Underneath the plastic, carpeted veneer of the office, a subterranean level of fleshy humanity was always threatening to break through. Middle managers caulked over the cracks in the veneer with dress codes, pages of rules, policies, and carefully timed schedules. Every night maids came in after hours to clear away all biological signs of life. Cookie crumbs beneath the desks, spilled coffee on the counters, used kleenex in the trash bins, fingerprints on the glass. Everything was wiped, mopped, or vacuumed away. All human smell was sanitized from the restrooms, which were fresh and clean each morning.

And yet, neither suits, nor ties, nor rules, nor career pressure, not powers, not management, not any policies present or policies to come could eliminate the earthy, warm, disordered humanity from the office. People worked there. Human beings. They spoke to one another. They began to care for each other or feel animosity and even hatred. Some flirted, some manipulated, some fell in love. They met after hours for drinks. They told jokes in the break room. And sometimes, elaborate office pranks took place. Management frowned on this, but there was no stopping it. Occasionally someone would be out of town, and people would stay after work and cover their cubicle with tinfoil or fill it with balloons. Smaller jokes and pranks took place on a weekly basis. Word of them spread through the cubicle village. After a good prank, people rehashed the story for weeks, laughing by the coffee pots in the break room. Alan Fisher, a young man in his 30s from marketing, was especially creative in this regard. A few years back he had stolen the key to the soft drink machine and put cans of Budweiser in the Diet Mountain Dew rack. Word of this spread quickly and there was a rush to the machine. The beers were gone by mid-afternoon. People still talked about that one.

Foy was too reserved to participate openly in these jokes. And he didn’t feel he had been at the office long enough to understand the unspoken limitations involved. But he was delighted by them, and he liked Alan. A few months after Foy’s arrival, he and Alan were sitting at the same table for lunch. They talked informally for awhile, and then Alan asked the question that Foy always tried to avoid.

“So, what did you do before this?”

“I was a writer. I did some writing here and there. Not much, really.”

“What else did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did you make a living? I don’t want to say ‘what was your real job,’ but, you know.”

Foy hesitated. It wasn’t like he had made a serious decision not to discuss his previous life as a minister. He felt an instinctive need to avoid the subject and had successfully done so in several conversations with people at work. But it wasn’t something he was ashamed of. And now, feeling a bit cornered by Alan, he had no desire to lie about it.

“Well, before that I was a minister.”

“Really? Were you at a real church or was it one of those Universal Life Affirmation Church things on the internet. You know, send in twenty bucks and you too can be a minister.”

Foy laughed.

“I was a Episcopal priest. The rector of a small church in San Antonio. I left about a year ago I guess.”

“Episcopalian? Wow, hard core.”

Foy leaned forward. “Hard core?”

“No I just mean, you know, ordination, seminary, robes, all that shit. You guys wear those collars, right? Or is that just the Catholics?”

“Clerical collars. Yeah, I wore one.”

“Cool,” Alan said. He looked at the table for a second, then briefly at Foy, then his eyes moved around like he was thinking. Foy took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it.

“No offense but were you like defrocked or disrobed or excommunicated or something?”

Foy laughed loudly. “No, nothing like that. Nothing bad happened.”

“So you just left? Just quit? What happened?” Alan furrowed his brow. “Can you just quit being a priest? Are you allowed to just walk away from that? Or does it…I don’t know. For some reason it seems strange that you could be a priest and all, and then just say, ‘eh, that’s enough of that.’”

Foy made a rumbling noise in his throat. “Hmmm. I think I was just finished with that part of my life. My wife and I got a divorce. I mean, that wasn’t the thing, but I lost interest about that same time. You sort of need to feel called to be a minister. You don’t just do it as your job. Well, I guess some probably do, but I…it was just time to move on. The church I was serving kind of felt the same way.”

Alan seemed fascinated by the whole thing.

“So do you go to church now just as a parishioner or whatever? Is it weird being out there in the pews instead of up front?”

“Not so much. Actually, I haven’t been back to church. I don’t go anymore.”

“Oh,” Alan said, sensing he had stumbled upon something sensitive. “Sorry if I got into something personal. I don’t do church. I don’t really understand it. I mean, I got no problem with it or with God or with any of that.”

“I don’t mind,” said Foy lightly, popping a potato chip into his mouth. “It’s not a sore subject. You know, it’s funny, I haven’t told anyone here that I used to be a minister. I don’t know why though. Maybe for years that was so much of my identity that I just need to leave it behind. I think I just need to be Foy and nothing else.”

