

PURPLE RECORDS

Ricardo Aardal

© 2019

ONE

It is hammering heavy rock of 1974. The love and peace hangover of the 60s still lingers, but bands such as Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and Deep Purple vibrate through the volatile vanes of the next wave of youth.

The record store still remains the happening place in any town or city in 1974. But place that record store in the heart of San Francisco, California; and that vinyl spinning establishment represents the pulse of an entire new generation. For it is more then simply music. It is a symbolic statement being made in regard to sex, drugs, ripping rock and a party-hard lifestyle.

One such record store that is a trend setter in this city by the bay is fittingly named, "Purple Records". One year ago, Purple Records opened for business. Now one year later, the first anniversary sale on March 30,1974 sparks rockers to flock into acquire more ear-damaging highs.

This broken down one-story building housing Purple Records bustles with excited teenage customers holding record albums lined up in front of two cash registers. Raging rock music reverberates through the small store with a purple strobe light adding to the ambience.

A bright purple and white sign behind the front counter attempts to shout out, "Purple Records". Except that the second p is lopsided, the e is upside-down, and the s just looks stoned. That is exactly the shape the owner was in while she road the LSD train attempting to paint the wooden display. Although, the sorry sign does fit right into the culture of this dilapidated landmark building.

Working at the front counter on this Saturday is Kirk Organ. He's a 23 year old, handsome, womanizing, bad boy who assists Jewels Jensen with one cash register. Jewels owns this record store, and admits with pride to crafting that hideous Purple Record's display.

Jewels is a mid thirties, slow speaking, spaced out hippie that doesn't quite measure five feet high. She flourished right through the 60s, but may have burnt a few too many brains cells back then. While Angelina Gomez, a 21 year old, striking, highly intelligent, Latino works the other cash register.

Jewels smacks the cash register multiple times with anger. "Bummer man! Can't believed I blew up the till again."

Jewels attempts to hide many of her insecurities, one of them being an absolute distain for any device that involves money. Second, she hides her excess weight with a psychedelic colored sack-like-dress. Third, Jewels carries a soft heart and hot passion for down and out musicians. And finally, when the redhead's on acid, she hits the tripping out brink with little provocation and with a moments notice.

"Chill Jewels," the six foot Kirk says. "Fixed in a sec."

Angelina reaches over, touching the stoner Jewels. "Just breathe and relax." It seems to settle Jewels from tripping out. Both Angelina and Kirk have become experts at bringing Jewels down, before she goes over the acid edge.

"Thanks man." Jewels slumps her shoulders. She begins to breathe. Amazingly, it gets her back on track in seconds.

The long haired Kirk continues to focus on the cash register, unaware that the female teenage customers bashfully admire his bulging muscles under a tacky tight fitting tee-shirt with the store's flashy logo screaming out.

Jewels pokes Kirk in the ribs. "Magic fingers to the rescue."

The five foot four Angelina pokes Kirk as well. "That's what the foxy ladies of San Francisco say about him."

Kirk peers up at the customers waiting in line. "Sorry for the wait. That'll be an additional 10% off your purchases today."

"Right on Kirk," Jewels agrees with her star employee.

A frantic Kirk fidgets with the malfunctioning machine. "Yeah!" he throws up his hands in triumph. "Fixed! The bubble gum and string did the trick." He winks at Jewels. "But your slaps were the key."

"You're the man." Jewels takes over the fixed cash register with awkward hands.

"Don't swell his head," Angelina says, wearing a stylish, yet very sexy short purple miniskirt and striped tight top. It highlights her voluptuous shape and ample cleavage.

Angelina refuses to wear the store tee-shirt. She loves fashion. She loves designing and making her own unique and revealing clothes. She loves what it can do for her, and some days would like to study fashion in a reputable school. But then on other days she'd like to be a psychologist. She can't seem to decide. So, she works at Purple Records in the meantime.

Angelina turns with excitement, leaning her entire profile towards Kirk. She ensures he inhales her exotic passion-provoking perfume, and his eyes sample her alluring stature. "Kirk, Do we have any more of the newest Stones album?"

Kirk's eyes perform a tango of desire. He reaches over, squeezing Angelina's elbow, wishing he could sample more. "Relax Angie, unpacked them this morning."

Kirk turns to the group of teenage girls Angelina assists, flashing them a flirting smile. "That Stones album is rad! One sec, you gorgeous girls. Then let me help you. Can also show you the Deep Purple album with the best song ever recorded."

"Kirk, did we get our entire shipment?" Jewels asks.

He whispers to Jewels, "Which shipment?" The two enjoy a conspiratorial chuckle. "All shipments unpacked and on the shelves, or hidden if required."

Jewels shuts her unfocused eyes. "Oh man, I'd be lost without you Kirk." The owner then shouts to the girls. "And doesn't Kirk have a nice ass?"

The blushing teenage girls gush and giggle, following an exuberant Kirk who proceeds down the narrow aisle. Other teenage customers in front of the cash registers join in the chase after the cool charismatic Kirk, leaving Jewels and Angelina alone.

Angelina turns to Jewels with a serious tone, "La Jefe, I'd be lost without that smoking hot ass too." For underneath Angelina's confident outward manner lives the heart of a scared chicken. Kirk's the only one that truly understands her, and she drools over that perfect ass and those hard muscles.

"Kirk's held this place together to spite my financial screw ups." Jewels slaps the helpless cash register again, releasing some of her frustration. She grasps her long necklace of brown beads. She attempts to wear a bead color that reflects her mood, and brown reflects her downer frame of mind today. "Oh girl, I made another bad money decision! Backed another loser musician."

Angelina gasps. "But maybe the anniversary sale will help?"

"Not enough!" Jewels looks down and mumbles, "Haven't got the heart to tell Kirk. I'm one month from losing the store." She sheds a tear. "Unless I."

That afternoon Kirk and Angelina engage in an intense, all consuming passionate necking session on the couch of the Purple Records coffee room during a break. Their young horny hands range and roam all over each other. Their heated lustfulness leaves their clothes dishevelled and rearranged. With another inflamed nudge the garments will be slithering to the floor.

Angelina puffs, pants and pushes Kirk back on the couch, commanding, "Lay back Kirk. Going down on You!"

Kirk moans with pleasure. "Oh man, Smokey does love coffee breaks!" His feverish fingers fumble with the half open zipper on his pants.

Angelina shoves his hands away and takes charge. "I'm the best fringe benefit you and Smokey will ever get." Kirk's zipper comes down with purpose. "Oh! Mucho grande!"

Jewels hammers on the coffee room door. "Giving a heads up. Kirk most likely has his head up already."

"Hang on!" Angelina yells. "Just gotta cool down Kirk."

"Don't use up all the cold water," shouts Jewels.

Kirk and Angelina untangle themselves in a blur of arms and legs, attempting to straighten themselves up. Comically, Kirk struggles to raise his zipper. "Need longer breaks."

Angelina issues her infectious pirate smile. "Hey Gringo. You usually don't need long."

She pinches Kirk's ass, followed by a fun loving squeeze of that firm backend, which she executes at least twice a day. The two wound up sex machines proceed to the coffee room table. They plunk themselves down on chairs where their coffee cups await.

Kirk inhales a drink. He begs like a panting puppy, "Hey Angie, let's go in my van?"

Angelina shakes her head, long dark hair waving about. "No way Jose! Your old shaggen'wagon isn't for this Catholic girl."

Angelina slides her hand up Kirk's thigh with her seductive touch, then pulls the hand away with surprising speed. Kirk lets out an agonizing moan. She adorns him with that pirate smile again. "Keep smoky idling until next break, you sex addict. I'll get him revved up again." Angelina kisses Kirk on the cheek. "Then Smoky can finish the race."

The short Jewels enters the room in her casual gate, joining them at the table. "Sticks will spell us for a few minutes. Better not steel from me again. Man it's busy! Great idea on the anniversary sale Kirk."

As of last night, the shady Sticks Leach stands as her new lover. Sticks is the drummer for a rock band called, Rip Off. He's best friends with Rip Off's base player. That head case base player was Jewels last lover as of two days ago, and he stole a ton of cash from her, dumping her for the handsome lead singer in the band. The four members of Rip Off have now all been Jewel's lovers at one point. And all four males have lived up to the band's name.

"A record sales day so far," declares Kirk. "I'll get back out there." He peeks down and blushes. "In a minute."

"Will you two rabbits ever get enough?" Jewels asks.

Angelina makes rabbit ears with her fingers. "Not this bunny."

"Nor this wabbit," says Kirk using his best Bugs Bunny imitation.

Jewels enjoys a long drawn out stoner chuckle. "Yet you're just friends."

Angelina sighs with contentment. "Just trying to keep our employee satisfaction high."

Jewels pushes a bag of weed and papers sitting on the table to Kirk. "Speaking of satisfaction. Sticks can handle things for a few more minutes. Roll us a big fat joint Kirk."

"Right on!" He grabs the fixings with eager fingers. He begins rolling a fat one.

"Yes, keep this gringo's mind on something else," Angelina teases.

But deep down, she loves punishing Kirk at every opportunity. The man she fantasizes about more then she'd like. So she decides to add to their game. Sensually, she crosses her luscious legs for Kirk's eyes only. Those sleek sexy limbs do nothing to slow his pulse. Kirk releases another agonizing moan. Angelina dances inside, knowing she's got the good looking gringo's engine revved even higher.

Jewels salivates as she watches the joint being constructed. "Kirk, are we open tomorrow?"

"Closed for Sunday," replies Kirk while struggling to focus his frisky fingers on that construction task.

Jewels places her hand on her forehead and whimpers. "I'm so out to lunch man. Frying brain cells with the acid."

Angelina touches Jewels on the arm with concern. "Taking trips and never leaving the store. Please be careful."

"I will." Jewels fidgets with a flower in her hair, anticipating the mellowing joint. "Ah Kirk, with your fancy Stanford degree, why are you still working for a burnt out hippy like me?"

Kirk gazes directly at Angelina with lust in his eyes. "Far out fringe benefits." He turns to Jewels. "And the great experience. One day when I get the bread, I want to own a record store just like you Jewels."

The phone on the wobbly table rings. Kirk answers it. "Purple Records." Kirk listens for a moment. A shock look floods his face. "No! No!" He shakes his head. "Can't be."

Kirk drops the almost completed joint. His hands begin to twitch. Angelina grabs one of those out of control hands. Jewels grabs the joint. Kirk's voice quivers and cracks, "Mom, I'll be right there." He sets the phone receiver down in a trance. He stares off into space.

Angelina leans foreword with worry. "Kirk! What is it?"

A trembling Kirk turns to Angelina with a dazed look. "There, there's been an accident." A tear forms in Kirk's eye. "Dad is dead."

TWO

It is a dreary dismal afternoon for the funeral of Kirk's father. Even the weather feels the tragic sorrow. The sad occasion is being held at Holy Rosary Catholic Church in San Francisco. This one time grandiose and lavish house of worship constructed over a hundred years ago shouts of many rejoicing and cleansing occasions. Although, it whispers and creeks of many hidden and haunting secrets.

The pomp, circumstance and mystery within these walls has left many a member carrying multiple scars, fears and worries throughout their time on earth. One of those members is Kirk's mother, Rose Organ. Her entire existence revolves around this institution. Rose has been a devoted daily visitor for the majority of her bible toting life. On the other hand, her husband, Mr. Organ, the man being eulogized today, never stepped foot in this building. Except for his wedding day, and his son Kirk's christening.

The formal service ends. Everyone parades down to the church basement where somber sober music plays. An orderly funeral line proceeds where supportive well wishers serve up their sincere condolences. They then head with hungry stomachs for the delicious lunch provided, which may be the primary reason a few of the unfamiliar so called mourners attended.

The condolences are primarily directed toward the prim and proper Rose Organ. The grieving wife holds her bible to her heart with one hand. With her other hand, she clutches at a tinny cross hanging from her silver necklace, in-between hugs and handshakes.

Rose has raven black hair, plain facial features, and wears a long black mourning dress. The 53 year old Rose glows gracious in the sympathy and attention she receives as a new widow, and the prestige she receives from being the wife of a well respected man.

Slouching on one side of Rose stands her only child, Kirk Organ. He got a rather smart looking hair cut out of respect for his dad. For the two enjoyed a long running joke over the length of Kirk's hair. He wears a trendy black suit, while carrying a sad and gloomy face. He's sad of course for losing his awesome dad. Kirk was extremely close to his fun loving father, having one of those special father-son relationships, that generated a magical aura when they were together.

In addition, Kirk feels sad cause he knows his dad didn't want his funeral in a Catholic Church. Except, his mother strongly insisted it be held here against her dead husband's specific wishes, thanks to another man's overpowering influence.

Who was the man who pushed and manipulated Rose Organ into holding Mr. Organ's funeral in the Holy Rosary church? It was Father Peter Dunn. He's a silver haired older Catholic priest who stands erect and arrogant on the other side of Rose. Father Peter has ruled over Holy Rosary Church with an iron fist for the past 40 years. The hook nosed man dresses in traditional Catholic robes while he supports his signature smug sneer.

The final well wisher steps into view. Kirk's heart stops, for it's Bambi Dubois. The lady who snapped up his virginity many years ago. Bambi, a hot brunette in her late twenties, sashays in a sexy, short, black dress barely hiding her huge breasts and her shapely legs.

Bambi envelops Kirk in a long consoling heart-felt hug. "So sorry Kirk. You and I have to catch up."

Kirk perks up with Bambi's attention, flashing that testosterone driven grin. "For sure Bambi, we've a lot of catching up to do."

Bambi smothers Kirk with another prolonged embrace. She lays a wicked smile on Kirk, and pinches him on the ass. "So firm," she whispers.

Kirk smirks and whispers back, "You sure know how to push the right buttons. Or is that undo the right buttons?"

Bambi looks into Kirk's grieving eyes, fiddles with his tie. "Why don't you and Smoky come with me when you're done?"

Kirk blushes and whispers back, "Smoky would love to come with you."

"I'll wait for you outside." Bambi leaves the church, while Kirk and Father Peter study her seductive, sultry, wiggly walk.

Kirk grins with desire. "What a foxy lady!"

"Such a harlot!" Father Peter pronounces.

"Kirk, who is she?" Rose inquires.

"Just an old friend, Mom."

"Shocking! And in my church!"

Kirk snickers. "So shocking Father Peter, that you couldn't keep your eyes off her bod, and her inspirational walk."

Rose slaps her son on the bicep. "Kirk, apologize to Father Peter. He's a man of the cloth."

"Hear his cloth comes off just like all the rest."

Rose delivers a solid strike to Kirk's arm with her comforting bible, which can perform multiple functions. "Heathen!" For many years a firm bible has served her faithfully as one of her parenting power tools. Except, the power strikes have had little physical affect on the sturdy Kirk. Do they affect him in other ways?

Kirk chuckles. "So true! I am a heathen, but a good one." He gives his mom a long heartfelt hug. "I love you Mom!" He rushes out of the church basement.

In a protective manner, the five foot five Father Peter puts his arm around Rose to give her solace. Rose places her head on Father Peter's supportive shoulder. Father Peter speaks in his deepest authoritarian voice, "It is time for us to deal with Kirk."

On Kirk's mad dash out of the church towards bountiful Bambi, and the tension relieving rewards she promises, he looks back just as he's about to exit the aging church. There stands Sister Teresa lurking in the shadows. She waves a warm hand to Kirk. He smiles and waves back at the lady with taped up, thick eyeglasses.

Sister Teresa is one of the nuns assigned to Holy Rosary Church. She never utters a word. She never utters a sound. Although, she hears everything, and knows everything that goes on in the church. It is like she lives in the walls, hides in the rafters, and shuffles silently through the corridors, gathering sacred secrets.

Kirk peers into Sister Teresa's sad eyes hidden beneath the layers of cloth. She holds her arms out. Kirk walks over. He accepts a genuine - I feel for you-hug. She touches him on the cheek, warming Kirk's entire being. She says it all with that tender touch. Sister Teresa makes a dismissive motion with a wave of her hand. Kirk scurries off, feeling a strange and unexplainable connection with the lady that's never spoken a word.

The following morning at Rose Organ's comfortable three bedroom home scenically set in the suburbs of San Francisco, Kirk sits slouching at the kitchen table in his underwear. He supports a huge hangover. Yet, he drinks a beer which is his dad's favorite brand, and in honor of his dad, that's all he drank last night.

Fondly, he recalls all the fun he and his dad enjoyed in this memory packed home. His childhood home which Kirk said he'd move out of and get a pad of his own. But he never got around to it. Also, Kirk thinks of his last breakfast with his dad. His dad told him how proud he was of him, and to never give up on his dream.

A stern faced Rose wears another plain, black, ankle length mourning dress with her hair in her usual unflattering matronly bun. A straight back Rose stands at the white stove with a wooden spoon in her hand cooking breakfast. The smells resonating from that stove usually stimulate Kirk's apatite. Except, with this morning's hangover, his alcohol-soaked stomach performs backflips and cartwheels.

"Your hair's still too long after that cut. Kirk, can't you get a brush cut like Father Peter?"

"Please Mom! No nagging today."

Rose shakes the gigantic wooden spoon at her son. "And must you come down for breakfast like that?"

"Chill Mom, my best white shorts. Look, no brown stains."

"You're terrible! The day we bury your Dad, and you're out to all hours." Rose's cheeks turn pink. "And probably out with that."

"Go ahead Mom. You can say it."

Rose turns a deeper shade of pink. "You, you know what I mean."

"Bambi's a groovy chick! Helped me give Dad a proper send off."

