“Anyway, thank you. For making me get tested. And for being there.”

“It’s always a pleasure forcing you to do things you don’t want to do.”

“I like it better when you force me to do things I want to do.”

“Kingsley. You know—”

“I know. Forget it. I need to ask you something. Have you heard of these camps where they send gay teenagers to be reoriented?”

“God loves you the way you are, Kingsley. You are created in His image and are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

“It’s cute when you think you’re funny,” Kingsley said. “Now, what do you know about them?”

“Not much except they don’t work. Reorienting therapy works as well as trying to turn a left-handed person into a right-handed person. You’re fighting nature tooth and nail. It’s far more likely to turn a person suicidal than straight.”

“It would have made me suicidal.”

“Do I want to know why you’re asking?”

“Long story,” he said. “Does your church have posters of aborted fetuses hanging up?”

“There was one in the narthex when I arrived here in March. I made them take it down.”

“How did that go over?”

“I told the objecting church members they weren’t allowed to post any signs that featured dead children as that seemed to convey the opposite message intended regarding the sanctity of life. And might I ask where all these questions are coming from?”

“I talked to someone from the WTL church today.”

“Please, don’t tell me I inadvertently turned you into a fundamentalist when I baptized you.”

“That was an attempted murder, not a baptism.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Fuller has an office in the city. I stopped by and talked to an assistant. The church runs reorienting camps. I found out today someone committed suicide at one of them, but the church was cleared of any responsibility. No charges filed.”

“You sound angry. Are you taking this personally?”

Kingsley paused before answering.

“Sam was sent to one of those camps.”

“I see. And this upsets you.”

“Sam’s perfect. Yes, it upsets me.”

“Kingsley, don’t look now, but you have a crush on your secretary.”

“I do not have a crush on my secretary.”

“Methinks the Frenchman doth protest too much.”

“My secretary is gay, remember?”

“I’m straight, remember?”

“You told me that once before. I think it was after you’d fucked me so hard we broke a spring in the cot.”

“Are you finished with me? I have to check on Eleanor. We have an Ursuline sister here this week, and Eleanor is giving her a tour of the church property.”

“This is a cause for concern?”

“Eleanor asked the sister if she wore hole-y underwear. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she asked the sister if she also had, and I quote, ‘a hard-on’ for Captain von Trapp.”

“I need to meet this girl. And soon.”

“That is the opposite of what needs to happen. I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t go yet. I have one final question to ask you. It is très importante.”

“Fine. What’s the question?”

“Will you come to my party tonight?”

21

THE PARTY WAS to start at nine, and at eight fifty-five, Kingsley stood in his bedroom trying to decide if he would fuck three girls tonight or fuck one girl three times. He concluded it would be best to split the difference. He would fuck one girl twice and a second girl once. But the question remained, which girls? Knowing Sam, they might end up in a fight over one.

He heard a soft knock on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” he called out, and Sam entered holding a large box. He would have paid more attention to the box except Sam looked so arresting he couldn’t see anything but her.

“Like it?” she asked. “I’m a sexy not-French penguin.”

Kingsley walked to Sam and took a turn around her. She wore a well-tailored tuxedo. The vest was cut low and went under her breasts, drawing exquisite attention to them. The jacket was cinched in at her waist, and she wore 1940s-style black-and-white brogues on her feet.

“You aren’t a penguin,” he said.

“I was going for penguin.”

“You have failed. Instead, you are the most beautiful woman in the city.”

Sam exhaled in obvious exasperation.

“What?” he asked.

“Will you please stop telling me that you think I’m beautiful?”

“I have never told you I think you’re beautiful. I told you that you are beautiful. There’s a difference, non?”

“Non,” she said.

“Does it bother you?” He stepped back and sat on the bed. She placed the large box on the floor and stood in front of him.

“Sort of,” she said. “Mainly because I’m not used to it. You know, from men.”

“I can’t believe that. All the lovers you have—”

“It’s different coming from women than it is coming from you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She looked up at him through her thick long eyelashes. Her hair had more wave than usual, and he longed to capture a lock between his fingers and kiss it. “But it is.”