Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (11 page)

For the first time in the evening, his
fingers tapped out a light melody in a major key and he smiled at
her. "You sound like a rabbi now, Gabby."

She returned the smile. "Yep. That's what I
do for a living, friend. It's my job."

"Anina thinks I'm a wimp."

"Physicians can afford to be tough hombres.
What would happen if they got paid directly by their patients and
not an insurance company or HMO? You'd see personality
transformations real quick. And no more waiting for hours in a
doctor's waiting room."

When alcohol no longer swirled Gabby's brain,
she thanked Asa for his hospitality, then, while he remained seated
at the piano, let herself out of his apartment.

The following morning Chuck Browner declared from
his customary position in the doorway to her study, "I'm worried
about you, Rabbi Gabby; I haven't seen you so moody in a long
time."

"Does it show that bad?"

"You're a great actress, but I control your
schedule. You dash around as fast as you can so you won't have time
to let your own feelings well up. What would you do if forced to
take a full day off every week. No phones? No emergencies? No fires
to fight?"

"I'd play tennis and read sexy novels."

He lifted his chin and let his eyes peer
through the lower portion of his glasses. "What about lounging
around all day in bed with a steamy lover?"

"You take liberties, friend."

"Now that I've sent formal rejections to over
a dozen invitations for New Year's Eve, what's left on your agenda
for some old-fashioned romance?"

"I've
got
a date for
New Years – with the synagogue. The New Year's Eve service is
probably my most successful innovation at Ohav Shalom."

"That's over precisely at 8:30. I meant what
are you doing socially,
after
the
service."

"No plans of yet." She hesitated mentioning
Chuck's living companion, Thackery Darnston, but since he had
introduced the subject of dating, she felt justified. Chuck had
done better at replacing his deceased lover, Thomas Belmont, than
she in finding a replacement for Joel Fox. "And you? What are you
and Thack planning?"

"Progressive parties, beginning at noon and
continuing through the holiday. Our friends who know how to throw
bashes. You're welcome to come with us, of course. You're still a
queen in the gay community. There's rarely a day my friends don't
ask about you."

She scanned her desk for a distraction and
came up flat. "Thanks, Chuck. That's a wonderful invitation. But
this year I'm not in the mood. If I suddenly change my mind, I'll
take you up."

"Bring a date to our parties. There will be a
lot of straight people coming."

"Not this year. Perhaps next."

CHAPTER THREE

LIFE CYCLE BLUES

Early Monday morning, Chuck took advantage of
a call from Lyle Carberri's office to tap briefly on Gabby's door,
then enter without explicit permission and halt on the edge of her
Persian carpet. "The big man from the Big Party wants to talk with
you."

"He wants to talk politics," she lamented, at
the moment uneasy about talking with him. "Can we say I'm in
conference? That's what business people say when they don't want to
be interrupted."

"Say whatever you want. I tried taking a
message, but was told the subject is confidential."

"All right then, patch Lyle through."

A moment later, the Southern drawl of the
Director of the Democratic National Committee echoed in her phone.
"Enjoyed your service at the Greenbrier,
Raaab-bi
," his delivery lazy with familiarity. "Kye
Naah liked it too. Koreans take their religion very seriously, ya
know."

"He got me out of two scrapes in one day. I
guess he told you about our encounter jogging earlier that
morning."

"No, he didn't. But that's not unusual. Kye's
a private individual. Many think he's eccentric and don't take him
seriously. In the vote-procuring business I've learned you can't
afford to ignore him, which brings me to the business between us.
If I don't put a credible candidate into the Maryland race next
year, I'll be peddling frankfurters on the corner of K and
Connecticut Streets."

She knew he'd eventually get around to
asking. "Sorry, one of our kids just died from the fire; the other
will require a reconstructed face and lots of skin grafting. I
haven't given your matter much thought."

A moment of disappointment elapsed before he
said, "Well, Raaab-bi, I can understand that. Why sure I can, but I
didn't call to apply pressure. You made a good impression on Kye. I
took the liberty of giving him your phone number."