"Father Peter thinks it is time to show a firm hand with you. He feels your dad spoilt you. Probably cause you were an only child."

Kirk lets fly with a mocking laugh. "Who cares what old Father Vodka thinks. Surprised he stood through the entire service."

Rose thumps Kirk on the head with the wooden spoon. She scowls and uses an indignant tone, "Father Peter doesn't drink alcohol."

"Get real Mom!" Kirk rubs his head. "What planet do you live on?"

Rose waves her wooden spoon like a crazed lady. This well used wooden spoon served as another one of her parenting power tools for all these years. "I'll be saying extra prayers for you today in church."

Kirk enjoys a long pull on his beer. "Don't waste your breath. I'm taking the more traveled and fun devils road."

"Time for you to take the Lord's Road."

"No thanks Mom! No fast lane on that highway."

"Here's what Father Peter and I decided after I shared what was in your Dad's Last Will and Testament regarding yourself."

"You shared Dad's Will with that collection plate crook?"

"Yes, I did Kirk. Father Peter's looking out for me."

Kirk snorts. "Father Peter only looks out for."

Rose screams, "Don't you dare finish that sentence!" She composes herself. "Father Peter's a Saint."

"Remember Dad's unsaintly out of sight stories about Father sinner."

Rose stirs with an angry spoon while grimacing. "None of them were true, cause he's a Catholic priest."

"Like those pulpit pounders never stray." Kirk fills the kitchen with a long and loud mocking laugh.

"Kirk! Stop that! Now, your dearly departed father left you a monthly trust allowance. But to get that allowance, I've the power to make you earn it. And if you don't attend Holy Rosary Catholic church every Sunday." She points the wooden spoon at Kirk. "And join the church choir, then no cash for you that month."

Kirk springs to his feet, knocking over his brew. "No way!" He begins wiping up his spill with a towel.

"Yes, way! And if Kirk doesn't go to church like a good Catholic boy, and sing in that choir that needs help. No trust money for Kirk that month. And it'll go to the Holy Rosary Church for that particular month. And don't use that towel."

Kirk throws the wet towel on the table in disgust. "You know I need that bread to one day buy my own record store."

Rose pounds the wooden spoon on the stove. "That dream's such an embarrassment to me! Why couldn't you dream of being a priest like Mrs. Carter's son next door?"

"That dork!" Kirk frowns. "You've never supported me when I studied business at university. And you've never supported the record store dream."

"All foolishness! Now being a Catholic priest." A glow radiates from Rose. "Now that's something to be proud of." She holds her head in the air, imagining the holy status. "That'd finally get me a seat in the front row."

"Sorry to ruin your dream. But I gotta follow mine."

"You're an idiot! But at least now you must find God if you want that silly record store."

Kirk throws his hands up in frustration. "No way Dad wanted it this way."

"But Father Peter said."

"To hell with Father Peter! That phoney Prick!"

Rose slams the wooden spoon twice on the stove to make another parenting point. But the spoon breaks. Rose commences to shake and weep.

Lovingly, Kirk puts his arms around his mom to comfort her. "Sorry Mom, let's not fight. Time to support each other."

She pushes him away. "Time for you to be dealt with properly."

"Oh Mom! You know you can't say no to your Kirk."

"As long as you attend church every Sunday. And sing in the choir. We'll, I mean, I'll have nothing to say no to." She wags her parenting finger at Kirk. "But the wise Father Peter thought of a way you can't charm your way out if you do misbehave."

"Say what?"

"He, well, we decided if Father Peter determines at any point your conduct warrants a disciplinary vote. It'll be taken."

"Disciplinary vote." Sweat begins to seep out of Kirk. "You aren't serious?"

"Very serious! He can only call for this disciplinary vote three times. He thought it should be unlimited. But I thought three was enough."

"Thank you Mom, I think."

"Simply Kirk, Behave and there'll be no problem. But if you do misbehave, Father Peter will have three true believers from our church to decide, if you deserve to stay in the choir and the church."

"Please, kick me out!"

"And if you're kicked out! All of your trust, every dollar, goes to Holy Rosary Church. And the fair minded Father Peter, will not only determine if one of these disciplinary votes is warranted. But he'll be one of the three voters."

Kirk pulls away from his mom. "That money grubbing bastard!"

"Our unselfish savior Father Peter is only looking out for us."

"Oh bullshit!" Kirk grimaces. "He could call one of these stupid votes for anything. And as far as being part of the choir, what about my stage fright when it comes to performing in front of an audience? You know what happens."

"Father Peter says God will find a way to cure your stage fright. But only if you find the Lord."

A feeling of pain runs through his body as he pleads, "Please, please Mom!"

"I'm not totally heartless to your stage fright. So, I insisted that Father Peter give you a certain number of practice sessions with the choir before you perform at Sunday mass."

"Thanks again, I think. But Mom, you just can't do this to me."

"Thanks to the wonderful Father Peter, I signed some legal looking papers this morning. It's done."

THREE

"Can't you do anything right?" Father Peter screams at Sister Teresa as she scurries to remove the tray from his desk. "You are useless. Can't speak! You are ugly. Why do I keep a reject like you around?" Father Peter strikes her on the shoulder, knocking her into the door, knocking her scratched glasses to the floor. "Get out!"

Sister Teresa gains her balance. She collects her glasses which now require more masking tape to repair. She lowers her head with tears flowing. She exits Father Peter's office aided by a powerful push from the priest.

Father Peter bellows, "Fucking freak!" he slams the door behind her.

It is the day after Mr. Organ's funeral, and another day at Holy Rosary church where Father Peter takes out his deep rooted frustrations on poor Sister Teresa. Now alone, he moves behind his desk in his spacious office. He drops into his expensive, soft, Italian leather chair. He removes a 40 ounce bottle of Russian vodka from his desk drawer.

Father Peter pours himself a tumbler full of his favorite spirit, inhaling half the glass in one greedy gulp. Next, he extracts a Playboy from his devil's drawer as he refers to it. Eagerly, he spreads out the centerfold on the desk. His lustful eyes begin to dirty dance as he zeros in on the erotic female delights.

Father Peter sighs, sweats and says to himself, "Thank God for Hugh Hefner! Time to take matters into my own hands."

The phone rings. The habitually infuriated man scowls, answering the old black phone. "Father Peter here, head of the Holy Rosary Catholic Church."

"Hi Pete, It's the Arch Bishop. I hope I didn't catch you having an afternoon nip." The Arch Bishop chortles. "Or nap?" More laughs from the Arch Bishop.

Father Peter rolls his eyes and groans in disgust. "What can I do for you?"

"I'll get right to the point Pete. You need to bring in more cash. Can't you scare those sinners into coughing up a few more coins?"

"I'm turning the fear meter up on my flakey flock," says Father Peter.

The frustration from the Arch Bishop fills the phone line. "Can't you milk a few of those older ladies?"

Father Peter takes a drink of vodka and burps. "Got a few old cows on the verge of delivering more milk."

"You've had a few of your congregation retire. Can't you keep those sheep working so their tithings don't drop off?"

Father Peter fumes and flushes with the interrogation. "Working all the standard collection plate angles. Business will pick up soon."

"Not good enough Pete! The Holy Rosary finances are a mess! Your miscellaneous expenses are out of control."

Father Peter smirks and thinks if the old coot ever knew what hooker delights he's enjoyed at the Catholic Church's expense, he'd be having a holy heart attack. "I'll get on top of those soon."

"Your revenue is way off budget. Your losses are atrocious."

"We'll be in the black soon." Father Peter smiles like a scavenging hyena sitting on a ton of hidden meat treasure. "I've it well in hand."

"No illegal activity Pete. At least don't get caught! Nothing that'll embarrass the Catholic church. Like you did with widow Harris."

Father Peter commences to sweat at the mention of that scandal from the past. He pounds back a sizable shot of vodka to steady his nerves. "Not a concern."

Father Peter pats himself on the back when he thinks of some of the elaborate widow scams he's pulled over the years. And to only have one go bad, he figures that's a damn good batting average. Also, he pats himself on the back for those legal docs he had Rose Organ sign first thing this morning. A pure stroke of genius in his mind. No scandal, simply a first class swindle.

"Pecker Pete, it's always a concern when you're involved."

"Now that I have you on the phone, when can I get rid of Sister Teresa?"

"Sorry Pete, she stays at Holy Rosary. She's one of the purest hearts you'll ever find."

"I don't like the over sensitive do-gooder."

"Then you'll enjoy that I'm sending Sister Beatrice to join your Holy Rosary team."

"No! No! Not her! She's such a pussy chasing bitch."

"Sister Beatrice is all yours Pete." The Arch Bishop enjoys a long laugh. "The two of you will make Holy Rosary truly entertaining."

Father Peter kicks his steel garbage can in irritation. "Well, if I'm stuck with loser Sisters, at least can I get a decent car?"

"Pete, the car you drive is exactly what you deserve. Now bring in some cash." The Arch Bishop ends the call.

Father Peter slams the receiver down on the base of his cracked and scratched phone, that's been hurled at the office walls more then once. "That smug bastard!"

This time Father Peter takes a greedy drink straight from the vodka bottle. He thinks he needs to get some usable dirt on that jerk. He wonders how that clown became an Arch Bishop? Many years ago they came out of clergy camp together. Their futures were headed in different directions.

Father Peter sat as the bright rising star. But 40 years later is still stuck in the same shit hole church. Wile the Arch Bishop didn't know his ass from a confessional booth back then, and still doesn't in Father Peter's mind. But he's top dog in the entire region. Father Peter vows to fix the Arch Bishop one day soon.

But first he's going to screw over Kirk Organ. Then he'll screw his stupid mother! And in more then one way! But for now Father Peter holds up the Playboy centrefold. He drools and slobbers as he enjoys a long look at the penis-pleasing picture. He thinks how this will do the job. Father Peter undoes his zipper and says, "Oh baby! Thy hand shall heal thee!"

Thursday, April 4, 1974, and an evening choir practice is about to unfold at the Holy Rosary Catholic church. An ancient baby grand piano sits in the corner of the church basement. Two singers stand stiff as holy boards around that chocolate brown piano. The out of tune, dusty piano is covered with tattered sheet music as old as the church. The two warm up their somber and sub par voices.

First singer is Hector Matador, the straight laced leader of the choir in his mid twenties. Hector's strikingly handsome with an athletic body. He possesses no sense of humour or sense of fun. Hector's dressed in a stuffy traditional three-piece suit and tie. Oh, and Hector parades his virginity like a proud peacock. Openly, he claims to be saving himself for the right girl. His Latino good looks and bullfighter like physique makes steeling that virginity a hidden fantasy for many of the frisky female congregation, and maybe one or two of the male flock as well.

Second, there's Sarah Shepherd, an early twenties, blue eyed, blonde bomb shell with the sweetest of voices, and naive Catholic girl written all over her perfectly sculpted package. Sarah wears a drab beige conservative dress. Although, her curvaceous figure still protrudes and thrusts out in all the right places.

Mysteriously, the multi talented Sarah showed up on the front steps of the church one year ago. She worked her way into the operation of the church, as well as the hearts and fantasies of many of the parishioners. And into many of Father Peter's warped and sadistic day dreams.

Kirk's been fretting and fussing about this night. Nerves tightly wound, he inhales a few relaxing breaths before entering the church. Walks with tentative feet down the basement stairs. He proceeds into the large open room. He's dressed in his standard blue jeans and Purple Records tee-shirt.

The rigid and stodgy Hector halts his warmup exercises. "Hola, you must be Kirk Organ. My name is Hector Matador."

"Pleased to meet you Hector Matador. You must get tired of the lame bullfighting cracks. I get my share of organ jokes." Kirk then fixes a lusty stare on Sarah. "Who is this lovely girl?" Kirk clears his throat. "With the great?" He looks at her large breasts. "Ah, great voice."

Sarah attempts to speak. But she's rattled by Kirk's penetrating dark eyes, and she likes the cut of this new choir boy's tee-shirt. Therefore, Hector speaks for her. "This angel of mercy is Sarah Shepherd. Purest voice in all of San Francisco. Also, co-ordinates our Sunday school program. Father Peter thinks Sarah should join the Catholic sisterhood."

Kirk's mind swirls with innocent Catholic girl thoughts. "Certainly is an angel. Oh and Hector, I hear you're a bit of an angel yourself. Schoolteacher, choir leader, captain of the church softball team."

Hector strokes his pencil mustache as he becomes flustered. "W-w-we will break you in gently tonight." Hector hands Kirk musky smelling sheet music.

Kirk directs his words toward Sarah, "I'm all for breaking someone in gently."

The choir practice ends one hour later. The group breaks up, departing the church basement. Only Kirk, Hector, Sarah along with Father Peter and Rose remain. Father Peter and Rose listened in on the last few minutes of the practice. Kirk and Sarah stand close together in a relaxed and intimate manner.

"Kirk possesses a magnificent voice," says Hector.

Sarah beams at Kirk with her warm wide eyes. "Kirk was wonderful!"

Kirk winks at her. "Sarah was lifting me to new heights."

"I don't want to get ahead of myself." Hector taps the sheet music in his hand. "But with Kirk's voice, maybe Holy Rosary won't finish last at the annual San Francisco Catholic choir contest. However, we'll need Kirk to practice."

Sarah touches Kirk on the arm with enthusiasm. "Oh Kirk! If you need any extra practice, just call."

"Love to practice with you Sarah."

Father Peter sneers and puts on his smug tone, "One thing to sing at practice, another to perform on Sunday. And an entirely different thing to perform at a choir contest."

"But with our help," encourages Sarah.

Father Peter takes his sneer to a snarl. "And Kirk, there's your paralyzing stage fright."

"Sarah, can you help Kirk with his embarrassing issue?" Rose inquires.

Kirk grins from ear to ear. "Need to find the right relaxing exercises just before I go on."

Father Peter points at Kirk's blue jeans. "And those jeans are not acceptable in my church."

"Oh Sarah, could you help Kirk pick out more appropriate clothing?" Rose pleads.

"Anytime!" Sarah touches Kirk on the arm again.

"Cool! Love to have Sarah help me with my threads." Kirk throws Sarah one of his charming smiles. "In fact, it's late night shopping, and Tip Top Menswear is only a few blocks away if you wanted to stop by?"

Sarah's excitement radiates through the room. "Yes, yes!"

Rose claps her matchmaking hands. Her elation oozes from every pore in her body. "Wonderful! You kids go on. I'm going to stay and pray. Father Peter will give me a ride home later. In that car that the Catholic church needs to replace with one more fitting of his stature."

"Peace till tomorrow's practice," Kirk says. "Can't wait!" Kirk and Sarah leave the room with the sister-to-be chattering up a storm.

Father Peter rages inside. For he's never seen Sarah that eager and energized. It fuels his hatred of Kirk even more. Father Peter dreams of making Sarah one of his foxy sister groupies, that worship him and do anything he commands. First, he must discard Sister Teresa and the incoming Sister Beatrice. But as far as Sarah, low life Kirk better not screw up his plans for the innocent blue eyed beauty.

Hector bids his farewell leaving the excited Rose and Father Peter sort of alone. For everyone seems to forget that Sister Teresa positions herself in the deepest shadows of Holy Rosary.

Father Peter places his comforting arm around Rose. He consumed more spirits today than he planned. For he was generously toasting himself, and his brilliant upcoming trust swindle. Therefor, his tongue seems to have a mind of its own tonight, along with other parts of his body.

"Rose, you've had quite the time of it. Glad I can take some of the cash, I mean, the burden off you in regard to Kirk."

"Oh and thank you! I can't believe the turnaround in Kirk!"

"Don't believe the turnaround in Kirk," blurts Father Peter. "I mean, we will see."

"Kirk really is a good boy deep down. Maybe it's just having a good Catholic girl like Sarah leading him that'll bring it out. He really does have a sensitive side."

Father Peter growls. "I've never seen it." His vodka filled vanes erupt even more at Rose's mention of his virgin Sarah and that devil Kirk. But Father Peter calms his violent vanes. He focuses back on the running-at-the-mouth Rose, and his pocket filling plan.

"Oh yes, he even faints at the sight of blood," she reveals.

"Such a wiener! I mean, what a winning day. Now let's go pray Rose. Let's go pray that our church can stay a float in these difficult economic times."

"I'm so excited!"

Father Peter hugs Rose a little closer. "I like my Rose this way. Forget about praying tonight. Let's go back to my place and open a bottle of holy wine. Time to laugh!" His holy hand slips down just a little lower. "Time for fun!" He squeezes just a little tighter. "And it's time to play!"

FOUR

What an earth shattering Thursday evening for Kirk! No longer a virgin in the world of Catholic choirs, and he willingly went shopping with a nun want to be. It is almost midnight when Kirk and his best friend Tommy Winger unwind their day. Only to get wildly wound up again. Tommy's a 23 year old, well-built, great looking, African American who is a fast talking, energetic, talented, rock guitarist.

The two sit at a corner table of a happening local night club. Tommy's group of four works as the house band. The childhood buds drink beer and share a joint while the ever fidgeting Tommy's on a break from playing with his band. Tommy wears his signature blue jean and tee-shirt garb, where Kirk's are clean and neatly pressed. Tommy's are dirty, wrinkled and ripped.

The overflowing crowd chatters loudly in the background. Rock music blares and jolts out of the jukebox. The pungent aroma of high quality weed filters through the popular establishment. It lifts the riffs on Tommy's guitar in each sound-blasting set to new heights in every patron's ears.

"Far out Tommy! You and your purple guitar were on fire."

