Thursday Evening
Roberto’s Mansion
“Lasagna will be ready in forty minutes,” Roberto called out from the kitchen.
“You never make lasagna,” Father Mario Marino responded, a hint of surprise in his voice. He knew well Roberto’s usual trifecta of indulgences: wine, women, and song.
“Only for special occasions, cherished friends, or romantic conquests. You got two out of three going for ya, buddy,” Roberto retorted, his laughter filling the room. Their bond was as strong as blood brothers, having grown up together in the Santa Maria Orphanage since they were infants.
“So, what’s the latest conspiracy theory brewing in that wild imagination of yours?” Mario asked, lounging comfortably in the plush leather recliner in Roberto’s expansive living room. Mario knew Roberto always had some kind of intriguing theory up his sleeve.
“Global warming,” Roberto declared, raising his oven-mitted hand as if taking an oath.
“And what’s your take on it?” Mario probed, crossing his arms in anticipation of a fresh perspective.
“What if the scientific consensus is wrong, and it’s not cars spewing CO2 that’s the problem, but rather, we’re suffocating Mother Earth?” Roberto proposed, his voice filled with conviction.
Intrigued, Mario rose from his recliner and sauntered into the kitchen to better engage in discussion.
Seeing he had Mario’s full attention, Roberto leaned against the kitchen island pointing his finger at Mario for emphasis. “Consider this: we’ve blanketed the Earth with billions of miles of asphalt. If I wrapped you in black asphalt and left you in the sun, wouldn’t you overheat, experience severe warming?”
Mario paused, considering this unconventional perspective.
“We’re smothering the Earth with roads, highways, and parking lots. If we want to cool it down, we need to find an alternative to asphalt, something that will allow the Earth to breathe.” Roberto wrapped his arms around himself to illustrate his point. “Breathable asphalt. The Earth needs breathable asphalt.”
Roberto reveled in his ability to devise simple solutions to the complex problems plaguing the world, solutions that seemed to elude the masses. After selling his software company for a staggering two hundred million dollars three years ago, he had ample time to ponder humanity’s pressing issues, like global warming.
“Hmm, interesting. Where’d you get this one?” Mario asked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“Last week, while I was at Esselunga for groceries. I could feel the heat radiating off the asphalt, and it hit me—the Earth is swaddled in this black, heat-absorbing blanket,” Roberto explained, his hands mimicking the act of being warmed by a fire.
“And do the ladies fall for these theories of yours?” Mario asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Oh, God no. I learned the hard way that I can either share my theories or get lucky. Sorry, my friend, I choose sex,” Roberto replied, a smug grin playing on his lips as he reminisced about his effortless conquests. “Besides, most of the women I entertain here wouldn’t even begin to comprehend the depth of my intellectual theories.”
Back when he was a computer programmer living in a cramped one-bedroom apartment, women barely gave him a second glance. The dotcom era changed all that for him. By adding a few zeros to his bank account, suddenly Roberto found himself at the epicenter of female attention. With the steering wheel of his brand-new 2000 Lamborghini Murciélago in hand, a symbol of his triumph, he was now an irresistible woman-magnet. Near limitless time and money at his disposal, he would indulge in the company of those women who were more than willing to exchange their time for intimate moments within the confines of his bedroom.
“You and your conspiracy theories. You think everyone is hiding something, like Mother Superior back at the orphanage,” Mario retorted, raising his right hand to his mouth to mimic the act of drinking from an imaginary beer mug.
“I swear I saw her sneak a swig from a hidden flask and tuck it back under her habit when we were in third grade at the orphanage.” Roberto’s voice hardened at the memory of the stern reverend mother. “You know that’s why they call their uniform ‘a habit.’ It’s so they can hide all their bad habits.” Roberto laughed at his own clever pun. “I just thought of that. Pretty good, right?”
“Sure. Remember that wooden stick she used to discipline you with? It was once a ruler. She struck so many children that all the lines wore off.”
“That’s because she was a raging alcoholic,” Roberto said, rubbing the back of his hand. He’d never shed a tear despite the frequent corporal punishment. He’d refused to give Mother Maria Francis the satisfaction of seeing him cry. “She displayed all the classic signs of an alcoholic.”
Mario knew his best friend harbored deep-seated issues from their shared time in the orphanage. His endless parade of romantic conquests after becoming a millionaire was a clear attempt to mask the pain from the harsh treatment he’d received from the nuns and priests. Mario, on the other hand, had found solace in their care.
“Ready for another one?” Roberto asked, eager to share another of his theories.
“What else you got?” Mario said, rolling his eyes in anticipation.
“The LGBT community blatantly snubbing God,” Roberto began, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone.
“How’s that?”
“It’s a stroke of genius, really.” Roberto paused, building suspense before launching into his argument. “In the biblical tale of Noah and the flood, God presented a rainbow as a covenant to Noah and his family, promising never to unleash such destruction again.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the scripture. ‘Never again will there be a flood to destroy all life. When I see the rainbow in the clouds, I will remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature on Earth. This is the sign of my covenant with all the creatures of the earth’,” Mario quoted from memory, his seminary education serving him well.
“Very good, my young Padawan.”
“Who’s the Padawan?”
“Just kidding, Anakin.”
“You’re barely older than me by a few months.”
“Yeah, yeah. Details, details,” Roberto waved off the comment.
“Continue with your theory please.”
“The LGBT community chose the rainbow flag as their symbol to represent them. Did you know it was first created in San Francisco, California in 1978?”
Mario gestured impatiently for Roberto to get to the point.
“Alright, here’s the punchline: by flying the rainbow flag at every pride parade, every march, every event, it’s as if they’re using it as a divine shield. It’s like they’re throwing God’s own words back at Him, saying, ‘You can’t touch me’, all the while wearing broad smiles knowing God will never send another cataclysmic event to wipe out all life on Earth,” Roberto finished, looking to Mario for validation.
“That’s quite the leap, Berto, though I’ll give you points for creativity,” Mario conceded, taking a sip of his wine while studying his friend. “Where do you come up with these wild theories?”
“I can’t really say. They just come to me, you know. I see something, it sends me down a rabbit hole of thoughts, and voilà: rainbow, Noah, LGBTQ community. Ta-da!” Roberto spread his arms wide like a magician revealing his trick.
“Wow. Your mind truly is amazing.” Mario shook his head.
“Enough about my theories—share some details about your new role,” Roberto said, transitioning his attention away from his narcissistic thoughts back to Mario.
“What, so you can concoct more outlandish theories?”
“Come on, spill the beans.” Roberto appeared anxious to hear about the enigmatic Vatican Secret Archives.
“Let’s head over to your computer. I’ll show you some information online.”
They both sauntered down the corridor towards the second of Roberto’s five bedrooms, a space that doubled as his home office and man cave.
“The Archives are exactly as you’d imagine,” Mario said, settling into the chair next to Roberto’s. “Like something out of a spy movie. Underground, dungeon-esque, secure pass cards, passwords. It’s your kind of scene, really.”
“Ooh, tell me more about the Dark Side, Obi Wan.” Roberto rubbed his hands together, mimicking a mad scientist.
“We’re talking about a privileged position. Can we drop the Star Wars references?”