"Could have fooled me. I was sure I flunked
several tests at the Greenbrier. What's he want to talk about?"

"He's active in the Korean Baptist community
and expressed interest in learning more about Judaism. But knowing
him, he wants to talk about the Internet."

"If we meet, will you be present?"

"Absolutely not. I'm in the doggy condo for
inviting him to the Greenbrier. Many in this palace of rectitude
don't trust him. They'd love to delete the both of us, to use a
current metaphor. Until things settle down, Kye and I must keep our
distance. I'm sure you can appreciate the situation."

"He must have stepped on some tender
toes."

"Every prima donna thinks he can run the
Democratic Party. Kye poses a threat to the way my people run
elections. I can't afford to forget this is their bread and butter.
The quickest way to make a snarling enemy is to attack his means of
making a living."

'Wanta bet you haven't got
all
the prima donnas?" she responded, not intending
humor. "I've got a few lulus on my synagogue board."

"Now that you mention it, I can imagine you
have your hands full. Someday we should swap war stories."

"Not stories, Lyle. If you're real nice to
me, I'll show you my battle scars."

As soon the conversation ended, she buzzed
Chuck who avoided the intercom whenever possible and poked his head
through her door.

She was in the act of bending over a
cardboard beer carton beside her desk. With a push from her foot,
it slid into Chuck's view. "The photographic memory of my tenure at
Ohav. When I started, I put every picture into an album, but they
multiplied like bacteria and I gave up. Buried in here somewhere is
a shot I took of Asa sitting behind his new desk. I'd like you to
find it."

"Sure," he said, stepping forward. "And may I
ask what's so important about this particular photo. I don't think
he looks a day older than when he was installed."

"I'm interested in what's on his bookshelf. I
recall the ugly Chanukah menorah he lent to the Morgenstern girls.
It was thickly crusted in old wax, looking as if it had been used
by the Maccabees themselves when they entered the Temple grounds in
Jerusalem. I kept thinking, 'why the devil doesn't he clean it?' It
was my first glimpse into his temperament. Asa's sensitive to
things most of us aren't, but yet sometimes quite oblivious to
objects around him. He can be a lovable slob."

An empathetic smile expanded on Chuck's
cheeks. There was usually a good reason why she asked him something
like this. "So what are you cooking up now, Rabbi Gabby?"

"Oh, nothing special. It's just a matter of
curiosity."

"Your nose is growing like Pinocchio."

Her fingers rose instinctively to feel along
the bridge. "Is it?" she sounded her embarrassment.

***

The first thing Gabby noticed when she
dropped by Asa's study at 10:45 a.m. was that the menorah was gone.
He was reading
Midrash haGadol
, a
compilation of Hebrew folk tales written to explain the biblical
passages read weekly in medieval synagogues. Such folktales were
obviously a distraction from other matters on his mind. He barely
acknowledged her presence until she asked, "You okay? I'm worried
about you, Asa."

His eyes rose from the large tome lying flat
before him, Talmudic style, and landed upon her, but dropped again
to the text while his lips remain sealed. "Asa. Talk to me, please.
We're both in this together. Don't wall me out. I know you're
hurting. I came to ask if you think we should attend Janean's
funeral this afternoon."

His words barely broke a whisper. "I want to,
but my guess is David Morgenstern will throw us out."

She stepped closer to his desk, then moved
around it to place a hand on his shoulder and said. "I once had a
dear friend in California. A wonderful man who was sick for many
years. When he finally died, his wife and kids buried him privately
before notifying close friends. No funeral. No memorial service.
Nothing. One day he was alive and the next, in the ground. I felt
totally excluded. Since when should any family deny friends the
opportunity to say
Kaddish
at a burial? I
felt it was wrong then. Still do today, years later. Inside me, I'm
angry. I'm thinking, to hell with David and Laura's sensitivities.
I don't want to make a scene, but to grieve. You probably feel the
same. "If we sit in the rear, perhaps no one will recognize us. The
ceremony starts at 2 p.m. First Methodist in Chevy Chase. According
to the papers, the Reverend Claire Goldwater will conduct the
ceremony. Know her?"

