Insatiable Appetites

25

Dolce was in the kitchen preparing dinner when Father Frank returned from his obligatory visit to the archdiocese, clad in a black raincoat buttoned to the throat, to cover his collar, and a black hat. He was dripping wet.

“Big rain out there,” he said. “What’s that I smell?”

“Garlic, probably,” she said, kissing him.

He hung his coat and hat on a peg by the service entrance and came back with his collar in his hand. “I’m going to change out of this wet uniform. Can I bring you a drink back?”

“I’ll have some of that Irish, please.”

He returned shortly with two drinks, and they clinked glasses.

“Listen, I’m going to get cabin fever if we stay cooped up here all the time.”

“What’s the matter? Not getting enough sex?”

He kissed her on the back of the neck. “Not nearly enough.”

“We’ll work on that in farthest Brooklyn,” she said.

“What’s in farthest Brooklyn?”

“The family,” she said. “We’re moving tomorrow morning.”

“What sort of place?”

“We’ll let that be a surprise,” she said. She had another surprise for him, too; she couldn’t wait to spring it.

The following morning when they were ready to go, Dolce said, “You leave the building now, make two right turns, and wait for me on the next corner. I’ll pick you up.”

“Shall I take my bag?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m off.”

“I’ll be with you in five minutes.”

She got into the rented limo while the doorman put her luggage into the trunk. She had already dispatched half a dozen boxes of her own things by a messenger van. Frank was waiting where he had been told to; he put his case into the trunk and got into the rear seat.

Dolce closed the glass partition between them and the driver. “You’re going to love it out there,” she said.

Pietro was waiting in front of the house when they pulled up, and he took their luggage upstairs.

“Wow!” the priest said, looking around.

“Come, I’ll give you the tour,” Dolce said. She started with her father’s study.

“This is my dream library,” Frank said, scanning the titles on the shelves. “Your father and I even have a lot of the same books.”

“Let me show you the art,” she said, leading the way down the hall and through the living and dining rooms, with their explosion of pictures and sculpture, then she showed him the chapel. “You can pray here, and I can confess,” she said, making him laugh. “Now to my favorite part of the property.”

She led him out the rear doors to the garden, and they walked into the patch of woods past the mausoleum. “My father is in there,” she said. Then they came out of the woods to where the old stone barn stood, on a creek leading down to the bay, the gleaming mahogany runabout in which Eduardo had enjoyed sightseeing trips in the creek and bay with Pietro at the helm bobbed at the little dock. The tide was coming in.

“The barn is not finished yet, but you can get the idea.” She pushed open the big doors at one end.

“What a wonderful space,” Frank said, stepping in and looking around.

“I put in the skylights,” she said. “Now the light is perfect. And I have room to do large pieces here.” They skirted an area where a bucket of paint rested on a ladder and the floor was covered with a plastic drop cloth. “The painting is nearly done. They’ll be back to finish on Monday.” She showed him the fully equipped kitchenette. “So I won’t have to go back to the main house for lunch.”

“Good thinking.”

She led him to a leather Chesterfield sofa that she had moved out of the master bedroom and sat him down. “We have more to think about,” she said, and her heart was pounding.

“What’s on your mind?” Frank asked. He took on a professional mien.

“Now don’t get all priestly with me. This is a conversation between a man and a woman.”

Frank laughed. “I guess I’m not accustomed to that conversation,” he said.

“Have you enjoyed your time here, Frank?”

“Have I ever! You lead the most wonderful life, and I’ve been lucky to share a little of it.”

“How would you like to share it all?” she asked, stroking his cheek.

“It’s a lovely idea, but I don’t see how it’s possible,” he replied. “I can’t commute from the Vatican.”

“It’s not only possible, it’s easy,” she said. “All you have to do is say yes. I’ll do the rest.”

“You mean I should go back, resign, and move in with you?”

“You don’t even have to go back,” she said. “You can mail them your resignation.” She kissed him.

“That is an overwhelming thought,” Frank said.

“We’ll have the Park Avenue apartment, and this estate — all ours. And whatever else we might want in the world.”

“What would I do with my time?”

“You’re a psychiatrist — open a practice. I’ll set you up with an office in a good building. I expect there’s a good trade to be had in lapsed Catholics and their resulting guilt.”

He laughed. “They’re thick on the ground, all right, but there’s something you don’t understand.”

“What’s that, my darling?”

“I’m a priest. Not just by education and title — it’s what I am, through and through, and I can’t do that and be with you all the time, too.”

“You can go on being a priest,” she said. “I’d rather like that.”

“How on earth could I continue as a priest and simultaneously be with you?”

“Become an Episcopalian. They would welcome you. I’ll buy you a good church. They’ll deal just like anybody else. A contribution to whatever they like, and you get your pick of churches.”

“Sweetheart, I’m a Roman Catholic priest. If I couldn’t be that, I’d slowly die.”

Dolce began to feel her blood getting warm, and her face became pink. She felt herself becoming desperate. “You’d reject me, just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

“Don’t you think I’ve dreamed about doing just what you suggest? I’ve thought of it again and again, but the Church is there, tugging at my sleeve. Always and forever. That is my only destiny.”

“I see,” Dolce said, rising. She walked into the kitchenette and got a bottle of water from the fridge, then she took a boning knife from the wooden block that held the implements and held it, blade up her sleeve. “Come here, Frank,” she said. “There’s something I want to show you. She set down the water, because her hand was trembling.

He got up and came toward her; they met in the center of the room. She took his arm and maneuvered him onto the plastic drop cloth.

“What do you want to show me?” Frank asked.

“Only, this,” she said, drawing back the knife and swinging it at him in a wide arc. The razor-sharp blade found its mark, leaving a six-inch slit that included both the carotid artery and the jugular vein.

Frank clutched at his throat, trying to speak, but making only a gurgling noise. Blood poured down his chest.

She took his arm and tugged. “This way a little bit,” she said. “We don’t want to make a mess, do we?”

Frank’s knees buckled and he sank onto the plastic drop cloth. At first, a pool of blood spread, but then it stopped.

“I’ll just get some tape,” Dolce said. She came back with a thick roll of masking tape and had a good look at him. He was already gone. Then she went to work.

An hour later, after a rest to calm herself, Dolce walked back to the main house and rang for Pietro.

The man appeared quickly. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Pietro,” Dolce said, “my father always told me that you were a man who could be relied upon in any situation.”

“I am proud that he thought so,” Pietro replied. “I was at his beck and call, as I now am at yours. My duty is anything you should require.”

“I have a job for you,” she said, and she explained.

Pietro made a little bow. “It shall be done,” he said.

“And don’t forget his luggage, upstairs.”

She poured herself a drink, avoiding the Irish whiskey, and sat down, taking deep breaths, allowing her heart and respiration to return to normal.