"Thanks bro! "Tommy tousles Kirk's hair. "Hey man, that hair trim really suits you."

"Fits with the choir sentence I'm serving."

"How's the holy gig tonight?" Tommy asks as he wipes the sweat poring from his forehead with his tee-shirt. "Can't believe my bro is singing in a church choir! Like a holy rocker."

"Playing the choir boy role sucks! Like entering square town."

"Getting down with a bunch of bible thumping chumps." Tommy takes a pull from his beer. "Ah man! That's good!"

"Dude, I should be an actor. This choir boy shit blows my mind."

"This shit." Tommy holds up the joint. "Is blowing my mind!"

"And you should see this choir chick Tommy. The nun want to be. Now that would be a waste. Sarah has these huge knockers! You know my weakness for huge knockers."

Kirk reflects on that weakness. Sarah, Angelina and Bambi all fit that well-endowed description, along with his list of lovers over the past years. For a spit second, he wonders if that's wrong? Is it sexist? Is it shallow of him? But that's as long as that self exploration lasts.

Tommy waves at a waitress. "Me, I'm an ass and leg man."

"Got to de-flower that sweet Sunday school angel. She even picked out some Sunday best threads for me tonight. Actually the chick's got good taste."

A tall waitress with never-ending legs drops into Tommy's lap, plays with his afro, and gives him a kiss. "You were amazing Tommy! You can play me anytime! Catch you on the flip side, magic fingers." She taps him on his guitar tattoo displayed on his arm. She gives him another kiss and she's gone.

"Wow Tommy! That was easy."

"Easy! Just the way I like 'em."

Kirk guzzles from his bottle. "This choir boy shit will be easy too. I'll get the monthly cash. It goes straight into the bank. Until I got enough for a down payment on a record store."

"Be careful bro. Father Peter, the child beater." Tommy slaps the table. "That chump's a bad one. And there's Your stage fright man. You can practice in the choir room. But on Sunday, you on stage man. Catch my drift."

"Oh shit! You're right!" Kirk's face drops as the upcoming reality hits him. "Haven't figured that stage fright nightmare out yet."

"Look bro, if there is anything I can do to help you kick that thing. Just dial up the guitar-slinger here." Tommy leans forward and pats Kirk on the shoulder. "Over the years you've saved my sorry ass more times than I can count. You know I'll do anything for you."

Kirk and Tommy ran as best buds since first grade. From their early love of marbles riding bikes and softball; to progressing to rock music, girls and playing the San Francisco party scene; they've done it all together.

The good hearted five foot nine Tommy will show up unannounced at Purple Records frequently. He'll pitch in and help Kirk, running the cash register, stocking shelves, all for no payment. He even showed up at Holy Rosary once when Kirk had to attend some special day for Rose. Of course, the congregation performed some stereotyping, assuming the African-American stole from the collection plate.

"Thanks Tommy. I've no idea what to do. Maybe I should try fixing it with acid, or lots of weed, or just go hammered."

"No way man. Hey, we should try hypnotism. Or learn to meditate." Tommy points at a bartender. "Or have sex with big Lilly, the head drink builder. She could cure anything. Though she might give you something. We'll figure it out bro."

"We just need to party more Tommy. Starting now! Tomorrow's a day off with Good Friday. So let's party hard!"

Tommy finishes his beer, jumps up, ready to depart. "Time for some unholy cleansing."

Kirk stands and high fives the guitar player. "Finish your last set dude, we'll split this scene, and do some major partying."

They both pump their fists in the air and scream, "Rock on!"

The next afternoon Father Peter's office at Holy Rosary Church holds a couple of cunning characters between the scheduled Good Friday church services. Of course, there's that widow scamming Father Peter, and Bill Darling. Bill's a late forties, overweight, showy garish dresser, who wears a bright orange polyester suit, a wide green tie with red polkadots, plenty of gaudy jewellery and a repulsive hair piece.

The two sit pompously and drink with a bottle of Russian vodka perched on the desk between them. A full glass of vodka rides in each of their clammy hands. Bill presents the image of a boisterous, obnoxious, sleazy realtor, and the unsavoury, unethical, and underhanded head parishioner of Holy Rosary Church.

Father Peter smacks his sprawling oak desk, one of the complements of the Widow Harris scandal. "And that's what that blustering bishop demanded. Getting Kirk's trust will help. But we need more."

Bill shows concern on his chubby face. "Is he on to our?"

"No! Just need to flip the old bastard a few more coins."

Bill punches his own hairy hand. "Pete my man! Have I got a deal for you? Let's rent out the church basement."

"Doing this out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure."

Bill sniggers, flashing a few blackened teeth. "Take my usual 20% commission. Gotta few potentials lined up."

"What about me?" Father Peter enjoys a sizeable shot of the Russian juice while he waits for the answer.

"The usual 20% in cash will hit your devil's drawer."

"So what are these potentials Bill?"

"San Francisco Poker club wants Tuesday night. Belly Dancing club wants Wednesday and Friday nights. As head parishioner I gotta be there to watch the Arabian gals jiggle." Bill stands in his signature shiny white shoes and wiggles with flab disgustingly bouncing everywhere. "Yeah baby! I can be like their Sheikh."

Father Peter takes another large swallow of straight vodka to stomach the sight. "Sign them up. We must work around the choir schedule. But it can work. I may have to grace those cultural events with my presence as well."

"A buddhist group wants Thursday night Pete. But they can't pay much."

Father Peter whacks his desk even harder. "Squeeze more out of the heathens."

"The Hells Angels wanna hold Saturday night concerts. Those motorcycle boys are offering top dollar. We've gotta turn the other cheek as far as some of the drugs, weapons and shit, but well worth it."

"Sign them up," commands Father Peter. "We may not want to have any of the Holy Rosary flock around that night. Like our beautiful sweet Sarah."

Bill grabs his crotch, smacking his lips. "Ya baby! Virgin Sarah makes my cock stand to attention."

"Lovely girl. Sister Sarah will serve the Lord well. And serve this priest very well."

Bill cackles loudly showing even more of his black teeth. "You collar boys, always recruiting for the cause."

Father Peter clears his throat. "This all will help the church. But if we rent the basement, and steel Kirk's trust, we must ensure a large chunk of that cash makes its way into our pockets. As well as into our special charity."

Bill pumps his fist in the air. "Another pilgrimage! Vegas baby! Candy and Ginger here we come!"

"Oh how it feels good to give back to the community," states Father Peter with an immoral wicked grin. He can't believe how their phoney charity has funded their lavish drunken sex retreats over the years.

The two slithering sleaze-balls laugh and clink glasses. Bill sighs and pronounces, "It does feel good to be such upstanding pillars of the community."

"Sure does Bill! Now it is time for us to use the carrot and stick on virgin Hector to secure his disciplinary vote for Kirk Organ, when it comes. And it will. I've chosen Hector and Sarah to be the disciplinary voters, along with myself."

"Nice job stacking the deck Pete."

"Hector will be dropping in shortly to receive orders." Father Peter checks his gold watch. "Also, have you turned the heat up on Jewels Jensen?"

Bill takes a slobbering gulp from his glass, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, smacking his lips. "I've let the stoned slut know. Scheduled a private session tonight to squeeze her a little harder." Bill lets fly with a lustful laugh. "She better come through for big Bill. But it don't matter cause she's done in that building."

"Excellent! Purple Records goes under, Kirk suffers even more." Father Peter hammers the arm of his chair. "I hate that kid! Like I hated his old man!" Father Peter grins like a calculating wolf. "Glad that so-called distinguished gentlemen had an unfortunate accident." He winks at Bill.

A knock on the office door brings Father Peter and Bill to action. They drain their glasses in one gulp. Father Peter hides the bottle in his devil's drawer. "Enter please."

A trembling Hector opens the door, shuffles in the room, wearing his standard stuffy three piece suit. He stands there in an awkward posture. Father Peter stares into his twitching eyes, gaging the level of fear residing there. Father Peter learned years ago that the more fear hovering inside the sheep's eyes, the more priestly power he commands. He likes where Hector's fear meter sits.

Father Peter points to a chair. "We are performing important work for God. You may sit down Hector."

Obediently and nervously, Hector sits down next to Bill Darling in Father Peter's intimidation chair.

Many years ago Father Peter cut that chair low, and ensured the seat was uncomfortable as hell. These alterations were done to gain further power advantages over members of his flock during private brain washing sessions. And oh how it has returned dividends for the priest.

Bill slaps Hector on the back. "How's the bull fighting going Hector Matador?" Bill roars with laughter. His lopsided toupee begins to slide off his huge head. "I like you Hector. My lovely daughter would be a great match for a handsome fellow like yourself."

Hector squirms and grasps for his pencil mustache. "Yes, sir, I-I-I think Victoria is a wonderful young lady."

Bill rubs his realtor hands together. "Then I could sell you two a real nice 3 bedroom house."

Father Peter takes control of the meeting. He uses that artificially manufactured deep voice when he says, "Let's get down to business. Want to discuss Kirk Organ. It isn't necessary to waste time on him. He's an eternal sinner."

"But-but Kirk is one of God's children," defends Hector.

"When you have been in the spiritual game as long as I have, you learn to only focus on those worth saving. Kirk will always be a heathen."

"But-but he has a wonderful voice. He seemed like he was trying."

Father Peter graces Hector with a condescending laugh. "So much to learn! But you've potential. If you let us guide you, you one day could be head parishioner of Holy Rosary. Replacing our excellent church leader, Bill Darling."

A beaming Bill throws in a juicy fresh carrot, or is that a tart. "And my daughter, Victoria, loves a man in charge."

Father Peter leans forward and points a threatening finger at the schoolteacher. "However, if you insist on aiding the agent of the devil, God and the Catholic church will take revenge."

Bill wags his finger at Hector. "That'd mean being booted out of the church. No choir leader? No softball captain, and my daughter would be off limits."

Father Peter eases back in his chair which holds the pompous priest high above Hector, also aided by a couple of cushions, giving the short priest extra inches. His insisting finger remains aimed at the squirming Hector. "My son, all you have to do is listen to us."

With all this finger action directed at him, Hector shakes with fear, sweat poring from his brow. He tugs on that mustache. "I-I-I will."

Bill pounds Hector on the back. "Good boy! And someday we'll take you on one of our pilgrimages." The head parishioner lets out his geeky cackle again. "Open you up to an entirely different way of looking at God."

Father Peter leans forward with a menacing scowl. "Just remember, Kirk is not a sheep we want in our beloved choir and church." He hammers the desk with his fist, causing Hector to jump in his seat. "And I mean under any circumstances."

Bill re-enforces the point. "In dealing with Kirk we must do what is best for our church."

Father Peter rises, looks down at Hector, points an intimidating finger, and takes on his pulpit pose. "That Hector, is what God's work is all about."

Down in the church basement on that Good Friday evening, the Holy Rosary choir gather around the old baby grand piano. The choir's done plenty of singing today. But they wanted to have a short practice to smooth out the wrinkles for the upcoming Easter Sunday shows, and man were there a ton of flat notes and wrecked hymns. As well, they wanted to give Kirk some additional practice time before his day to shine with the choir comes. But the new star choir boy runs late.

Father Peter and Rose stand off to the side watching and growing irritated with Kirk's tardiness. Hector passes out refreshments from a picture of water and glasses sitting on top of the scratched up piano. Sarah wears a more form fitting dress when compared to the last practice. Oh my, she may have even applied a little red lipstick.

The distinct sound of heavy footsteps boom out as Kirk's clumsy feet descend the basement stairs. All listen to his slurred singing, "99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer." Kirk stumbles into the room wearing more conservative pants and shirt. He smiles the foolish smile of a silly drunk. "Peace, choir brothers and sisters."

Kirk attempts to walk over to the group and stumbles. "Sorry I'm late. My friend Jack Daniels held me up."

"You're drunk," Father Peter roars. Deep down Father Peter revels and rejoices in this fortunate turn of events. For Kirk's drunken stupidity makes stealing his trust that much simpler.

Kirk points at Father Peter. "Bingo Padre Pete! And you're ugly! Tomorrow I'll be sober, but you'll still be ugly." Kirk laughs and slaps his knee. "That's such an old joke. Still cracks me up." He looks around as no one laughs. "Must be in my delivery."

"So predictable," Father Peter yells. "You are a heathen like your father."

"My father was ten times the man you ever were. So don't go there Padre Pete."

Father Peter wants to fire back a shot, But, he sees that look in Kirk's eyes. He backs off. This concerns Father Peter. He has never seen the level of fear he desires from Kirk. He realizes Kirk is exactly like his dead father.

Kirk moves to the piano that's propped up by a thin wooden board under one leg. He attempts to pore himself a glass of water. He spills all over himself. "Oops! I just christened myself."

Father Peter now feels he can go on the offensive again. "You are the agent for Satan."

There's heart-wrenching disappointment all over Sarah's heart shaped face. Tears form in her eyes. "Oh Kirk."

"Don't cry sweet Sarah," Kirk says. "Thanks for helping me pick out these threads. Wow! Looking hot in that dress! You're well put together."

Father Peter rages. "Enough of your filth!"

Kirk goes into a fit of laughter, water spilling from his glass. "Father Peter, last practice, I saw you staring. That's twice now."

Father Peter steps forward, raising his fist to strike. He stops himself, flames red with embarrassment. He attempts to speak, but nothing comes out.

Hector puffs up his chest, stretching out his long neck and steps forward. "Kirk, your conduct's reprehensible. You must apologize to Father Peter and the choir before we allow you to sing with us again."

Kirk stands up straight and clears his voice. "I'm sorry to everyone in the choir. And I'm sorry Father Peter. But Dad's death, its been heavy." He slouches, burps and farts.

Father Peter regains his voice, "You are a terrible person! I want you out of the choir." The priest points at the door. "I will not have anyone with alcohol on their breath in my church."

Kirk takes Father Peter by the elbow. "Okay chump, you better split with me. We're both goners."

Father Peter snarls, shakes free, steps back from Kirk and screams, "Get out! Your trust money is mine!" Father Peter's vodka induced outburst produces shock on everyone. He composes himself quickly, clearing his voice. "I mean, I'm calling a disciplinary vote tomorrow afternoon. As I've laid out to Rose, the trio of voters for any disciplinary vote, will be Hector, Sarah and of course, myself. We will decide whether Kirk is permanently, and I mean permanently banned from the choir and this church."

Kirk slurs, "First one already."

"In the agreement your mother signed with Holy Rosary, I have the ability to call up to three special disciplinary votes covering the entire trust fund, if your conduct warrants that type of action." Father Peter shouts, "And this drunk behavior is such an action." He turns to Rose, shooting get-in-line eyes. "Right Rose?"

Rose flutters her eyelashes in confusion. "If-if you say so, your grace."

Father Peter rejoices inside for slipping that small print, disciplinary clause into the agreement, which he pressured the gullible Rose into signing. And how he manipulated her into insisting on only three votes, when he expected to only get one vote. "Kirk you must be there to finally feel the wrath of God. And poor Rose, you are welcome to join us to witness the firm hand of God."

"Amen," says Hector.

"Kirk Organ!" Ceremoniously, Father Peter raises his hands in the air, ripping his well worn rope under the arm.

Kirk giggles. For the sound of that rip is exactly the same as Kirk's fart. Kirk passes gas again, confirming the similar-sound point, causing the drunk Kirk to giggle again.

Father Peter clenches his fists, wanting to kill the young buck. "Kirk Organ, its time for you to feel the power of the Catholic Church." He shoves an I-got-you finger at Kirk and yells, "And the power of Father Peter Dunn!"

FIVE

"And Angie, that's how I screwed up," Kirk says the next morning in the coffee room of Purple records. He supports a monster headache and hangover. He lies disheveled and bedraggled on the couch. He wears the same spiffy attire he strutted last night. Kirk will recover eventually. But those unfortunate new clothes may have been one night wonders.

Jewels and Angelina sit around a table drinking coffee, chuckling at Kirk in his miserable state. Angelina situates herself in a seductive manner, giving Kirk a first class view under her white miniskirt. Also, she supports a purple silk blouse, ensuring Kirk's favorite color is included in her outfit. Angelina revels in watching Kirk's hangover eyes attempting to zero in on her underneath offerings.

Jewels rolls a joint. She gazes off into nowhere, appearing distracted, worried and haggard. She left her lover Sticks Leach up front. The rock drummer loves hanging around the record store, smoking weed, doing his acid, taking pocket money from the cash register, and talking about his past glory days on the road with a series of down and out LSD-filled bands. Sticks drags in his pit bull, Killer, which scares customers and staff. Except for Kirk, who loves the grumpy dog, and the dog worships him.

"You idiot," Angelina scolds Kirk. "And you look like shit. Although I dig the new threads. Except you've ruined them." She likes the new-look Kirk with shorter hair and nicer clothes. She hides her disappointment. She's pleaded with Kirk to let her take him shopping to upgrade his wardrobe. He's always refused.

Jewels finishes the rolling job, licking her lips in anticipation, about to light a match. "Did you crash here all night?"

Kirk grins as he continues to peer under Angelina's miniskirt. "No way I could go home."

Angelina whacks Kirk on the thigh. "Stop leering!" "You need a plan for today's big meeting." Although, she does enjoy a growing satisfaction from watching Kirk's desire flame up. After all he is sprawled on their special lust couch where they seldom sit, and where they have pretty much wore out the springs.

Kirk grabs his head. "Plan, shit I can't think." Although he is not totally dead as he continues to spy Angelina's erotic underworld.