"You know I make a point of avoiding
ecumenical meetings and don't frequent Methodist circles."

"I've met her at the Washington Association
of Women Ministers. I have a suspicion there are a few Jews buried
in her ancestry. And there isn't the slightest doubt in my mind
that some of our illustrious alumni are members of her
congregation. So are we going, or are we traveling the low
road?"

His lips curled into a smile for the first
time in days.

Chuck Browner usually knew which phone calls to put
through to his boss and which to postpone. He possessed an
instinctive, almost animalistic sense about strangers. When callers
got testy, he immediately lost his finely honed diplomatic craft.
His low threshold for pushy people launched a steady stream of
complaint letters to Ohav Shalom's Board of Directors, with copies
to the rabbi. On more than one occasion Gabby interceded with the
Board in order thwart a notice of termination.

When Kye Naah called, Chuck's initial
reaction was positive. He put Kye on hold for a moment and, through
the open door to Gabby's study, not only let her know who was
holding, but added an observation. "I read about Kye Naah in the
papers all the time. On the community pages he's a hero. In the
business section, he's a minister of Satan."

She took up the phone immediately.

"Rabbi Lewyn, do you remember me? The guy who
knocked you down at the Greenbrier?"

"Hard to forget. I still bear some pretty
ugly black-and-blue marks in places that don't see much sunlight. I
tried to speak with you after your fabulous presentation, but there
were too many people around."

"I called to find out about your
injuries."

"Aside from jokes about the heavy-weight
prize fighter who took his revenge, my face is healing with little
danger from scarring, thank God. The hip's a bit slower. I played
some indoor doubles with my Tuesday night tennis group."

"That makes me feel better. But if I'm
correct, something else was going on with you at the Greenbrier.
Your hands were trembling. You must light lots of candles in your
job, so I presumed something was bothering you. I hope it wasn't
because of me."

His power of observation was impressive.
"Absolutely not. You caused cuts on my face and the bruise in my
hip, but not my trembling. That started years ago when I was a
child. It still happens when I'm upset."

"Maybe I upset you."

"It wasn't related to you. A few minutes
before the service, I learned of a tragedy in my congregation. You
might have seen on TV how two young girls were badly burned in a
fire. One subsequently died. Our community is in shock. I must have
looked like a computer geek who can't type."

"You rallied nicely, and that's what
mattered. Sorry about your community. Learning about it would have
completely unnerved me, too. Incidentally, I never learned to type
properly and must hunt and peck at a keyboard. Big disadvantage in
my field. Fortunately, my company has plenty of people to cover for
me. Guess I could have written you a long email, but I wanted to
talk."

"About the DNC?"

"Yes and no."

"Has Lyle put you up to calling me?"

"No. I went to him first with my idea of
running your campaign completely on the Internet."

"I've been swamped and haven't given much
thought to politics. But if you wish, my secretary will schedule an
appointment."

"I'm a peripatetic, rabbi. Sit down meetings
are okay, but I prefer to talk while in motion. My brain doesn't
work well while I'm seated or hunched over a restaurant table. If
your hip doesn't bother you, could I entice you into a walk by the
river, perhaps? Or better yet, do you ice skate?"

"I skated a lot as a kid. These days it's
tough finding anyone to go with. My friends are lame,
self-conscious, or frightened of falling. One quipped that he's
certain each year the Zamboni operator drops chemicals to make the
ice harder. My old skating friends are content to stand behind the
barriers and watch others have the fun."

"Can you go this Sunday? We could talk on the
rink."

"Where do you have in mind?"

"How about the rink on the Mall?"

"I have duties at the religious school during
the morning and a wedding to perform at 6 p.m. But the afternoon is
free. I might squeeze in an hour or two."

"Sounds good to me, Rabbi. Then, can I look
forward to it?"

Before responding, she asked herself why
waste Kye's and Lyle Carberri's time? Didn't she have enough on her
plate without toying with politics? But her concern dissolved when
she agreed to rendezvous with Kye at the ice rink.