Renee was called into the Pastor's office. Judging from the concerned tone of the Reverend Hunter's voice mail, he knew that the least he could expect from the priest was a reprimand, at worst, he stood a good chance of being transferred to a less desirable parish.

The young Renee knocked on the forboding office door inside of the rectory. A large, rather morbid depiction of Christ on the crucifix hung on the Reverend's door. He normally was not too sensitive to the images of his tortured savior that were promoted by the Church, but there was something about this particular one that made him think this rendition of the sacred martyr was almost alive.

The eyes of the Christ followed him as he opened the door. "Father Hunter, you wished to see me, sir?" he asked sheepishly.

"Yes, Father, have a seat," came his superior's reply. Renee studied Hunter's elderly, wrinkled, doughy face and wondered if he would end up looking like him after years of work in the priesthood.

The walls of the office were covered with images of the Virgin Mary and various saints. The bookshelves were filled with various books on theology, philosophy and various versions of the Bible. There was even a text of the Koran that Hunter loved to leaf through from time to time---a way of "keeping up with the competition for Christian souls" was what he told the newer priests and nuns. There were three large mahogany chairs covered with crimson padding that sat in front of his desk. A low, monotonous nasal din filled the air from a religious radio program that Hunter was listening to at the time. Renee took a seat in the middle chair and decided to focus on the radio commentary as a way to manage his own nervousness at this encounter.

Hunter internally marvelled at how striking Renee's light tan arms were against the darker colors of the arm rests. He made no notion of it for fear of being labelled a bigot, instead of merely being a person who had a keen eye for colors and contrast. Most of the other priests' complexions looked rather pallid to him whenever they walked into his earth-toned office.

"Listen Renee, we need to talk. It's about, well, it's about your personal time," Hunter began with his hands folded as he leaned forward on his elbows.

Renee leaned back. "Um---what do you mean, Father?" he asked with forced naivete.

"Son, some of the parishioners are saying that you have been seen spending too much time with a young woman--some brunette that's not a member of this parish. They say that the woman visits you from time to time here, at the rectory, whenever Father Bruce and myself are away or on retreat," Hunter continued.

"Look, Father Hunter---"

"Please, Renee, call me Greg---"

"Okay then, GREG, look---I don't know what these people are talking about!" Renee's hyper tone was making him look that much more culpable. "I'm a PRIEST for goodness sake, not some single bachelor or teenager who's sneaking girls in whenever their parents are out. If there is anyone in here, it is always on official business or counseling. You have my word on that!"

Hunter paused for a second, thinking. "Look, son, I know that things can be kind of rough for you around here since you are the only black priest--or black person period in this section of the Archdioses. And believe me, when Father M'Bayo was here from Sierra Leone, I heard all manner of stories about him from some of the more backward thinking members of our church. But Renee, these things are coming to me from some of the nuns, and from people I know don't have a bigotted bone in their bodies."

Of course Sister Mary Linda is complaining, he thought to himself, because I would not bed her down last year after the Christmas Teen Dance. She is such a slut! But dammit, if the other nuns are on to me, I've got to cool things down until they all forget about anything they've seen me do with Victoria.

He knew he had to come up with a plausible lie. "Okay, Father---I mean Greg---it's like this; there is a woman that I have been COUNSELING that lives around here. She's the type that doesn't come to mass that often. Well, one day, she came to the eight o'clock service all banged up because her husband has been beating her. She started talking to me afterwards about it. We prayed together, I left her our main phone number and now, she may drop in every once in a while when she's afraid that he may hit her again."

"I see," Hunter answered. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. Then, he sat up and looked at Renee with concern. "Look son, I understand you wanting to help this woman, but there is only so much we can and SHOULD do as men of the cloth. You can be their for her spiritually, but she may need more help than you are qualified to give her. We are not the only instruments that God has at his disposal. Next time you talk to her, see if you can convince her to go to a battered woman's shelter. Also, it would probably help if you let Sister Mary Linda or another of the ladies be in session with you. My concern is not just for this young lady, but for you not forgetting your vows as well. You're a young man Renee, and I would not want to see such a young, promising young priest as yourself fall victim to carnality. You are a priest, son, but you are also still a man."

Renee fell silent. Then suddenly, his mind was taken by images of Victoria laying with him--the two of them making passionate love as she bit at his neck. He could feel her soft body pressing against his as he thrusted himself in and out of the suction of her milky warmth. His entire being was taken back into the moment of their last bout of lovemaking as she straddled him, grinding his thick, tan body with her robust vanilla hips. He had never been with a white woman before the priest hood--in fact, he had never been attracted to them at all. But there was something about Victoria that drew him to her, as if she almost had an unnatural power to seduce whomever she wanted.

As his mind's ear heard the grunts of their mutual climax, Greg shook him back to consciousness. "Renee! Renee! Renee! Are you okay?"

Renee was sweating at this point. "I'm fine, just fine, Greg. I--um--got distracted for a second."

Greg leaned back and smirked. "Okay, I've SEEN that distraction before. Look, you either need to stop spending time with this woman or you're going to end up compromising your vows. And I don't have to tell you how bad it would be if you got caught doing that--especially if it were by one of the sisters."

"Yeah, I know. Most black women don't approve of interracial relationships," Renee joked.

Greg Hunter suppressed his laugh. "You KNOW what I mean by sisters." He took another breath and became semi-serious. "Okay, well, I think you have a handle on the situation. I don't consider this an official talk, just me giving a junior priest some advice. And I advise you to send this woman either to Mary Linda or to a lay person who is qualified to deal with domestic situations. You're dismissed."

Renee stood up and shook Greg's hand. Then, the young black priest walked out of the office. Greg stood outside the door, waiting for Renee to disappear around the corner. He turned and began talking to the crucifix. "I think that kid is headed into some serious trouble. It would be great if you could keep an eye on him."

The man on the cross was silent, but Father Greg Hunter had a feeling that he was listening.

Saturday night arrived as a darky, stormy evening filled with thunder, lightening and loneliness. Father Renee was sitting alone in the rectory, as Father Hunter and Father Bruce were both away on missionary business for the Archdioses. He was sitting in the kitchen sipping on a drink from a bottle of vodka he kept hidden in his room. He was alone in the building, waiting and hoping that the booms of the storm outside would be cut by the sound of her knock at the door.