"But you sure can ogle." Angelina slaps Kirk's thigh again. "Get serious! Start with coffee. Then lets talk." Angelina hands Kirk a cup of java.

Kirk groans, grabs the cup with a Purple Records emblem on it and sits up. He takes a sip. "Oh, that's good." Greedily, he inhales another drink. His stomach begins to perform the roller coaster dance. "Ooh, maybe not so good."

"Easy." Jewels takes a puff of the joint. "This works better." She sighs and goes back into her trance, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts.

Angelina points an aggressive finger at Kirk. "Gringo, you need to figure out what you can give two of the three voters: the square Hector and naive Sarah. You have to get to them pronto."

Kirk perks up. "Digging what you're saying."

He values Angelina's advice and her brains as she was both an honor role student and placed third in the California State Girls Chess Championship in her senior year of high school. But she never went on to college even with multiple scholarship opportunities to choose from.

Those scholarship opportunities arose in both psychology and fashion design. She likes helping people, and she likes designing clothes. Her mother and grandmother worked in the garment industry. But if she ever went into that industry, she'd want to design, have her own fashion line. She wants more time to sort herself out, figure out what she really wants, not what her controlling mother and grandmother want. But she'd have to reapply for any scholarship, lucky to get one, after turning down everyone in the past.

"Well, dig this you singing stud," Angelina says. "Everyone wants something. Think hard. And it's a different kind of hard then where your brain usually goes."

"Right on Angie!" Kirk appreciates her frankness. Although, he wonders if he's just a pawn in one of Angelina's chess games? Or is he a major piece?

"And think about what your mom might really want as well," adds Angelina.

Jewels keeps working the joint down. Her head pops up with a sudden thought. "One more so called Bible thumper you need to understand."

"Who's that?" Kirk asks.

"Worst dresser and sleaziest realtor in San Fran, Bill Darling."

Kirk laughs. "Oh no! Bullshit Bill."

Jewels cringes. "Bald eagle Bill holds my mortgage on this building. And he's head of the flock at Holy Rosary."

"Wears a rat's nest to cover his dome," says Kirk.

Jewels shivers, shutters and shakes her head with her black and blue bead necklaces clattering. "Slime oozes out from every pore of that dork!" She slaps her forehead, knocking one of the flowers out of her hair. "Oh that gross smile! Can't he find a good dentist?"

Kirk groans. "Mom thinks Bill is such a charmer. But then anyone who sits in the front row of the church is golden in her mind." He recalls how his Dad used to call it the VIP section. Very important Pews. For those sheep who fork over the most cash.

"Sounds like this Bill should be at the back of the bus," Angelina says. "Or maybe kicked off the bus."

"From what I hear." Kirk takes another sip. "Every Sunday Bill, his wife Dotty and daughter Victoria perch with pride at the front of the Holy Rosary pecking order. Holding their bibles and noses high."

"Must be quite a show!" Jewels scowls. "Cause during the week Dotty's so far from an angel. And Bill Darling's sure no bible thumper. Wants to be a lady thumper."

Angelina slaps her knee. "Hate those creeps! Hold the cross in one hand, and wave their dick in the other."

Jewels shakes her buzzed head in disgust. "Bill wants to enter my jewel zone. Talks the ladies man part, but guess what?" She grins. "The lowdown from a reliable source, he can't raise his flag!" All three burst into tension relieving laughter with Jewels almost dropping her joint.

"Thinks he's Babe Ruth with no bat," says Angelina.

Jewels laughs in her classic stoned manner. "That's also why his snob of a wife, Dotty, flashes those man devouring eyes wherever she prowls."

The astrology fanatic, incense burning Jewels, who frequents fortune tellers weekly, possesses an amazing network within the San Francisco hippy community. And the fact Jewels attended Woodstock, makes her a leader in that wacky world. And even that world's heard of sex-starved Dotty Darling.

"Dotty sure demands the center of attention," Kirk utters. "That's one person in the VIP section my mom doesn't worship. Seems to go way back. Mom does hate her."

Dotty's prescription drug habit is well known among the Holy Rosary flock. Whether hopped up on pills or not, Dotty's loud, aggressive, sarcastic and pretentious. She does fawn over Father Peter, vying for his exclusive attention, making her and Rose bitter enemies. For after all, the role of favorite lady of the priest, or priest wife, is coveted by any self respecting Catholic lady. And Rose Organ and Dotty Darling are neck and neck in that religious race.

"No one likes that backstabbing bitch!" Jewels puts her burning roach in the ashtray. "And that piece of polyester trash husband of Dotty's will have his grimy hands in trying to get your trust. Father Peter and Bill Darling, two peas in a crooked pod."

"Does Kirk need to deal with this Don Juan want-to-be with a limp cigar," Angelina asks.

"He will, but not before the vote." Jewels kicks the leg of the table. "But I sure will." She wipes her brow. "I turned Bill down again last night. He's gonna foreclose on Purple Records at the end of April."

Kirk leaps to his feet with a shock look on his hungover face. "No fucking way!"

"I'm so sorry Kirk." A tear slides from the owner's eye. "Should have told you earlier. But I just couldn't."

"He can't get you out of here that fast," Kirk says.

"Slippery Bill showed me the iron clad contract, right before he grabbed my ass with his hairy gorilla like hand last night. And that's not the first time."

Jewels grinds her teeth as she reflects on the night over a year ago, when she signed that contract. The sleazy realtor talked of closing their deal with the creep wanting to place a sex deposit in her love zone. She fled from the realtor on that signing occasion, and many others.

Kirk grips the back of a chair as the thought of the store closing sinks in. "Can't be legal."

"All legal," Jewels states. "I was so stoned when I signed that complex contract. And I was scared of him too." She lets all the tears flow. "And, and I need 25 grand. And I need it fast."

Kirk puts on a determined look. "Give me the last toke from that roach to get me going. Got a tough day ahead." He reaches for the almost done joint, burns himself. "Ouch!" He takes a drag and sighs. "And the stakes have just gotten a lot higher."

Jewels wipes her tears. "Go get 'em kid." She sniffles. "And here's a little lowdown on the street I heard concerning Padre Pete."

The religious Rose reads her bible later that Saturday morning of April 6. She holds a prim pose at the kitchen table of her home. Kirk enters the room like a sheep entering the sheering pen. A long awkward silence unfolds. Kirk walks over to his mom. He gives her a heart-felt hug. "Mom, I'm very sorry! I love you."

Rose pushes him away. "You sure are a screw up."

"So true! I want to apologize again. I am very, very sorry."

"And you were drunk on Good Friday!" Rose hits Kirk with the bible. "God and Father Peter are the ones you must make amends with."

Kirk takes his mother's hand. He looks into her unforgiving eyes. "It is you that I want to make amends with."

Rose lets go of Kirk's hand, pushing him away again. "Don't know how I feel about you." She hangs her head and mumbles, "Our only child. Such a bitter disappointment. Such an embarrassment."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but."

"I need to go to church. Need to talk to Father Peter."

"After all those facts and logical reasons Dad provided you over the years, can't you understand the hypocrisy of the Catholic church?"

"I know the Catholic religion is the only true religion." Rose raises her head with purpose, clutching the tiny cross hanging from her necklace, given to her many years ago by Father Peter. "After all both my parents were Catholics. And they were never wrong."

"Wow! Hard to argue with that," Kirk says with a sarcastic tone.

Kirk and Rose have battled over the subject of religion, ever since she made him take his first communion and first confession. He never repeated those religious acts, and very seldom went to church with her. Partially, due to the fact Father Peter blessed the young Kirk with a holy whack on the head most of the time. Rain or shine, every Sunday for years now, Rose resurrected the church attendance debate in the household with no success.

Rose stands and points a righteous finger at Kirk. "How about this? Father Peter's by far the smartest man I've ever known. He's given his life to the Catholic church. That means the Catholic's must be the chosen ones."

"Again Mom, your logic blows my mind. But I admire your dedication and devotion."

Rose wags her finger at Kirk. "My logic comes straight from the brilliant Father Peter."

Kirk scratches his head. "How come you openly praise Father Peter? But you never once praised Dad."

"Can't compare the two men! One is a man of God." Rose frowns. "Your dad was just a."

Kirk stands up straight. He assumes an indignant posture. "Hey, Dad was a loving husband and father, good provider, highly regarded professor, and a part of the team that won a Nobel Peace Prize. And Dad was darn handsome, not like that scrawny Father Peter."

"Enough," Rose yells and firmly pokes Kirk in the chest with that enraged finger. "Your dad wasn't a Catholic. His work in that heathen sciences flew directly in the face of my Catholic religion." She slaps Kirk on the shoulder. "And that Kirk was, and always will be unacceptable to me." She graces him with one more poke of her finger.

Kirk thinks of the number of times either his mother, Father Peter, and even Angelina use their finger to make a point with him. He wonders if there is something in the Catholic intimidation manual on that? So he decides to try it, pointing his hungover finger at his mom. "So being a Catholic and reading the bible is what makes the person in your mind?"

"Yes, most definitely!" Rose takes her bible and holds it high in the air. "Your dad couldn't recite one passage. Whereas Father Peter, oh it is heavenly the way he recites from the Holy Scriptures!" She takes on a glazed hypnotic look. Her eyes widen in awe and admiration. She glows and gushes from head to toe. "He's so, so amazing!"

"Woe Mom! You sound like your in love with Father Peter." Rose lowers her head and stays silent. A long moment passes as the grandfather clock chimes. "Ah Mom, have you been secretly in love with Father Peter all these years?"

Rose stands with weak knees, fidgeting with her bible. "It's, it's complicated."

Kirk analyzes his mom. "Complicated! What the hell does that mean?"

Rose bursts into tears. She hugs the bible tight to her chest like it's her last lifeline, and races out of the room.

SIX

A spectacular sunny Saturday afternoon in San Francisco as Kirk wheels his oil-burning purple shaggen'wagon up to the front of the Holy Rosary Church. As he steps out of the van, Father Peter pounds on the windowsill and yells out his open office window, "You can't park there. That's for true believers. Not trash like you."

Kirk delivers a pleasant wave and smile. "Peace Father Peter."

The holy man knows no one can hear this exchange. So, he may as well taunt the young fool. "Not going to be a peaceful afternoon for you when I take your entire trust." He lets out a creepy chortle.

Kirk shrugs his shoulders, keeps walking, and doesn't bite. "Whatever!" He continues to walk to the front steps of the church.

Father Peter makes one last promise, but in lower tones, "And after I get your trust, I'll destroy everything else that is dear to you. Just like I did to your so called intellectual dad, ever since we were in first grade." Father Peter lets out an evil geeky laugh that sends a shiver down Kirk's spine.

Except, Kirk outwardly shows no fear, and proceeds to his private session with Sarah. For of course, Kirk knows Father Peter's vote won't go his way as street smart Angelina stated. He must sway Sarah and Hector to have any chance in this trust fund snatching battle. But Padre Pete's sinister long-standing grudge game, does leave him scared to the bone.

Kirk and Sarah sit on the small bed in the sick room of Holy Rosary Church. It is sixty minutes before the big vote on that Easter Saturday. Kirk requires privacy in order to have a serious chat with this lovely pure angel.

This bible holding angel isn't happy with him. Although, she did agree to parley in this tiny tucked away cubby-hole. It hides the two away from numerous prying eyes, keen ears, and interfering mouths. But is anything really private at Holy Rosary?

Sarah wears a cold rigid posture, and a white formfitting sweater dress. Kirk can feel the frigid freezing ice surrounding Sarah. He shutters and wonders if he can actually spark any small flame to begin the de-icing process?

"Sarah, I am sorry for last night. Please forgive me!"

"Father Peter says one must earn forgiveness."

"It'll never happen again Sarah. I really enjoyed singing with you."

Sarah turns her heart shaped face to Kirk with her magnificent wide eyes. "Did you really?"

Kirk thinks he may have seen just the tiniest of sparks. "We had such chemistry." He looks deeply into her baby blues. "We were so connected through the hymns."

Sarah grips her bible tight. "But you'll be expelled from the choir. You've sinned."

"What can I do to show how sorry I am?" Kirk lays his brightest smile on sweet Sarah. "No matter what happens today, I was hoping I might be able to ask you out some time. Even if it's just after mass at the Church picnic."

Sarah blushes and beams. "But."

Kirk knows it's now or never. Could get a slap on the face. But he must roll the dating dice. He thinks if this spark extinguishes now, it is all frozen ice going forward. Kirk leans over, kisses her on the cheek gently. "You are so beautiful."

She tosses her bible aside, grabbing Kirk and kissing him on the lips with passion. She throws her arms around him, pushing him down on the sick bed. They finally come up for air.

Kirk catches his breath."Hallelujah!" He just ignited a small flame with no matches. And he's never been a boy scout.

"Oh, I forgive you," Sarah shouts. "Fuck me Kirk!" That's no small flame, it is a hot fire.

Sarah rises with a wink. She begins removing her dress. She swivels her hypnotic hips. "Do you like my offering?"

"Praise the Lord!"

Provocatively, Sarah slides her hands over her white lace bra and asks in a suggestive tone. "Do you like my 2 best friends?"

"Praise that Lord one more time!" Kirk drools with delight. "Your massive mountains are now my pals too."

She slips off her white lace panties and throws them at Kirk. She points her take charge finger at his wrinkled pants. "Now get those off! Ever since we bought them, I've been dreaming of ripping them off and jumping your bones."

Kirk can't believe this. He figures Sarah must have a different past then he envisioned. "Let me get into your dream."

Sarah kneels in front of Kirk, giving him an enticing pout expression. "I wanted to jump you when we went shopping. But I won't do it in your beaten up shaggen'wagon."

"But-but we're in a church."

Sarah begins to take down Kirk's pants like a skilled high-class call girl, and uses a sultry voice, "Come on Kirk! Show God what you've got. Time for me to play the organ." As Smoky comes into view, Sarah licks her lips like a cat ready to pounce on an oversized mouse. "And what an organ to play!"

"Are you going to?"

She puckers up her luscious red lips. "This Catholic girl won't do that on the first go! But I'll ride you to reform."

"Oh shit! No protection, I never expected."

"Us Catholic girls have the Lord for protection."

"But-but."

Sarah stands. She laughs the laugh of lust. She shoves Kirk back down on the bed. She climbs on top of him. She mounts the excited Smoky, letting out a loud pleasurable groan. Sarah gyrates wildly as she plays her organ. "I am going to convert you sinner."

"Yes, I am a bad boy."

The sick bed squeaks with the sex rhythm. "I will have to punish you." Sarah slaps Kirk on the shoulder, and then twists his nipple.

"Ouch!" Kirk grins. "Church is fun!" He thinks how he has started one rip roaring religious fire. Sarah scratches him across the chest with her long fingernails, leaving distinct red marks. Kirk lets out a painful screech, thinking this girl's sex game could get out of control. But he's not minding it one bit.

Sarah whips off her sizeable bra while never missing a mind blowing beat. She then teasingly and nimbly leans down and lets her jiggling breasts fall into Kirk's face while continuing to ride her sinning stallion. "Time to get close to the girls."

Kirk sputters and babbles as he kisses his new found friends, "Hello! Hello!"

Sarah begins to pray. "Our Father, who art in heaven." She continues on with the Lord's Prayer, and rocking Kirk's world.

Kirk hangs on for dear life. This blaze has turned into a raging wild fire. "I think I found God."

Sarah hits a frantic feverish pitch, "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"

"Oh my God Sarah!" Clearly, Kirk got more then he expected with this prayer session.

Sarah screams for all she's worth as she orgasms with Kirk attempting to cover her mouth. "I love you God!" She pauses to catch her breath. She wags her Catholic finger at Kirk. "Now let us pray."

Twenty minutes before the upcoming meeting, Kirk heads with exhausted steps to the church basement to meet with Hector. Kirk looks dishevelled from his sex session with Sarah. He's still tucking in the back of his shirt, and combing his mussed hair. Wow, he thinks, this new way of praying could catch on like wild fire.

A frantic yell comes from behind him, "Kirk!" It is that sharp minded Angelina raising to catch up with him. As she approaches him, her face drops. She senses and sees sex all over Kirk as only a street wise woman can. She hands Kirk his brown leatherjacket.

"Put this on. I put something in your pocket I thought you might need for the meeting." Angelina narrows her probing eyes. "But, maybe not."

She whirls and leaves, hiding the bitter disappointment. She knows they have an open relationship. For this is 1974. They both play the field. They both have other lovers. Then why does it bother her? Why does she hate him right now?

"Wait Angie!" Kirk commences to follow her. But he stops. He knows Hector will be waiting for him. He puts his hand in his jacket pocket, smiles and shouts, "Thank you!" Kirk shakes his head in confusion. He understands something just changed in their relationship. But what?

Kirk and Hector talk in hushed tones around the baby grand piano in the Holy Rosary Church basement fifteen minutes before the first disciplinary vote. Hector wears a stern face, and stands straight-backed and stuffy in his three piece suit.

"Hector, I am so very sorry."

Hector wags his finger the way a teacher will at a knotty child. "Your conduct was unforgivable. Father Peter's right. You're too far gone."

"I beg you for forgiveness," pleads Kirk. He's now convinced that finger action is the eleventh commandment for any true Catholic.

"And what about innocent Sarah? She's most likely never seen anyone drunk before."

"Yeah, innocent Sarah. Mercy!" Kirk touches one of the sex scratch marks underneath his shirt she gifted him.

"And your mother," Hector adds.

"Oh Hector, she's seen drunk behavior before."

"You've put her through too much," Hector scolds with some high speed finger wagging. "Thank God for Father Peter."

