Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (18 page)

"Sooner if I can get a flight."

"That's not necessary. Or fair to Anina. She
deserves to complete her days in the sun as much as you. Nothing
will happen immediately. Come back on schedule. I'll talk with you
at your pad Thursday evening. No Anina; no piano. Just me and you
and what's left over from that jug of Gallo red I noticed in your
kitchen. Will that work for you?"

"You probably know that sometimes I do gigs
in local nightclubs."

"I've heard rumors."

"I'm sure some of our members wouldn't
approve."

"That wouldn't surprise me. But what you do
with your own time is not their business. A golfer has a right to
golf; a fisherman, to fish. And a piano player like you, to play
wherever and whenever he wants."

"A musician friend had a death in his family
and left town. He asked me to cover for him Thursday evening in a
Georgetown bar, a place call
Saloon Can
Do
. I'm not in the mood to play, but there's no way I can
fink out on him in the eleventh hour. Ever hear of this
Saloon Can Do
?"

"No, but I'm not current on night clubs. I'd
like to hear you play. We can talk during the break. We're in this
together, pal. Partners all the way from the unfortunate beginning
to the bitter end."

"I won't drag you down, Gabby."

"Impossible because we're not going down.
That's my promise to you, Asa. I'll see you about ten-o'clock
Thursday at
Saloon Can Do
. I'll get the
address from MapQuest."

"Some clubs are pretty seedy. You might not
want to be seen in them. I can't vouch for it. Let me call you
after I arrive."

"You know me. When I have something in my
bonnet, I'm not about to seek a postponement. How seedy could this
place be? Besides, I fancy the name.
Can
Do
? Yes we can and will do it together, pal."

***

Chuck Browner acted as Gabby's gatekeeper and
screened her calls, often leaving editorial comments. Before
leaving the synagogue Thursday evening, he reported that Stacy
Donatello, Lyle Carberri's secretary, phoned to say that she was
sending a messenger with a set of Democratic Party statements. A
lot of reading, but essential for a candidate to know.

Chuck also left his remarks. "Hey, what's
this all about? I thought you had vowed to stay out of the
Washington sewers. Do I sniff a case of Potomac fever?"

Additionally, there was a message from Stan
Melkin. He was preparing for the monthly board meeting and
acknowledged that the lawsuit took priority over other issues. The
second item of business would be Gabby's sabbatical. Combining the
lawsuit with her sabbatical was not to her liking, but then at
least she was on the agenda.

***

When her phone rang a few minutes before nine
that evening, Asa'a voice was immediately identifiable, though
there was loud rock music in the background. He was shouting into
the receiver.

"How are you feeling?" she raised her voice
as though projecting to a large audience.

"Lousy. I know this is the death knell to my
career."

"It's not ending. Careers have their ups and
downs. I know that in the seminary they never taught you that the
sun always shines."

"Chuck had you pegged from the beginning,
Gabby. When I started at Ohav, he told me you were an incorrigible
idealist and that you were too saintly to dwell in a world of
shleppers
like us. At the time, I told him
that angels don't live long, fulfilling lives. It's time for you to
come down to Planet Earth and get real. Getting sued isn't and
never was a team sport. If you insist on clinging to my shirttails,
the lawyers will chop us both up piecemeal and we'll get flushed
away individually. And that's just stupid. I'm the
kapporrah
. What's the purpose of destroying two
careers when one will suffice? It wouldn't surprise me if the board
is already building a protective wall between us."

"That's exactly what I must talk to you about
this evening."

"Don't come here, Gabby."

"We'll talk during your break."

"This isn't some fancy club for rich
gentlemen and their paramours. It's a strip joint. They advertise
it as an upscale bar but the women on stage are buck naked, without
even a Kleenex between their legs. Had I known, I wouldn't have
accepted the gig."

"Do you watch your fingers?"

He laughed for the first time. "Hell no! I
can play this stuff with my eyes closed. I'm just a red-blooded
male with dexterous hands."

"Good," she interrupted. "I hope that's
exactly who you will remain. We women complain about over-sexed
males, but we wouldn't be happy travelers if you guys lost interest
in us."

