The Blameless Bystander Ch. 06

Chapter 6 -- Dancing Without Music

When the congregation started singing "Old Time Religion" Ethan descended from the pulpit and strode to the front and center of the sanctuary and sang with them. As the song ended and the organ silenced he raised his hand as he always did following a service.

"God Bless you all," he bade the congregation. "See you next week." His usual practice was to make his way to the front door by way of one of the side aisles so that he could greet the faithful as they exited the church. He started to do exactly that, but was detained by Jarrod Morris. They spoke privately as the congregation filed out.

"That was close, Ethan. I don't know how you pulled it off—but it was close."

"I was never worried," Ethan answered. "I've been doing this for a lot of years."

"We should just keep quiet about it, let the cards play themselves," Jarrod insisted.

"I don't play cards, Jarrod. You know that," the Reverend replied, jutting out his jaw.

"Don't play word games with me, Ethan," Jarrod retorted. "A false move will give us a lot of problems. We're already on thin ice. I've got this figured out. We can have our cake and eat it, too."

"How so?" Ethan asked, furling his brow, suddenly interested.

Jarrod drew closer to Ethan and answered. "News of your sermon is sure to get around. The School Board will be forced to react to it. Just stand fast and be cool. They'll give up the name for us. You won't have to do it. Once they do, the burden of proof will be on them, not you. It'll be a field day."

The Reverend listened intently and nodded. Although he always gave the impression of independence, he was grateful that Jarrod was there to help him with things like this.

"Render to Caesar..." he recited, with a faraway look, before Jarrod interrupted.

"What are you talking about, Ethan?" he asked, confused.

"...and to God the things that are God's," he finished his proclamation with a note of pomp and drama.

Jarrod shook him to reality. "You ought to go out and greet the people. They'll wonder why you're not there." The Reverend nodded and started toward the door. "Just remember, not one false word," he reminded him. "Then come back in and help me count the collection."

***********

Most of the attendees were on their way home, but a few people waited for the Reverend outside the church. They were abuzz over Ethan's veiled accusation. They gathered in small groups on the church steps and on the sidewalk in front.

"What do you think Ethan meant?" one man asked to the group he was in.

"I sounded pretty clear to me," one of the group answered back.

"Then, why didn't he give out names and specifics?" the man argued.

The question silenced the group momentarily. "He probably has to watch out for lawyers!" an anonymous voice interjected.

"He's just getting started," answered another. "There'll be a lot more to come."

"You're right, Brother!" came Ethan's booming voice from behind. The interjection startled them. The small groups broke up and came as one around the Reverend.

"Ethan, is it true?" several asked at once.

"I don't take such things lightly," he answered obliquely.

The crowd started buzzing. "What should we do?" the question could be heard above the chatter.

"Be vigilant; pray for guidance; above all, be true to your faith. I'll lead prayers for guidance at next Sunday's service. By then, more information might come out," Ethan pronounced.

As the crowd filtered away sadly shaking their heads, back to their hearths and homes, Jarrod Morris stood on the top step of the church entrance watching them. A wry smile was on his face.

"That was perfect, Ethan!" he called out after the last of the crowd was out of earshot.

**********

Bob Jackson was Superintendent of the Bates School District. He ran the District like a business. His customers were the parents and taxpayers; his product was students educated in the manner desired by his customers. He had many assets with which to churn out his product: every building, school bus, desk and chair was expected to contribute in some way to the production cycle. Not least of his assets were the teachers. They were the machine tools of production. They would take raw material and turn it on a lathe, drill it, and hone it until diploma-ready. All this was done to satisfy his customers, and he did so in order to receive a fresh supply of money and raw materials to repeat the process year after year. It was true; he was not much different from the President of General Motors.

On that Monday at mid-morning he was dealing with a public relations problem of the first magnitude. It was a reporter on the phone from the Valley Sentinel following up on a story. It was a weekly paper and the reporter was working against a deadline.

Jackson: Sorry, Miss Hardaway, our confidentiality policy does not allow us to discuss personnel file information without the employee's consent.

Hardaway: I'm just trying to give you a chance to make a statement for the record.

Jackson: All our employees are thoroughly screened by an independent investigation agency before hire, Miss Hardaway.