"Sure, what a peach! Look Hector, I'll do anything. I'll even join your softball team. I am an excellent pitcher. Hear the team needs some help."

Hector rubs his chin. "We can't seem to get a solid pitcher. We're getting humiliated in the Catholic Men's Softball League. Father Peter takes his softball seriously."

"I can help you look good in front of Father Peter," promises Kirk. "I can fire that ball! Pitched in the best men's league in San Francisco at the age of 16. But well I quit when I found other interests."

"Interesting."

Kirk puts his arm around Hector. "Also, I happen to know. You've trouble attracting a certain Catholic girl's attention. What would you say to me helping with your dating scene? Guarantee results with Victoria Darling."

Hector raises his eyebrows, stroking his mustache. "Very-very interesting! Keep talking."

Two minutes before the disciplinary meeting, Kirk makes his way in a haste to Father Peter's office. He wonders if he's done enough to sway the vote? Or was the holy deck stacked against him from the start? Kirk feels sweat flowing from every pore in his body. He shakes like a crumbling leaf. As he races down a drab corridor, he spies Sister Teresa crying her Christian eyes out. Knowing he can't be late, he stops anyway.

"Can I help?" Kirk asks.

Sister Teresa looks up. Wipes her trembling tears, putting her double taped glasses on and takes his hand. She graces it with an - I'm on your side — squeeze. Kirk leans down giving her a tender hug. Sister Teresa returns the caring embrace. She pulls back, gazing into Kirk's eye's, making the sign of the cross.

The warm hearted Sister Teresa presses her soft hand to Kirk's cheek, holding it there for a long second. The contact seems to calm Kirk. It re-focuses some of his nervous energy, instilling a well-needed spark of confidence into the confused choirboy. Kirk flashes her the peace sign along with a bright smile. It generates a return grateful grin from the abused nun.

"Twenty-five seconds," a scream rings out from Father Peter. He stands in front of his office door way down the mile-long hallway. He concentrates like a God on his expensive gold watch he purchased from the Widow Harris winnings. "If you're late Kirk, you automatically lose."

Sister Teresa holds Kirk back for a second. She wipes a red lipstick smudge off his neck. He hugs Sister Teresa one last time. He sprints for Padre Pete's torture chamber, knowing every step matters.

SEVEN

It is showtime — sinner style. Time for the first disciplinary vote. Father Peter holds the sagging door to his office open with his foot. He displays an avarice grin. His eyes are locked on his watch. Fresh from the cleaners, he sports his ostentatious rich robes today.

Dollar victory is at hand, and one must dress like a clergy champ. These expensive robes that were tailor-made in Italy, drive the Arch Bishop crazy with envy, when Father Peter struts them. For some of Widow Harris's scammed money went to another great cause in Father Peter's mind.

Rose, Hector and Sarah have already entered, taking a chair. For the first time in years, Rose wears a more stylish dress, a little more form to it, and a bit more leg. Is that a touch of makeup? Could Hector sit any more erect in his chair. Like the schoolteacher's got a holy candlestick up his ass. And Sarah, well she simply radiates optimum orgasm.

"You won't sit long," Father Peter predicts. "As this will be quick." He peers down the hallway. "And of course, look who may not make it on time. The devil's helper always runs last."

Kirk bursts through the office door puffing and panting. "Sorry, I was almost late."

Father Peter grunts. "Just made it Sinner!" He thinks being on time will be the only thing that goes Kirk's way today, and the rest of the rigged meeting will be all his. Father Peter feels God is looking after him on this celebrated day. His day of further revenge against his life-long enemy, and who was righteously punished by that fatal accident.

Father Peter's head rides proud and high. His chest sticks out. He revels in the glory of thinking he sits supreme on top of the world. He rubs his hands together. He salivates at the thought he will grab Kirk's entire trust in one shot. One - in the bag — vote gives him all the cash this afternoon. Rather than having to let even one month of that trust slip to Kirk.

As the others settle into their chairs, Kirk whispers in Father Peter's ear while the padre goes to shut his office door. Father Peter flushes in anger. Smoke rises from his ears. Was anger smoke coming out of his nose as well? He kicks the door, slamming it with hurricane force. He storms to his soft leather throne.

A long silence ensues as Father Peter's eyes fling deadly daggers at Kirk. "The heathen in the room must stand while judgement is passed."

Kirk positions himself in front of the closed door. The nervous shaking and perspiring has returned in spades. He stands with knees knocking, sweaty hands held behind his back. He grips the door handle for dear life.

Father Peter points a pistol finger at Kirk. "We are voting on whether this child of the devil should be expelled from our virtuous church choir after his drunken behavior. Let's get on with the vote. Hector, you bat leadoff."

"I vote to remove Kirk from the choir," pronounces Hector.

Father Peter wants to do a jig. But he must show restraint until the trust prize is captured. Rose's tears are now flowing. Kirk cringes. He grips the door handle even tighter as he thinks that one more vote against him and it is over.

"Hector really deserves to go on a pilgrimage." Father Peter imagines her naked as he studies the next voter. "Sarah, our future sister. You are up next."

Sarah flashes that sexually satisfied smile. "I vote to keep Kirk in the choir. Kirk has so much potential. With more practice who knows the mountains he'll climb."

Kirk smirks. "Thank you Sarah for your support. You've a special way of inspiring me to climb those mountains."

Father Peter shows shock from Sarah's vote. Shakes his surprised head, recovering in a moment. He sits a little taller in his elevated seat and clears his throat. He digs down deep to ensure his power tone is ready to go, and then speaks. "My turn to bat. It is up to me! Kirk is evil. I am here to crush evil."

"Amen!" Hector says.

Sarah turns to Hector. "What a suck up!"

All gasp at Sarah's comment.

Father Peter clears his voice twice for effect. Theatrically, he raises his hands in the air. "My children, evil is at our door. However, I am a man of God. I sit next to God. So I shall give Kirk one more chance. He can stay in the choir for now."

Kirk looks relieved. Hector looks shocked. Sarah continues to smile her satisfied smile. While Rose takes a second to absorb the news. Her eyes widen as she adores the holy man behind the desk.

Rose breaks the silence, gripping her bible like a child grips their favorite doll. "Oh thank you! You're so wonderful Father Peter!" Rose bursts with endless awe and wonderment at her longtime spiritual leader. "I'm so happy! For that, I'm taking some of my dearly departed husbands insurance money, and making a large donation to the church. That donation's to go to the purchase of a brand new car for Father Peter."

Kirk gulps, goes to object, but thinks better of speaking out right now.

Father Peter grins like a sly fox that just feasted on his first chicken in the henhouse. "Thank you Rose. When a seat in the front row opens up, you certainly will be one of those considered."

"Thank you!" Rose beams as her VIP dream draws closer. Also, she feels as if she's taken one more sacred step toward reaching heaven, when her time is called.

Father Peter adds, "However, I have a condition to keeping Kirk. For now! Kirk is to also work two hours a week at the Red Cross Blood Donation clinic. I want him working where the blood is donated. I am adding this additional stipulation to Kirk's checklist."

Rose agrees, "Oh yes! He will your grace."

Kirk sputters and turns white with terror. That door handle is about to come off with Kirk's additional panicking pressure. "But."

Rose yells, "Shut up, Kirk! You're lucky to be given a second chance by the marvellous Father Peter."

The holy man smirks and scribbles on the original contract Rose and he'd signed. He initials the additional clause he added. He passes it to Rose. "Rose, initial where I did. Hector you can initial as a witness."

Both initial without question.

Kirk still shakes with fear and stays speechless.

Father Peter feels that he has Kirk trapped for good. He uses his powerful pulpit tone, "Going forward, Kirk has the additional stipulation that must be satisfactorily met, before he can acquire his monthly trust. And there is still the ability to have two additional disciplinary votes."

Father Peter stands. "We are done here. Kirk, a word in private."

A chattering Rose, Sarah and Hector depart the office leaving the two alone. Father Peter strikes Kirk on the shoulder. He points a violent finger as he glowers at Kirk. "I will never vote your way again you prick! That ugly altar boy matter you raised will be eliminated immediately without a trace. Then I will throw you out and take all your trust money at the next disciplinary vote. And screw you but good!" Father Peter hits Kirk on the head.

"Thanks Padre Pete. I just got those moving words on tape." Kirk pulls out a smaller sized recording device from his leather jacket which Angelina placed there. "Game's just begun."

Father Peter attempts to deliver a vicious backhand across Kirk's face. Kirk grabs his arm. He squeezes it until the shorter priest begins to wince. Kirk speaks in a slow deliberate fashion, "You will never, and I mean never, touch me again!"

Father Peter grits his teeth as he mutters, "Don't have to touch you to destroy you!"

Kirk sits alone in a well-worn easy chair at his home later that Saturday night. In the background, his favorite song plays on his Pioneer stereo with the five foot tower speakers. That song soothing him is Deep Purple's monster hit: Smoke On The Water.

Kirk drinks one of his dad's favorite beers. He holds a brown legal envelope. A huge elegant urn sits right in front of him on the mantle of a fireplace. The silver urn contains the ashes of his dad.

This honoring urn was one fight with his mom Kirk did win. For his dad wanted to be cremated, not buried in the Catholic cemetery, which Rose fought tooth and nail for. Kirk drew the line on that tirade. He honored his deceased father by selecting and customizing an urn his dad would be proud of.

The classy urn has a picture of his dad. Kirk gazes at it and confides. "Dad, that Father Peter is a scary dude. Don't know how I'm going to keep one step ahead of him." Kirk sighs. "I know. I know. Don't give up."

Kirk salutes the two foot urn with his beer. "Here's to you Dad! I'll get the money for that record store." He takes a quick drink. "I'll need strength to fight my many fears: the stage fright, the site of blood, the drugs and the list goes on. I'm such a screw up. But you always backed me. I miss you so friggin much."

Kirk sheds a few tears. He wipes his eyes and asks, "Why did you go to pick Mom up at church that day. Only a couple of blocks. You always spoiled her." The tears start to flow. "And then that fucking eighteen wheeler runs the red light!"

The hot sexy Bambi Dubois from the funeral slips into the room wearing provocative skimpy red lingerie, showing lots of leg and cleavage. Bambi cuddles in on Kirk's lap. The envelope falls on the floor. Bambi gives Kirk a quick kiss. "How's it hanging?"

Kirk squeezes one of her breasts. "I'm feeling great now Miss Hot Bod!"

Playfully, Bambi slaps Kirk's hand away. "Haven't you had enough?" She lands more passionate kisses and hugs stoking his engine again.

Kirk growls like a bear in heat. "Just talking to Dad. Wondering if I got what it takes?"

"Oh you got what it takes." Bambi rubs circles on Kirk's chest. "Your dad knew it. You're a smart guy, a lot like him. Except you're wild."

"I need to grow up."

"You will!" Bambi gazes into his uncertain eyes. "And I know you got more than what it takes." She smiles as she slithers her hand down on Kirk's crotch, giving it a stimulating squeeze. She lets out a knotty giggle. "And you definitely got what it takes down there too." Bambi uses a sexy husky voice, "And you can take me anytime!"

"So foxy lady, let's go upstairs and have one more go before Mom gets home. And see if I got truly what it takes. Cause Smokey is flaming up again."

"It's a raging fire." Bambi runs her fingers through Kirk's hair. "I'll put it out anywhere but your old shaggen'wagon with that waterbed."

Kirk grins. "Waves on wheels. Tons of fun!"

"Tons of tacky."

"Okay lady, back upstairs!" He pinches her on the bum. "Bambi to the rescue."

They rise to leave the room. Bambi pinches his ass back, giving it a thrilling squeeze. "You know, I'm just in this for the sex. And your body." She pinches his ass again.

"Love being your boy toy." He peers back at the urn. "Thanks for the advice Dad. I'll be back for more." He wipes away a last tear. "Love you."

Kirk notices the envelope resting on the floor. He snatches it up. "This was from Dad's lawyer. He slipped it to me on the side as we left his office."

"Better open it."

Kirk rips it open. He reads for a minute. Gazes out the window. "What the fuck?"

Bambi grabs his hand with concern. "What is it?"

Kirk shakes his head, letting the letter fall to the floor. He grasps the chair for support with one hand, and holds onto Bambi's other hand for all he's worth. "I have," his voice cracks as he whispers, "I have a sister."

EIGHT

Kirk sprawls on the couch at Purple Records before the doors are open on Monday morning. Even though it is Easter Monday, the record store will open, attempting to make every dollar they can to help Jewels out of her jam. But the odds run real long.

Those odds got even worse. Jewels revealed that her new boyfriend, Sticks, totalled off her sports car this weekend. The car was her baby. Other then an almost ruined Purple Records, her only other asset worth around five grand. Except, that yellow Firebird held no insurance. Jewels was contemplating selling it, and putting the cash toward saving Purple Records. Or using it as collateral for a loan. Either way, the car option's out.

Angelina Gomez sits at the coffee room table, holding her cup with tense fingers. There's no seductive pose offered up by the intelligent girl. No purple miniskirt or purple top. No pirate smile, more like a pirate snarl. A hostile aura that Kirk's never witnessed. For she's not uttered a word since entering the room.

"Oh Angie, I can't believe I've got a sister out there somewhere."

"Really." She rolls her cold eyes. "Suppose you'll use this to screw something else up."

Kirk sits up. "Ah, is something wrong?"

She leans back in her chair. "Gringo, you're a spoilt brat. You need to grow up."

"Woe! Chill Angie."

"You're a user. You're a pig when it comes to the way you treat women."

"But you and I had an arrangement. You said no strings."

She blows out a disgusted breath. "You treat all females like objects to manipulate."

His jaw drops.

She stands to leave. "And if you ever find this sister, you'll use her, the way you've used every other female in your life." She flips him the finger, marching to the door, slamming it on the way out.

Kirk still sits on the couch five minutes later, reflecting on Angelina's harsh words. He wonders if she's right? Does he use women? Is he a pig? He massages his temples, thinking it might be time to make some changes.

Jewels shuffles into the coffee room. "Hey Kirk. Why the bummed out mug man?"

A moan originates from deep down in his gut. "I'm so confused."

"Join the crowd. What is it?"

"Am I a user Jewels?"

"Of grass. Yeah, you are."

Kirk wipes his baffled brow. "I mean of women."

"No more then most losers I've been with." She grasps her puke green beads when she reflects on her wild life back in the 1960s. She road the wave as a sex-giving groupie and drug-distributing band wife with some of the weirdest rock acts around. "And you're not as bad as that screwball Sticks Leach."

"I want to change. Maybe if I had a sister around when I was younger."

"Angelina told me about the mystery sis. Having a sister won't make a difference. That Latino genius sure got to you."

"Sure did. Angie hates me."

"Not hate Kirk. Señorita Gomez is bummed out too." Jewels begins to roll a joint. "Ive been on that bummed out scene as well."

"Is there anything I can do for you Jewels?"

"Unless you got 25 grand for this airhead to pay off Bill Darling. Then you can own this place."

"I want to own this place. But I wish I had that kinda bread."

"You'd be the first person I'd sell to. But, that jive talking turkey, Bill, gonna snatch this place at the end of the month."

A messy haired Kirk stands and paces. "Is there anything we can do? I mean anything!"

Jewels takes on an even more glazed look. "Legal or illegal?"

At choir practice the following night Kirk struggles to get into the spirit of the holy tunes. Not that he ever could. Cause these bible type songs are a drag for the rock lover to connect and feel. But he's doing it for the cash. And as much as he'll never publicly admit it, some of the messages in these religious songs make him think.

The practice ends and Sarah whispers in his ear, "I need a ride." She winks. "And a lift home too." The girl snickers as she put an inviting finger on one breast. "And I have no panties on."

Kirk struggled to keep his eyes off Sarah throughout the practice. Her red sweater dress was pronounced and distracting. Also, it was distracting when she'd sneak a pinch of his ass during the practice. Right when he was to hit one of the high notes. But he revelled in the thrilling tease game, pinching her bum back at her critical High note point.

He swallows a guilty thought. Angelina's words rumble in his head. Is he a pig? Is he just using Sarah? He then gives himself a willpower test. Can he do something for Sarah without wanting something back? Can he give her a ride home, without going further? Can he not look at her breasts every time she touches her best friends as she calls them? Can he have her sitting in his shaggen'wagon without having sex thoughts? Okay, he thinks that he'll have sex thoughts. But can he not act on them?

He whispers back in her ear, "I'd be honored to give you a ride home."

She double winks at him, smiling like a cat about to lap up some forbidden milk. "Can't wait. Been rethinking your shaggen'wagon."

Father Peter and Sister Beatrice sweep into the church basement. "Attention all," Father Peter yells. "I want to introduce the choir to our newest member of the Holy Rosary team, who will work for me, Sister Beatrice."

Dressed in standard nun garb, along with extra-wide yellow and purple running shoes, Sister Beatrice grinds her teeth as she assumes a hostile posture. "I work for the Catholic church and the Lord. And my next stop on my spiritual journey, will be to whip Holy Rosary into shape." The lady with a distinct birthmark on her left cheek scans the choir and Father Peter. "And I've got some heavy lifting to do in this so called house of worship."

Sister Beatrice's eyes widen when she zeros in on Sarah. She imagines the things she could do to the lovely girl wearing the tight dress, that is distasteful, yet delicious. She decides right there, that will be her new sex submissive. She studies the lust radiating from Sarah directed at the man next to her. Sister Beatrice narrows those dark eyes as she studies Kirk. In her mind, she now has a second enemy in this church cleanup job.

