Out of the Night

Chapter 1-3

“Mary was telling us while you were in the pisser that you went to dinner with him a couple of times?”

The blonde with Sam spoke up. “What a drag!”

“Well, it wasn’t so bad. You guys were all home for the summer. I was here, trying to make enough to pay my rent and buy food, and working at the Gardens. Doug is there a lot, and one day we got to talking. He was asking about me, and I mentioned that I missed Mary, didn’t know what to do with myself here in Lake Polk with everyone gone, and needed to earn some money.”

“So?” encouraged the blonde.

“So he told me his garden had gotten out of control while he was away in June and wanted to know if I’d like to help him with it. I said I could use the money.” I was doing my work at Ridenour weekday mornings, and you know how hot it is around here afternoons. He suggested that I come early on Saturday morning and work for a few hours while it was still sort of cool.”

The others nodded, so Blair continued. “One day he asked what I was doing that evening. He knew Mary was at home and my folks are four hours away in Fort Meyers. I said I would probably stay home and eat a PB&J sandwich and watch whatever was on television. That’s when he asked me to go to the mall and have supper with him.”

“Booorrrring,” said the blonde.

“Well, it was a free meal. Besides, he’s a decent guy, not stuffy at all. He seemed okay about being with me. I mean, what am I to him? Just some college jock he never saw before this summer. I think he was as lonesome as I was. So I suggested the next weekend us going to a movie. He said he’d like that, but why didn’t we have dinner again first. So we did. That’s all.”

“Sounds like a goddam queer to me,” said Sam.

* * * *

When Doug got home after dropping Hallie off, he checked his voice mail. Nothing. Then he booted up his computer and logged onto the internet to check his email. Nothing. Then he checked to see if any of his several IM friends were on. No one. Pathetic, he said to himself. Here it is, nine o’clock on a Saturday evening, and you’re alone, trying to think of something to do until you can reasonably go to bed!

He turned on one of Tampa’s two PBS stations and watched BBC sitcoms until eleven, at which point he turned off the TV and went to his bedroom. After taking off and carefully hanging up his pants, he threw the rest of his clothes in a hamper. He brushed his teeth, flossed, urinated, and went to bed. He might have turned on the TV in the bedroom, but he knew there was nothing on that he wanted to watch. Besides, he wanted to be fresh for the eight o’clock service the next morning. After setting his bedside radio to play for thirty minutes before shutting down, he turned off the light. By the time the radio had switched off, Doug had drifted off to sleep, hoping to revisit that morning’s dream.

* * * *

No such luck. Doug awoke when the radio came on at 6:30, not aware of having dreamed at all. He pulled on some shorts, sox, sneakers, and a t-shirt. He had time to run a while before eating breakfast and cleaning up for church.

Back home after his jog around the neighborhood, he had orange juice, scrambled eggs, and toast. Bacon would have been nice, but he was beginning to be more careful about cholesterol.

He showered and shaved. Instead of his usual suit or jacket and tie, he put on a white shirt, open at the collar, dark slacks, and black loafers. Since he was reading this morning, he knew a jacket and tie would be superfluous under his vestments.

He arrived at St. John’s at 7:30, a half an hour before the service was to begin. He found no one in the vesting room when he got there. At the eight o’clock service, there were no acolytes. Father Dave was no doubt around, but Doug hadn’t seen him yet. And Cal Jones would predictably arrive at the last moment.

Doug put on the full-length black cassock. When he donned that garment, he was always reminded of Bing Crosby and Gregory Peck, who had both played Catholic priests in movies he’d loved when he was a kid. Then he pulled on the short, white cotta over the cassock. As he told Hallie, he’d gone to the church earlier in the week to find out what the lessons were. He had the insert from the bulletin tucked into the appropriate place in his Book of Common Prayer/Hymnal combination.

When, about ten minutes before eight o’clock, Father Dave walked in, said hello, and began to put on his vestments, Doug lighted the candle lighter and went into the sanctuary to light the candles on the altar.

As he was putting the candle lighter back into its holder, Cal breezed in, said a casual good morning, and began putting on his cassock.

“Who’s doing what this morning, Doug?”

“You’re doing the Psalm, I’ve got the lessons.”

“Okay. I guess I’d better take a look at the Psalm for today.”

A few minutes later, Father Dave said a brief prayer, and the three of them entered the sanctuary from the side.

* * * *

Things went smoothly during the service. Both Cal and Doug were experienced, though they had different styles. Doug tended to be over-prepared, over-conscientious. Cal, by contrast, was very casual. This morning, for example, he was wearing sandals with no socks under his khaki slacks.