“Yeah, I could see that.”

They ate silently for a moment or two. Then Alan said, “Okay, this is my last question. I swear. But can you still marry people and do funerals and all that stuff?” Alan snapped his fingers a few times. “Uh…whatuhyacallit...baptisms?”

“Not being in a church, I won’t be doing any baptisms. Anyone can do a funeral.” He chuckled. “I mean, no one would want to except a minister but there’s no magic to it. I could still perform weddings I guess.”

“Really? So you still have the authority to do that? You can say, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife’ and people would be married?”

“Husband.”

“What?”

“Husband and wife is how we’d say it, but yeah. My ordination hasn’t been revoked. Technically I’m supposed to get the permission of a bishop, but I don’t give a shit about that. Yeah, I could still do weddings.”

Alan stared at him for a second. A huge grin broke out on his face.

“That is so cool. It’s like you have these secret powers or something.”

“What are you talking about?”

“No seriously. Look, you’re at a wedding and you can say, “I now pronounce you man and wife…”

“Husband and wife.”

“Whatever. But the point is, if you say that, they’re married. And now, they can’t stop being married. Not even if they want to. They have to like pay a bunch of lawyers and have a judge make it, you know, an official divorce and everything. You said this little phrase over them, and now they’re freakin married. It’s done and it can’t be undone. I mean, not without the divorce. I’ve been married before. That divorce shit is a bitch. You know. You been through it.”

Foy held his sandwich and stared at Alan. He turned is head and looked down and to the side. When he turned back to Alan he was smiling.

“Huh, I never thought about it like that.”

“Yeah man, I can’t say those words and make it happen. No one else can do that. Hell, I’ve never even known anyone who can pronounce people married. You’re the first actual minister I ever knew. You know, actually talked to and all.”

Alan put his chin in his hand. “You can marry people. You have that power. That is weird.”

Suddenly he jerked his head back and looked at Foy.

“You’re like a super hero. Wedding Man or something.”

Foy rolled his eyes. “Shut up!”

“No, why not? Have you seen comics these days? They got a super hero for fuckin everything.”

Allan’s sat up straight, and his mouth fell open.

“Holy shit, they even have a preacher super hero. Ever seen that comic series, “Preacher?”

“Nooo,” said Foy, dragging it out.

“Oh, that guy was bad ass too. He was from Texas, like you. ‘Preacher: Gone to Texas.’ That was the name of it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. 75 issues. I read every one of them.”

“Well, I haven’t read comics since Archie and Batman and all that.”

Alan smiled. “Well, Batman’s cool but yeah, you’ve missed a lot.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay, now you got me going, so I have to ask just one last thing, okay?”

“All right.”

“Say you got some man and some woman. And you could somehow get them to say ‘I do.’ Do they have to say that for it to be official?”

“Well, technically no, I mean…”

“Good. Even better. So you go up to this man and this woman who just happened to be like standing next to each other. Maybe they don’t even know each other. Then you say, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ Would that stick? I mean, would they be legally married? It would be like ‘oops, you’re married to someone you don’t even know. Sucks to be you.’ Could you do that? I know you wouldn’t, but technically could you?”

Foy threw back his head and laughed.

“No. They would have to give their consent. I mean, it’s not like we can just walk around zapping people. Boom, you’re married.”

Alan looked disappointed.

“Still, that would be cool if you could, right?”

Foy shrugged.

Alan drank the last of a Dr. Pepper and crushed the can. He leaned back, balancing his chair on its back legs, and tossed the can in the trash by the wall. His let the chair flop back, put his elbows on the table, and leaned forward. “It’s weird. Nobody knows the rules on this wedding stuff. Except for you minister guys. No one else knows what the hell is going on. We just get a minister and figure he’ll know the rules and…”

He froze.

“What?” said Foy.

“Oh, oh, oh. Oh, this is too perfect. Oh my God, this is….”

Alan’s eyes were darting back and forth.

Foy watched him intently. “What?” he asked, more urgently.

Alan looked around the break room, then leaned closer to Foy. He motioned for Foy to lean in. Then he whispered, “This is gonna be great. Let me tell you what we’re gonna do.”

A couple of days after their conversation, Alan and Foy met again in the break room. Alan unfolded a large piece of paper with words and sketches on it. He brought in his buddy Steve, also from marketing, to help out. Others would be told when the time was right.

