Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,10

who had somehow managed to capture the worst characteristics of both nationalities. She didn't like to drink and she didn't like to stay up late and she always chastised Ernie when he did either.

The best thing about Laverne had been a father old-fashioned enough to believe in a dowry, which meant a partnership in a construction company specializing in swimming pools. And when suburbanites found they could dig themselves even deeper into debt with a pool, Ernie and his father-in-law were there to help with the digging. Ernie was vice president in charge of pools, which had made him affluent enough to settle in King's Neck rather than Levittown or Huntington. Ernie had been happy in a Bayside apartment with a breakfast balcony. But Laverne wanted to become part of a community – to have roots, as she put it. So Ernie bought a waterfront lot with a seven-bedroom, split-level ranch. They still had no roots, but now they had a mortgage that would grow old with them. The one thing they owned free and clear was the pool.

From the beginning Laverne had never been anything less than a dutiful wife. And not much more. Ernie realized, of course, that Honolulu was a tough act to follow. It could be said of Ernie and Laverne that their marriage started off in low gear and then bogged down. Ernie's feelings about most of his neighbors were generally expressed in simple terms. "Pushy goddam Jews" – that was one of his favorite appraisals. He took great delight in padding his neighbors' bills when they came to him for a pool on the erroneous assumption that geographical proximity might save them a few dollars.

The Civic Association, the Save Our Schools Committee, the Republican Club, the Young Americans for Freedom – the only thing that meant a good goddam to Ernie was a party. Last night's blast was one of the best. Gillian had been standing beside the pool when he first saw her. She was wearing that low-backed green dress with high heels to match. He was talking to someone, Melvin Corby it was, and he'd just said, "Show me the guy who doesn't eat it and I'll steal his girl," when Gillian walked across his line of vision. Corby had told him that everyone on King's Neck wanted a slice of that butt – only those weren't the words Corby had used (pushy goddam Jew) – Ernie could understand why. Then, later, she had come on with him at the bar.

It was hard for Ernie to believe he had scored with her so quickly. She was class. But it all confirmed what he had always maintained, a broad is a broad.

Ernie fell asleep then. And less than an hour later Laverne woke up to hear him screaming. He woke up screaming something about ice cubes, and when she tried to wipe the perspiration from his brow he begged her not to touch him.

Ernie didn't see Gillian until the following Friday. He was at the Plaza having a sandwich and Gillian was having a late afternoon martini. Apparently she was not having her husband because Bill was sitting at another table talking to several men in business suits. The Plaza was next to the King's Neck Railroad Station and, unlike most restaurants near railroad stations, it was reasonably sanguine. At night there was a darky piano player, and it was known as the launching pad for those who planned to swap mates for the evening. This, to Ernie, made excellent sense, but it also made excellent sense never to broach the subject to Laverne. In the afternoon it was reasonably quiet and Ernie, a man who always looked out of place in a white collar, would sometimes stop off between checks on his work crews. He had been scoring for eight months with one of the waitresses who had to quit when her husband changed jobs.

"Hello there." Gillian carried her martini to the bar and took the stool to his left. Her hair was up. Ernie put his notebook away and took a long look.

"Like another one?" he said.

"Why not?"

Ernie had been debating which stop to make next. Seeing Gillian again, he knew which one he wanted to make. He excused himself and telephoned his foreman. He said there would be no need to check the Freeport job unless there were problems. No sweat, no sweat at all. He went back to Gillian. She was at the table again. Her husband hadn't seemed