Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,62

interview. For his part, Varth seemed genuinely relieved that somebody knew his secret. For the first time in his life, he was telling a stranger about his hidden life, and his voice filled with pride. "No one suspects," he said. "No one. Not even that idiotic wife of mine. She really thinks I'm an accountant, that I take care of all my work through the mails. Actually, I haven't been an accountant for years. I don't keep books. I write them."

Gilly sat close to him and nibbled his car. "An honest- to-goodness pornographer," she said.

Ansel Varth shrugged with pride. "The best in the business," he said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Gillian. "Listen, you'll have to autograph one of your books for me."

"Certainly," said Varth. "With my prick." Gillian laughed. "Beautiful," she said.

"You're some piece of ass," Varth said, as he watched Gilly's blouse come off.

"It must be fascinating work," Gillian said, slipping unconsciously into her radio style. "I mean, where do you get all your ideas?"

"Nature," said Varth. "From nature. Like any other writer, I draw from the human condition."

"I should have guessed," Gilly said.

"My pen never runs dry," said Varth.

"I can imagine," said Gilly. "But what started you? I mean, what was the catalyst?"

"An interesting question," said Varth. "I would have to say that it was my wife."

"Your wife?" said Gillian, as she took off her skirt.

"Yes. See, when I first married Astrid, that's my wife, I was in the Navy, and I used to bang the hell out of her when I was home on leave. And when I first got out of the service, she still gave me all I wanted. We even did it in a night club once, with her sitting on my lap. You know, in rhythm to the music – as I remember, it was a rhumba. Another time we did it in a rocking chair, and once we even did it in a snowbank."

"Mmmm," said Gilly. "All I've ever done in the snow is ski."

"You didn't have the right poles," said Varth.

"But I still don't see how your wife inspired your career," said Gilly.

"Oh, yes. Well, the thing was that, after a few years, she started turning me off. I guess she never really liked it that much, if you know what I mean. And when she did screw, she was like a cold clam. It was like playing with myself. In fact, I did start playing with myself, and that was better than Astrid. That's when I wrote my first dirty poetry. It was a four-line poem that went: 'I don't care if I go crazy/ long as I can beat my daisy/ four times eight is thirty-two/ three more pulls and I'll be through."'

"That's got a nice rhythm," said Gilly.

"Yes," said Varth. "It's a beater's meter. But that still didn't satisfy me. As a matter of fact, I never was really satisfied. The thing is that even when I was banging Astrid all the time, I wasn't necessarily enjoying it that much. Before Astrid, there were just a Negro woman in Port-au-Prince who looked at me as if I were a fica, and an old lady in a West Side hotel who had a breast missing. And I guess you would have to count Mr. Bagadello, my home room teacher in junior high school."

"Yes," said Gilly. "I think early sex experiences are especially rewarding."

"It's amazing how you understand these things," said Varth. "Well, to keep from drawing it out, I became bored with masturbation. And I found that I had become quite shy in terms of personal contact. I was all right on the telephone, but I never really did anything. Anyway, I started writing stories for kicks. Then I got the idea of selling them. I put ads in the right magazines, and began building up a mailing list. One thing led to another, and I met Solly Madchen."

Gillian had hooked a hand under Varth's trouser cuff and was caressing his left calf. My God, she thought, he wears garters. Then the name brought her up short.

"Who?" she said.

"Solly Madchen."

"You mean the Solly Madchen?"

"That's him," said Varth.

"No kidding," said Gillian. "He's the pervert the police are looking for."

"I know," said Varth. "But they'll never find him. Old Solly. What a character! You know where he is? He's hiding out in a kibbutz in Israel. No fooling. Old Solly bought his own kibbutz, and for all I know he's back in business. He's probably trying to sell cola-flavored