Hardaway: You're just giving me boilerplate! What is the name of the screening agency?

Jackson: No comment on that.

Hardaway: It's in your interest to talk to me. Sooner or later you'll have to respond to the accusation.

Jackson: I have no first-hand knowledge of any accusation. My only information is what you've told me. I don't know what more I can say to help you.

Hardaway: I've already spoken to Rev. Chandler. I have a tape of his sermon.

Jackson: Send it over, then, and perhaps we'll be able to comment.

Hardaway: Sorry, Mr. Jackson; nothing for nothing!

Jackson was used to fending off reporters looking for a scoop, but this time he was worried. He buzzed his secretary on the intercom.

"Get Nathan Smithling into my office on the double!"

The phone call from the reporter had not surprised him, except, perhaps, in the speed at which it arrived. Homer Briggs sat across his desk as he fielded the call.

"Geez, I'm sorry, Bob," Homer apologized. "Ethan took me by surprise. I knew that I made a mistake as soon as I said it, but I never thought that it would come to this."

"How could he go with something like this without anything to back it up? I just don't understand it," Jackson thought out loud.

"If you heard his sermon on Sunday, you'd know that he really believes it—a lot of the congregation does, too," added Briggs.

"We've got to stonewall the press until we get our arms around it. I'll call the rest of the Board and let them know. I know the editor of the Sentinel. I'll try to get them to spike the story."

At that time Nathan arrived at Jackson's office. "I'll get out of your hair," Homer said. "Let me know if I can do anything."

"Come in Nathan, and close the door," Jackson glumly greeted his subordinate. "We've got a problem on our hands."

************

James was called to Nathan's office right after lunch. He had a section at that hour, so he asked Abby to reschedule the meeting. "No," Abby said. "Nathan said 'right away'." James assigned some problems from the new chapter and Abby found someone to watch the class.

James arrived promptly at Nathan's office. He found Nathan and Ed Cassidy already there.

"Close the door, James," Nathan said soberly.

James did and sat down. Nathan took a deep breath before laying out the facts.

"I've already told Ed the basics," Nathan began. "We've got a situation here—it's about you—and we've got to handle it."

"Oh, no!" James said to himself. "He's found about Vicki and me. I'll just tell him that I was 'discreet' like he said. I did just what Nathan said."

"It's really not your fault, James," Nathan brought James back to the present. James breathed a sigh of relief and waited for the rest.

"Someone let it slip to one of the local ministers that you used to be a priest and he proclaimed that we have a pedophile teaching in our school. He didn't name you, but we know that he does have your name. It's just a matter of time."

James was surprised, but not stunned. He was more relieved that his secret liaisons with Vicki were still a secret, than he was angry. "It's not true—not even partly true," James protested. "I've never done anything like that, or even been accused of it."

"Why do you think that he believes it?" Nathan asked. James related the story of the 'smitten secretary' at the parish where he helped out. "It's the only thing on my record," he assured them, "and that was cleared up. It was all just rumors."

Nathan and Ed looked at one another and shook their heads, chuckling. "That's not enough for him to hang his hat on—could even work against the pedophile angle. Do you think that Chandler is making it up?" Ed proposed. "He never gave any names."

"We're not even sure exactly what he said in his sermon," Nathan added.

"Chandler!" James exclaimed. "Is that Becky Chandler's father? She's in one of my sections. She's one of my tutoring clients!"

"He didn't pull her out?" Nathan queried. "Something strange is going on here, Ed," Nathan said in a suspicious voice.

Nathan turned back to James. "You're going to read about this in The Sentinel when it comes out on Thursday. Bob Jackson is trying to get the story quashed, but he doesn't think that he'll be able to."

"I could take a lie detector test!" James offered.

"No! Not right now, at least," Nathan countered. "Bob wants us to play it cool. Don't even let on that we know about it until he says so. It may blow over after a week. Let's see how it goes."

"It won't blow over," Ed disagreed. "Something like this will get people really inflamed."

"We just have to pretend we don't know what they're talking about, for now," Nathan repeated.

Ed nodded in assent. "There's something else that we haven't discussed."