Sister Beatrice speaks directly to Kirk, "And there'll be certain agents of the devil which must be eliminated from Holy Rosary."

Kirk parks his shaggen'wagon behind Purple Records later that Tuesday night. He came directly from dropping Sarah off. He failed his test miserably. She demanded sex. He caved like a starving dieter at an all you can eat buffet. She winked a couple times. She played with her huge breasts, ran her teasing fingers up his thigh, and he was lost, racing to the waterbed at the back of his van in record time. That waterbed he installed when he first bought the van, and has been a source of sex surfing thrills and untimely leaks.

Sarah shocked him with her sexual appetite, humbling him when he blushed at her demands. He kicks himself for showing no restraint, showing no willpower. Feeling cheap the way she treated him like a sex object. And the way she abused poor Smokey. His pecker may need therapy the way she mistreated it. On top of that, she scratched, spanked and scolded him like a knotty boy. She patted him on the head when they departed, telling him and Smokey they will do for now.

Kirk hops out of the van, hearing a noise around the corner of the building. He investigates. He spies Jewels and Sticks fanning the flames of a small fire. The fledgling flames are beginning to take hold on a small portion of the Purple Record's structure.

"What the fuck?" Kirk shouts.

Jewels whispers, "Insurance money man."

Kirk races to his van, removing a large fire extinguisher. Something his dad insisted he carry in the van at all times. Kirk goes to put the struggling flames out.

Sticks yells, "Get 'em Killer!"

His pit bull doesn't go after Kirk. The dog simply waits for Kirk to pet him. Kirk delivers a pat on the dog's head, moving to extinguish the flames. Jewels and Sticks try to stop him with little success.

"Get real man," Sticks complains with black smudges on his face and hands, along with a singed ponytail.

A buzzed out Jewels fixates on the flames dying down with Kirk's efforts. "What a drag?" Also, she spies one of the flowers that was in her hair, now smouldering in the last of the flames. "Oh man."

When Kirk is done, he turns to the two stoners. "Jewels, two days ago you told me you cancelled your fire insurance to save cash."

She slaps her forehead with the reminder, knocking another of her head flowers to the ground. She begins to trip out. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Rose kneels alone in the church the following afternoon. She knows Wednesday's at this time are quiet at Holy Rosary, and she really needs power prayer time right now. She prays for many things. Mainly that the Lord will give her strength to survive these troubled times, and that the Lord will show forgiveness for all sinners.

Also, she prays for Kirk. For he attempted to play some conversation he had with Father Peter after the first disciplinary vote. Before he started the recording device, she snatched it up. She fled to her bedroom, locking the small device away. So Kirk couldn't spread more lies about the honorable man.

Father Peter walks into the church with a Sister Beatrice two steps behind him with her flipper like running shoes squeaking. Her finger wags at the priest. Her tone shrieks, "Where's the money from that church bingo last month?"

Father Peter shrugs his shoulders. He wishes this pushy bitch would get off his back. She's rode him hard since she stormed in to Holy Rosary one day ago. He'll keep ignoring her. But she does have the Arch Bishop's ear. Their on again, off again sacred sex fling gives her the leg up with the goofy bishop.

Except, Father Peter hopes he can get some real juicy dirt on the aggressive Sister Beatrice. For he's heard through the Catholic grapevine that late at night, she slithers out dressed up like a man, seeking ladies wanting that type of tryst.

"The Arch Bishop's right." Sister Beatrice gets up in Father Peter's face. "Something fishy is going on here."

He motions his hand to shoo her away. "You're anal."

"I'm on to you," Sister Beatrice claims as she jabs a stubby finger at him.

He decides to use a deflection tactic. He points to Rose. "Let me introduce you to one of our special flock. Rose Organ, this is Sister Beatrice."

Rose crosses herself. She rises from her knees, moving to the two holy combatants.

Sister Beatrice levels a scathing look. "Your son is Kirk Organ. I've my eye on that sinner." She crosses her toned arms in front of her. "And you were the person who gave this man a brand new car. When that money could have been better spent on the church."

Father Peter rolls his irritated eyes. "Not this again."

"The wonderful Father Peter deserves to drive in a car suitable to his status," Rose defends. Mrs. Organ takes an immediate dislike to this brash lady.

Sister Beatrice huffs. "If this man drove in a car fitting of his status, he'd be in a clown car."

Rose wags her upset finger. "How dare you talk to Father Peter that way?"

Sister Beatrice laughs like a witch with the most powerful broom. "Oh go ask for forgiveness or something. Stupid sheep like you are a dime a dozen."

"The Arch Bishop will hear about this." Rose continues to wag that finger.

"Go shove that finger where no man has gone," orders Sister Beatrice. She spots Sister Teresa attempting to slip out of a side door of the church. "And Sister Teresa, stop your skulking about. I've uncovered your entire history."

Sister Teresa shrinks as she stumbles. She catches her sorry excuse for eyeglasses before they hit the floor.

"And you're lucky the Catholic church has put up with you," Sister Beatrice says. "Ever since you were given up as a baby."

Early the next evening Kirk and Tommy Winger play catch in a lush green park down the street from Kirk's home. Multiple robins chirp at the two when the softball whips back and forth. Sarah evaluates as Kirk pitches the softball in a windmill style at an alarming velocity. The ball cracks each time it hits Tommy's glove.

An Oakland Athletics ball cap wearing Tommy shakes his stinging glove hand, dancing off the pain. "Wicked heat man! You still got it!"

"He sure does," Sarah agrees. She admires Kirk's smooth form and his ripped body as well. She contemplates their waterbed sex session before talking him into bringing her along to the park. That sex session where her over exuberance and long fingernails created a sizeable waterbed leak, and another patch job for Kirk.

Next, she sizes up the ever moving Tommy's overall package, checking out his lower zone, figuring he'd sure do a great job in the sack. She licks her lips, imagining that solid shaft. Another sinner to convert in her special way. But for now she'll focus on Kirk, and his first class ass. That she loves to grab, grope, scratch and smack.

She turns to Kirk. "Why don't you play for the church?"

"Had offered my services once," replies Kirk. "But no deal."

Advantages flow through her mind, for her and the church. "Maybe the powers that be didn't see the real benefits." She rises. "Keep playing guys. I'm going to walk back to the church."

"Hey, I can drive you," Kirk offers.

"Only a couple of blocks." She winks at Kirk, touches her two best assets. "I've got some pitching of my own to do."

Kirk shows up at the blood clinic the next evening. The clinic's housed in a two story building that should be bulldozed. His first volunteering session. He figured Friday evening would be a slow time here. He's determined to be strong. He practiced for this by studying graphic pictures of blood. He's sure he can beat this passing out problem.

The first hour goes by, he's been given mundane filing tasks. He sits in an old wooden chair, causing his ass to cry out. He's killed about a million carpenter ants with a few billion to go. Although, Kirk lets out a sigh of relieve, feeling he may be able to do this a couple of hours a week, even in this junkyard chair and junkyard building.

A grumbling nurse bursts out of a room. She shoves a container holding numerous vials of blood into Kirk's hand. He gulps. His eyes lock on it. He faints.

NINE

Kirk comes around ten minutes later, dazed and confused. He sputters, "What-what happened?"

Sister Teresa pats his arm. She places her finger on his lips. She shows him a note with her flowery handwriting, explaining what took place.

"I'm a loser," mutters Kirk as he tosses the note away.

Sister Teresa shakes her head, flashing him a warm smile. She places a cool cloth on his forehead. She forces him to drink some orange juice.

Her attention gives him incredible comfort. He looks into her caring eyes. They seem familiar. Her entire aura feels so familiar in some unexplainable way.

Kirk reaches over and takes off her end-of-the-line glasses. "Sister Teresa, we're going to the optical shop two doors down after this. The new specs are on me."

Kirk sits in his dad's comfortable tweed armchair later that Friday night on April 12. He relaxes after the fainting episode. Kicks himself again for his weakness. Thank goodness Sister Teresa was there. He wonders why she was there? Although the blood clinic is close to the church, and she volunteers there regularly. He figures it must have been a coincidence.

Also, he ponders the fact he has a real sister out there. He's been drumming up the nerve to ask his mom. But he's chicken shit scared. He thinks it could be the result of some affair his father had. Maybe his mom doesn't even know. Maybe his dad only told the lawyer, and thus the secret envelope.

Rose enters the room. She crosses her arms in front of her, planting her feet for a battle. "Father Peter and I heard of your fainting today."

"Oh no!"

"He thinks you've violated your agreement again, warranting another disciplinary vote."

"But I was at the blood clinic for my two hours."

"Sort of Kirk. That dim witted Sister Teresa with the new glasses wrote a note explaining all that."

"She's a special person." Kirk felt great when he bought Sister Teresa the new specs. But she sure shed buckets of tears at the kind act.

"Father Peter thinks she's useless."

"Well, Mom, he's wrong once again. That lady is one of the real good ones."

Rose wags her finger at her son. "You need to start thinking of Father Peter that way."

"That'll be the day."

"Well, he did you another good turn. He says he won't call another vote cause of the fainting, if you pitch for Holy Rosary at this weekends San Francisco Catholic men's softball tournament. It starts first thing in the morning."

"Not playing for Padre Pete."

"Please Kirk. It'd mean so much to Father Peter to just once do well at this tournament."

"Never Mom!"

"Then Kirk, please do it for me."

Kirk stands up. He walks over to his mom, hugging her. "I'll do it. Even though Father Peter's a creep."

She pushes him away.

Kirk reaches over, touching his father's urn. "What do you know about me having a sister?"

She crumbles into his arms sobbing.

"Mom, you know about her?"

"I should know." Rose wipes her tears on Kirk's sleeve. "I'd a baby as a young teenager." She squeezes him tight. "And gave it up to the Catholic church."

A full count sits on the batter. Kirk's getting tired and getting wild with his pitches. He's pitched every game this weekend. Kirk needs one more out, one more strike, and the Holy Rosary Rollers will win the softball tournament which will give Father Peter his bragging rights. Kirk wishes he'd never agreed to this. But when his mom asked, he gave in. And there has been some satisfaction, especially when he was up to bat, he hit a stinging foul ball, making Father Peter's shin smart and swell.

Kirk wipes his brow on this Sunday evening game on April 14. He calls time. He steps off the pitching mound, rubbing his aching neck. He attempts to collect himself. He ponders this situation, beginning to tighten up, beginning to tremble, beginning to over think. For throughout his life, these pressure moments are where he usually screws up. He wonders just how he'll screw it up this time?

Kirk looks over at Hector playing third base. His clean uniform sparkles. As a captain, player and coach he's been useless. No hits, many errors and a ton of irritating chatter. But Hector tries. And Hector keeps looking over at Victoria Darling to see if she is watching him. But she pays the schoolteacher no mind.

Victoria does talk nonstop to the rebel Tommy Winger. The loud Victoria wears a yellow ribbon in her hair and a yellow choker around her neck. She seems to relish in the wriggling guitar player's attention. Victoria's on her gap year after high school. The valedictorian thirsts for some sort of unique experience, dangerous experience, thrilling experience that can help her find out what she wants in life. Is a tumble with Tommy such a life changing experience for Victoria?

Kirk glances over at Sarah Shepherd who winks and blows him a kiss. Of course, she fondles her breasts and giggles. She's not totally satisfied with Kirk's progress toward being her pussy whipped convert. She looks at the softball diamond, thinking of another type of diamond, doubting if Kirk could make her unique type of husband grade.

Kirk peeks at Angelina sitting well back in the stands. She sits with arms crossed and lips pursed. She's got ice eyes for him. Jewels sits next to Angelina, the record store owner appears more stoned then ever, a wilted flower in her hair, one step from tripping out.

"Hurry up Kirk," yells Father Peter who calls himself Manager for this one tournament.

What are you waiting for? Sister Beatrice asks as she paces at a feverish speed near Father Peter. She's getting grass stains on her running shoes. She hopes Kirk messes up. She prayed hard for his collapse, but so far no luck.

Their harsh tones rattle Kirk even more. He hates the way he starts to panic at these pressure points? He spies Sister Teresa smiling and waving to him. She touches her nose. It reminds him of what she taught him to do after fainting, to simply relax, breathe and stop thinking. So, that's exactly what he does.

"Just keep on trucking bro," shouts Tommy as he leaps to his feet, bringing a smile to Kirk's face.

"Move it," Father Peter yells again. "Your future depends on this!"

With no more thoughts, Kirk lets fly with his rocketing pitch.

"Strike three," bellows the umpire. The Holy Rosary Rollers mob Kirk.

A fist pump originates from Father Peter. He's going to enjoy putting the big trophy in his office that sits off to the side. That five foot trophy awarded to the winner of the 1974 San Francisco Catholic men's softball tournament. That trophy that Father Peter, and only he, will accept on behalf of Holy Rosary, and will be bragging about for years to come.

Although, it pisses him off that Kirk Organ will receive the MVP trophy. For Kirk never allowed one run to score. Father Peter thinks how good that kid is. That makes him hate Kirk even more. But he'll fix him.

Kirk savors in the more than warm hug Sarah dishes out. She makes it apparent Kirk and her are connected and real close, and he'll be scoring in a completely different manner later tonight. Both Father Peter and Sister Beatrice fume at this show of affection. They've both put their best grooming moves on sweet Sarah. She hasn't given them an opening, hasn't let them get half way to first base.

Sister Beatrice even used her go to move, which has never failed. And nothing. So, she decides she must accelerate her plans of eliminating Kirk. For she's taken steps to eliminate Father Peter from the Sarah game with her liberal application of saltpetre in all his food.

As the celebrating gang break up on the pitching mound, a dodgy-looking character walks over and slaps a pile of cash in Kirk's hand.

Father Peter flashes his wolf grin as he rubs his bruised shin. "I got you gambling man."

Sister Beatrice licks her lady-loving lips. "And the sooner the better."

No customers in the record store on Monday morning as Kirk and Angelina put out the new inventory that's just arrived. Some of Kirk's promotional ideas have been sending records off the shelves at an alarming rate. But is it to late?

Angelina groans as she's about to lift a large box of records.

Kirk races to her side. "Let me help with that."

"I can do it."

"Please!"

"I said I can do it Kirk!"

"Look Angie. We can't go on like this."

"Like what?"

"You know, you hate the sight of me."

She grants him a half smile as she tightens her hold on the box of records. "Um. Hate's a pretty strong word for how I feel." The way she feels confuses the hell out of her. If she hates Kirk, why'd she go watch him pitch yesterday?

"I really valued your friendship Angie. Miss talking to you. The first person I wanted to talk to when the second disciplinary vote for tomorrow was scheduled was you." Also, he misses the laughs they share, her pirate smile, the intelligent conversations they share, the no strings sex, and he misses her strutting her purple outfits.

"What about Sarah?"

Kirk blushes. "Well, ah."

"Well, ah," she mocks him.

"Don't talk to her about much."

"All sex with Miss Sweater Dress I hear," she snaps with a jealous tone. "What about Tommy?"

"He's busy with the band. And well, Tommy and I party hard. He's smart. But this wouldn't be his bag."

"So, you're stuck with me."

"Oh Angie, you're the best at giving this kind of advice. Please, please."

"Dream on gringo if I'm giving you any more advice."

"Please!" He takes her hand. "And you're right about me being a user of women. I thought about what you said. I want to change. I want to give you what you want out of our friendship."

"There's that word friendship again. Hate is definitely the right word for how I feel!" Angelina drops the box, kicking it, smacking him across the face. "Adios gringo!"

TEN

The church basement rocks on that Monday night as the head parishioner, Bill Darling, hosts a stag for one of his pals. Bill's soon to be hitched buddy staggers about, every bit as obnoxious as him. Bullshit Bill's the host for his friend who has been married four times before. Bill wants to uphold his reputation with his pals of hosting fun filled send off bashes.

This bash boasts all the trappings of a first class bachelor party. Endless booze, poker, loud music, nonstop porn and a host of strippers plying their trade. And a little side room in the church basement where the gents are slithering off to partake of some additional tickles and thrills.

An erect Hector Matador hovers off to the side, frowning at the sketchy proceedings. Bill Darling and Father Peter converge on Hector, surrounding the innocent man.

"Have a real drink," a slurring Bill says? He passes Hector a 16 ounce glass of whiskey?

Hector purses his lips, tugging on his pencil mustache with trembling fingers. "Ah-ah, well, um, I've never taken a drink of alcohol."

"Oh come on Hector my boy." Bill, wearing a yellow polyester suit with a wide zebra pattern tie, pounds Hector on the back. The act spills some of the whiskey on the head parishioner's bright white shoes.

"Just can't sir." Hector looks down in shame like the last bird that won't flee the nest.

"Understand." Father Peter hands Hector a smaller glass. "Here Hector, have this. It is soda."

"Thank you Father Peter." Hector grasps the glass and guzzles it down.

One hour later, Hector weaves about the basement, singing at the top of his lungs. He wears a San Francisco Giants ball cap. He holds a San Francisco Giants beer mug, toasting to all. He's shed his suit coat, vest and tie with his shirt unbuttoned to his waist. He shows off his hairy chest, receiving many appreciative looks from the strippers, and a couple of the drunken boys.

Bill and Father Peter clink glasses, knowing they have converted the puritan baby bird to their sinning side.

"Oh-oh, time for me to get some-some air," Hector says. He staggers for the stairs and out the front steps of the church, taking in the fresh air. He spies someone at the side of the church, peeking through the basement window.

Hector takes a moment to focus his alcohol eyes. "Hola."

