“She certainly seems to be a million miles from this party,” the priest commented.
“Who?”
“Marilyn Fradet.”
Groggins glanced at her. “I’m told that’s the way it is. Seems like her kids would be doing her a favor to take her in. Talk is Jack has something on the side-if you catch my meaning.”
The priest caught it.
“I don’t know,” Groggins continued, “whether Jack’s paramour is a cause or an effect of his relationship with his wife.”
The priest shook his head. “Pitiful.”
“You said it. One of those relationships that, right at the beginning, should have been declared a failure and dissolv-” Groggins caught himself short. “Uh, sorry, Reverend. That’s against your religion, isn’t it? Divorce, I mean.”
The priest smiled. “No, no. The Catholic version of divorce is annulment. But before we work on the annulment-which has no standing in civil law-the couple has to get a divorce-which has no standing in Church law.”
Groggins’s brow furrowed.
“Don’t try to make heads or tails of it.” The priest chuckled. “Let’s just say that divorce has its place in Catholics’ lives. And if what you say is so, I guess it should have had a place in Mr. and Mrs. Fradet’s life. They certainly do not appear to be happy people.”
The waiters removed the last of the dinner plates and filled the remaining coffee cups.
There was a general shifting about in the chairs. Some fresh conversations were begun. Still, no one sought to engage either Father Tully or Jack Groggins in small or large talk.
“That,” the priest said, “leaves one vice presidential couple.”
“Lou and Pat Durocher,” Groggins identified. “Last and probably least.”
“Oh?”
“Lou is vice president in charge of mortgage and individual lending. This is the real meat and potatoes of the banking business. Lou and his staff do things-on Adams’s small level-like financing cars for college kids. And they provide mortgage money, of course. They make loans. They establish sales and market plans. This and commercial lending, run by Marty Whitston, are where the banks make money.”
“So why your remark that Lou Durocher was the least? The least of the vice presidents? A weak link?”
“A lot of people-Nancy among them-have their doubts about Durocher’s judgment. Some of his loans have been highly questionable. Now, whether or not a bank gives a loan is a judgment call. And not all loans work out. But Durocher’s batting average is as low as a rookie who’s struggling to make it in the majors. And, like it or not, even if it’s there by the skin of its teeth, Adams Bank is a major league organization.”
The priest measured Durocher in a more searching light.
“Nervous” seemed the appropriate word. He appeared uncertain about his smile. Should he turn it on or off? And the eyes … in almost constant movement. As if he felt tardy in comprehending what was going on. As if he had to catch up just to stay even with his conversational partners.
All in all, not the type to whom Father Tully would feel comfortable entrusting something precious, such as money.
Finally, Father Tully considered the other half of the last-and-probably-least team: Patricia Durocher, Lou’s wife.
In contrast to her husband, Pat seemed relaxed, enjoying a camaraderie beyond her husband’s grasp. And although she was sitting across the table from Lou, she seemed distant from him. She made no effort to include him in her attention or conversation.
Father Tully wondered if this sort of interpersonal behavior marked their less formal relationship at home. Were Lou and Pat also candidates for the divorce mill?
Dessert arrived. Fortunately, after a meal of such elegance, dessert was fresh fruit-strawberries, raspberries, grapes, and melon.
“The Durochers don’t seem to fit,” Father Tully observed.
“How’s that?” Groggins nibbled the succulent fruit.
“They just don’t seem compatible. Mr. Durocher looks as if he’s trying to catch up with this evening … maybe this life! While his wife appears very comfortable handling the chitchat that’s going on.”
Groggins studied the couple, pausing to spoon fruit. “I guess I just never paid all that much attention. But I think you’re right: this was not a union made by computer.”
“Well, I’m a bit surprised,” the priest said. “What seemed a difficult-if not tortuous-decision, now seems the simplest thing imaginable. If someone were closing in on these vice presidents, and one of the three was going to be replaced by either your wife or Al Ulrich, the obvious choice would seem to be Lou Durocher. I’m amazed that this gentleman ever got as far as he has. You’d think a successful employer like Tom Adams would have long since dismissed Durocher-or at least shunted him aside. I would think Mr. Adams would simply welcome this opportunity to dump dead weight.”
Groggins touched napkin to lips. “You hit paydirt with your observation on why a guy like Durocher ever became a vice president. See, Adams likes to think of himself as having a love affair with God. ‘The Man Who Loves God.’ And he takes the Bible very seriously.
“That’s the answer to the question of how Lou Durocher got to be vice president in charge of mortgage lending. Nobody can really figure it out. But it’s got to have something to do with the Bible. If you asked Adams, he’d probably come up with some verse to justify putting a virtual incompetent in such a vital position.”
The priest pondered that for a moment. “He wouldn’t have to look any further than Jesus Himself. Tom Adams might well have thought of the twelve men Jesus picked to be His closest friends, the Apostles. Not one of them was qualified for the job. Most of them were simply fishermen-including the one who would eventually be their leader. One was a despised tax collector. One turned out to be a traitor. But Jesus picked ’em.”
“You figure Adams thinks he’s Jesus.”
The priest smiled broadly. “I only just met the man. But I don’t for a minute believe he thinks he’s Jesus. Maybe Mr. Adams thinks that Durocher will play over his head if the boss shows some confidence in his ability. The Apostles came to mind because that’s ultimately what they did: played way over their heads.”
“Yeah.” Groggins pushed himself away from the table. “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, that’s why this whole business is a crapshoot. If later on, Al or Nancy is up for a promotion to executive vice president, what happens if Adams hasn’t finished his experiment with Durocher? Then one of the other two finds his head on. the block. And then what happens?”
The priest shrugged. “You tell me. It’s like a bomb waiting to explode.”
“You betcha!”
The meal wound down. Host and guests milled about. One by one and two by two, the guests approached Tom Adams to congratulate him and admire the award plaque.
Father Tully waited for the others to finish paying their respects to their host. After all, the priest had presented the award and, in his presentation speech, had congratulated Adams; there was no point in doing it again. When his turn inevitably came; Tully would bid his host a heartfelt but simple farewell.
Meanwhile, the priest mulled over all that Joel Groggins had told him during their oddly uninterrupted conversation.
If he hadn’t done so already, very shortly Adams would select a manager for the special branch that in a day or so would become a reality.
Probably that manager would be Nancy Groggins. Before the dinner, Adams had told Father Tully that she was his personal favorite for the position. Adams had asked the priest for his opinion. After briefly meeting with both candidates and after all Jack Groggins had said, the priest could not disagree with Adams’s choice.
Apparently, that meant that eventually, Nancy Groggins would be up for another advancement. And that was spelled executive vice president. Which meant that one of the three present executive vice presidents would be seeking other employment.
Odds were that the one to be axed would be Lou Durocher, who was named to his present status because … well, who knew? Because Adams was trying to follow Scripture in very tangible ways? Because some pop psych cult somehow influenced the move?