Man Who Loved God

Twelve

Barbara ulrich perched on the edge of a straight-back chair. Appropriately, she wore black.

All was quiet at McGovern and Sons Funeral Home on North Woodward in Royal Oak. The establishment’s appointments, down to the deep pile carpets, were chosen for the absorption and muffling of sound. Further, besides Mr. McGovern, no one was visible but Babs and Marilyn Fradet.

Good old Marilyn. Married to a bank comptroller who probably thought of his wife in terms of her chemical net worth of some ninety-two cents.

Marilyn alone, of all the bank’s hierarchy and wives, had come to Barbara’s side when news of Al Ulrich’s tragic death was broadcast.

Of course life went on. Nancy Groggins, as Al’s successor-temporary or otherwise-was undoubtedly up to her ears in the grand opening. And the others: Lou, Martin and Jack, plus Tom Adams of course, were being questioned by the police and interviewed by the media.

But here it was, late afternoon on a beautiful spring day, and none of them had so much as called to offer condolences.

On the other hand, all of the above were well aware of the fractured state of the Ulrich marriage. Maybe it was foolish to expect a call.

It was nice of Marilyn to come along-even if she was precious, little company.

The two women were seated across the desk from Charles McGovern. They had just settled on the wording of Al’s death notice.

Death notices are far more expensive than people realize. As at so many other times in life when businesses have one.at their mercy, the papers overcharge for this “service.” Al Ulrich’s death notice would run in Sunday’s combined edition of the Free Press and News on a one-time-only basis. Actually, as a prominent banker whose name had become far more familiar through his appointment as first manager of a controversial branch, he would merit an expanded and complimentary write-up on the obituary page. Finally, since this prominent banker had been murdered, he was front-page news, his death the leading story on TV and radio newscasts.

By and large, Al Ulrich’s death was well noted.

How did Barbara feel? A new definition of mixed emotions.

In direct antithesis to her mother, Babs had wanted a husband who would not so much as look at another woman with lust in his heart. She’d found one who didn’t even look at her with lust in his heart.

That hadn’t always been true.

Al and Barbara had had a months-long torrid affair that might have been called art engagement. They called it a torrid affair.

He was climbing the corporate ladder at Adams Bank and Trust. She was in public relations. They met at a cocktail party hosted by her company.

He was dark, hirsute, well built, with a dangerous, erotic look in his eyes. She was-well, physically perfect.

Gradually, as the minutes went by, they shut out everyone else. It seemed so natural for them to end the evening at her place.

They sensed this was not a one-nighter. Both were sexually experienced. They took their time. No more alcohol. They kissed lingeringly, deeply. The trail of discarded clothing was like an arrow pointing to the bedroom.

That night set a pattern for months to come.

Then, one Saturday in June, they were married. He was Mr. Virility in his black tux. In her white gown she put Elizabeth Taylor, that once and future bride, to shame.

Early in their honeymoon she made it clear there would be no children. Not under any circumstances.

He was bewildered.

Why hadn’t this literally vital consideration been thrashed out before they married? Why are so many serious matters overlooked in nearly every engagement?

People are in love. Prone to dismiss serious details, confident that a love so strong can solve any emerging problem. No need, to bring up anything that might prove troublesome. Love conquers all.

U.S. divorce statistics argue against love’s omnipotence.

With the Ulrichs, children, or the absence of same, became the bone of contention. It proved formidable.

He refused to make love at the whim of a calendar. Nor would he interrupt the progression of sex to slip on a protective sheath. Let alone endure a medical procedure that would sterilize him. Barbara, for her part, was as adamant in refusing to consider standard methods of birth control.

As time passed, their respective decisions solidified and a transformation occurred.

Al Ulrich had always been devoted to his job. He now became completely dedicated to both his job and his employer. Barbara, for him, had become an extremely attractive ornament clinging to his arm at important social functions.

Barbara did not fancy becoming an object.

Again, there were options. Divorce was the simplest. But Ulrich’s attachment to the bank and to Tom Adams was intensifying. This dedication was such an obsession that it became his entire life. It would not have mattered who his wife was. She would be his badge of respectability. If his spouse were Barbara or someone-anyone-else, it made no difference.

Barbara had found if not the philanderer she had sworn to avoid, nor a mate dedicated to her, at least a consort who was going places. He was a rocket that would catapult her into a society where she would feel right at home.

So, if not a divorce, then an unchanging continuation of the status quo.

Barbara collected her lovers one at a time with no particular plan. One led to another. Only in retrospect did she realize that she had the complete collection of Al’s superiors as paramours. She never adverted to the fact that she was duplicating, at least numerically, her mother’s track record.

How did she feel now that her peculiar version of a husband was dead-murdered?

Mixed emotions.

It was at very least odd to terribly tragic for any comparatively young person to be snatched from life. And whatever else might be said, Al’s death had been a profound shock.

There was one certainty: when her child was born, Al would not be around to deny paternity.

This opened another field of speculation. At the recent award dinner, she’d revealed her pregnant state to the four candidates. The notes she had delivered had intimated that Al could be a problem. Was it possible? Could one of them …?

It was time, Mr. McGovern suggested gently, to select a casket.

Barbara shook her head. “Casket? He’s going to be cremated.”

McGovern nodded. “But for the viewing-and before the service …?”

