"I've got good news, bad news," the unmistakably seductive voice of Sr. Serena Scatterpin awakens me at dawn from a sound, debate-free sleep.
"It must be urgent, Sister," I cuss, wheez, and blink my way into manageable awareness. "What in hell, er, heaven's name's up?"
"You're not naked are you? I don't like talking to gay men if they're naked. It's not fashionable for a Renegade Sister of Mary. By the way, what's happened to those silk St. Neiman of Marcus pajamas I bought for you? They weren't cheap, kiddo."
"Sister, I wear them when I have sleep-overs. Since you gave them to me in honor of the pope's Boston visit nobody's dropped by. Not that the pope has anything to do with my lack of bedtime companionship, I'm sure."
"Well, do me a favor, angel face; put them on while I tell you my story. I'll say a quickie act of contrition for you while you change…All right, first the good news."
"Last week a major New York newspaper carried a bombshell story about the number of Recovering Catholics who are coming out. Several daytime soap stars. Four brave Hollywood actors. One Bollywood matinee idol. A TV script writer. A well-known Broadway producer whose credits include "Song of Bernadette," as a Rockette's Christmas musical. And four Madonna lookalikes!
"The bad news is several Christian League televangelists are telling their Bible-boob-tubers that RCs are responsible for the Wall Street 777-point-drop fiasco. I think that's really stretching things a bit. RCs, indeed! Southern Baptists, more than likely. 666 Mark-of-the-Beast points of it. And, if you want to know what I think…Are you awake, my child?"
"Yes, sister, I'm all ears. By the way, my pajamas are four sizes too big. I could tent two people in them…"
"So? At least you'd both be tastefully modest, elegantly attired, no matter what missionary position you might happen to pretzel into. OK, honey bun, here's what I think. The Wall Street nosedive's due to – are you ready for my bona fide, nihil obstat, imprimatur, pax vobiscum opinion? All those conflicting faith-based initiatives! Everybody wants a piece of the pie in the sky. Just like your grope-in-the-dark back room bars, there are just so many available pieces to put your greedy thumbs (or whatever) into.'
"Wow! Heavy stuff, Sis. Er, what's this tiny pocket in my pjs?"
"It's a charity touch, darling. You can put laundromat quarters there, a keepsake condom, your Rose of Sharon Healing Body Lube, or a trophy scapular if you hanky-panky with a closeted priest or a defrocked archbishop…Now here's the good news, sweetie…Tighten your jamee strings. It's going to be a bumpy but oh-so-blessed event! Guess what.
"I've just been signed on to play a Recovering Catholic nun-turned-CIA agent in a TV daytime series called, "Days of Our Wimples." It's a wonderful part for me. A cross between "Sound of Music," "American Idol," "Cat On a Hot Tin Roof" and CNN News. My only concern is: should an RC play an RC?"
"What difference might that make, Sister?"
"Well, if my agent lets it be known that I'm out of the confessional closet as an RC actor, it just might keep me from getting non-recovering-anything-else roles. I'm just dying to play a heroin addict, a disfellowshiped Jehovah's Witness, or Mormon plural wife. Type casting's a bummer. So is just act, don't tell."
"Don't worry, Sis. You're an RC diva, no matter how you slice your minced meat, soap-opera, all-thumbs pie. Ciao!"
