Conceived Without Sin (8 page)

"Hello," Donna said evenly.

"Hi Donna," Ellen said with a pleasant smile.

A small pause ensued.

"Would you like to join us?" Buzz offered.

"Well," Ellen paused. Donna kicked Buzz under the table. Ellen saw the slight squint in Donna's eyes. "I really couldn't. I'm with my father." She looked back to her table. Sam hadn't noticed the older man at Ellen's table. "He enjoyed reading about your company,
too. He wants to meet you."

"Really? How nice," Sam said.
I sound like a doofus. How nice?

"Yes. His company specializes in insuring high-tech start-ups like yours. But he doesn't want to meet you for business. He's also an entrepreneur."

"I'd like to meet him," Sam found himself saying. He turned to his friends. "Just one drink."

"And the video?" Donna asked.

"The video?" Sam asked.

A confused
look came to Ellen's face.

"Crimes and Misdemeanors," Buzz reminded him.

"I'll just be a minute," Sam said.

"Wonderful!" Ellen exclaimed.

Sam looked at his hands, then rose from his seat.

Donna and Buzz both tried, but failed, to avoid noticing that Ellen had a nice, if slim, figure, as she glided back to her table with Sam. Even though Ellen was quite tall–almost six foot–he towered over her
by six inches.

"Beachwood," Buzz guessed.

"Naw," Donna opined. "Shaker Heights all the way."

"Too nouveau rich," he countered.

"Betcha a video they live in Shaker," Donna offered.

"You're on." Buzz lifted his Pepsi.

"What just happened?" Donna asked.

"Dunno."

"Yes you do. You know all about her. You're doing that guessing thing in your head right now. Tell me about Ellen James."

"Smart as a whip,"
Buzz began after a thoughtful pause. "Humanities degree from a college like Saint Marys across the street from Notre Dame. American Studies. Drives a Jap car with all the options–Nissan. The kind of car that looks like a sports car but really isn't. Knows what money means and what money does. Goes to Mass every Sunday with her folks. Lives at home because it's so wonderful, even though she can
afford an apartment. Works for a company owned by one of her daddy's best buds. Can't guess her occupation. And despite what you think, she's a nice girl. See that Miraculous Medal? Her mom prays. Gave it to her, I bet."

"It's just a piece of jewelry."

"That's not like you, Donna. Look, I know you like Sam more than as a friend."

"Do not." She spoke unconvincingly. She grabbed Buzz's pack of Marlboro
Lights and took one out, but didn't light up. Buzz fumbled for his Zippo and lit it for her. "And so what if I do?"

"Keep praying. You waited too long. I should have told you to pounce weeks ago."

"How can you possibly know any of this?" she asked, sounding genuinely saddened.

"I just know," he put a big arm around her. "You know what sucks most, Donna?"

"What sucks the most?"

"It's gonna take
a lot of my energy to keep Sam around if Ellen really likes him. I hate girlfriends when they're girlfriends to one of my friends. Did I ever tell you about how my marriage broke up?"

"No, you never talk about it. But I don't want to hear it right now," she snapped, out of character. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to distract me. I can see right through you. Thanks, but no thanks."

She took a long drag while squinting at
their
table.

"Look at him. He's relaxing. It took him two months to relax with me. You'd think that a guy like Sam would be wigging out before so much beauty and wonderfulness. She actually said
wonderful
in front of us! What nerve."

"You forget that Sam comes from academia. He breathes fondue and wine and cheese and the America's Cup. He just never talks
about stuff like that with peasants like us." Bitterness had crept into Buzz's voice, too. But he stopped himself. "And maybe he's relaxing because of grace…"

"Look! They're laughing," Donna said.

"Why don't we go to my place now; watch the video. I'll be a perfect gentleman."

"Grace?" Donna asked, ignoring the video offer. "What do you mean, grace?"

"Maybe they're meant for each other, Donna.
Maybe she's his ticket to the sacraments. Sam's just the kind of guy to convert for the sake of a woman. He's so thoughtful."

