Holy Rollers (24 page)

Chase and Constance walked into the hallway, and Merribaugh closed the door behind them. They heard locks click on the other side of the door, and the sound of the suitcase being unzipped and zipped again. Minutes later, the door reopened and Merribaugh emerged, rolling the suitcase behind him.

“That’s everything,” he said. “Now I’m off to the Beyond Sin conference where, among other things, we’ll be curing Sister Constance’s hairdresser!”

“Praise the Lord,” she said, with no enthusiasm whatsoever, as she and Chase returned to the office.

Chase listened to the wheels of the suitcase roll down the hall and felt a slight flutter in his stomach. When he heard the elevator doors close, he looked out into the hall, then back to Constance.

“Remember how I said everything is going right?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe everything
was
going right.”

“You mean that suitcase?”

“That suitcase is either full of clothes for his week at the hotel, or…Nah, never mind. It has to be clothes, right?”

She shook her head. “That suitcase isn’t big enough to hold seven million dollars. At the outside he could maybe get twenty-five, thirty thousand in it. So if it wasn’t clothes, it was just a little walking-around money for him and Hurley to spread around in DC. Not seven million dollars.”

The hesitation in Chase’s voice let on he was troubled. “I suppose…”

“Merribaugh’s a fool,” she said reassuringly, “But even
he’s
not a big enough fool to be wheeling seven million dollars in cash around the District of Columbia. Plus, that suitcase…no way it holds that much money.”

“Right,” Chase said, more to himself than Constance. “Right.”

$ $ $

“Good news,” Constance announced when they returned home several hours later.

Grant looked up from his newspaper. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chase stared. He’d never seen Grant read a newspaper before. “Uh…anyway, it looks like a simple safe-cracking job.”

“And we figured out how to block the camera,” she added.

Grant set the newspaper on the floor. “Nice. But you think we can get a crew in and out without problems?”

“Piece of cake,” said Chase. “The security guards all know Constance. She can tell them she’s called some repairmen for something, the repairmen show up…”

Grant finished his sentence. “And the repairmen walk away with seven million dollars.”

“Exactly.”

“So when do you think we can pull it off?”

Chase and Constance exchanged glances.

“How does tomorrow sound?”

“Pretty close to perfect,” said Grant, and he smiled.

After breakfast the next morning, Chase found Jared in his bedroom. Even though he’d been there for nearly an hour, only half the suitcase was full.

“Can’t make up your mind?” asked Chase. “Or are you putting this off as long as possible?”

The younger man held up a skintight see-through shirt—one of his favorites—and inspected it. “Maybe a little of both.” He looked at Chase with pain in his eyes. “Do I really have to go through with this?”

Chase nodded. “That’s pretty much the only reason you’re here. You want the ten grand, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” He started to pack the shirt, but Chase pulled it back out of the suitcase and draped it over a chair.

“I don’t think this will cut it for an ex-gay conference.”

Jared took the shirt from the chair and started to pack it again. “But it’s my
favorite
. I
rock
this shirt.”

Chase started to take it back out, Jared grabbed at it, and for a brief moment they were locked in a tug-of-war until, finally, Jared gave in and tossed the shirt angrily to the floor.

“Fine! I’ll dress like a straight guy.”

Chase looked into the suitcase. “Is that your cell phone?”

“Yeah, why?”

“The rules say no phones.”

Lines appeared on Jared’s forehead. If he’d known that, he would have been troubled, because to Jared, only old guys had lines on their foreheads. “But…but…No phones?”

“No phones.” Chase reached down and retrieved it from the bag. “If they find this, they might kick you out.”

“But my music is on it. And what if I want to text someone!”

“No phones.”

Jared’s forehead wrinkled a bit more and he jutted out his lower lip. “This is gonna suck so much! Straight guy clothes and no phone.”

“I like your spirit.” Chase glanced at his watch. “But not so much that I’m going to let you miss the conference. Finish packing and Farraday will give you a ride to the city.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“Do you want me to send Grant up here?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll pack!” Jared began filling the suitcase. It was only when Chase turned to leave the room he added, “I wish you were going with me.”

Chase allowed himself a slight smile. After all, Grant wasn’t too far off-base about the lightly flirtatious relationship he had with Jared. That nothing would ever come of it was understood; that Chase encouraged it and enjoyed it was his private indulgence.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own,” he said, meeting Jared’s gaze. “And it’ll only be for a few days. You’ll be back here with me—I mean,
us
—before you know it. And ten thousand dollars richer for the effort.”

“I guess so…” Jared turned to finish packing, and Chase used to opportunity to adjust himself and make an exit.

A short while later, Jared—suitcase in hand, frown on face—appeared in the foyer.

“Ready to go, kid?” asked Farraday.

“Ready.” His voice said it, not his expression.

When they were finally on the road, Farraday turned the radio down. “Don’t seem like you’re looking forward to this.”

Jared stared out the window. “It’ll be all right, I guess. I just wish I wasn’t going alone.”

“You’ll be fine.” Farraday thought about turning the radio back up before deciding against it. “It’ll be a new experience.”

Jared took his time before answering. “I’m sort of nervous about being around all those ex-gays. What if I catch it?”

“Catch what?”

“Some ex-gay thing! I mean, I don’t know how to
do
anything else!”

Farraday laughed. “You ain’t gonna catch an ex-gay thing. For that matter, probably no one else will, either.” He glanced to his right and saw Jared still staring absently at the countryside. “Listen, if it makes you feel any better about the next few days, I’ve been
non
-gay my entire life. It ain’t so bad. You can get through this conference.”