"Nothing but the entire female anatomy in all
its raw splendor."

"That's okay, friend," Gabby released an
artificial giggle. "I've seen a lot of naked women in my time. It
doesn't embarrass me, if that's what you're thinking."

"We have enough trouble with the
congregation. I'm already toast. If anybody sees you in this place,
they might be writing your epitaph with mine."

"When Michelangelo, Reuben, Picasso paint
nudes, we admire their work as masterpieces. We stare long and hard
at Rodin and Henry Moore representations of the human form. So long
as it's on canvas or molded in stone or bronze it's art. Why is
what's alive and animate considered unseemly; and what is lifeless
and dead, beautiful. Heaven forbid we see a few genitals,
responsible for producing God's greatest wonder, little
babies."

"The clientele isn't looking for beauty,
Gabby. They're a bunch of horny men, joined by a few ogling,
jealous lesbians. Sex is on their minds, not beauty."

"Remember the Agadah tale? If men didn't find
the female anatomy arousing, there wouldn't be children to populate
the world. Trust me, Asa, I can handle it. I'll concentrate on your
music. By the way, what do you play?"

"Background stuff. Jazz and a bit of rock. In
the local parlance, it's called
bump and
grind
. Do everybody a favor and don't come. We'll talk
tomorrow."

"I'm coming, Asa. The one thing I'm not is a
prig."

She didn't know exactly what to expect of
Saloon Can Do
, but her imagination was
active. The façade looked like a demure, understated restaurant. A
double door and vestibule, manned by a thin bouncer, who Gabby felt
might blow over in a brisk wind, welcomed her with a friendly
smile. A $20.00 cover charge entitled her to a black-light stamp on
the back of her hand. Piano music, which she immediately recognized
as Asa's, was accompanied by electronic drums and bass fiddle,
wafting through the L-shaped corridor into a crowded room with a
low ceiling, purposely darkened to emphasize three brightly lit
stages along the far wall. She had never heard Asa play such
rhythms, still there was a special touch identifying him. Staccato
drum taps from a Broadway musical reminded her of the rhythms she
had heard Asa beating out in Ohav Shalom's hallways.

On runways connected to the stages, three
dancers, an Afro-American, Asian and Caucasian blond, kept beat
with Asa's rhythm. She had expected to find voluptuous, busty women
salaciously stripping clothing. But the dancers were not in stages
of disrobement. They wore nothing but high-heeled stilettos. The
Asian, a petite, perfectly proportion girl in her early twenties,
sported a large lotus flower tattoo on the lower back, extending
over her left buttock. The taller Caucasian wore a string of gold
bracelets halfway along her forearm and rings that flashed in the
spotlight.

Gabby's eyes adjusted to the darkness. Around
her, men sat at tables bordering the stages, with scantily dressed
cocktail waitresses passing among them. Asa, in a white shirt, red
suspenders, and red necktie but no jacket, was seated behind an
electronic piano on a raised platform, with additional keyboards to
his left and right. She searched for a seat near him but all
appeared filled, so she sat beside a runway where the beam of a
roving spotlight caught her shoulder. No sooner had she taken her
seat when the Asian dancer gyrated just above her eye level and
lifted her leg to expose her pelvis. Gabby recoiled slightly,
wondering if she could ever become comfortable publicly revealing
such intimacy. She was impressed that none of the dancers appeared
self-conscious. Simultaneously, well-mannered male spectators
appeared to study the bodies before them with detached boredom. To
those on stage, they occasionally offered friendly encouragement
and dropped dollar bills on the platform to show their
appreciation.

Copying the beer-drinking men beside her, she
ordered a Samuel Adams from a cocktail waitress who was only
slightly more clothes than the dancers. To her left sat two
lesbians in animated conversation. Until then, it never occurred to
her that some women might be as interested in the feminine anatomy
as men. Their presence was ironically comforting. Her mind was so
occupied with questions that she lost track of time. It was only
when Asa's piano stopped for a break that her musing ceased.

