The Lion's Den by Anthony Marra

Author:Anthony Marra [Marra, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-18T16:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Jimmy Massaro met me in the parking garage of Saint Arnie’s. Whatever image you have of an assistant development director at a third-tier Catholic grammar school, I assure you, Jimmy isn’t it. His Bluetooth is so firmly rooted in his ear that he may, technically, qualify as a cyborg. His hair is too short to require any of the product it swims in. He wears cologne with chloroforming potency; talking to Jimmy Massaro is like being maced by a Parisian policeman.

He opened his arms as he approached, exposing a three-piece sharkskin suit tailored for the physique he aspires toward rather than the one he has. The fit was somewhere between “snug” and “scuba formalwear.” Taken as a whole, he was streamlined for speeds he will never attain, in the manner of an art deco divan or a child’s race-car bed.

“There he is—the famous memoirist! Look at you! You look . . .” His eyes searched me for a compliment. “Awake! Thank you, again, for pinch-hitting for us. That news yesterday really caught us off guard. After the fiasco with the vegetable garden . . . What, I didn’t tell you about that? We built a greenhouse to encourage the students to grow their own vegetables and eat heathy, but all they did was grow drugs. Cannabis and hallucinogenic mushrooms, and on consecrated ground. Me? I think it shows entrepreneurial spirit. We could do with a bit more of that around here. I think that if the students donated some of their profits to the capital campaign, we’d be wise to encourage their initiative. But who cares what I think, right? I’m only the assistant director of development, only the person keeping the repossessors from selling Father MacArthur’s cassock to the Museum of Old Smelly Things. Anyway, thank you, again, truly. I sent an email to the school letting everyone know that, to the best of our knowledge, you are not a known tax-evading necrophile, though after yesterday’s snafu I had to include some asterisks and fine print, but judging from the state of our capital campaign, no one reads my emails anyway. And no, there is no speaking fee. We already paid the previous speaker, and it looks like the feds have seized it as part of the forfeiture. However, the teachers all chipped in, and we’re able to offer you fifty dollars in fives and ones and prepaid parking. Or you could donate the honorarium to the capital campaign and take the deduction. I really need to get my numbers up this quarter.”

I’d forgotten that conversations with Jimmy Massaro are spectator sports. He has an uncanny ability to speak to himself even while looking you in the eye.

“Did I tell you we’re getting an honor code? Yeah, we were sued last year after expelling a student for breaking into Father MacArthur’s office, stealing a test, getting drunk on sacramental wine, upchucking in the baptismal fount, taking an ax to the altar crucifix, building a fire in

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