"Yeah, I know he is. He's a prince. It's just that…" She tried to casually wipe the bit of tear from her eye.

"Donna, don't think about Sam. There's somebody out there for you. Maybe my guesses are all wrong. Maybe he'll never see Ellen James after tonight and we'll get
our friend back. Listen to me; I'm talking about him like he's dead. Nothing's happened yet. By the way, did you know that I pray for you to find somebody every night."

"You do?"

"Every night, little girl," he said tenderly.

"I'm not a little girl. I'm a fireplug. A brick you-know-what."

"You're my little one," he insisted.

"Have it your way, Buzz. Maybe
we
should date. Get married. Have kids
that are wider than they are tall."

"Us? Date? I never thought of it."

"You're a lousy liar," she informed him ruthlessly. "You did consider it. That time in the park. You rejected me in a heartbeat."

"You wouldn't have gone out with me, admit it," he told her. "Besides, we can't date. It would ruin a good friendship–"

"That's beside the point. You're right–I wouldn't go out with you. But you
wouldn't go out with me even if I would date you. Why not?"

Buzz, who was usually quite direct, looked away from his friend. "It's not you, Donna. I'm messed up. You know that. It took me two years to fill out my annulment papers. I only heard last year–it went through; I'm free to marry. But right now, romance would bring up a lot of crud from the bottom of the cesspool."

"Nice image," she said.

"Apropos. I joke about being a drunk, but I'm not ready for women. Maybe never. My daughter doesn't even talk to me anymore. I only see her twice a year since her mother moved to Florida."

"Sandi still sends your letters back?"

"Every time. Every time. It's not right," a dark line came onto his forehead as he spoke. "Let's change the subject."

"And talk about Sam–oh, here he comes," she said as
she fussed with the shoulders on her shirt.

I'm acting like a schoolgirl.

"Hey guys," Sam said.

"No video?" Buzz guessed, looking past Sam. Mr. James and Miss James were watching. Mr. James smiled and nodded. Buzz resisted an urge to wink.

"Sorry–"

"No need to be sorry–" Donna spoke quickly.

"It's just that Mr. James and I really hit it off. It's like we're brothers. Strange, huh? Anyway, he's
invited me for a drink with Ellen…"

"Knock yourself out, Sam," Buzz said royally. "I'll drive Donna home. Have fun."

"I'll try." He looked at Donna. "Mind?" he asked, referring to missing the video.

"Mind what?
Her?
She seems wonderful," she answered, squinting with a small smile. "Buzz and I are fine. Like the man says, knock yourself out. If James is buying, get expensive drinks. Have one for
me."

"And have a Pepsi for me, buddy," Buzz added.

"Sure thing." Sam turned.

"Sam! Wait!" Donna called.

"What is it?"

"Beachwood or Shaker Heights?" she asked, leaning back in her seat, looking over to Buzz.

"Huh?"

"Where does she live," Buzz explained. "Which town?"

"Oh," he said, looking down at his shoes. "Beachwood. Why?"

"Nothing," Donna said.
Rats.

"Good-bye then," Sam said, turning finally,
and walking back to the James's table.

"Bye," Donna said softly, but Sam didn't hear her.

PART TWO

The Small Cross

Bed's too big without you.
The Police

Are you strong enough to be my man?
Sheryl Crow

Come with me if you want to live.
Kyle to Sarah in
The Terminator

He won't let the pain blot out the humor. No more'n he'll let the humor blot out the pain.
Ken Kesey,
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Now is not the time for talk. Now is the time for action.
Nathan Payne

Well I hate TV;
I want to find somebody other than me, who's ready to ride off immediately, I'm looking for a cynical girl.
Marshall Crenshaw

You see George, you really had a wonderful life.
Clarence to George Bailey in
It's a Wonderful Life

And would you cry if I told you that I lied, and would you say good-bye, or would you let it ride?
Bachman-Turner Overdrive

Chapter Four

1

That evening, as they drove home without Sam in Buzz's Festiva, Donna remembered the brief romantic interlude she had shared with Buzz two weeks earlier in the park. A freezing Friday night.