“I forgot about that. I don’t know what kind of service we can have. We don’t have any religious affiliation.…”

McGovern smiled. “We’ve found that a service helps all the mourners through a difficult time. We can arrange something” non-denominational that will be quite nice. Of course whether you want the body present is entirely up to you.”

Marilyn Fradet cleared her throat. If she hadn’t made an occasional sound the other two might well have forgotten her presence.

“Babs, don’t you think it would be sort of expected? I mean, to have a service and have the body present? I’m sure Tom Adams will be there. Everyone knows he’s very religious. And he and Al were so close ….”

Were they ever! “You re right, of course, Marilyn.” Barbara turned toward McGovern. “Okay, let’s take a look.”

“Certainly.” He led the two women into an adjoining room.

McGovern had had years of experience with the bereaved. They came in every variety from truly emotional wrecks to the casually untouched. This widow was just to the left of the untouched. Either that or she was holding herself together heroically. His trained senses told him that Barbara Ulrich might have mourned for a matter of minutes. But all that nonsense was over now; she would play the role. The untrained onlooker will believe she is crushed and is bravely standing fast. But he would know the truth. And so, undoubtedly, would the clergyman. Experience and a practiced eye, that’s all it took.

The room was filled with caskets. Most gleamed either from polished metal or stained wood surfaces. There were soft linen or silk interiors with pillows. Someone with a macabre sense of humor might have mistaken this for the scene of a terminal slumber party.

Barbara’s gaze fixed on a box that seemed out of sync with the rest. It looked as if it were made of reinforced cardboard. Perfect for burning, she thought, and undoubtedly inexpensive, or relatively so.

But if there was going to be visitation and if the body was there for viewing, she knew she couldn’t get away with such a practical casket. Spare me, she thought, from the Cadillac of the industry.

Semidistractedly, she heard McGovern quoting prices and extolling the strengths of the various boxes. As far as she could tell, he didn’t even mention the cardboard casket.

“This one seems good,” Marilyn said to her.

Fortunately, she had indicated one of the mid-range caskets.

Barbara approved.

All that was left to settle was the time of the funeral and the visiting hours. The funeral would be three days hence at ten in the morning. Visitation from three to five and seven to nine the day before the funeral. Any other details, such as the service and the clergyman, McGovern would handle.

Barbara thanked Marilyn. She hadn’t done much, but she was the only one who’d bothered to call, let alone show up to help.

Barbara drove toward their-no, scratch that-her downtown condo apartment.

She’d have to get used to being single again. Now that she considered it, she thought it might be fun. With the car in gear, her mind shifted into neutral. In an abstract state, Barbara once again fixated on those notes she’d so cleverly slipped to the four potential fathers.

Besides revealing her pregnant condition and the charge of responsibility to each, she’d mentioned Al. What she’d meant by that was vague, even in her own mind.

What if Al hadn’t been killed?

She would have had her baby. That was a given. Outside of a spontaneous miscarriage, there was no way in the world she would have an abortion. Never again would she gaze at a destroyed baby that she had carried.

Well, then, what?

Al would have done everything short of hiring a skywriter to tell the world-or that part of the world that might be concerned-that he was not, could not be, the father of this child.

Then what? Somewhere, the baby had to have a father. Not four.

Tom, Jack, Lou, and Martin-each individually knew full well that he could be the missing piece. If she had been successful in her careful scheme, none of them knew about the other three.

At that point, she might have selected one and named him as father. The other three would think Christmas had come early.

And which one would she pick?

That didn’t require much thought. She certainly would have selected Tom Adams. Not only was he by far the wealthiest, he was also single-and with a very demanding conscience.

She could have divorced Al. Or have let him divorce her. It made little difference.

On top of that, although she wasn’t entirely clear on this, there was something in Catholic Church law about annulments. As she understood it, this was Catholicism’s version of civil divorce. The big thing about it was that it cleared the way for a Catholic to. marry again in the Church.

She knew that Tom Adams had gotten not only a divorce from that bitch he’d married, he also had gotten an annulment. Which freed him.

What about her?

If memory served, she thought Tom Adams had said something about the various reasons one could be granted an annulment. Yes, she thought, parenthetically, the lesson had been delivered one time by Tom as postcoital pillow talk. And one of those reasons had to do with children: something about if one married partner refuses to let the other have a child … that, or something very much like that, is grounds for the declaration of nullity.

And that would certainly have applied to her and Al.

That meant that she would have been free in Church law as well as civil law to marry again. The way would have been clear for her marriage to Tom Adams. And wouldn’t that have been sweet!

Yes, had Al lived, that would have been the scenario.

But Al was gone.’

Now what?

She hoped she wasn’t getting greedy, but …

Al was gone. Evidently it would take time to get used to that. But it wasn’t painful.

So now, when her baby came, Al would not be around to wash his hands of the child.

However, each of the four had been told he was the father: Her notes had delivered the glad tidings.

With Al out of the way, Barbara could-with four important exceptions-let the world believe that the late dearly departed Allan Ulrich did not live to see his son or daughter. Sad.

But a happy momma.

Why not? With four wealthy men supporting one sorry widow and one lonely child.

She was smiling. She’d have to be careful of that. She was, after all, a devastated young woman whose mate had been taken from her. His death was terribly premature and she would miss him more than a person could bear.

It would be difficult to project this pitiful state. It called for an award-winning performance. Because once she carried it off Barbara was in a win/win situation.

There was no way she could lose.