Holy Rollers (20 page)

The reminder of a bigger objective quieted them down.

“Okay,” Mary Beth said cautiously. “So this new person…Anyone I know?”

“Oooooh yeah,” said Grant.

Mary Beth didn’t like the look in his eyes. It told her he was about to get great enjoyment at her expense. “Who?”

“Jared Parsells.”

“
That
fuckin’ twink? Why?!”

“We need gay,” Chase explained. “And no one’s gayer than Jared.”

“I am
not
happy with this.”

Grant said, “That makes this the
second
best part of this plan…”

She scowled. “I am
always
intrigued to hear what you consider the best part of one of your plans.”

“The best part is that Jared really isn’t part of it. He just has to be the gay bait.”

Mary Beth considered that. “Yeah, that’s not a stretch for him. That’s just Jared being Jared. Even
he
can do that.”

The next morning—after making huevos rancheros for breakfast and a few dozen deviled eggs for the barbecue—Farraday borrowed Lisa’s keys and set off for Union Station to retrieve Jared, leaving the rest of the gang a few hours to figure out how to avoid the neighborhood get-together.

Mary Beth had already figured it out.

“I’m not going,” she announced flatly, to no one’s surprise. “I hate this place, and I hate these people.”

Grant tried to stare her down, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I sorta wish there was a way out of this. But it sounds like we’ll stand out if we don’t go.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“You would be.” With a sigh, he added, “Anyway, if we don’t go, we gotta eat all those deviled eggs ourselves.”

So promptly at noon, the crew—minus Mary Beth—exited 455 Old Stone Fence Post Road with faces that looked like they were going to the electric chair, not a barbecue. Across the street at 462, a small group had already gathered around a grill in Tish and Malcolm’s driveway.

“Grant!” Tish called, spotting them. “Lisa! Come meet the neighbors!”

She introduced them. Each neighbor was a variation on low-key, with only Tish and—to a lesser extent—Malcolm serving as the life of the party. Which, to Grant and his confederates, only underscored how much they didn’t belong there.

But they
were
there, and determined to make the best of it…until their earliest opportunity to get out.

Lisa hoisted the platter in her arms at Tish. “Deviled egg?”

Tish wrinkled her nose. “Uh…”

“Try one. They’re delicious.”

“Uh…”

“Farraday made them.”

Ms. Jarvis from 488 reached for the plate. “May I?” Before Lisa could answer she had a deviled egg in her mouth. She chewed. She swallowed. And then she said, “Oh my God, these are so
good
!”

With Ms. Jarvis’s seal of approval, other neighbors gathered around the platter. Tish stood unhappily to the side.

“You should have a deviled egg,” said Constance, approaching her. “They’re really good.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Tish had been dismissive, but then eyed Constance with more interest. “And shouldn’t
you
be the one serving them?”

“Me?”

“Well, yes! You
are
the housekeeper, after all.”

Oh, you did not just go there.
It took all of Constance’s willpower to keep those words in her head and off her tongue.

Malcolm, who was wearing plastic baggies under over mitts as he worked the grill, announced, “The Black Angus steakburgers are ready. Who wants one?”

“That like a regular burger?” asked Grant. Malcolm nodded. “In that case, I’ll take one. All of Farraday’s recipes from Mongolia or wherever ain’t been sitting right in my stomach the last couple’a days.”

But no one else paid attention to Malcolm. They were still devouring the deviled eggs.

“These are divine,” said Mr. Scribner, from 420. “How did you make them?”

Lisa shrugged. “I can’t take credit. Our chauff—I mean, our
chef
made them.”

Ms. Jarvis raised an eyebrow. “You have a chef?”

Lisa did her best to keep a straight face. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Loud male voices rose from the yard between the Fieldings’ and the neighboring house, attracting the attention of most of the neighbors in the driveway. Tish frowned. She thought she knew those voices.

Sure enough, those black sheep of the subdivision—Mr. Ford and Mr. Herren, who left clutter on their lawns and liquor bottles in the recycling bins, no matter how many times she’d admonished them—soon emerged between the houses. Tish didn’t know which violation of community standards was the worst: that they had cut through private property; that they were carrying beer bottles while they did so; or that she’d made a point of not inviting them in the first place.

“Hey, great! They’ve got deviled eggs,” said Mr. Ford, grabbing for the platter.

As discreetly as possible, Tish said, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Herren and I figured we’d pop over. It’s always fun times with you and Malc.” He waved at her husband. “Hey, Fielding! How’re they hanging?”

Malcolm smiled weakly and waved his oven mitt.

Grant watched as Farraday pulled the rental car into the driveway across the street. He turned to Chase and said, “Just what this party needs. Farraday and Jared.”

“Could be worse,” said Chase. “Mary Beth could be here.”

“What the hell is Jared wearing?”

Chase focused. “That shirt is kind of sheer.”

“So are the shorts. He looks almost naked. Get over there and tell him to change his clothes.”

Chase didn’t respond, so Grant shook his shoulder.

“Stop looking at
him
and start listening to
me
. Tell him to put on something respectable. This ain’t Chelsea or Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Okay,” Chase said. He was about to leave when Grant stopped him.

“One other thing. You know how we’re calling you Charlie?” Chase nodded unhappily. “I want you to tell Jared he’s gonna go by his real name while he’s working this job.”

“He’s not gonna like that.”

“I don’t care.”

Grant had more than a few reasons not to particularly like Jared Parsells—including his crush on Chase, and Chase’s crush on him—but one of his pet peeves was Jared Parsells’s name, since it was really Jerry Stanley. He hadn’t changed it for a scam; he’d changed it because he thought it sounded sexier. That bugged Grant a lot.