Sam was out of town on business with his biggest customer. Most of Sam's clients were in Northeast Ohio, but he had picked up a large bank in River Forest, Illinois. A company he knew from his
IBM days.

Buzz and Donna had gone to Mass at Our Lady of the Angels, gone dutch on dinner at Joe's Deli on Hilliard (the best corned beef in Cleveland), and rented a video from Blockbuster. It was an established pattern of spending time together, and a comfortable one for cold weather.

They watched a classic:
To Catch a Thief,
with Cary Grant and Grace Kelly. It was one of Donna's favorites–she
had seen it several times. It was new for Buzz. Afterwards, they decided to take a walk in Clague Park. So they bundled up and drove over. It was past midnight, and the park was empty and dark. The moon managed to send some light through the perpetual clouds of Cleveland.

"Let's run!" Buzz shouted, then took off. Donna shook her head at the big man running full speed across the large field. She
followed him. It felt good to run. She missed the sports she played in high school, and was soon huffing and puffing as she caught up to him. He had fallen onto his back, looking up at the sky.

She joined him. There was cold, old snow beneath them.

"See those clouds," Buzz began. "We're not really seeing them. We're seeing the light they're reflecting several seconds after the light leaves them.
They're what, four thousand feet away?"

Donna laughed an easy laugh.

"Why are you laughing? That's really far away."

"Cut it out," she told him, continuing to laugh.

"Cut what out?"

A few moments passed.

"Was that the most romantic movie kiss ever or what?" Buzz began.

"You mean when Grace Kelly pulled Cary Grant to her at the door of the hotel room?" she asked.

"You got it. Best movie kiss ever."

"Tied with the kiss Dustin Hoffman gave Katherine Ross in The Graduate. Great movie kiss," she opined.

"What scene was that?"

"When he took her out to all the awful places to please his folks against Anne Bancroft's wishes. Ross got all sad, and he kissed her in the street to say he was sorry," she explained expertly.

"Oh yeah, great movie kiss. But I like Grace and Cary's better. More realistic."

"Nothing about the movies is realistic," Donna complained.

"Rocky was realistic," Buzz joked dryly.

"And don't forget Bambi," she added.

They laughed in their heads. It was way too cold.

Buzz turned on his side, and propped himself up on an elbow. The snow was too frozen to be wet. Their faces were only a foot apart.

"Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Nothing," he said softly.

"You never have nothing to say, Buzz
Woodward."

"Well, I was just thinking about something I heard in the readings today."

Her look told him to continue.

"Usually, Saint Paul goes right over my head. I don't know why. He's always giving advice, I guess, and I'm pigheaded. But today it was like he was talking directly to me through the reading. The phrase 'putting on Christ' struck me. What does that mean?"

"I guess it means," she
started, taking a stab, "doing God's will and not your own."

"I guess you're right. But what I mean is, what does God's will mean? Do people see Jesus when they see me? I don't think so. They see Buzz Woodward."

"I see Christ in you, Buzz. I hear His voice every time you come up with one of your Buzz Woodward Original Proofs of God's Existence for Sam. That's your way."

Buzz didn't say anything
for a while.

"But Donna, I don't really pray. I go to Mass. I say morning prayers and night prayers, and a Rosary, but mostly I'm distracted."

"Who isn't?"

"Saints. Saints are
communicating,"
he explained awkwardly, looking closely at her. "Like we're doing right now. What would it be like to be this close to Jesus or Mary, or for that matter, Saint Paul, and really be talking with them? Really
communicating. That never happens when I pray."

"I feel close to God when I pray," she said with muted excitement. "Especially in front of the Blessed Sacrament. But it's not like this. Not like this with you and me. It's in my heart. It's a warmth. Like the furnace in the basement. Touch it and you get burned, but it's nice and warm in the living room."

