Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,49

set is still talking about the messy situation involving a local general practitioner who sidelined on the abortion circuit. Seems his frau caught him in the arms of a female impersonator and decided to do a little cranial surgery on the two of them – with a double-bitted axe. Police intervened just in time. Whole thing was hushed up by the local constabulary but both Md. and his Mrs. have left town, last seen heading in the general direction of the divorce courts."

EXCERPT FROM "THE BILLY & GILLY SHOW," FEBRUARY 7TH

Billy: You seem especially bright and chipper today, dear.

Gilly: Why not? It's a nice day, we're having lovely weather for this time of year, and I had a splendid time at the doctor's yesterday.

Billy: Oh … you didn't tell me.

Gilly: It wasn't anything important, sweetheart. Just a yearly checkup.

Billy: Well, what'd it show?

Gilly: That's just it. According to the doctor, I'm in splendid shape. Marvelously healthy.

Billy: I don't know what he gave you, but you look radiant.

Gilly: It's probably psychological, but I do feel at the top of my form.

Billy: If you'll allow me to say so, dear, your form has always been tops.

Gilly: Why, thank you, kind sir. You are a sweetie, today.

Billy: It's just my natural charm, hon. But seriously, I've always admired your ability to keep in shape.

Gilly: Well, I think it's very important for people to stay in condition. I mean, I can't see physical conditioning as an end in itself, but certainly the body does house the brain, and it pays to be healthy.

Billy: Of course, there are some people who have natural physiques.

Gilly: Yes, some athletes are like that.

Billy: That's true. But there are others who go to pot the minute they stop training. For instance, there's nothing sadder than an ex-prizefighter who lets himself get flat. Some of them turn into balloons.

Gilly: That's a shame when it happens, because I think some fighters have the best builds of all. You know, the ones with the broad shoulders and the muscular arms who taper down into narrow waists.

Billy: I remember when I had a narrow waist.

Gilly: Well, it's still quite slim, dear, thanks to all that squash and tennis you play.

Billy: Now, it's my turn to thank you.

Gilly: Also, there's something so reassuring about a strongly built man.

Billy: Really?

Gilly: Yes, I think there's a wonderfully masculine quality in thick biceps.

Billy: But seriously, don't you think women are more interested in a man's mind than in his muscles? Don't you think they're more concerned about his… uhm, personality, his intelligence?

Gilly: Certainly, over the long haul. But it doesn't hurt if he looks good, too. There's nothing worse than spindly shoulders and a potbelly. I'm half-kidding, of course, but muscle men are quite stimulating. After all, it's the same the other way around. What about pin-ups? And you can't tell me that a man who meets a girl with a figure like Sophia Loren's for the first time is thinking about her brain.

Billy: I'll have to admit you have a point, there.

Gilly: So it's the same with a woman. I mean you might not want to spend your life with Hercules, but you wouldn't mind watching him lift weights. Or something. Billy: Let's watch that something.

Gilly: Oh Billy, you're awful.

Billy: Actually, I'll settle for watching Sophia Loren model bikinis.

Gilly: Right. The body beautiful in action. I think every woman enjoys watching a Pancho Gonzales playing tennis. Or a Cassius Clay boxing. I think prize fighters are especially exciting. All that concentrated violence. They're so direct. So beautifully brutal.

Billy: I know what you mean. It's like watching Billy Blake play squash.

Gilly: That's pure poetry, dear.

Billy: You do know the way to a man's ego, hon. Gilly: And don't forget his biceps.

PADDY MADIGAN

The wind, which bore only a twinge of its Canadian origin, had long since blown the last of the leaves from the twin oaks in the backyard. Now it stacked them like a fragile brown dam against the bottom of the privet hedge that lined the southwest side of the half-acre that Agnes Madigan called "our estate."

That is, Agnes said "our estate" to neighbors and strangers. When her only company was her husband, Paddy, she called it "my estate." And she said it because it was so.

The deed was in Agnes's name. And so was Paddy for that matter. The money had originated with Paddy, but he had realized years earlier that without her guidance the money would have disappeared. Everything disappeared without Agnes. All that