“Several problems,” said Alan. “First of all, they’re going to have to believe, or be convinced very quickly that…”

A woman walked into the break room and over to the coffee machine. She looked over a plate of pastries and started making a new pot of coffee. The three leaned in closer and their voices faded to whispers. Foy gestured and spoke for some time, occasionally writing on the paper. Alan and Steve began nodding and smiling. At one point they gave each other a high five.

The woman finally left the break room with her coffee. Steve looked over his shoulder and watched until the door closed.

“Holy shit, Foy,” said Alan. “That’s brilliant. Are you sure Doug will do it?”

“He will definitely do this. I guarantee it. You tell them, then Doug shows up with the book. Bingo. Now they’re not going to believe it because it’s so obviously a joke. That’s when you say this.” Foy wrote some words on the paper with Alan and Steve leaning over, watching closely.

Steve nodded and stood up. “I’ve gotta go.” He tossed a careless wave and left the room. Alan and Foy spoke for a few moments longer, then got up and walked to the door.

“You know, you’re a pretty good liar for a man who used to be a priest.”

“Yeah well, it goes with the job."

Alan started laughing. Foy did not. Alan’s laugh slowly died out.

“I’m serious,” said Foy. “You don’t even want to know.”

*****

Two days later Foy arrived at the office wearing a light jacket that was zipped all the way up. He was carrying a black book with a thick ribbon hanging out of it. He nodded at Doug who was by the receptionist’s desk with a cup of coffee and his briefcase. He looked down the row of cubicles and found Alan, who also nodded at him.

Foy walked directly to a large cubicle near the center of the office. Chuck and Veronica’s desks were in it, facing opposite walls. Veronica was bubbly and outgoing. She dressed very fashionably, hummed a lot, and had a screensaver that played music. Her desk area was covered with several M&M dispensers, colorful notes, stuffed animals, and inspirational posters. Chuck was a slightly overweight man with an engineer’s mind. He was well-liked and could be very funny, but when it came to work he liked everything to go by the book. His computer terminal was clear of any attachments and his desk was perfectly tidy. Nearby was a row of software manuals and a brown coffee mug with eight or ten pens and pencils in it. That Chuck and Veronica were temporarily sharing a cubicle was a joke in itself. They had never gotten along. They would only be sharing the cubicle for a short time, but they had already had several passionate arguments.

Foy tapped lightly on the wall of the cubicle and walked in. Alan was standing nearby pretending to be reading something in a manilla folder.

“Chuck, Veronica, can I speak with you guys for a moment?”

They both turned their office chairs around to face Foy.

“This will be very fast and will take care of everything you need. So just give me your attention, and I’ll fix you right up.”

Both of them frowned and looked puzzled. Chuck said, “What? What are you talking about?”

Foy looked around as if he didn’t want to be heard. He leaned slightly down and said, “Alan told me about the little problem you guys are having. Don’t worry about it. I can fix everything for you. No big deal. I’m happy to do it.”

Now Veronica and Chuck looked at each other suspiciously. Each wondered if the other had made some kind of public complaint about their previous disagreements.

Chuck said, “Foy, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Foy ignored him. He unzipped his jacket and took it off. Underneath he was wearing a black shirt with a minister’s clerical collar. This was so unexpected that both Veronica and Chuck were speechless and stared at him in amazement.

Foy opened what looked to be some sort of prayer book. He solemnly looked at each of them, smiled, and said, “I understand your situation, and I assure you the brevity of this ceremony in no way lessens its validity.”

He looked down and turned a couple of pages in the book. Chuck and Veronica continued to stare at him, completely dumbfounded. Chuck didn’t say anything, but he silently mouthed, “What the fuck?”

Foy lifted his right hand and held it in the air in front of him. His index finger and middle finger were raised. HIs other two fingers were curled downward.

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no one put asunder.”

Foy smiled at them both. Then he clapped his book shut, snatched up his coat, and walked off down the hall between the cubicles. Chuck stood up and watched Foy until he turned the corner at the end of the row. He looked at Veronica and held up both hands in a quizzical gesture. He turned to find Alan beside them.

Chuck said, “What the hell was that all about?”

Alan said, “Did you know that Foy is a priest?”

“Bullshit,” said Chuck. Veronica said nothing. She hadn’t moved since Foy had left. She sat there looking back and forth between Alan and Chuck.

