Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,21

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 incoherently.

"Rabbi Turnbull, are you all right?"

"Never mind me," he hissed. "Think of Rabbi Elisha." Gillian was solicitous. The poor man was in obvious pain and she searched for ways to comfort him. "Would you like a massage?" she asked. The mere suggestion caused Turnbull to swoon into a comatose state. A half hour passed before his moribund powers were restored.

And no sooner had feeling returned to the affected parts than he once again reached out for Gillian.

"Your clothes," he gasped. "Take off your clothes."

She laughed, pulled away, teased. That crazy shiksa, she wants me to work. In this condition, she wants me to work. He managed to rip off her dress. The sight of her long, faintly tanned legs below black net panties set off new explosions of lust in his belly. Avoiding the bedpost, he pounced again. Gillian tried to kick loose, but he had her pinned this time and was covering her mouth with wet kisses. Then, holding her fast, he began working his way down. He traced her navel with his tongue and reached for her smooth, high, arched buttocks when the phone on the night table began ringing.

"Don't answer it," he whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" she said.

The phone kept ringing, insisting, a noisy witness to an act rendered suddenly ludicrous.

"Forget about it," the rabbi said. "Forget about that fucking phone."

"Rabbi!" The shock in her voice caused him to loosen his hold. "I can't forget it, it's probably William. If I don't answer, he'll be suspicious."

Turnbull groaned, relaxed. She rolled away from him and picked up the phone.

"Hello. Yes, everything's fine. Why?"

"William?" the rabbi whispered.

No, she indicated. Turnbull clapped his hand over his eyes,