"I never feel warmth," Buzz replied sadly.
"I believe in my head. I really do believe. I
belong
to the Catholic Church, lock, stock, and barrel. But my heart must be dead. I must have killed it. Cut it down like I cut everything down in my life. My wife. My daughter."

He began to cry. He wasn't a tough guy tonight. He turned his head.

She was confused. Her heart went out to him. She put her gloved hand on his cheek.

"Oh, Buzz," was all
she could say.

Then she found herself bringing her lips to his, not thinking about it, really. Her boldness surprised her.

He kissed back warmly for a second, then another. Then he stopped, and fell back to facing the clouds.

"Well," he said.

"I know, I screwed up, Buzz. Sorry. I don't know what came over me."

She really didn't know what had come over her.

"Don't be sorry, Donna. I like you. But
not that way."

You're lying,
she thought. Donna always trusted her instincts. She knew Buzz was lying. In that odd way, in the middle of that heavenly friction that exists between men and women, and not between women and women, or men and men, she forgave and forgot his lie.
Buzz must have good reasons.

It was grace. Grace came.

"Amazing grace," Buzz sang softly, in a very deep voice, crying again,
his voice cracking. "How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me–"

"–I once was lost, but now I'm found–" she sang. She had a lovely voice.

"–was blind, but now I see," they finished together, lingering on the last word.

Buzz took off his gloves and fished a smoke out of his softpack, then lit up.

"I can't believe you're smoking after our movie kiss," she said. The romance of the moment was
gone.

"Strictly a nic fit," he explained. "I'm not even enjoying it. My fingers are already numb."

"Why don't you just quit?"

"It's not so easy. My AA meetings are so smoky you can cut it with a knife. Besides, I don't want to live forever. Earth sucks. Heaven is great. Plus, emphysema is great reparation at the end of a sinful but saved life."

"Buzz, Buzz, Buzz. You're so full of it."

"You have
an occasional smoke yourself," he replied.

"Very weak comeback. I've had seven cigarettes this year."

"I hate smoking conversations."

"Me too. Let's drop it."

They got up and walked back to his car, snow crunching under their boots. Donna prayed a prayer from the Divine Mercy Chaplet to herself:
For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.
She didn't know why
she was praying. Grace knew, but she didn't.

Instead of saying good-bye, he said, "Someday, Donna, let's go to Fatima and Lourdes. We'll get Sam to go."

"Sure, I'd love that. How we gonna pay for it?"

"Pray to Saint Anthony. He'll find us the money. Besides, we'll get Sam to spring for it. He's loaded already."

"You're a piece of work, Buzz," she said with a certain admiration, shaking her head.

"That I am."

It was their last moment together without Sam until Ellen James showed up.

+  +  +

Buzz dropped Donna off after watching the Woody Allen movie. He briefly wondered how Sam was getting along with Ellen. He had an intuition that they would be engaged within the year. Buzz had a gift for knowing such things.

Good for Sam,
he thought.

He wasn't tired, and it wasn't even midnight. He rarely
watched television, except for ESPN. There were no novels to read. His shelf was filled with over a hundred, but he had read all of them.

He tried to read
The Conservative Chronicle,
but apart from Joseph Sobran's columns, he became bored.

He tried praying, but was distracted.

He sat down to write a letter, but the page remained blank. No one to write to.

Donna's kiss from two weeks earlier came
to his mind, but he drove it from his imagination.

Don't go there, cowboy. Only trouble there. Think of something else.
He knew that lingering on the kiss might lead to other images which would endanger his soul.

He paced, looking around his small living room. He barely noticed his Salvation Army couch. There were no knickknacks, besides a few model cars he had glued together in high school, sloppily
painted. And three bookshelves, full, but with no order to the titles. There was only one signal that he had gone to Notre Dame: leather coasters he found at a garage sale during college stamped with the school's logo, stacked on a small butcher block bench that served as an end table.

