"Why don't you have a suit?"

"When I left, I gave it to a man less fortunate than myself. There's always a need for clothing over there."

She said, "Terry?"

"What?"

"Bullshit."

He watched the glow of her cigarette as she drew on it and blew the smoke out in a slow stream, directly into his face. Terry closed his eyes. He didn't wave his hand at the smoke, he closed his eyes and opened them again, knowing what was coming.

She said, "You're not a priest, are you?"

He heard himself say, "No, I'm not," sitting there in the dark.

"Were you ever a priest?"

"No."

"Or in a seminary in California or anywhere else?"

He felt the interrogation winding down.

"No."

She said, "Don't you feel better now?"

They were on their way again following taillights, Terry with a sense of relief, because he'd wanted to tell her even while they were in the restaurant talking and knew he would sooner or later. But not with Fran around. Fran needed to believe he was a priest. Debbie didn't want to believe it he could tell so he was himself with her most of the time, even talking about Confession when Fran was away from the table. That part was easy because it was true, and he almost told her then, tired of acting a part. After that he was open, giving her a chance to have a funny feeling about him, suspicious, and if she had the nerve she'd ask the question. And she did.

In the dark he offered a little more.

"You're the only person who knows."

"You haven't told Fran?"

"Not while he's talking to the prosecutor."

"No one during all that time in Africa?"

"No one."

"Not even your one-armed housekeeper?"

Look at that-she'd picked up on Chantelle.

"Not even her."

"She lived with you?"

"Almost the whole time I was there."

"Is she pretty?"

"Miss Rwanda, if they ever have a pageant."

"Did you sleep with her?"

Debbie asked it looking straight ahead.

"If you're wondering about AIDS it was never a threat."

"Why would I worry about AIDS?"

"I said 'If you were wondering.'"

Debbie dropped her cigarette out the window.

"She believed you were a priest?"

"It didn't matter to her."

"Why've you told me and no one else?"

"I wanted to."

"Yeah, but why me?"

"Because we think alike," Terry said.

She glanced at him saying, "I felt that right away."

"And when I explain how it happened," Terry said, "you'll think it's funny and see it as a skit."

They came to an intersection, the light green, and Debbie turned right onto Big Beaver. Now they were passing low rolling hills on the left, a heavy cover of trees lining the other side of the road and Terry said, "Shouldn't we have turned the other way?"

"I thought we'd go to my place," Debbie said. "Okay?"

Terry picked up the party store bag and felt packs of cigarettes inside and a bottle with a familiar shape, four sides to it rather than perfectly round, like most fifths of whiskey.

"Red or black?"

"Red."

"You knew what I'd say before you went in the store."

"Yeah, but I had to set it up."

"You have some kind of scheme working and you want my blessing.

Is that it?"

She said, "Terry, you're too good to be true."

DEBBIE USED THE PHONE IN the kitchen to call Fran.

She could see Terry in the living room by the glass door to the balcony, looking out at the grounds in the dark. She saw him turn to say,

"All that space and no crops growing. You could have an acre of corn out there."

"It's a three-par golf course," Debbie said, "nine holes," as Fran came on the line. She spoke to him less than a minute, unhurried, but anxious to have the call out of the way. Terry came in the kitchen as she hung up.

"What'd he say?"

"He said, 'Oh…?' I told him I'd drop you off after we have a drink, or you could stay if you want. Fran said, 'You sure you have room?' "

"Who doesn't he trust, you or me?"

"Well, since he thinks you're celibate, and he knows I haven't scored or been scored on in quite some time… I imagine he sees me seducing you. Or trying to."

"Wishing he was here instead of me."

She said, "I won't comment on that. Fran and I are strictly business.

You want to know how we got together?"

"He told me he used to see you around Circuit Court, you'd be testifying for other lawyers."

"Yeah, and I always thought he was a decent guy. What happened, I saw a skycap out at Metro drop a suitcase on a woman's foot and I brought her to Fran. He sued Northwest at a time when everyone in Detroit hated the airline. They settled and we've been friends ever since."

"What do you do," Terry said, "show people how to limp?"

"How to limp convincingly," Debbie said, making drinks now, a tray of ice on the counter with the Johnnie Walker and a fifth of Absolut. "But we're still on you. Tell me why, when you were in California, your mom thought you were in a seminary."

"Because all my life she was after me to become a priest. What I couldn't understand, why me and not Fran?"

"You have that sort of haunted look," Debbie said, "like Saint Francis. Haunted or maybe shifty. She probably worked on Fran but you didn't notice."

They were both sipping their drinks now.

"Listen, if you had my mother praying for you, I'm not kidding, you could be a Carmelite nun, like my sister. She was on me even after I quit school, U of D, and went to work for my dad painting houses. I quit that and started selling insurance."

"That sounds like Fran's idea."

"It was, and I hated it."

"You hadn't found your true calling yet, smuggling."

"I ran out of friends who might buy a policy and moved to Los Angeles. My mother put holy cards in her letters, prayers to Saint Anthony to help me find myself. Saint Jude, the patron saint of hopeless cases. What I did, I told her, 'You win, I'm going in the seminary,' and had stationery printed up that said across the top, 'The Missionaries of St. Dismas Novitiate.'"

Debbie said, "Wasn't he one of the guys crucified with Christ?"

"Known as the good thief."

"What were you, kind of a smart-ass?"

"I thought I was a genius. I used it whenever I wrote to mom. I'd sign the letters, 'Yours in Christ, Terry.' "

"This is while you were living with the girl?"

"Part of the time. Jill Silver, she was from around here originally, that's how we came to be introduced. I think she was in a high school production of Fiddler on the Roof and decided she wanted to be a movie star."

"She make it?"

Terry finished his drink. "Not till she had breast implants," as he poured himself another. "Though it could've been a coincidence. I told her small ones were more stylish. Jill comes home from an audition at the studio and goes, 'Well, smartie, guess what? My new rack got me the part.' So maybe it did. Within a month she's living with the director."

"Tits," Debbie said, "can make a difference. I'm thinking of getting just a lift."

"For what?"

"My self-esteem, what else?"

"The movie Jill was in, she played a flight attendant who's hooked on 'ludes. Pops one in the lavatory and spills coffee all over the passengers.

The other flight attendant was the star, but I can't think of her name."

"What were you doing at the time?"

"Insurance, the only thing where I had any experience. But as a claims adiuster. Out there it was mostly fires and mud slides."

"No personal iniury?"

"Some."

"Could you tell when they were faking it?"

"Only if they got nervous and offered me a piece of the action."

"Would you take it?"

"It" I felt sorry for the guy."