Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,7

fourteen-yard line and he had no idea how they got there.

"If you want to know the truth," he said, "I took it off a dead nigger in Hempstead."

"That's just fine," Gillian said – a wince her only reaction. "When would you like me to bring it over? I mean when would be the best time?"

"My wife's in New York now," Ernie said.

"Now it is then," she said.

Bill hadn't looked up from his reading. Gillian brought her fingertips to her mouth, blocked a manufactured yawn, went upstairs to change. The pink slacks, the halter with the white ruffies, yes. The pony tail as is. When she left, Bill was making a gimlet in what he would probably always call the rumpus room. And while all this was happening, Ernie Miklos was looking into a dead telephone receiver. He didn't even see Notre Dame make the game's first extra point.

"Aren't you going to offer a good Samaritan a drink?" Gillan was saying.

"It's over there."

On any other occasion the tailored pink slacks would have been at least distracting. But Ernie had the head. And the Irish were leading ten-zip. The bar was done in Early American. Laverne liked it and Ernie hated it. The only bar in the Western Hemisphere that Ernie couldn't stand. Who ever heard of an Early American bar? Ernie often thought he would like to take an Early American match and destroy it. Right up to the Early American refrigerator with the golden eagle.

"You could drink it up here," Ernie said. Ernie sighted in on the sweet-working rump. "That is, if you like football."

"Only football players," she said, thinking, even as she said it, that it was almost as trite as it was untrue.

"You could bring the olives with you," Ernie said. "Or do you take onions?"

"A twist ordinarily," she said, "but an olive will do." Ernie did the mixing. He spilled the Vermouth when Harvey Jones dropped the pass deep in Notre Dame territory. That son of a bitch. Gillian accepted the dripping glass and dropped into the overstuffed chair. She pulled her legs up under her, tucked them in. Army was punting and Ernie slammed his fist into the armrest of her chair.

Laverne would never have come into the room while he was watching a big game. Maybe it was that. Maybe it was the hangover. Whatever the reason, Ernie was having trouble focusing on the set. It was like that time one of the curtains was flapping in the wind – it was a distraction without being an interruption. He could feel her eyes. What in the hell was she up to anyway? The first commercial he turned quickly to meet her look. Too quickly. The pain came back.

"Oh God," he said.

Gillian went to the ice bucket and picked up an ice cube. She walked back to Ernie and held it against his forehead. Ernie began to feel his breath quickening.

That damn ice cube. Had he said anything about ice cubes last night? No. He couldn't have. The cube in Gillian's hand was melting, sending small rivulets of water into the edges of his eyes. Ernie's pulse was throbbing now, and what happened next was more instinct than design.

Army was driving and Ernie was too. His eyes went to the TV and then back to Gillian. A Christian Scientist with appendicitis. Gillian watched it as it happened. She knew she had aroused the creature in the torn paint-spattered T-shirt. Well, she told herself, that's what you wanted, wasn't it? That's what you wanted. She saw the Marine Corps tattoo barely visible beneath the sleeve on his right arm. So what did you expect, she asked herself, candlelight?

Ernie didn't bother to talk. He merely grabbed out for Gillian, pulled her across the armrest into his lap and bit into her neck.

"No marks," she squealed. "Don't leave marks."

"Don't give me any of that shit," Ernie said.

"All right, armchair quarterbacks," the voice on the television was saying, "what would you do? Go through that same hole again or try for the end?"

Gillian began to fight back, stiffly, ineffectually. She felt her fingernails gouge through the flesh of his back. He didn't seem to feel it. If he did, it only increased his ardor. Her body went limp then, and as their mouths met and then their tongues she gave it up and began to play the game Ernie's way.

"He's in there; he's in there!" The voice from the TV seemed to come from another world. "And, fans, it's all