Respectable
Sinners
by Jerry Guarino
Peter came out of the gas
station store with two bottles of Hawaiian water,
handing one to Maria as she filled her tank.
“You’re an angel, showing me heaven
today” he said, stroking her hair slowly and
whispering into her ear.
Maria smiled, nuzzled under his neck and held
Peter’s hand. “You’re too good to
me Peter. When will I see you again?”
“Soon sweetheart. You know I can’t live
without you. I’m on a business trip this
Wednesday. You can meet me in Carmel. I have a
suite on the ocean for three days. I’ll make
sure you have the days off.”
Maria closed her eyes and sighed. “I can’t
wait. I should get back now, laundry to do.”
She kissed him and finished filling her Honda
Civic. Peter got into his Land Rover. They talked
on their cell phones as they pulled out, smiling
furtively.
Bob couldn’t hear what they were saying, but
it was clear that Peter, married and Maria, who
wasn’t, were having an affair. Peter was in
his late fifties; Maria couldn’t be more
than twenty-two. Also, Maria was Peter’s
housekeeper. This was a rare glimpse into the
private lives of Bob’s congregation,
although he suspected this was a common situation.
He headed back to the church.
Bob’s flock wore tailored clothing, drove
luxury cars and ate fine food. They sent their
children to the best schools. They took
politically correct positions on the issues and
voted for whatever candidate would maintain the
status quo. They give to charity, volunteered
occasionally and attended fund-raising dinners
for socially approved causes. They had so many
diversions to fill their lives that they hardly
ever had time to think of the big picture.
It was one of those small, exclusive towns where
only the fortunate few lived, where old money and
new money lived comfortably side by side in homes
with ocean views, nannies and housekeepers. A
sophisticated system of surveillance cameras and
a vigilant police force kept the residents safe;
safe enough where children could play outside and
walk to school alone.
But this was no Peyton Place; adults kept their
affairs discreet and gossip was unheard of; in
fact, talking about indiscretions would make you
an outcast. Everyone was very happy to maintain a
facade of respectability, not only for the
children but also for their own peace of mind.
After all, sin is only sin if it’s out in
the open and there is always time to repent
before your life is finished.
So Bob had difficulty discovering the sins of his
flock. The members gave generously for services
rendered, mission requests and other charitable
causes he brought to their attention. No, there
wasn’t any dysfunction at First Presbyterian,
just a utopian community of privilege. He entered
his office to see his junior pastor, Scott,
preparing for a youth sermon.
“Scott, tell me something. How are the kids
doing?”
“Fine pastor. I’ve never seen a better-adjusted
group of kids. They seem to live an idyllic life
without stress. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been wandering around town the
last few weeks and I’ve noticed some more
disturbing behavior. Corruption, deceit and
adultery topping the list, all from our
congregation.”
“Another affair. Hmmm. That’s seven
this week. Who may I ask is it this time?”
“Peter Robinson and his housekeeper Maria. I
saw them at the Shell station. They didn’t
notice me, but anyone could have seen them and
they didn’t seem to care.”
“Well, Peter’s wife Joan is sleeping
with the tennis pro at the club, often at the
club!”
“You have confirmation of this?”
“Yes sir. The cameras are working perfectly.
It’s all in our database.” Scott had
managed to intercept the town’s security
cameras, as well as place his own mini cameras in
more private spaces indoors.
“Scott, this is the first church I’ve
seen where sin is so rampant and yet discreetly
hidden from others. Maybe that’s why the
children seem so healthy. Usually, you’ll
find the men at the club bragging about their
conquests and women chatting about it in the spa
or cafés, but not here.”
“I’m going out tonight to install more
cameras. Four more restaurants, the new yoga
center and the street artists.”
“Those musicians, jugglers and magicians in
the town square? What do you hope to catch there?”
“I’ve seen some unusually large tips
landing in the hats lately, along with notes
folded around them and flirting, especially
between the women and the magician and a
disturbing flirtation between a cougar and a
guitar player. And the time when they take their
breaks is corresponding to these tips. Something
is going on all right.”