"What do you mean?" Nathan asked.

"James has that 'off-the-record' Math student in his apartment for his tutoring sessions."

Nathan slapped himself on the forehead. "Raymond Jacobs! I forgot all about that! We've got to get that changed!"

"I don't want to give up tutoring Raymond!" James protested.

"We've just got to change the place—but it can't be on school grounds," Ed declared. "I'm getting all kinds of heat from Doris as it is."

"Doris' mother already saw Raymond at my rooming house," James informed them.

"If we move him now it will look like we're covering something up," Nathan said. "Just carry on like you have been, to show that there is nothing wrong going on." Ed took a deep breath when Nathan said it, showing his doubts. "Try to find a different spot, anyway, just in case," Nathan added.

Ed wasn't convinced. "Does Bob Jackson know about the arrangement?" Nathan shook his head. "You better tell him," Ed advised.

"He'll order us to cut it off. He'll cut his losses," replied Nathan. "It would be bad for the student, but even worse for us. I want James to send him out of here with flying colors to prove that we need to change our Math Department and that James is the one to do it."

"You can't keep this from Jackson," Ed insisted. "I know, I know," Nathan replied.

***********

James spent the next three days dreading the publication of The Sentinel, hoping that the story wouldn't appear, but resigned to the fact that it would. He started doubting Nathan's advice to keep his past to himself. If he had just come out with it, he reasoned, people would just dismiss the 'pedophile thing' as gossip because they would know him better. People were always fair if they have all the facts before them. He doubted the product of his reasoning, as well. Nothing was making sense. His mind shifted to and fro, with neither rhythm nor rhyme, but continuing the steps.

It had all seemed so grand a few short days ago. He had everything he wanted: an appreciative boss who planned to promote him and who gave him special assignments; refreshment of his youthful missionary days; a female friend who seemed to want to go to bed with him at every opportunity. It was fulfillment, at least of certain parts of him. He began to see it all as an edifice built on sand. The wrong move could end it all.

James didn't run on Tuesday or Wednesday morning. He knew that he should have, but he was just too depressed. He didn't even think about trying to arrange any extra-curriculars with Vicki. She had warned him off, after all, when he poured out his feelings to her once before. What would change that now? He skipped meals, nourishing himself with Scotch and then drifting off to sleep each night. He stayed in bed until the last minute the next morning. Finally, on Thursday morning he decided to renew his running regimen.

He was hung over when he emerged into the brisk morning air. He figured that it was the price to be paid for his self-pity. He didn't feel great, but hoped that the heightened pumping of blood through his veins would cure all that. As he set out he felt the rust that had accumulated in his body. He welcomed the discomfort, a fitting penance for over-indulgence and self-pity. It appeared to be the only element of fairness left in his shrinking world.

Of course, he was well-acquainted with the crisis over priests involved in pedophilia. He reviled it as much as anyone—no, more than anyone—because he understood how a priest could abuse the trust of a vulnerable youth. He had never done it, nor knew of any priest who had, but couldn't deny that some had sullied the name of the many.

Perhaps, he thought, as he pounded out the pace, that it was up to him to suffer for the sins of those wayward brethren. He vehemently rejected the thought as soon as it formed; no, that was Jesus' deed. He refused to put himself in His place, the ultimate blasphemy.

"Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for justice, for they shall be satisfied." He quoted from the Sermon on the Mount to himself and he thought that he heard words of truth coming from his inner voice. Hungry, he was to be sure; and there was little doubt about what was 'justice' in this case. Perhaps, all would be well in the end.

But wait! What about the precept recorded a little further down the page in the same passage? "Blessed are the persecuted for justice' sake; theirs is the kingdom of heaven." Which would it be? 'Being satisfied implied meant an earthly reward right now, or at least soon. Would it be, instead, a heavenly hope? Why should he wait when the promise of heaven had become, to him, a tolling of a distant bell? Conflicting promises in the same passage; questions begot by questions leading to even more questions; answers denied. It was so unfair to go to the Source for answers and receive more doubt as reward for the effort.

