Page 107 of Bend
“Okay. Back to me,” I said. “I’ve been to Pasadena. I was screwing a skate kid who ollied the six sets at Cal Arts. Did we meet then?”
“No.”
“Pepperdine?”
“No.”
“Four Twenty College?” I mentioned the name of the pot school, where one could learn how to deal marijuana legally, with a lilt in my voice.
He took a deep breath then, as if resigned, said, “Fuller.”
“Fuller? That’s a seminary.”
“That a problem for you?”
“Did my father pick you personally?”
Elliot laughed again, rubbing the arm of his chair. “No. At least, I don’t think so. But I’m aware that your family is, if not religious, Catholic in a way that’s in the blood. I have no idea where you stand on it.”
“I’m a C and E.” I knew he’d know the term for Christmas and Easter Catholics.
“Why bother?”
“It’s nice to touch base twice a year. Jump the hoops. You know, show face. So you’re a priest? Or did you just say no to celibacy?”
“I’m Episcopalian, first off, so celibacy isn’t on the table. And I just haven’t been ordained.”
“Why not?”
“This is really all going to be about me, isn’t it?” he said.
“If you tell me why you’re not ordained, I’ll tell you something dirty I did.”
I felt the weight of my mistake instantly.
He got dead serious. “I know that’s how you’re used to being valued, but that’s not what you’re here for.”
“Sorry,” I said. “It came out before I thought about it.”
“That’s allowed. There was some discussion with the board about whether or not you should have a male therapist, but from what we could understand, it wouldn’t matter.”
“So I got the hardass, unordained priest who knows I’m bisexual.”
“You got the guy with the MDiv and PsyD who spent three years in a hospital chaplaincy in Compton. After that, I go where I’ll do the most good, not where I get the most authority.”
“Ah. Compton. You must have seen some bad shit.”
“Very bad shit.”
“Then why are you at the rich kids’ retreat?”
“I can do good here as well as there.” He wasn’t thrown. Not an inch. I respected that.
“I need you to do some good for me,” I said, feeling suddenly less vulnerable. “I want to go home.”
“To Maundy Street?”
Trick question? Maybe. Deacon was on that private road. Second house to the right. First house on the right, his shibari students. Only house on the left was where the parties were. Where the art was made. Where I surrendered to whomever my master allowed, and my hunger was sated for days at a time.
