Kleimer had formed a habit of looking for recognition. After all, he had been in the news often enough to expect people to draw the connection between all those photos of him and the real live celebrity. Every time he caught someone’s eye, he assumed the identification had been made.
He had just placed the napkin on his lap when Audrey arrived-Audrey Schuyler since her second marriage.
Either she had checked her coat, or she’d left it in her car and used the valet parking. In any case, he was happy she wasn’t wearing any sort of wrap. She had such a trim, attractive figure, it was a pleasure to watch her walk into a room like this. Both men and women regularly did a double take when they saw her. In addition to being beautiful, she exuded confidence and charm.
She came straight to his table. He neither stood nor attempted to; she expected no chivalrous gesture on his part. She merely slid into the chair opposite him.
“Well, Audrey, still looking smashing. How nice that Lou can keep you in the style to which I accustomed you.”
She ordered Perrier with a lemon twist. As she removed her black kid gloves, she said, “And you’re looking prosperous, especially for a humble prosecuting attorney.”
“There are some perks, speaking fees, things like that. And, of course, I’m not paying for you anymore.” He leaned toward her and spoke in a confidential tone. “Seriously, I didn’t look forward to seeing you again. But now that you’re here, it brings back a lot of pretty good memories.”
“Thanks, I wish I could say the same.”
“Hey, lunch was your idea, remember?”
“So it was. Sorry.”
Leaning still closer, he said, “I really haven’t got time this afternoon, but, by God, I’d be willing to make some. You know, this is an inn. We could get a room.…”
“The suggestion was for lunch.”
He shook his head sadly. “Too bad. You always were a terrific piece of ass.”
“Oh, Brad, you have such a way with words.”
The waitress brought their drinks. In keeping with Kleimer’s pressing schedule, they each ordered a small salad.
This modest order was not great news for their waitress. Her only hope was a tip out of all proportion.
Kleimer unnecessarily smoothed the tablecloth with the palms of both hands. “Well, let’s come to the point of all this. Four years ago, you and I were married. We were married in a Catholic ceremony at, as I recall, St. Owen’s in Bloomfield. Not far from where we are now. You were Catholic. I was Protestant. The Catholic Church has problems with that sort of situation. We needed a dispensation. We got it.
“You may remember I went a bit further than that. Partly because I’m fascinated by all law-civil or canonical-and partly because I didn’t want to leave you any loopholes, I looked up all the laws of your Church governing marriage. I made damn sure that when we ‘exchanged consent’-much more canonically correct than ‘speaking our vows’-you were locked into this until death do us part.
“You wouldn’t agree to a prenuptial agreement. So my only consolation was that you’d never be able to remarry in your Church as long as I was alive.
“I never had the opportunity of telling you before now, but that’s why I was doubly delighted when you married Lou Schuyler. Not only was my financial responsibility for you ended, but you had to be married by a judge.”
They fell silent as the waitress brought their salads.
“You really are something else, Brad.” For the first time there was anger in her tone. “If you went hunting, you wouldn’t just shoot the deer, you’d torture it to death. But …” She softened. “… all’s well that ends well.”
“Yes,” Kleimer said, “that does bring us to what you mentioned earlier. You claim you were married by this priest-Carleson. I find that incredible. I would stake my considerable reputation in the law that you had no escape whatsoever from our marriage-as far as Church law is concerned. We could have gotten ten divorces in civil law and it wouldn’t have cut any ice with the Church.
“If there’d been any way out in canon law, you never would’ve had to be married by that judge. I’m sure you can see why I consider your statement incredible.”
She stabbed a portion of lettuce and inattentively dabbed it in the dressing. “I didn’t pay that much attention when we got married. I knew you seemed terribly interested in the impediments to a Catholic marriage and to the dispensation I needed to marry a non-Catholic. It was silly, but I thought you might actually be interested in the Catholic Church and that one day you might convert.”
He almost choked as he started to laugh and then abruptly stopped in favor of breathing.
“I know. I know. I said it was silly. But it wasn’t until Lou and I wanted to get married that I finally tumbled to what you’d been up to. We visited quite a few priests to see what we could do about our marriage-yours and mine, I mean. Some of those priests were pretty knowledgeable-we even saw a reasonably kindly priest in the Tribunal. But they all said pretty much the same thing: I didn’t stand a chance in hell of getting an annulment. The only possibility I had was if you were to cooperate unconditionally. Even then the Tribunal priest judged our chances as somewhere between slim and zero.
“That was when I swallowed a whole lot of pride and called you. Remember?”
“Absolutely!”
“Remember how you responded?”
He nodded vigorously. “It gave me the laugh of a lifetime.”
“That’s when it came through crystal clear. You’d contrived the whole thing at the time of our marriage. Your laugh slammed the door on any hope I might have had.”
Kleimer pushed aside his all-but-empty salad plate. “Which brings us, at last, to the bottom line. Mind explaining what you said earlier about Carleson?”
“Of course.” The waitress removed their dishes and took their order for two coffees.
“Lou and I continued going to Mass, but we never joined a parish because we couldn’t receive Communion. That was carefully explained to us before we got married out of the Church. We were ‘living in sin.’” She looked at him intently. “It just occurred to me: It didn’t bother you in any way, shape, or form that Lou and I had to live a sort of tortured life. Oh, we were very happy together. But it takes some of the enjoyment out of life when you can’t forget that you’re going to hell. Far from that disturbing you, you enjoyed our dilemma.”
He merely smiled.
“Well, anyway, one day a friend told me about this priest who, very quietly, handles cases like mine. Lou and I talked it over-we didn’t want to go through any more disappointing, doomed procedures. Finally, though, we agreed to give it a try.
“Enter Father Carleson and dear old Ste. Anne’s. We explained everything to him. We didn’t leave out any detail. And he took us through the whole process step by step.
“The basic condition was our consciences, he said. Lou hadn’t ever been married. So that wasn’t the problem. It was my marriage to you, as you well know.
“So, Father told us it was our decision-not his, not the Church’s. Did I-did we-consider my marriage to you a genuine, loving relationship in which we both grew and developed? Or did we honestly consider it a nice try but, unfortunately, a failure?
“He insisted that we be brutally honest with ourselves. We could fool him with no great trouble. But we certainly could not fool God or ourselves.
“If, finally, we were satisfied and at peace in our consciences about our marriage-Lou and me-he would witness our marriage. He said at best it would be a convalidation.
“So” — she smiled broadly-” a couple of months ago, we did it. And since then we’ve been ecstatically happy. And I’m sure” — her tone dripped sarcasm-” you’re happy for us.”
Kleimer sat agape. Only slowly did he close his mouth. “He can’t do that!”
“He did it. We did it.”
“It’s a direct violation of Church law.”