “And third,” he said, “I can’t
believe you had something to do with those Fujioka commercials. More Is More! I love those.”

D
an got on the phone and arranged a meeting with Val Logan, a segment producer at KNBC who had a good eye for this sort of thing. She welcomed Dan and Monsignor Matthews into her office that afternoon and listened to their story. “I love it,” she said. “It’s terrific.” She flipped through her scheduling calendar. “I can give you a good ninety-second segment for tomorrow’s five o’clock news, probably get a rerun at ten. How’s that?” She looked quite pleased with herself.

“That’s not good enough,” Dan said. “We need two follow-up segments during the week, and we want live day-of-the-event coverage.”

Val was shocked at the demands. “With all due respect, Father, most people are really glad to get the five- and ten-o’clock news,” Val said.

Monsignor Matthews stood. “We are not most people, Ms. Logan.” He leaned across her desk and tugged on the crucifix dangling from the chain around his neck. “We’re with God.”

Val stood up and got nose to nose with the Monsignor. “Yeah, and I’m with a network affiliate in the number two market in the country,” she said. “I can’t just do the same story three times.” She leveled him with her steely eyes. “Are you giving me escalations?”

“Trust us,” Dan said with a wink. “It’s a local Emmy.”

“I
t’s so nice to meet you, Father,” the woman says with a smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I am looking for my friend,” the Third World Man replies.
“Father Michael. We worked together briefly when he was in Africa. The refugee camps, you know.”

The woman shakes her head sadly. “Ohhh, it must be so awful over there,” she says. “I’ve heard terrible stories.”

“Yes, the conditions are trying. I hope you can help me find him.”

The woman is charmed by the man’s accent and the way he fills out his clericals. “Always happy to help one of our own,” she says as she walks over to the personnel files. “Father Michael…” Her voice trails off. “You know, his name sounds familiar for some reason. You say he was ordained in this diocese?”

“I believe that is right.”

A moment later the woman pulls a file from the cabinet. “And here he is,” she says. “Father Michael Steele.” She opens the file and reads something. “Oh my.” She looks up at the Third World Man, peering over the top of her glasses. “I remember now. That business with Cardinal Cooper.” She closes the file. “I’m afraid Father Michael is no longer, uh, in full communion with the Church,” she says gravely.

The Third World Man shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“He was excommunicated.”

“I see.”

The woman leans across the counter and whispers, “I don’t have any of the details, but apparently Father Michael physically attacked the Cardinal without any provocation.” The Third World Man watches the woman point at something in a file. “Oh, it says here that he has a brother somewhere in town.” She puts the file back in the cabinet. “If you can track him down, I’m sure he’ll be glad to help you.”