He sat in his cherished green leather chair, looking at the image of Our Lady, an old print from Saint Anthony's
Guild he found in the trash during one of his UPS stops. It was the only image that came close to his high standards for religious art.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture Mary in his mind's eye. He couldn't. A fuzzy cloud. He saw her feet. Not her feet, really, but the bottom of her gown. There was a snake there.

It frustrated him.

He tried to picture Jesus' face, but couldn't.

For the ten
thousandth time since going on the wagon, he resisted an urge to have a drink.

Death through that door,
he thought, terrified.

He stood and paced again.

Donna.

No!

He put on his only Gregorian Chant CD and sat back down in his chair.

He grabbed the Bible, said a prayer to the Holy Spirit and opened it.

The words of Jesus:
"No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service
in the kingdom of God."

Yeah,
he thought.

How can I serve you, Jesus? Where's my plow? Give me one and I'll put my hand to it.

He closed the Bible.

He went to his fridge and got a Pepsi.
This will help you sleep,
he thought sardonically. He took one sip, and threw the can away.

He went to his bedroom, undressed, and climbed into bed.

Using an old trick, he kept his eyes open, staring at the ceiling,
and tried to sleep. Distracted, he looked at the clock.

Now it's Saturday.

He thought of Donna again, but in a generic way, not the image of her face inches away.

Dear Jesus, help her find a husband. Why did you put this new girl between her and Sam?

The Lourdes Shrine in Euclid popped into his head. He decided to go in the morning. He decided to make sure Sam and Donna went.

Sam's not home yet.
Betcha dollars to donuts.

He carefully reached for the phone, but knocked into the old cup of water on the night stand, spilling it. It didn't faze him.
It's only water.

He speed-dialed Sam's number, got the answering machine, and told Sam that he would stop by at ten to "take you to a great place. A classic place," purposely not mentioning the Lourdes Shrine. He didn't worry about calling Donna.
He knew she would go.

Grace had finally cut its way through Buzz for the day.

He set the handset down, flipped onto his stomach, turned his head on the pillow, and thought of the Blessed Mother.

For the first time in months, he saw her face in his mind's eye. She smiled.

Well done,
he imagined her telling him.
I know it's hard for you, but you must be patient.

2

"Here's to success!" Bucky James
raised his Whiskey Sour to Sam and Ellen.

"Cheers," Sam said, feeling a bit of a buzz.

They sat at a table at the posh Garden Club in Beachwood.

"Sam, would you like to see our home?" Bucky asked directly.

"It's getting late, Daddy," Ellen said, smiling. "Sam might have to get going."

She casually took hold of his arm.

"I'd love to see your home. I've got no plans for tomorrow," Sam volunteered.

Actually, he was mentally dreading dragging himself out of bed.
Seven years,
he told himself. He had promised himself that he would work Saturdays for seven years to build his business.

"Then let's go," Bucky said. "You can follow along in your car, Sam." Bucky reached for his wallet.

"This round is on me, Mr. James," Sam offered.

"Call me Bucky, Sam."

Sam placed a twenty on the table.

"Why don't
I ride along with Sam, Daddy? That way he doesn't have to follow you."

Sam could hardly take his mind off Ellen's hand on his arm. It was all so dreamlike.
This is not happening.

She had to let go of his arm when he helped her put her coat on. She put on her scarf, and took his arm again, and held it all the way out to the car.

+  +  +

"Nice car," she said, reclining in the leather seats of Sam's
Accord. He had special-ordered the leather. She noticed that he kept it perfectly clean. There were no empty cans or papers on the floor. Just like Bucky's car.

"Thanks, I just got it six months ago," was all he could say. His nervousness was back–big time.

She waved as her father drove by. Sam started the car and let the engine idle. The parking lot was now empty. A light shone on the other side
of the lot, near the club entrance.

"You know, when I asked you to our table, it was only to please my father. He really wanted to meet you," she told him. Sam's heart sank. "But I have a feeling about you, Sam."

Before he could ask her what she was talking about, she put a warm hand behind his neck, and pulled him to herself, and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips. She stopped, and let out
a breath which he could see; the heater had not warmed the car up yet.