Douglas Wood

At that exact moment, as if he could read her mind, Bishop Reilly takes up the envelope. “Well, David, let’s get down to it, shall we? His Sacred Council has made their decision about the Redemption Ceremony. The results will be delivered on the show tomorrow of course but they’re giving people a heads up now. Are you ready? Should we have a trumpet fanfare?”

David does a comic little toot and Marilyn’s laugh comes out at triple volume. The carved jade letter opener breaks the seal and for a long minute, the bishop mumbles as he reads.

Marilyn’s joyous heart goes tripping over itself. She looks over and does her extra-wide smile, the one where her nose wrinkles. She’s trying to infect her husband with gladness but David won’t play along. He looks like he always looks: pleased. But that’s not excited. Can’t he let himself be excited for once?

The bishop’s heavy face clouds, then darkens. “Hmmm,” he says.

Oh, no. Oh, no. I knew it, she thinks.

“David, what can I say?” His voice is low and sad, the one she imagines he uses at funerals. “Seventeen thousand laymen applied for just three Orthodox slots. You’ve only been Ortho for what, six, eight months now?”

David answers, “A year and seven months, Excellency.”

“Right. Well, it’s been more than forty years since His Sacred Council chose a new Brotherhood of Redeemed. The last twelve were exceptional men. That’s why the Lord kept the last one alive for so long. I’m afraid the Sacred Council was looking for someone more…more…” A sprig of a smile sprouts and blooms across his jowls. “I can’t do it. As Bishop of the City of Angels Diocese of the Bookist Orthodox Church, on behalf of His Sacred Council and the Most Holy Redeemer—Dr. David Donohue, I am pleased to offer you a slot in the Redemption Ceremony. Congratulations, you’re going to be Redeemed. All Praise, All Praise.”

David jumps up out of his seat. “What? You’re kidding.”

Marilyn bounces up and down in her chair like it was electrified, shriek-gasping in delight. She wants to reach up to hug him and she almost does, right out in public. Thankfully, David’s broad hand squeezes her shoulder, fixing her in her place, as his other one pumps the bishop’s fist. “I don’t know what to say, Your Excellency. Thank you sir, All Praise.”

“Try to look surprised tomorrow, huh? Well done, David.” The bishop tucks his robes under and rolls his contoured chair beneath the desk. “You will be—and I quote: …the lay face of the Sacred Council, proof that God’s law is achievable for the common man, a walking, talking inspiration. You think you’re up for it, Designee Donohue?”

“Wow.” A chuckle and a perfect ear-to ear smile. “I’m not so sure now!”

“Like the old saying goes: The Sacred Council is good at interpreting God’s Law, but they’re too damned ugly to sell it. That’s your job now.” He laughs and turns to his computer.

David takes the opportunity to give his wife’s hand a warm squeeze. He even winks.

Using two fingers on each hand, His Excellency taps on the keyboard, entering the code from the letter, and then pivots the screen so they can see a series of graphs and charts.

“So here’s where you stand. Your test results were fantastic. You’re a layman but you’re also Dean of St. Crispin University’s theology department, so no worries obviously. Your Spirolean Greek exam was almost perfect. Don’t get me wrong, the Neo Orthodox, the Ultra Orthodox, even the Bookist Reform, they’re redeeming some good men. But the Orthos? Confidentially, the Most Holy Redeemer said that you guys are the gold standard.”

More tapping. Another page. “The focus group loved you. ‘Sincere.’ ‘Seems to care about people like me.’ ‘Inspiring.’ ‘He’s a home run.’ I’ll have Ted print these out before you leave. We’ll make your dad a copy, too. Everything looks great. Just great.” Pausing, he leans back and searches David’s face for something.

David helps him. “But…”

“But, it’s only October. For the next six months, you’re a designee. You’ll be all over the media. I don’t have to tell you. People will notice things. Watch out for the little infractions. Listen, David, I know you. Don’t drive yourself crazy but, you know, dot your i’s. Cross your t’s. It’s the price the Bookist Orthodox pay. The burden of the Brown. You understand.” The bishop’s gaze flickers ever so briefly to the Eye and Ear Friendlies.

Even Marilyn understands. David says only, “Sure.”

After more jokes and slaps on the back, Bishop Reilly stands and shepherds the two of them toward the light of the outer office. “Enjoy yourself, son. Soon your life is not going to be your own. Which reminds me. You’ve given your husband two girls, correct, Mrs. Donohue?”

She freezes. Clears her throat.

David says, “Marilyn?”

“Two. Yes.” Not having spoken aloud in half an hour, Marilyn finds her tongue dry and foreign feeling. “Maggie and Lindsay. We have… he’s got two girls, All Praise.”

“Daughters don’t belong to their father; they belong to their future husband.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

“Daughters!” His stern face turns into a crinkly smile. From a hidden pocket in his robe, the bishop takes out four golden tickets. “Here are some extra Coitus Coupons, so you can work on a son for your husband. Is that a deal?”

Marilyn mumbles, “Thank you, Excellency.” She reaches to take the coupons—

“But first…” he says, holding the tickets back, “I hate to ask, but have you been using paints to highlight your natural, registered shade of—I think my notes said, medium chicory?”

From behind his desk, the assistant says, “Hickory, Excellency.”

“Thank you, Ted. Hickory brown. Look. It’s 2001. I’m a man of the world. I’m aware that some women dye their hair…”

If hair could blush, Marilyn would be a redhead. “Lemon juice is all. Lemons are sanctified, I thought… Since we’ve been Ortho, Father, I mean Excellency, I promise, I…”

“But your husband is a role model for all Orthos now. And you reflect him best with your modesty.” Bishop Reilly chuckles, hands her the coupons. “I know you’re a good girl. My own daughters used to use lemon juice. But if it gives the appearance of paints, maybe you could lay off until the Redemption Ceremony, hmmmm?”