Hector stumbles over to where Dotty Darling curses her husband. A bunch of uppers in her system assist Dotty's cursing to go over the top. She vows to get revenge, from breaking Bill's car windows to breaking Bill's head.

"Bastard," screams the lady rocking a leather mini skirt, that her prim daughter, Victoria, wouldn't wear. Dotty sees Bill entering the special side room with a sandy blonde stripper. Her husband's hairy hands are all over that young thing as he smacks his lips. That sends her into another fit of cursing.

Hector receives an eyeful with the bent over Dotty having no panties under that black miniskirt. This stands as the first time, the virgin's witnessed the glory zone on a woman. Something stirs down below in the drunk man.

Her jealous eyes turn to Hector, studying the gorgeous creature, and the desire radiating from his aura. Hector's sexy chest sends her loins to rumba. Her eyes turn to a lust focus. Her blood rushes through her veins as she contemplates the well proportioned Latino conquest.

She smacks her lips like her horny husband. She rises in her six inch stilettos. "You're drunk."

"No-no-no, I don't drink."

"Then Hector, what's that beer mug doing in your hand?"

"Oops."

Dotty steps up to the schoolteacher, kissing him on the lips. She proceeds to suck on his nipples like her high powered Hoover vacuum cleaner. She moves lower. "Time for you to be the student." She begins taking Hector's pants down. "I want to fuck you!" In seconds, she's kneeling at his feet giving the man his maiden voyage blow job, applying Hoover like suction to the task.

At that moment, Kirk walks out of a side door of the church, carrying his toolbox. He's been visiting Sister Teresa. She's been teaching him some additional breathing techniques to relax, and preparing him for his soon to come church choir performance. He's been studying sign language for the deaf each night, so he can better communicate with her. And he fixed the door on her room at the church, and put up some decent shelving for the kind lady.

Kirk's eyes go wide as he recognizes the sex act unfolding. His eyes go wider when he realizes who. Hector moans with pleasure, until he recognizes Kirk. He attempts to jerk away. Dotty has a firm hold. No chance of escape in this classroom. The sex act ramps into overdrive. Hector's ball cap falls off, when he shoots his offering into her mouth with an animal like roar.

Kirk waves to Hector as he departs. "Looks like you've graduated from softball."

Kirk stands in Father Peter's office at noon on Tuesday, April 16. He grips the door handle tight once again. Hector, Sarah, Rose and Father Peter sit in the same chairs as the first disciplinary vote.

"We know the routine," Father Peter barks. "But I'm batting leadoff in this second disciplinary vote." He whacks his desk. "Kirk should be kicked out of the church and the choir. In my mind gambling is sinful." He turns to Sarah with a snarl. "Sarah, your turn to bat. However, let me remind you that your friendship, very close friendship with Kirk, is not looked upon favorably by the Catholic church."

Sister Beatrice cornered Sarah this morning, ensuring the sweet girl knew the way things stood. The lecturing sister made sure she did get in close and intimidating with Sarah. Sister Beatrice laid down the law. Hostile pose, hostile words and a hostile tone that had scared many an insecure sheep.

Sister Beatrice bashed Kirk from every holy angle. Sarah understood when she left the close encounter session, that there'd be no sisterhood for her, if this vote went Kirk's way, and if her friendliness with Kirk continued. But the sisterhood was in reach, if Sarah co-operated with Sister Beatrice. That statement by the threatening sister was followed by a not so innocent touch of Sarah's breasts. It sent a lust charge throughout Sister Beatrice's body.

Sarah smiles back at Father Peter. "Kirk's one of God's children. And he helped you. For he's the reason that oversized trophy sits in your office. I don't believe gambling warrants kicking Kirk out. But he should give his winnings to the church."

Kirk coughs.

"Yes, indeed," agrees Rose.

Father Peter turns to a hung over Hector. "You don't look so well my son. Feeling a bit under the weather. I wonder why?"

Hector lowers his head with a different type of shame then last night when he refused Bill's drink.

"And what happened to the mustache?" Father Peter asks.

Hector grasps for the vanished mustache. "I-I-I decided to let it go." The pencil mustache went in the middle of the night when Dotty and Hector took a break from their sex marathon. Dotty wanted to see the Latin lover without it. So, a hammered Hector obliged. And that hammered state increased last night when Dotty introduced naive Hector to strawberry margaritas and then straight tequila. That sparked Hector to perform a super fast Mexican hat dance. It left him throwing up on a screaming Dotty.

Father Peter figures he's got Hector right where he wants him. Earlier today, Father Peter reminded him of his drunkenness at the stag. Father Peter can feel that trust in his hand. The trust pie is within his grasp. "What will it be Hector?"

A casually dressed Hector shrinks in his chair, still feeling for that runaway mustache. "I-I-I am not sure."

"Not sure," repeats Father Peter. "I think you know what's at stake here."

"Yes, Father Peter." Hector turns to Kirk. "You should have not gambled on our softball games. That is a sin." Hector mumbles, "But not enough of a sin to kick you out."

"Why'd Hector vote your way?" Tommy inquires as Kirk and him drive to an out of the way recording studio on that Tuesday evening.

"The schoolteacher and I had a little chat before the vote." Kirk snickers. "He needed a certain aspect of his first trip to the wild side to stay hush-hush."

"Bro, you done got lucky."

"Not totally dude." Kirk swallows hard. "Father Peter insists I sing at all the Holy Rosary masses this Sunday. My grace time is over."

"Damn bro! Are you ready?"

"No dude. But I'll worry about it later." Kirk hits the gas on his purple van, taking it up to 80 miles an hour, making the rust bucket squeal and squawk. "But for now, I gotta get you there on time."

"Go hard man. Don't have to fret about the fuzz out here." Tommy grips the door handle tight. "But bro. Could you ah, like lay down a tiny track for me. Please man, need your pipes today."

"Say what?"

"Ah man, my lead lungs went into rehab this morning. Studio time's booked. In a jam."

"But Tommy."

"No one there but you, me and the sound guy. Just a three minute song for you to belt out."

"Oh shit."

"If I don't cut this today Kirk, my manager gonna dump me. And no refund on studio time. I'll be fucked."

Kirk begins a panic attack. He grips his steering wheel tight. He bites his lip. He rubs his neck. He wonders if he can somehow get out of this? But his friend's in a jam. He remembers a quick breathing exercise Sister Teresa taught him. It takes a couple of minutes. But it slows his heart down, while a bouncing Tommy attempts to persuade him to sing.

"Okay dude. I'll do it!"

Tommy pounds the dashboard. "Out of sight!"

"But what tune?"

"You know the tune Kirk. Cause you helped me with the words. We fooled with it last week."

"Oh yeah." Kirk smiles at the recollection. "Cool song. What you calling it?"

"Need a handle man."

Kirk taps out a few beats on the steering wheel. "Call it Purple Rock."

"Yeah man!" Tommy double pumps his fist. "Rock on!"

Another choir practice unfolds on Monday, April 22, Father Peter, Sister Beatrice, Sister Teresa and Rose watch. Kirk's relaxing exercises have taken him to the point, where even though the four observers cause him discomfort, he can control it from becoming an outright panic attack. He feels the familiar surroundings assist him. The fact that he can spy Sister Teresa smiling at him in the shadows settles him down as well. He thinks she's the greatest.

This past Sunday was the first time he performed in the choir at the various Holy Rosary masses. The key to his success, was that the choir sings off in an alcove in the church, which hides them from view of the congregation. An odd setup, but one that favored Kirk, never seeing the crowd of worshipers.

The other key to his success, was that Sister Teresa brought him in several times when the church was empty, to get used to where he'd stand and the surroundings. Also, she sat in a spot during the church services where she was the only person Kirk could see.

Sister Teresa's facial expressions and hand gestures calmed Kirk on a number of occasions throughout the long day. Kirk only looked at her during the endless masses. Those boring Sunday masses with the up and down, sitting, standing, kneeling and praying drove Kirk crazy. But even his mom raved about the choir's performance when the day ended.

When this evening's choir practice ends, a more chill Hector, wearing a black cowboy hat and boots, claps and lets out a whoop. "Best we've ever sounded!"

"I'll say," Sarah touches Kirk on the arm. "Your range Kirk, amazing!" She moves that hand of hers to her breast.

"And we were killing it on Sunday as well." Hector claps again. "Choir contest on Saturday. We're ready to ride."

Sarah's energy bursts through as she speaks, "Could we actually make it two big wins for Holy Rosary? All thanks to Kirk."

"There's Kirk's stage fright," Father Peter snaps. "Candlestick is a huge park."

Padre Pete's fury grows. Damn he thinks. He gets so jealous when Sarah flirts with Kirk. She should be worshiping him. And the way she flirts, makes him want to run to his office and grab a Playboy. But he's had trouble starting the fire the last couple of days. He wonders if he needs to eat more oysters or something to spark his fire down below?

Sister Beatrice experiences the same fury as Father Peter, the same jealous feelings. She rages with the fact that Sarah didn't take her threats seriously. It makes the nun want the girl even more. "Can't believe a grown man like Kirk has stage fright. Probably from poor parenting."

Rose goes to speak, but Kirk beats her to it. "My parents were amazing! My mom's a strong woman. The stage fright's all on me."

Rose and Kirk stayed up late last night. She broke down, explaining her teenage pregnancy. The challenges of giving up her baby daughter. The guilt she lived with. And she wished she could find her daughter and hug her, telling her how sorry she is for abandoning her. It took Rose many years to get over some of the guilt, allowing herself to finally have another child.

"Clearly Kirk Organ, lots of things are on you," Sister Beatrice says as she jabs an I'll-get-you finger at him. "Cause your sins run long."

"And you'll never fix your stage fright," declares Father Peter.

"He'll do it," Sarah defends.

Kirk stands taller. "And with the help of Sister Teresa I've made a little progress. So, I'm ready to tackle the choir contest."

"Yes,!" Sarah hugs him, ensuring to give him a real warming tit rub.

Father Peter points his envy finger at Kirk. "Better not screw up again. Better not embarrass Holy Rosary. Or you'll be out."

ELEVEN

"My time's running out," states Jewels Jensen while working a wacky tabacky filled bong at the front counter of Purple Records. The store's closed after a slow sales Thursday, April 25. Only her and Kirk in the place. She watches as Kirk cashes out. "Man Kirk, I've gone to the bank again. Gone to my relatives and friends. No one wants to give me the 25 grand." She shivers. "Sticks and I even went to talk to a loan shark. Thank goodness he turned us down."

"Do it if I could Jewels. Went to Mom last night. Asked if I could get a loan. Pay it off each month with the trust."

"What'd Rose say?"

"She'd have to talk to Padre Pete." Kirk groans. "That's going to be a no."

Jewels takes a long pull from the bong. "Ah, just bring up the alter boy issue."

"Father Peter told me he'd have that little issue eliminated."

Jewels slips a couple of twenty dollar bills out of the cash register. "No way that holy man can eliminate more than one alter boy."

On that Thursday night Kirk, Tommy and Victoria Darling sit around the local club where Tommy is the house act. Victoria sits on the guitar player's knee at a break. The silver-spoon young lady, who has grown up in Catholic girl schools, plays with his hair. "You were fantastic Thomas!" The brunette with a pink ribbon in her locks and pink neck choker, lays a long tongue-heavy kiss on his lips.

Kirk sniggers as he takes another drag from a joint. "Thomas sure is." Kirk enjoys this new couple combination. Tommy, who grew up on the wrong side of any tracks, and Victoria, who enjoyed all the finer things in life, provided by Bill and Dotty Darling, make a unique couple. Kirk wonders, when, if ever, will Tommy and Victoria be more then sex? Sort of like him and Sarah.

Tommy kicks Kirk under the table as the guitar slinger comes up for air. "Gotta get back on stage."

The five foot nine Victoria rubs his chest. "Then back to your place Thomas?" She graces Tommy with a lap dance, giving his crotch a lengthy wild ride. She looks about the bar, letting all know this stud is hers, and letting all know they are beneath her.

"Sure Vicky," he bounces her on his knee a few times, then lifts her off. "Hey bro, why don't you do our tune up there?"

Kirk drains the last of a number of beers piled on the table. "All, all righty dude!" He stands, wobbles and weaves to the stage.

Two minutes later a gyrating Tommy with his purple Fender guitar, introduces Kirk and the Purple Rock song.

Kirk sees the packed club, scanning the numerous drunks. He grips the mike stand for support, receiving a slight electrical shock. He attempts to focus his eyes and boozy brain. He begins to shake. His panic attack commences. His neck experiences paralyzing pain. He remembers to breathe. He inhales some calming air. His mind gets distracted by a flashing red light at the back of the club.

The band jumps about and fires up the first few bars. It is time for Kirk to belt it out. His lips don't move. They can't move.

Tommy wriggles toward Kirk and whispers, "Go Kirk."

Victoria yells out, "Come on Kirk. Don't be such a pussy!"

Kirk can't move. He can't see. His brain bursts. He can't feel a thing.

Tommy edges closer to Kirk. "Relax man. We'll keep playing the intro."

Kirk simply shakes his head.

"Are you sure bro?"

Kirk nods.

Tommy begins to sing the tune. The song rings out a fraction with Tommy's limited pipes. Kirk shuffles off the stage to boos and jeers led by Victoria. Loser floods his mind.

Father Peter, Bill Darling and Hector parley in the priest's office the next morning. The surprise is that Hector holds a full glass of vodka in his hands like his buddies. Hector has dropped the three piece suit at church ever since that stag night. He rocks a pair of Levi blue jeans with a rodeo belt buckle to go with his cowboy boots and ten gallon hat.

Hector will match these two drink for drink. He wants to fit in with them. Especially with Bill, for he's had numerous sex sessions with his wife, Dotty. Hector can't seem to get enough of her sex treats. And does dirty Dotty love his cowboy getup. He kicks himself for waiting so long to experience the sex act. Time for him to make up for lost time. But Bill can never know.

"I've stopped Kirk Organ once again," brags Father Peter. "Rose wanted to borrow him the money for the record store. Killed that idea."

"I'd like to kill Tommy Winger," Bill says in his lime green polyester suit with the mega wide pink tie. "My innocent Victoria's seeing that damn." he grips his glass in anger.

"Time to fix him," Father Peter says. "Like I'm doing to his buddy."

Hector nods.

Bill pounds Hector on the back. "And I had hopes for you and my daughter, even though you're a taco lover. Gotta get you in that game."

Hector nods again. But he'd like to punch the racist pig. Also, he's not sure about getting in the Victoria Darling game. As family dinners would be awkward, having sex with her mom, Dotty. He wonders if Victoria would be as good as her mother in the sack? Would Victoria get all wild like her mother when the rodeo sex game begins? Would Victoria whip him and use the spurs the way her mother does? Hector's mind does a fandango, wondering what a mother-daughter rodeo would be like?

"And boys," Bill barks. "My Dotty could be having an affair with someone."

Hector swallows hard with guilt.

"Your wife Dotty wouldn't stray," defends Father Peter. "She knows I and the Catholic church abhor adulteries behavior."

"Sure, I know you think she's a queen," Bill says. "And Dotty's real fond of you Pete. But I swear the glow on her is sex satisfaction."

"I'm sure she's just high on her spiritual journey," Father Peter snickers inside as he thinks of the times he and the sex crazed Dotty have taken a twirl between the spiritual sheets in his Holy Rosary bedroom. Dotty loved it when he kept his priestly robes on, and she played the innocent Catholic schoolgirl. Or the time he dressed up as the Pope, and she played the slutty nun. Oh, whatever the role playing, Dotty relished in the holy spankings.

"If I ever catch the bugger who's doing my angel of a wife." Bill kicks the desk with his gleaming white shoes, causing Hector to jump. "I'll kill him."

That Friday night of April 26, a sober Kirk stands behind a makeshift curtain at a theatre which seats a couple of hundred. Tommy's band struts up on the stage in full view of all, ensuring their ripped and dirty jeans give off the right image.

In the crowd are Tommy's manager and staff, a small group of record company reps from one of the big labels, and a horde of Victoria Darling's rambunctious friends. Many of them from the exclusive Catholic girl's high school she attended, and the snooty youth sailing club she has belonged to for years.

Tommy pleaded with his manager not to arrange this session. But his manager insisted. He loved the demo song, and was a man of action. Tommy begged him to wait until his lead singer got out of rehab. But no chance, as the hastily organized session was set up. Also, Tommy pleaded with the strong willed Victoria not to bring her large gang of highbrow friends, but had no success. For it took the gathering from a few to a crowd.

Therefore, Kirk and Tommy came up with the idea of hiding Kirk behind a curtain. For effect, they used a purple one. Kirk went through his relaxing exercises, attempting to get his mind and body in line. Again, it wasn't working. The word loser began to swim in his brain.

Tommy introduced the Purple Rock song. The intro began. The neck pain started on cue. The panic pumped into high gear. Kirk thought of Sister Teresa. A few breaths, followed by a few more. It was his time, and the purple curtain protected him. He took one last cleansing breath. The words spilled off the singer like long lost pals. After a minute, Kirk began moving like a rock star, adding to the feeling and meaning in his voice.

"Great song," comes from one of the record company people.

"But fucking weird," originates from one of Victoria's friends. "Where's the loser singing?"

The tall Victoria, wearing a bright red ribbon in her hair and neck choker, stands and yells out, "Hiding like a pussy!"

Another one of her friends bellows out, "Purple loser!"

The comment generates laughter and further jabs at the hidden singer.

The senior executive of the record company in his blue silk suit rises up to leave. "Fucking weird is an understatement!"