“And how many of these people have we
confirmed now, Scott?”
“One hundred and ninety three pastor, all
from our congregation.”
“None from the synagogue?”
“No sir, not one. It’s all on us.”
“Well, it’s a good thing Rabbi Goldman
doesn’t know about it. He would give me hell.”
“Yes sir.”
“Which brings us back to our problem. We
have a congregation full of deceitful, deceptive
sinners, all quietly leading very comfortable
lives, making millions of dollars, both legally
and illegally and sleeping with each other. But
no blow-ups, no filing for divorce, no drama at
all. How is this possible?”
“It’s a New Age Sodom and Gomorrah,
pastor. And we’re responsible for cleaning
it up. But I’ve been thinking and may have
an answer.”
“Anything Scott, let’s hear it.”
“Well, preaching to them isn’t working.
They don’t consider sin a problem. They
think life is what you make it and the afterlife
is an after thought, or no thought at all.”
“Right.”
“I’ve created aliases, anonymous
characters with an untraceable email address. I
call them Tom or Nancy, depending on whom I’m
addressing. They send an email each day to
someone in our congregation detailing their sins
and hints that they are compiling evidence to
deliver to the wronged individual or business.
But not a threat so much as an opportunity to
repent.”
“Yikes. A bit radical, don’t you think?”
“As long as we maintain our ignorance of
what’s happening, I think we’ll be all
right. We’ve tried to gently nudge them in
the right direction on Sundays, but the sermons
seem to be providing more ideas for sinning than
for correcting the sinners.”
“OK Scott. Go ahead and start the emails,
but don’t mass email yet, just ten a day.”
“Any particular sin we should start with? We
seem to have an overlap between adulterers and
business people, especially women.”
“All right. Start with those people who are
committing multiple sins. Put Peter Robinson and
his wife Joan on top of the list. They have three
children.”
“Right. That family is a disaster waiting to
happen.”
“And keep me updated on those street artists.
That’s too conspicuous.”
“Is there any difference between public and
private sins pastor?”
“Good question. Public sins can influence
others more directly, but I think private sins
are more insidious because the sinners think that
there are no consequences.”
Scott broke into the new yoga center that night,
the first time his military background was put to
use after seminary. He placed mini cameras in the
locker rooms and in the main workout center,
cleverly inserted into the fragrant fresh plants
that were already in place. From there he headed
to the town square to rig up some trees focusing
on the area where the street artists performed.
Finally at 3:00am, he broke into four restaurants
and again placed mini cameras in plants facing
quiet corner booths.
Scott’s scheme went into effect the next day.
Emails were sent out to the first group,
detailing, with video clips, the transgressions
he had recorded earlier. He even sent an email to
a local politician whose campaign was corrupted
by the opposition. Then he tracked the recipients
to see if their behavior changed.
A lunch business meeting between a banker and
financial advisor at one of those restaurants
provided immediate results. Although neither
wanted to admit to seeing compromising video of
their corruption, both knew they had to adjust
their methods.
“John. The reason I thought we should hold
meetings here is that I’m concerned about
electronic bugging at the office. This looks more
like a casual lunch instead of the culmination of
our Machiavellian plan to bilk investors.”
“That makes sense Bill. No paper or
electronic trail, just friendly talk among
financial professionals. We could even say we
were planning a community fundraiser for the poor.”
Bill replied with a sly smile. “You mean
those making less than one million dollars a year?”
John twirled the swizzle stick in his glass of
Scotch. “Yes, those poor bastards. Now where
is lunch? Ah, here it comes, my twenty-four-inch
porterhouse, onion rings, avocado and Hollandaise
sauce.”
“John. Didn’t your doctor tell you to
lose weight?”
John wiped some sauce from his lip. “Hey, I’m
having fruits and vegetables here. Besides, you
only live once gentlemen. I intend to enjoy it.”
A nursery deliveryman rang the doorbell of the
Robinson house. Maria answered it. “Yes,
what is this?”
“Plants for the home, courtesy of the club.”