“No, he really is." He glanced at Doug who was walking by with his coffee and briefcase. “Ask Doug.”

“Hey Doug,” said Alan. “Foy’s a real priest, right?”

“Yeah, he was a minister at a church in San Antonio before he came here. He wrote a book back then. That’s how I first got to know him. You know what? I think I have a copy of his book in my briefcase.”

Doug opened the case, ruffled through it, and pulled out a book. He handed it to Alan who handed it to Chuck. Chuck glanced at the title and turned the book over. On the back of the book jacket was a picture of Foy in a clerical collar. The caption read, “Foy Davis is the rector of St. Albans Episcopal Church in San Antonio. He and his wife Jenny have three daughters.”

Chuck and Veronica glanced down the hallway where Foy had disappeared. Doug motioned for his book and Chuck gave it back to him. He glanced at his watch and walked away.

Chuck looked irritated. “I still don’t know what the hell is going on.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” said Alan calmly. “I told Foy that you guys were going to get married by a justice of the peace next week, but there was a family emergency and you REALLY needed to get married quickly. He said he’d be glad to help. I told him you just wanted a quick ceremony and be done with it because you have a plane to catch.”

“So congratulations! You guys are married. I mean, really married. Foy just married you.”

At that moment people came from everywhere and crowded around the cubicle, throwing rice at Chuck and Veronica. They were both startled and flinched away from the rice. A woman stepped up with a cake with white icing and a plastic wedding couple in the middle.”

Chuck backed up until he hit the edge of his desk. “This is bullshit, and you know it, Alan. You’re the biggest prankster in the place. You should have gotten someone else to do this because I know it’s bullshit.”

Alan looked unconcerned. He repeated what Foy had written on the paper.

“Oh, it’s a joke all right. I know that. You know that. Everyone here knows that. But Foy doesn’t. He’s new. He doesn’t know you guys very well. He thinks he was doing you both a big favor.”

Alan held up a marriage license. It unfolded and fell open, dangling from his fingers.

“I’m a witness. I signed the license. Foy is a real priest. We checked into it. There’s a provision in our state for people who don’t speak the language. Silent affirmation in front of the priest is as good as saying “I do.” You guys are married. It’s all completely legal.”

At that everyone burst into laughter. Veronica, who had not said a word, put both of her hands in front of her open mouth. Doris from accounting started cutting the cake and handing pieces around. Chuck jumped to his feet and ran down the aisle after Foy. He found Foy around the corner in another cubicle.

“Foy, it was a complete lie. They lied to you. I don’t want to be married to her. I hate that bitch.”

Foy looked shocked. “Chuck, that’s no way to speak about your wife.”

Chuck pleaded, “There’s no way that was legal, right? TELL ME that wasn’t legal.

Foy smiled. “No Chuck. It’s not legal. It was all a joke. You have to get a marriage license yourself and actually give your consent before you can get married. Pretty good joke though, right? You have to admit.”

Chuck sank into a chair, relief visible on his face. After a moment he laughed.

“Alan. That bastard. I should have known. Well, I mean I knew something was up, but then I thought, ‘Shit, what if he DID marry us and we have to get an annulment or a divorce or something. Damn it. Ever since I faked that radio call-in show and he thought he won World Series tickets. Jesus Christ!”

Suddenly he looked at Foy who was still wearing his collar.

“Oh, shit! Sorry father, uh Foy. Or do I call you father if you’re wearing that? Anyway, I apologize for my language.”

A gush of anxiety and panic dropped into Foy’s stomach. He felt queasy. This was all very familiar. The suddenly over-polite attitude. The apologizing for bad language.

Holy shit. What have I done?

Foy swallowed hard and forced a smile onto his face - another familiar move that only increased his raging anxiety. “Don’t worry about it, man. I told Alan we weren’t going to take this very far. The minute you asked, I was going to tell you the truth.”

He clapped Chuck on the shoulder. “Let’s go have some cake.”

When they got back to the cubicle, Veronica had learned the truth. She was laughing and eating wedding cake. Chuck walked over proudly, put his arm around her, and pretended he was trying to kiss her, which made everyone laugh harder. She leaned away and slapped at him with both hands, but she was smiling.