Farraday and Jared walked into the house, and Chase darted across the street to catch up.

“Did I just see what I thought I saw?” Constance asked Grant. “Did a naked boy just get out of the car and go into our house?”

Grant sighed. “Meet your new partner.”

On the other side of the driveway, Malcolm was reluctantly serving up Black Angus steakburgers to Mr. Ford and Mr. Herren. He knew Tish wouldn’t approve of feeding crashers, but he was trying to be polite. Not to mention that no one was eating from the grill because they were gorging themselves on deviled eggs.

Mr. Herren waved his beer bottle in Malcolm’s face. “Want a brewski, Fielding?”

Malcolm wouldn’t meet his eyes. “No thank you. I’ll have some wine. Later.”

Mr. Ford grabbed the ketchup bottle and shook. A dollop of redness landed on the burger, and another dollop landed on the driveway.

“Oh! My! God!”

There was immediate silence.

“Oh my God!” Tish said again, although this time in a slightly less ear-piercing tone.

Lisa looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

Tish’s voice was strained. “He…he…he…” She pointed at Mr. Ford. “This
beast
just poured ketchup on our driveway!”

Mr. Ford looked at the red blotch on the black asphalt. “This?”

“Malcolm, get the hose! And you two”—now her finger moved between Mr. Ford and Mr. Herren—“I want you out of here!”

“Hey, Tish, it was just ketchup…”

“That’s exactly the kind of attitude we don’t want in Old Stone Fence Post Estates!”

“That is one high-strung lady,” Constance said quietly to Lisa. “I’m getting over to the cathedral before she goes postal on the entire neighborhood.”

$ $ $

“…then add a pinch and a half of paprika and you’re done,” Farraday told the neighbors gathered around him. He took a sip from the large tumbler of scotch in his hand. “But remember: a pinch
and a half
. It’s all about that last half pinch. Other than that, it’s really easy.”

“And
so
good,” Ms. Jarvis said again.

A few yards away from Farraday’s impromptu cooking class, Jared, now in non-see-through clothing, stood brooding.

“You’ll get used to it,” said Grant. “It
is
your real name, after all.”

“
Was
my real name. If I wanted it to still be my name…it’d still be my name.”

Tish, now somewhat calmer than she’d been during the ketchup incident, approached and gave Jared the once-over. “And who do we have here?”

“This is Jerry,” Grant said, before Jared had a chance to screw things up.

Tish was ever-mindful of the HOA’s rules. “And how is Jerry related?”

Grant was ever-mindful that Tish was ever-mindful. “He’s my, uh…”

“Son,” said Jared, a small bit of triumph in his voice. Grant curled his lip.

“Son?” She studied their faces, looking for a resemblance and finding none.

“Jerry was adopted,” said Grant. “From an orphanage. Where he was placed because no one wanted him.”

Jared looked stricken and put a hand to his chest. “I was? How come you and Mom never told me?”

Tish backed away, and then quickly disappeared into the thinning crowd.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” said Grant. “On top of everything else, I’m too young to be your father.”

“Actually,” Jared said, “you’re older than my father.”

“Shuddup.” They watched as Farraday passed, leading a half dozen neighbors—including Ms. Jarvis and Mr. Scribner—in the direction of 455. “Where are you going?”

“They want me to show ’em how I braise my short ribs.”

Grant shook his head. These suburbs were going to kill him yet.

$ $ $

The day he abruptly left his pulpit in Newark, Delaware, could have ended the religious calling of Dennis Merribaugh—some might say it
should
have ended that calling—but Merribaugh and the church deacons had a gentlemen’s agreement that the past was the past, and as long as he went away it would stay buried. It was, perhaps, the best solution to a very awkward situation.

That he had ended up with a better position at the Virginia Cathedral of Love was indeed proof of God’s benevolence. It made Merribaugh believe all the more in the power of redemption, and he was determined to spread that word. In a sense, that was what Project Rectitude was all about.

It was also what drew him to Sister Constance. Although tight-lipped about her past, he could sense her presence at the Cathedral was an effort to atone for sins. He would help her find redemption, and he knew just how to do that.

He summoned her to his fourth-floor office in Cathedral House, sat her down, and said, “Sister Constance, I continue to be impressed by your commitment to the Virginia Cathedral of Love.”

“I feel I’ve found a home, Rev. Merribaugh. Praise the Lord!”

He thought maybe he should tell her that not every sentence had to end with “praise the Lord,” but if it made her happy…

“And I have news, Mr. Merribaugh!” She didn’t wait for his reaction. “I’ve found a sinner for your ex-gay ministry!”

He dropped his elbows to the desk and leaned forward. “You have?”

“I have indeed.”

Merribaugh smiled. With Hurley’s extended push, the number of registrations for Beyond Sin had topped one hundred twenty. Sister Constance had just helped him climb a bit closer to the goal, which was especially timely given the imminence of the conference.

“Delightful!” He was genuinely happy. “Just delightful! And what’s this person’s name?”

She looked at him, her sly smile covering for the fact that she couldn’t remember.

“This is an extra-special offering to the church,” she said finally. “I’ll bring him around tomorrow, so you can meet him personally.”

He gave her a broad wink. “You know how to tease a man. All right, I can be patient. But I can’t wait to meet your extra-special homosexual!”

“I can’t wait for you to meet him, either!”

Flush with the good news, Merribaugh almost forgot why he’d summoned her. A glance at his datebook refreshed his memory.

“I wondered if you had the next half hour free.”

“Yes, I do. Why?”