Read Online Naked Came the Stranger by Penelope Ashe, Mike McGrady - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Penelope Ashe, Mike McGrady
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The decor was Spanish
– everything low and wide except the mortgage.
"From the outside," the rabbi said, "I expected to be greeted by
Henry VII."
"Imitation Tudor," she said. "And I hate imitation anything.
William always says that all this castle needs is Anne Boleyn –
but I guess I'll just have to do."
"She ended badly," Turnbull observed.
"But she lived so well."
"May I ask," he went on, "where Mr. Blake is tonight?"
"William is working late tonight," Gillian said. "He works late on
Wednesdays and on Mondays and sometimes on Sundays. And on those
occasions, he leaves me with his dog. Rolf. I don't like dogs,
however, and I especially dislike Rolf."
"Where is Rolf?"
"I've locked him in the garage," she said. "I always lock him in
the garage when William's gone."
"But isn't that cruel?"
"Not at all," she said. "He's supposed to be a watchdog. He
watches over our broken lawn mower."
Gillian offered Turnbull a drink. His rapid acceptance of the
offer amused her.
"What's the blessing on a martini, rabbi?"
"It depends on how well you make it, Mrs. Blake." Gillian returned
to join Turnbull on the couch. The conversation went from the tapes
to the show and then, with increasing animation, to the age-old
struggle between good and evil. Turnbull mentioned that evil was
known everywhere, even in the rabbinate. He concluded that even the
sages – no, especially the sages – were not free from
temptation.
"Why the sages especially?"
"There is a saying, Mrs. Blake," he said. " 'The greater the man,
the greater the inclination toward evil.' "
With this Turnbull snorted, as if to clear his nostrils, and
reached out to grasp Gillian's wrist. She twisted her arm from his
grasp, went into the dining room and returned a moment later.
"Here are the tapes, rabbi," she said. "I believe these were what
you came for."
"I mistook you, Mrs. Blake." Turnbull rose and strode over to her.
"l hope I didn't upset you."
"No," she said.
"I hope we can still be friends."
"I understand, Rabbi Turnbull, that you're married and that you
have three children."
"Yes."
"And your marriage is considered a model for the community?"
"Models are for show windows," he said.
"Then you are unhappily married?"
"That is a redundancy, Mrs. Blake."
"Have you been unfaithful before?"
"Why all this?" he asked. "Is this another taped interview?"
"Before you buy the goods, rabbi, you want to know the
quality."
"I will talk straight with you," he said. "I have a need for
variety which my wife, dear woman, cannot fulfill. I am not a
believer in abstinence."
"But isn't abstinence the sign of a holy man?"
"Only according to your saints, Paul and Augustine, both
profligates of the worst order trying to repent for their own sins.
Abstinence and profligacy are two sides of the same coin. To be
obsessed by one, you must be fascinated by the other."
"This is beginning to sound like an interview, rabbi," she
said.
"Let us return to the goods, Mrs. Blake. Have we made a sale?"
"Call me Gillian," she said.
"I take it then" – reaching for her – "that the goods
are in hand."
"Not until you get your hands on them."
Gillian laughed, slipped away, behind the couch, into the master
bedroom. Snorting, the rabbi gave chase. His beard was bobbing. He
cornered her in the bedroom against a low Spanish bedpost and pushed
her toward the bed.
"Wait," she said, "I must ask you something."
"Honey," he said, "we have talked enough."
"But do you really believe that you'll be damned in hell for this,
for what you're trying to do?"
Turnbull studied her for a long moment. Was she joking, crazy?
What then? " 'There is neither judgment nor judge' – Rabbi
Elisha." With that he thrust Gillian back onto the bed and made a
flying leap with the clear intent of pinning her down to stay. But
she swerved to one side and the holy man, stiff with lust, came down
standard-first on the bedpost. For a full two minutes he did not
rise; he lay there, crumpled up, hissing
– everything low and wide except the mortgage.
"From the outside," the rabbi said, "I expected to be greeted by
Henry VII."
"Imitation Tudor," she said. "And I hate imitation anything.
William always says that all this castle needs is Anne Boleyn –
but I guess I'll just have to do."
"She ended badly," Turnbull observed.
"But she lived so well."
"May I ask," he went on, "where Mr. Blake is tonight?"
"William is working late tonight," Gillian said. "He works late on
Wednesdays and on Mondays and sometimes on Sundays. And on those
occasions, he leaves me with his dog. Rolf. I don't like dogs,
however, and I especially dislike Rolf."
"Where is Rolf?"
"I've locked him in the garage," she said. "I always lock him in
the garage when William's gone."
"But isn't that cruel?"
"Not at all," she said. "He's supposed to be a watchdog. He
watches over our broken lawn mower."
Gillian offered Turnbull a drink. His rapid acceptance of the
offer amused her.
"What's the blessing on a martini, rabbi?"
"It depends on how well you make it, Mrs. Blake." Gillian returned
to join Turnbull on the couch. The conversation went from the tapes
to the show and then, with increasing animation, to the age-old
struggle between good and evil. Turnbull mentioned that evil was
known everywhere, even in the rabbinate. He concluded that even the
sages – no, especially the sages – were not free from
temptation.
"Why the sages especially?"
"There is a saying, Mrs. Blake," he said. " 'The greater the man,
the greater the inclination toward evil.' "
With this Turnbull snorted, as if to clear his nostrils, and
reached out to grasp Gillian's wrist. She twisted her arm from his
grasp, went into the dining room and returned a moment later.
"Here are the tapes, rabbi," she said. "I believe these were what
you came for."
"I mistook you, Mrs. Blake." Turnbull rose and strode over to her.
"l hope I didn't upset you."
"No," she said.
"I hope we can still be friends."
"I understand, Rabbi Turnbull, that you're married and that you
have three children."
"Yes."
"And your marriage is considered a model for the community?"
"Models are for show windows," he said.
"Then you are unhappily married?"
"That is a redundancy, Mrs. Blake."
"Have you been unfaithful before?"
"Why all this?" he asked. "Is this another taped interview?"
"Before you buy the goods, rabbi, you want to know the
quality."
"I will talk straight with you," he said. "I have a need for
variety which my wife, dear woman, cannot fulfill. I am not a
believer in abstinence."
"But isn't abstinence the sign of a holy man?"
"Only according to your saints, Paul and Augustine, both
profligates of the worst order trying to repent for their own sins.
Abstinence and profligacy are two sides of the same coin. To be
obsessed by one, you must be fascinated by the other."
"This is beginning to sound like an interview, rabbi," she
said.
"Let us return to the goods, Mrs. Blake. Have we made a sale?"
"Call me Gillian," she said.
"I take it then" – reaching for her – "that the goods
are in hand."
"Not until you get your hands on them."
Gillian laughed, slipped away, behind the couch, into the master
bedroom. Snorting, the rabbi gave chase. His beard was bobbing. He
cornered her in the bedroom against a low Spanish bedpost and pushed
her toward the bed.
"Wait," she said, "I must ask you something."
"Honey," he said, "we have talked enough."
"But do you really believe that you'll be damned in hell for this,
for what you're trying to do?"
Turnbull studied her for a long moment. Was she joking, crazy?
What then? " 'There is neither judgment nor judge' – Rabbi
Elisha." With that he thrust Gillian back onto the bed and made a
flying leap with the clear intent of pinning her down to stay. But
she swerved to one side and the holy man, stiff with lust, came down
standard-first on the bedpost. For a full two minutes he did not
rise; he lay there, crumpled up, hissing
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