Jared didn’t respond—he just kept staring—so Farraday continued. “There’s nothing all that horrible about
not
being gay, y’know. Well, not usually. ’Course, I don’t really date anymore, but I got around when I was younger. Yeah…” He smiled for a moment, but only a moment, as he remembered a dating chronology that ran straight from “getting around” to “getting married” to…

“Nah, it ain’t so bad. Well, ’cept for when your fuckin’ wife screws you over and leaves you without a dime, and you have to make a living boosting cars and pulling jobs on the side just so’s she can’t get her hands on your wallet…”

Jared finally broke eye contact with the scenery and turned to face Farraday.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” he asked.

Farraday stared out the windshield and sighed. “Started out that way.”

$ $ $

At his U Street Northwest apartment in the District of Columbia, Dan Rowell—press secretary to United States Senator Gordon Cobey, Republican of Ohio—was every bit as unhappy about his imminent attendance at Beyond Sin as Jared Parsells.

But like Jared, he knew he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. He was going, and that was that.

Dan also knew that, in politics, sometimes unpleasant things needed to be done that were hard to square with a clear conscience. Elected officials had to take tough votes that didn’t jibe with their personal convictions because the leadership—or their constituents—demanded it; unsavory people sought assistance, and one was honor-bound to try to help; campaign rhetoric was geared toward painting one’s opponent as virtually satanic…

Those were unfortunate aspects of politics, but Dan Rowell had learned to live with them. He’d been on Cobey’s staff for years, and if there was a heaven, he’d have a lot to atone for. But he also knew that most times, those actions that seemed unjustifiable on the surface were part of a whole that served a greater purpose. The morality was in the big picture, not in the tiny details rife with hypocrisy and compromise.

But even after several long talks with Cobey—talks in which the senator repeatedly stressed the greater good—Dan Rowell was resentful that he was being sent to what essentially was an ex-gay camp, albeit an ex-gay camp held in a swanky hotel one block from the White House. For the next week, he’d be subjected to brainwashing and behavior modification programs, and—perhaps worst of all—trapped in a hotel with dozens of people who
wanted
to be there.

He threw some clothes—clothes much different, much more preppy, than those Jared had packed, and far less revealing than those Jared had wanted to pack—into his suitcase and tried to swallow his resentment. Cobey had been surprisingly good to him when he’d fearfully come out several years earlier, and for a conservative Republican, he was beginning to put together a decent voting record on gay rights legislation, so Dan supposed he owed his boss this much.

But
only
this much. No more.

Farraday’s pupu platter was a hit, which was about the best any of them could say about Old Stone Fence Post Estates Day.

At its heart, it was a warmed-over version of the earlier neighborhood barbecue. Once again, Tish and Malcolm Fielding held court in the driveway as cowed neighbors stood round and tried not to spill condiments on the driveway. Once again, Farraday’s appetizers were popular, while Malcolm manned a lonely grill. Once again, Tish circled the crowd with a ferocious smile, forcing small talk when she wasn’t hunting for infringements of whatever new neighborhood rule she’d invented.

Only two things kept them sane. There would be no appearance by Jared, since this was about the time he’d be checking into his hotel room; and by the end of the day they intended to be seven million dollars richer.

Constance and Chase were the lucky ones. They got to go to church and get called sinners for a few hours. With Farraday and Jared on the road, and Mary Beth boycotting, it was left to Grant and Lisa to represent 455.

For his part, Grant had been doing his representing from the end of the driveway next to the mailbox.

Lisa took a break from passing the pupu platter and joined Grant, lighting a cigarette.

“I know this is a stupid question, but…”

“Yeah, I’m over the suburbs. I’m really looking forward to going home to gridlock, honking horns, pigeons, the subway, and rude people who are at least up front about their rudeness. And no HOA rules. That’s a good thing, too.”

Ms. Jarvis wandered over. “Where’s Farraday?”

“Taking Jerry to DC.”

“Jerry?”

He sighed. “My adopted son, I guess.”

He needn’t have bothered. She wasn’t paying attention. “When you see Farraday, tell him the pupu platter is
amazing
.”

“I’ll do that. But I’m sure he knows it already.”

Ms. Jarvis leaned a bit closer. “You know, the neighborhood has been so much more fun since you moved in.” She glanced back to make sure Tish couldn’t hear. “Mrs. Fielding can be a bit much.”

Mr. Scribner had overheard. “She’s intolerable. And getting worse every day.”

Mrs. Huffine, who’d walked over from Black Diamond Circle, joined them. “Tish forced me to seal my driveway last weekend. She said she’d call the HOA if I didn’t.” Her chin quivered. “My husband was out of town and I had to do the work myself.”

“No!” gasped Mr. Scribner.

Ms. Jarvis giggled. “You know what makes these get-togethers more tolerable?” She held up her red plastic cup. “Rum and fruit punch! Farraday taught me that trick. Isn’t it wild?”

Mr. Scribner’s eyes darted. “You’d better be quiet. Tish wouldn’t like that.”

Then, attracted by the growing knot of people, Tish Fielding was among them. The conversation immediately died.

“What am I missing?” she asked, in her annoying singsong tone. “No secrets allowed in Old Stone Fence Post Estates!”

“Oh, there aren’t really any secrets,” said Lisa, who took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled into the air. “Everyone thinks the same thing.”

Tish waved her hands in front of her face and said, “Oh. No.
No no no no no
!”

“Huh?”

“Smoking is
not
allowed.”

Lisa shrugged. “But I’m standing outside. Away from the house. By the street.”