Thousands of Catholics cram into Candlestick Park where the San Francisco Giants play. Choir after choir throw out their spiritual notes on April 27. The five judges sit up front, stone face as they grade the various choirs on this Saturday afternoon. The Holy Rosary team sits in the on deck circle. Kirk's done his relaxing exercises. He feels confident. He's ready to take this tune team to the top.

They make their way on to the stage. He looks out at the mass of religious folks. The panic meter shoots through the roof. He's been in this ballpark for Giants games, but never been center stage like this. His neck feels as if he's been struck by holy lightening.

"Relax, relax," he whispers to himself. He squints, searching the crowd, trying to find Sister Teresa. No luck.

"Breathe, breathe, breathe," Kirk mutters, knowing he still has a minute before they must sing.

Sarah squeezes his hand. "And when you win this contest for us. We'll take our relationship to the next level."

Kirk gulps. He wonders where this is coming from? For lately, she's been complaining about his lack of progress in conforming to her religious and sexual demands.

"Yes, Kirk, I know it is to early. But I hope I'm carrying your child." She winks. "But time to get married anyway."

Kirk holds Bambi Dubois on his lap at his place late that Saturday night. He hasn't seen Bambi since just after the first disciplinary vote. But he needed to talk to someone. He pounds back the booze like there's no tomorrow while cuddling with her on his dad's comforting armchair. His mom prays over at the church. So Kirk decided to wipe away the memory of today's choir contest.

"Okay, what happened at the contest?" Bambi asks.

"I fucked up so bad. I froze." He moans. "We came last."

"Forget about it." Bambi kisses him on the forehead.

"Padre Pete went crazy on me. Hector called me a loser. And Sarah slapped my face, vowing to never speak to me again."

"She turned on you cause of your stage fright Kirk?"

"Not only that. I froze up when she wanted to take our relationship down the marriage route." Kirk enjoys a chuckle. "Right after the concert, cowboy Hector was consoling her in the parking lot, with their lips locked, and her breasts giving him an erotic massage."

The older lady by five years draws figure eights on his muscular chest with her skilled finger. "She moved on quickly."

"So have I." He touches her lips. "But if there's ever another disciplinary vote. I'm screwed."

Rose and Father Peter walk in the front door. They see Kirk in his underwear. Bambi with nothing on. Two condoms lie on the floor. A joint hangs in Kirk's hand, smoke filling the room, and a stack of beer bottles at his feet.

Father Peter shakes his fist at Kirk. "This time you're done."

Sister Teresa opens Father Peter's office door with purpose the following morning. She steps into his office with the priest scrambling to shove a porn magazine in his devil's drawer. He thinks how the pictures weren't doing it for him anyway. He wonders if he's just getting old, or maybe he needs a penis-reawakening pilgrimage to Vegas?

He doesn't attempt to hide his glass of vodka, sneering at the intruder. "What the fuck do you want?"

Father Peter guzzles four ounces of that vodka. He's began to celebrate. For the deck is stacked against Kirk. This third disciplinary vote being held on a Sunday must and will go his way.

Sister Teresa hands him a note.

Father Peter reads it. He stands, fist clenched. "You bitch!" He moves to strike her.

She slips out a sharp hairpin, shaking her head, determined to never wear another nasty bruise delivered by this animal. She hands him an even longer note than the first.

His eyes bulge as he reads. "You wouldn't."

She nods her head. She makes the umpire sign when a runner is thrown out.

Kirk corners Hector in the church basement an hour before the third and final vote takes place. If Kirk can pull a rabbit out of a hat on this vote, he's in the clear. He can collect his trust one month at a time with no threat of losing it all.

Sister Teresa just informed him via a long winded note that Father Peter is supposed to vote his way. And the holy man is to encourage the other two voters to do the same. For if Kirk's trust is stolen, Father Peter Dunn is done.

Kirk wants to ensure that vote. So he'll do some convincing of his own. For he doesn't feel very confident that on this third and final vote, Padre Pete will vote his way when it comes right down to it. That means he needs to talk To Hector. He attempted to sway Sarah first thing this morning over the phone. No chance. Her hate was deep. Hector is his last hope of increasing his chances.

Kirk puts his hand on the teacher's shoulder. "Okay Hector, here's the deal. I don't reveal your ongoing affair with Dotty Darling to her husband."

Hector stands defiant. "I won't be blackmailed on this any longer."

"Let me finish. And I won't tell your new lover."

"I will beg Sarah for her forgiveness."

"And Hector, I won't call your parents to inform them of your non-Catholic like behavior."

Hector freezes.

"Yes, cowboy Hector. They'll be real interested in the affair with a married woman, the drinking, the drugs you and Dotty are doing, and the threesomes and orgies you've been involved in."

Hector sweats like a pig off to a fast slaughter market. "You wouldn't." The good news is that he doesn't stutter anymore. Has his sex therapy sessions with Dotty cured him of that habit?

Kirk yanks Hector's cowboy hat over his eyes. "I would. And I'll start talking immediately upon you voting to take my trust."

All are in their standard position at this final trust snatching showdown, scheduled between church masses on this Sunday, April 28. Father Peter set the stage by describing the unholy scene Kirk and Bambi presented last night. Sweating as he explained the spicy details, wishing he'd been the one with Bambi Dubois on his lap. But he wonders the way his flag has been drooping, would he be able to rise to that sort of sex occasion anymore?

"Sarah, you're batting leadoff," Father Peter says as he mops his brow with a handkerchief. "What do you say?"

Sarah winks at Kirk. "I've voted Kirk's way twice now. But not this time."

Rose gasps. "But I thought you two might?"

Sarah pats Rose's hand. "Your son must be taught a lesson."

"I'll bat next," insists Father Peter. "I vote Kirk's way."

Stunned silence from all.

Finally, Kirk says, "Thank you."

Father Peter huffs. He doesn't realize that Kirk's thank you was directed at Sister Teresa.

Father Peter leans back, awaiting his fate, and Kirk's as well. "Okay Hector, up to you."

Hector stands for his decision. "I have given this much thought. I've had serious discussions with Father Peter and Kirk who made convincing arguments. But I've decided to vote against Kirk. He must be punished."

"Oh my God!" Rose grabs her throat.

"Oh my God is right," Father Peter mutters.

Hector kneels in front of Sarah. "After our session, I mean our inspiring chat in the sickroom a few minutes ago where you, lovely Sarah, talked me into casting the right vote. I'm convinced you're the one for me. Will you marry me Sarah Shepard?"

She winks at Kirk again. "Yes. Yes. Yes Hector. I will marry you!" Sarah screams and runs into Hector's arms.

TWELVE

Kirk watches the two engaged folks race out of the office. Sarah pinches Kirk's ass on the way out. He's realized his trust is lost. His dream of owning the record store is done. And in two days he will be out of a job when Purple Records closes its doors for good. He thought of carrying through on the threats he made to expose Hector. But why? Why overturn more lives? Let it be. Its over.

Sister Teresa walks in the office door. She holds a large envelope. She looks at Kirk. She asks the question with her eyes.

"I lost the trust," Kirk informs her.

"Get the fuck out of here you bitch," yells Father Peter.

Sister Teresa begins signing to Kirk in a slow deliberate manner.

Kirk speaks out each word in a measured pace as he attempts to translate for her, "She says she has evidence to go to the Arch Bishop. All in her envelope."

Father Peter takes two steps toward Sister Teresa, raises his fist to strike. Kirk steps in his way, gripping his wrist. He snarls at the holy man. "Don't you dare."

Rose clasps her hands to her chest. "Father Peter, you were going to hit her."

He whirls on Rose. "Shut up, you stupid tramp." He snatches the tiny cross off her necklace he gifted her, and throws it to the floor.

Rose shrivels in the chair.

Father Peter points his finger at Sister Teresa. "The Arch Bishop will never believe you."

Sister Teresa pulls a small bell out of her pocket. She rings the emergency bell.

Sister Beatrice rushes into the office. "Kept close. Thought I might be needed with this circus unfolding."

"Get out," Father Peter screams. "None of your business."

Sister Teresa hands Sister Beatrice a short note, and then hands her the envelope.

"Sister Teresa's spreading horrible falsehoods about me," Father Peter shouts. "And as I've said, the Arch Bishop will never believe such garbage."

"But he'll believe me." Sister Beatrice waves the envelope in his face. "I've always had my suspicions. And from her brief note, I now hold in this envelope, the indisputable evidence that will prove my suspicions. You're done Father Peter Dunn."

The beaten priest slinks back to his leather chair. He drops down with an animal like growl. He opens his devil's drawer, pulling out his vodka bottle. He takes off the top, tossing it away and begins guzzling. Although, he does feel some relief that the crimes Sister Teresa uncovered, aren't the really big ones. But they'll still ruin him.

Sister Teresa signs to Kirk again.

Kirk holds up his hand. "Slower."

Sister Teresa smiles and reduces the signing pace.

Kirk speaks for her again, "She has one more piece of information. Mom, Sister Teresa knows about your daughter."

Rose's panic eyes look for an escape.

Kirk carries on the translating. "Mom, your daughter is Sister Beatrice."

Sister Beatrice grabs for a chair, mouth hanging open.

Kirk wears a stunned expression that may never come off his face. He stares at his long lost real sister. He turns to his mom. Sees the exact same birthmark on her left cheek. It registers with him that the two have many of the same facial features. He glances at her wide running shoes, realizing his mother has the same wide feet as Sister Beatrice.

Rose shakes her head in denial as she stares at her long lost daughter, Sister Beatrice. "Can't be."

"No, no, it just can't be." Sister Beatrice sways on her feet. "Just can't be."

Sister Teresa begins signing again, and Kirk translates, "And Sister Beatrice, your real father is." Kirk shakes his head. "Sister Teresa, the name again." She signs. "Holy shit! Father Peter is the real father of Sister Beatrice!"

Sister Beatrice faints, exposing her purple socks.

"Kirk, we're going for gold," says an exuberant Tommy who busts into Purple Records the next morning, Monday, April 29.

Kirk pulls a record off a shelf. "Say what?"

"Capital Records offered us a deal to cut an album."

"But dude, they weren't there when we played on Friday."

"One of those reps, jumped over to Capital that night."

"Congratulations Tommy! But I'm not part of it."

"Sure am man. Capital wants you singing Purple Rock on our album. It'll be the feature tune man. Are you sure you don't want to become the band's new lead singer? Do hit records, concerts, parties, etc."

"No dude. The stage fright's too much to overcome."

"Thought so Kirk. Capital said they'd wait for my regular lead lungs for the rest of the album. But they want Purple Rock to be the tune they peddle to the radio stations. They figure its got top 40 potential." Tommy performs a spin and a jump. "And they want you. And only you!"

Kirk wipes his nervous brow. "That means a recording studio visit again?"

"Totally man. But an out of sight kinda studio."

"Okay, for you dude, all do it."

"And the bread won't hurt." Tommy slaps Kirk on the shoulder. "They're giving you 10 grand up front to do the song."

"Awesome Tommy! Only need 15,000 more."

"I got an advance on the album. After my expenses and debts I gotta kill. Even though Vicky's gonna kill me."

"Where are you and her at?" Kirk asks.

Tommy rolls his indifferent eyes. "She got plans for us. I don't. Think she hangs with me to piss off Bill and Dotty. And her sailing club won't even let this black man in the front or back door." Tommy pats Kirk on the shoulder again. "Back to bread talk man. I wanna give you all I can spare toward your dream. Five grand man."

Kirk enters their kitchen at noon on that Monday. A dejected Rose looks at her closed bible and Kirk's small recording device. She mutters some incoherent words.

"Are you okay Mom?"

Rose holds up the bible. "This is all bullshit!"

"Woe Mom!"

"I finally listened to the truth you tried to present me." She taps the recording device. "Your father was right." She puts her head in her hands. "I feel so stupid. Your father was such a good person."

"He sure was! I went to talk to Sister Beatrice. She's really got a good side. Just takes a bit. But we agreed as brother and sister to keep talking and connecting."

"She's only your half sister."

"True Mom. But besides the fainting problem, her favorite color is purple. Just like me."

"I tried to talk to her as well. Went to hug her. She pushed me away." Rose clenches the recording device. "It was ugly. She yelled at me for abandoning her. And it got worse from there. She's so stubborn and opinionated."

"Sounds like somebody I know."

Rose pokes Kirk playfully. "Oh you!"

Kirk takes her hand. "We'll work at getting to know Sister Beatrice together. Give her time."

"We'll see. She also told me that she had a discussion with the Arch Bishop. Father Peter is being moved to another church in South America. His last act at Holy Rosary was marrying Hector and Sarah."

Kirk thinks that's fitting. He figures those two sex addicts will be well suited. For Sarah kept wanting him to join an orgy, preferably many of them. Now she's got her willing cowboy.

Rose carries on, "The Catholic church doesn't want to speak of Father Peter's terrible conduct any more." She slaps her bible. "All the crimes being swept under the carpet." She throws her bible at the wall. "Those poor altar boys!"

"Do you want to talk about what happened between you and Father Peter? When Sister Beatrice was, well, you know what I mean."

She looks to the heavens. "Someday. But not now." She grimaces. "I was young and foolish. And I'm still foolish."

"Mom, please don't be hard on yourself. You're a good hearted woman."

"Who never helped her son with his dream."

"I won't give up yet. I've collected 15,000. Only need ten more grand to get Purple Records. Wanted to sell my van. But only could get a couple hundred for it."

She groans. "I'm so sorry about your trust. I messed that up!"

Kirk shrugs his shoulders.

"And I'd give you the rest Kirk. But, under the shit advice of Father Peter, I locked all my money and the money your dad left me, in an investment that I can't get any cash out from for two years."

"I've got $16,000," Kirk declares. "Is there anyway we could make it work Jewels?" The two hang in the coffee room of Purple Records early the following morning, and the final morning Purple Records will be open for business.

Jewels sighs. "Hey man, that's a grand more then when you asked me yesterday. Where'd you get it?"

"Sister Teresa loaned me what she'd saved. I feel terrible. But she insisted. Is there any way?"

"Nope! Sorry man. Bill Darling's got me in a bind. Twenty-five grand by end of today, can save Purple Records for anyone who wants it. Otherwise, Bill gets this old building, and Purple Records is dead." She shrinks in her chair. "So, I'm done here."

"What are you going to do?"

Jewels rises up in her chair. "Fresh start! Sticks and I are heading for LA." She bounces in that chair, rubbing her hands in excitement, with the clatter from her rainbow colored beads filling the room. "He's got some gigs down there. We're gonna sell some weed to make ends meet."

A short purple dress wearing Angelina walks in the room. She hugs Kirk. "I'm sorry I've been such a bitch. And I'm sorry about your trust."

"Thanks Angie. That means a lot to me." He pulls out a chair for her. "Please join us for a final gab session."

Angelina sits in a chair, giving Kirk an eyeful of her pleasing legs which he eagerly takes. She pokes him and says, "Some things never change."

All three share a cleansing laugh.

Jewels plays with her beads. "Angelina, what are you gonna do?"

"Just received acceptance to the top fashion design program in Paris."

"Yeah!" Kirk pumps his fist. "You're the best. But I'll really miss you."

Angelina leans over, kissing him on the cheek. "And you'll never, never understand how much I'll miss you. And that's why I'm never coming back."

Late that Tuesday night of April 30, 1974, Kirk lies in a kingsize bed with Bambi Dubois at her high-rise pad. He called her to cry on somebody's shoulder. He realizes he is like a lost sheep. He has no idea of which meadow to enter, or which sheepdog to find protection from, or should he follow some other lost sheep?

Bambi cuttles in close. "Come on Kirk, what're you going to do? You must have some idea."

"No idea. I made a last gasp effort to get the cash. Have ten grand myself. Tommy gave me five. But I insisted its a loan. Even Sister Teresa loaned me a grand. But I'm nine short of owning the store."

Bambi leans over and grabs her cheque book off the night table. "Here's $10,000. Give Sister Teresa her money back."

Kirk checks his watch. "There's still time." He kisses her. "Thank you so very much!" He grabs the phone by her bed and dials. "Jewels hold the presses."

The following Sunday the new owner of Purple Records walks up the sidewalk toward Holy Rosary. Kirk reflects on the past five weeks in the year 1974. His life has changed in so many ways, and so has his mother's. His mom refuses to enter this church on this Sunday, refusing to enter a Catholic church again. This will be the first time Rose has missed church on Sunday for many years.

As for Kirk, he's not sure if this church trip will be a one and done, or he'll come back to Holy Rosary. For some unexplainable reason, it felt right this morning to attend. Something was pulling his spirit, something was pulling his soul.

Sister Teresa awaits Kirk at the top of the front steps, gifting him a bright smile, signing him a warm greeting, followed by a lengthy welcoming hug. His nervous tension disappears with her calming contact.

Kirk takes a few more steps and receives another all consuming hug from Sister Beatrice. "Welcome my brother." She hugs him again with a few tears spilling from both sibling's eyes. "My real brother."

"My real sister." Kirk places a necklace around Sister Beatrice's neck. That gold necklace has a shiny purple locket hanging from it.

Sister Beatrice opens the locket to find a tiny picture of Rose and Kirk. She begins to weep with no holding back. Sister Teresa peeks at the locket and begins the same weeping pace.

Kirk smiles with genuine warmth at both ladies. Now Kirk knows why he's come to this place his dad and he mocked for all those years.

All three collect themselves and begin to head toward the church front door. Sister Beatrice wipes a last tear as she whispers in Kirk's ear, "Need to talk later. Something seems odd about your dad's death."