The whole interlude reminded him to be depressed. He had ventured so close to the gates of Uplifting Knowledge, only to find them locked against him. A few nights before he had ventured close to the gates of hell. As he pondered the paradox, he was fortunate to find cause to change his line of thinking. He was approaching the tee in the road wherein was located the house where lived is ideal voluptuous blonde. In the early light he saw a car parked in the driveway and a man emerging from the door. The woman stood behind him wearing a bathrobe. They kissed and the woman closed the door behind him.

"That must be her husband," James said to himself as he drew closer. He saw that it was a large man, about the same age as he was, maybe a little older. James wondered at the difference in ages between man and woman and allowed that it could have been her lover, instead. He appeared quite comfortable to be there. He came out of the house and made his way to the parked car, not bothering to look about to see if he was observed. As the car drove away, James noticed that it was a Lexus, a luxury car. At least, that was one solved mystery. He knew that she would never have to sleep alone.

As he ended his run, James felt a little sense of accomplishment. His hangover was purged. He found no truth in his inner reasoning, but felt that he had approached it. It made him feel better.

************

"Jarrod, tell me again how you're managing to pull this off," the beautiful blonde quizzed her male guest. "I explained all that, Tracey," Jarrod answered. "I'm going to a Mayor's Conference tomorrow in Albany. My wife thinks that I'm driving there right now so that I can be on time for the first session. I'll go tomorrow and be a little late. I told them that I would be skipping the first session. If I leave here at seven, I'll be there by noon. Simple as that!"

"Mmmm!" she cooed. "Good thinking! What do you have in that bag?"

"Champagne for right now," he answered, pulling the magnum from a paper bag. "Something for later," he added. Tracey put on an improvised frown. "And something for you to put on right now." He handed her a gift box tied together with a bow. Tracey opened it and pulled out a black baby-doll style nightie. "Real silk!" he said, to make sure that she understood the value.

"I love it!" Tracey purred, holding it up by the shoulders and inspecting it. "I'll go put it on right away. First, give me a hint about what's for later," she prodded.

"Don't spoil the surprise," Jarrod chided. "—well, just a little hint—you're going to like it!" he teased.

"Ohhh! You're so cruel to me!" she teased back and chuckled with a sensuous laugh deep in her throat. "I'll be right back after I freshen up." She slipped into the bathroom, negligee in hand, and closed the door.

Jarrod went to the kitchen to open the champagne. In a few minutes he was in the bedroom, ice bucket and two flutes in hand. There, he stripped off his clothes. He reached into a familiar spot in the closet and pulled out his own silk robe that he kept there for such occasions. He pulled down the covers of the bed and climbed in, waiting for his voluptuous temptress to emerge from her lair.

He was half-finished with his first glass of champagne when Tracey appeared at the bedroom door. The short, black negligee was a simple design. There were panties that completed the ensemble, but she had left them behind. She needed nothing fancy to show off her classic lines. She reminded a man of a centerfold model, except that she was present in the flesh. All of her working out had paid off. She knew it and carried herself accordingly.

"How do you think I look in it?" she cooed from the doorway. The light from the hallway highlighted her form as he lay in the darkened bedroom.

"You know the answer!" he said back.

"Yes—but I love to hear you say it," she pouted.

"You look fabulous, like always," he complied. Her lips turned up slightly in a seductive smile, to let him know that his words had correctly registered. The familiar formula was being followed perfectly. She touched the fingers of one hand to her cleavage where the black silk came to a deep vee. She stroked the skin lightly and watched Jarrod watching her. She lifted the stopper from a perfume bottle on the dresser next to her and stroked the same place again. She dipped the glass knob into the perfume again and touched it to the inside of each sculpted thigh.

"You should have put on some music," she chided. She turned on the small dresser light and then closed the bedroom door behind her. The CD player rested on a table across the room. Her cat-like movements made the short nightie show off her body even better as she moved. The hem lifted with each step, not quite enough to expose the tight globes of her buttocks, but there was no doubt as to their tightness. That was alright, because as her long legs flexed with each step, a man could trace the outline of each tendon and muscle under the smooth bronze skin, imagining them wrapped around him, emanating the scent of the perfume. The silk fabric shimmered slightly as her breasts moved inside it. She bent down to engage the player and before long a soft background of smooth jazz was filling the space.