I suppose, Doug thought, he is wearing on his feet what monks did for centuries, so I shouldn’t be critical. But some people in the congregation are going to be upset. We Episcopalians are a pretty up-tight bunch, for sure.

Both men read their appointed passages without stumbling. For Doug it was old hat because, as he’d said to Hallie, he had years of experience reading to college students. After the passing of the Peace, both men went to the Gospel side of the church, out of sight of the congregation. Cal gave Dave, the priest, the wine and water as needed. Doug rang the bells at the appropriate places. All of this gave Doug a feeling he could hardly describe. He felt he was participating in something different from anything else he did in his life, and he looked forward to the Sundays when it was his turn to be what was called in the bulletin a lay Eucharistic minister, or LEM.

The most special part of the service, however, was the point at which the two men, each taking half of the communion rail, followed Father Dave, offering the chalice after the priest had put the wafer into the communicant’s hand.

This serving of the wine always gave Doug goose bumps. He wasn’t sure why, but something was going on at this time which overrode his years of training in logic, his experience as a scholar. What was happening here defied logic. “Call it the Holy Spirit if you want,” Father Dave had told him often. “It’s something greater than yourself, whatever you call it. You step back from your being there and become only the bearer at that moment.”

At St. John’s, there were three ways a communicant could receive the wine. The most common was for the server to hold the chalice while the communicant took a sip from it, usually steadying it from the bottom with one hand. If, for whatever reason, the person did not want to drink from the chalice, she or he could hold the wafer between thumb and forefinger. The server knew to hold the chalice so that the receiver could dip the wafer into the wine and then put it into his or her own mouth. A third and fairly common way was for the communicant to leave the wafer in his or her upturned palm. The server thus knew to intinct the wafer, which he then put on the tongue of the communicant.

As Doug passed along the altar rail, when nearly everyone had been served, he noted a bowed head he didn’t recognize, obviously someone who’d been sitting near the back of the church. A visitor, he thought, or a new parishioner.

Moving in front of the kneeling newcomer, he saw the wafer was resting in the man’s palm. He took the wafer, and dipped it into the wine.

In Doug’s experience, it was fairly common for the communicant to smile at the server at the time when the wine is offered.

In this case, however, the stranger tilted his head back, opened his mouth so Doug could place the wafer on his tongue, looked Doug steadily in the eye, and winked!

Then he was smiling, with what could only be described as a devilish twinkle in his eyes. Doug’s heart and his c**k lurched. There was a magical, instant connection that certainly was not religious. This had nothing to do with the Holy Spirit. This was all to do with the flesh.

The man was about Doug’s age, or perhaps a bit younger. He had short, dark, curly hair, salted with a little grey. He wore a neatly-trimmed mustache and a short goatee, both of which had a little more gray than the hair on his head. The eyes which had so jolted Doug were an intense blue.

“The Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ keep you in everlasting life,” Doug said, dipping the wafer in the wine before putting it on the stranger’s tongue.

After chewing and swallowing the wafer, the kneeling man crossed himself and said, “Amen,” as Doug passed on to the next person.

As the last hymn was sung, Father Dave walked up the main aisle to the rear of the church. Cal and Doug exited to the side, into the vesting room.

“Would you mind putting out the candles?” Doug asked Cal.

“No problem,” his partner for the morning responded.

Doug quickly took off, and, with uncharacteristic carelessness, hung up the cotta and cassock. He hurried into the parish hall in hopes of seeing the stranger whose look had burned so deeply into him, but the mystery guy didn’t seem to be there.

“You were marvelous, as usual,” Hallie told him.

“Thanks,” he responded. “I saw that we had a newcomer this morning, obviously an Episcopalian. Do you have any idea who he was?”

“No, darling. As you know, I always sit near the front, so I have no idea who’s sitting behind me.”

“And you didn’t notice anyone new returning to his seat?”

“No, I’m afraid not. What’s all the fuss? This man seems to have made a strong impression on you.” Not waiting for an answer, Hallie asked, “Are you going to stay for breakfast?” Hallie asked him.

“I’ve already had my breakfast. I guess I’m not a traditionalist on that score. But after running, I’m not about to wait through the service to get something to eat. Besides, when we have to help Father Dave consume the leftover wine, I’d fall on my face if I hadn’t eaten before the service.”

* * * *

For the rest of the day, thoughts and visions of the sexy stranger kept troubling Doug. He felt guilty he’d had s****l thoughts during the very holiest moments of the service. He had to admit, though, the guy was a hottie. And there was a connection when their eyes met.