He was turning off the current on several
electronic instruments when Gabby stepped forward to praise his
playing.

A lungful of air escaped through his teeth as
he greeted her, "I see you made it. If you're not embarrassed by
being here, I certainly am. I mean, what will the
goyim
think of two rabbis in a strip joint like
this?"

"I could care less what the
goyim
think. Fact is, I felt a little abashed at
first, but you get used to nudity. The female body is a pretty neat
piece of architecture, if you ask me."

"There was no way I could have gotten out of
this."

"Were I a male like you, I'm not sure I would
want to. Is there a place where we can talk?"

He looked around for a quiet corner but found
nothing. "How about a walk outside? I've got fifteen minutes before
I'm supposed to be ready for a new crop of dancers."

Outdoor air was a relief from stuffy bar atmosphere,
and street noise a relief from the amplified music. They headed
immediately along Wisconsin Avenue and turned into the nearest
residential street.

"This is the happiest I've seen you in some
time, Asa," Gabby said. "Since the accident, you've been moping
around like an injured puppy. But behind the keyboard, you seem so
contained within yourself. So much at ease and so natural."

As though he had been waiting for a moment to
talk for a long while, he blurted, "I'm not running away from
Janean's death and Tybee's injury. But I can't handle them any
longer in my rabbinic role. My faith, which was pretty thin before
the accident, is now shattered. A rabbi without faith is like a
tone-deaf musician without a beat. No sense pretending any
longer."

She was wounded by this declaration, but
rallied with a question that sounded silly the moment uttered.
"What will you do, Asa?"
"Anything's better than what I'm
pretending to do now. Hell, I can always make a living on the strip
circuit; and probably make more money than my current salary. And
what's far more important, at least in dark, sleazy joints like
this, I get some appreciation."

She reached under his arm to draw him close.
"You didn't go through all those years of training to throw in the
towel now. And you're too goddam good a rabbi to be leaving the
profession to jokers who haven't one-tenth of your talent. To lose
someone as capable as you would be a tragedy for the Jewish
community and I'm going to do everything in my power to see you
continue serving as my colleague, that is until you succeed
me."

"Tell that to Janean and Tyebee's parents who
would like to put me in the stocks and throw darts."

"They're mother and father to catastrophe.
Instead of accepting their role for what happened, they're
targeting us. Had they been home on time to celebrate Shabbat with
their girls rather than going to a bar for TGIF drinks, this
wouldn't have occurred. Dispassionate minds would never attribute
blame the way they have. The vast majority of our members at Ohav
don't believe we're guilty of malpractice or anything that
resembles it. The worst crime they can charge us with is being
over-zealous in training their kids. Doesn't Anina see it that
way?"

He glanced at his watch, nervous about the
passage of time. "She's obsessed with repairing crooked noses and
removing waxy eyelids. What does this tragedy mean to her?"
"If I
had a boyfriend like you, it would mean a helluva lot to me."

"Anina tries to be supportive but doesn't
really understand what I do. Her mind works with finite problems
and textbook solutions. For every malady, there's protocol to fix
it. She doesn't understand people who aren't like her."

"Right and left lobe brain problems. Maybe
that's what makes you guys look like such a good couple." With her
arm she gently turned Asa in reverse, retracing their route along
the sidewalk. The sight of Wisconsin Avenue ahead signaled the end
of their private time and compelled her to introduce what was
foremost on her mind. "I need your help, Asa. I know this isn't the
best time to ask, but we can't always choose our timing. I want to
run for Congress and to do that, I need you."

He halted his forward motion abruptly to
study her in the pale illumination of mercury-vapor street lamps.
"The noise inside must have scrambled my brain. Did I hear you
right?"

"You know I've been active with the
Democratic National Committee. I've been approached to run for
Congress against Toby Ryles in the Eighth District. Don't try
convincing me the idea is ludicrous. I already know that. There are
a hundred reasons why I shouldn't even consider this. I've weighed
them all. And in the end, something compels me to do this
foolhardy, ridiculous, ill-advised and preposterous thing. I must
try, Asa."