After a few moments everyone got the feeling that they had pushed this about as far as they should. It was time to get to work. A vacuum cleaner appeared and someone sucked up the rice. Someone else took the cake to the break room. The cubicle village dissolved back into work mode. Several people shook Foy’s hand and told him how great it was. A few said, “So you’re really a priest?” This fact seemed to amaze them, as though he were another species.

Foy’s anxiety made a soft downshift into sadness. His smile drooped. He exhaled loudly and started walking back to his cubicle. He felt like he had lost something precious. Something he could never regain. He gave himself a silent pep talk.

What the hell. People would have found out anyway. It’s not going to make a difference unless you start acting different. It will be fine. Forget about it.

He pulled the white tab out of the collar of his shirt and looked at it. It was one of the cheap, plastic tabs that come in the package with clerical shirts. He had left his nicer collar on his desk back at St. Albans in San Antonio. It was so strange to be wearing one again. He didn’t like it. Foy slipped the collar into his pocket and loosened the top button on the shirt.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was a man he had seen around the office but had not met.

“Hi,” the man said, offering his hand. As Foy shook it the man said, “Peter McCullough.”

“Foy Davis. Nice to meet you.”

“That was hilarious. Is it true you’re a priest?”

“No. Well, yes, but not now. I left the church and I work here. This is my job. This is who I am. I’m just a guy in the office.” He tried to laugh lightly, but it came out rather awkwardly.

Peter was silent for a moment.

“Yeah, but you’re a priest. You took the vows, right?”

“Vows? Well, yeah. Sure. In a manner of speaking.”

“Because I really need to talk to a minister.”

Foy felt a shot of adrenaline in his stomach. His heart raced.

This is like it used to be. Just like this. People asking. You can’t say no.

“Look, I’m not a minister anymore, okay? I quit. I left the church. So if you really need a minister you should go to your church or any church. Just pick one. You’d be better off talking with someone who’s, you know, a pastor right now.”

“I don’t know any churches or pastors, okay? I’m an atheist. Hell, you’re the closest I’ve come to a priest since I was in Catholic school. I don’t need you to bless me or pray over me or any of that hocus-pocus stuff. But I do need to talk to someone.”

He looked uncomfortable, like he was admitting something that embarrassed him.

“And it needs to be a priest or a minister. Look, it’s about my wife and daughter, okay? I don’t want to impose, but I have no one else to talk to. Can’t you just listen to what’s happened and maybe give me some advice or something?”

Foy stared at the man. He was poised, it seemed to him, on a razor-thin edge between two worlds. The world he wanted to leave and the world he was trying to understand and be a part of.

I just want to be a man. No one else gets asked this kind of thing. No one else has to care. Other people can just go about their lives and deal only with the people they know and love. I can’t fucking love everyone.

But there are requests in this life that cannot be refused. Certain things people ask. No one can say no to them and retain their own humanity. If someone asks one of those questions, there is no way out. Foy took a slow, trembling, deep breath. He held it a moment, then released it just as slowly.

“Is this some kind of immediate emergency, or could we meet for lunch tomorrow and talk about it?”

Peter exhaled and smiled. “Thanks man. There’s no rush. Tomorrow is fine. This thing has been developing for a year now. No hurry. Listen, I really appreciate it. I know I haven’t, uh, been on the same side as the Church, but I appreciate you taking the time.”

“Why don’t you pick a place,” said Foy. “Pick one that fits the privacy you need. We could sit in the break room or go upstairs to the conference room. Or we could walk down the street to a restaurant. You pick the place and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” the man said. He left.

Foy walked into his cubicle and sat at his desk. He leaned forward on his elbows. There was a stack of material he needed to go over. He picked up the top sheet, looked at it, then tossed it back on the pile. He leaned his face down and stared at the keyboard. He raised his right hand and let it dangle over the keyboard. He relaxed and the hand moved back and forth over the letters. He lowered his index finger and hit the L key. His hand hovered again. He punched the i, then the f, then the e.

Using his middle finger he quickly punched four more letters. i-s and s-o.

He pulled his hand up. His mind was a complete blank. He had no idea what was coming next. He paused looking at all the letters, wondering which one he should push. His eyes kept moving back to the s key. He punched it and waited for a word to come to mind. Nothing.

He hit the t key and went right to the r. o-n-g followed in quick order.

“So strong” he whispered to himself.

For a moment he wondered what Jung would say about what that meant. He was tempted to make a guess at it, but he was too tired.

“Fuck it.” He said. “It’s five o’clock. I’m going home.”

rlp