“Oh, they’re lovely. How many are there?”
“Sixteen, one for each room. Mrs. Robinson
admired them the other day. I can put them in the
rooms for you.”
“Thank you. Let’s start upstairs and
finish here.”
Meanwhile, Linda Fleming, who lost the recent
election for mayor, was meeting with her staff to
figure out how they could go from a ten-point
lead in the polls to losing on election day.
“Where did our supporters go? Sally Johnson
did something to turn our voters. She’s just
a realtor. She doesn’t have any experience
in office. How did she do it?”
Her aide looked over a clipboard. “She made
some promises to homeowner associations and some
deals with the bank for favorable refinancing.
She was able to turn a thousand voters at the
last minute. We just got proof of it from an
anonymous source.”
“Well, we’re going to strike back. If
they can use technology to steal an election,
then we can use it to smear her reputation. Get
me that intern, Segretti’s grandson.”
One of the reasons that Fleming lost the election
was her pollster. Instead of checking with voters
before and after the vote, she was taking a nap
in the adjacent building. If she had been doing
her job, Fleming would have had some notice
before the election was over and may have been
able to counter her opponent’s strategy in
time. Sometimes sin takes the form of inaction.
At the yoga center, the pampered wives took their
morning exercise before heading to the cafés.
Scott monitored the feed from the mini cameras.
One of the women passed a note to the instructor,
an Italian fitness model, inside of a small towel;
she discreetly opened it up, and then smiled. As
she walked about the class, she paused to whisper
something to her amante and touched her back.
Scott had to review the digital tape in slow
motion to catch the proof but the intentions
between the pair were clear in any language.
That evening, people strolled the town square
window-shopping the boutiques. Husbands and wives
held hands while children carried ice cream cones.
The salty summer air blew in from the ocean. At
the entrance to the park, the street artists were
displaying their skills. Jugglers, magicians and
musicians performed to the crowds, while a hat
for tips filled up with change and bills. Every
so often, a note would drop in. A bearded guitar
player winked at the fifty-something fit woman
leaving her message of an upcoming rendezvous.
But Scott caught it all. As the guitar player
read the note, Scott’s mini camera zoomed in
and snapped a picture. He then relayed it to the
woman’s husband, the principal of the
elementary school, who coincidently was at the
time doing some professional development with the
new second grade teacher who just so happened to
be married to the guitar player.
“What a mess” Scott said to himself.
“No one would believe this if it was one of
those trashy novels the women read on the beach.”
The next day Scott checked the cameras he
delivered in the houseplants at the Robinson home.
He couldn’t have hoped, or dreaded, what he
discovered.
Peter cornered Maria in the bedroom cleaning up.
“I need you now lover.” “Oh!”
Maria said. “Peter, we’ve never done
this here.”
“Sorry. This can’t
wait.” Peter ripped off Maria’s
clothing, threw her on the bed and had his way
with her for the next hour.
The tennis pro dropped Joan off at her house
following their lesson. “Thanks for the ride
Jason. Why don’t you come in for a cold
drink?”
As soon as they were in the kitchen, Joan pulled
Jason to her, grinding her hips onto his. Jason
was excited but worried. “Joan, we don’t
do this here.”
“We do today Jason.” Both couples
miraculously finished their lovemaking without
running into each other. Jason went back to the
club. Peter slipped out the back and went to the
office. Joan took off for the spa. That night
Peter and Joan had a quiet and friendly dinner
with the children.
But Scott had it all on tape. He sent the
compromising video clips to Peter, Joan, Maria
and Jason.
***
The next day, Pastor Bob
got his morning coffee from the pretty barista,
and then sat down to read his paper. Rabbi
Goldman saw his friend and sat next to him.
“Bob, how are things going?”
“You know David. I’ve discovered that
you have to save the congregation one at a time.”
“Mazel Bob. Me ken dem yam mit a kendel nit
ois’shepen.
“Sorry David, I don’t
know that one.”
“The ocean cannot be
emptied with a can.”
“From your mouth to
God’s ears David.”
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