Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (38 page)

***

When Gabby phoned Asa at the Clift Hotel in
San Francisco, he was not in his room. She left a short message on
the hotel's voice mail system, purposely failing to mention her
unpleasant confrontation with members of the synagogue board.
Coming to grips with her feelings about that meeting required
ruthless honesty, something never easy under the best circumstances
and particularly difficult when her feelings about running for
office were hopelessly scrambled. She appreciated the caution of
the Board of Directors – each individual, assuming personal
responsibility for the synagogue's long-term welfare. Nor was she
insensitive to concerns about her running for public office against
Toby Ryles and a dating relationship with a Korean. Still, she was
also deeply disappointed that after years of service she had failed
to engender a reserve of trust in her judgment. Didn't they know
she would never willfully harm the congregation? Or the Jewish
community?

That evening, Kye's presence was reassuring.
She stopped at a Safeway on the way home to buy fresh asparagus and
pasta to show off what, by now, had become a recurring joke between
them, were extremely limited culinary skills. He liked being in the
kitchen, cleaning pots and utensils as fast as she managed to dirty
them. Together, they produced a pasta dish, flavored with the hot
Jalapeño peppers from New Mexico, which his palate savored more
than hers. Both were fast eaters, claiming the same excuse of
working in jobs where they were constantly on the run and were
accustomed to wolfing down food. They did not linger over tea. As
soon as they had loaded the dishes into a dishwasher, there was
work to be done.

On a coffee table in the living room, Kye
booted three parallel laptop computers and a single palmtop. Gabby
joined him on the sofa to practice toggling, upgrading and
downgrading screens, then transferring packets of data between
them. During an election campaign, most candidates rely heavily
upon technicians to manage requests from potential voters. In Kye's
view, a candidate able to react immediately, without the
intervention of helpers, expedites the process and thereby creates
a dedicated voter. Personalize email from a candidate, he declared,
was equivalent to a handshake on the stump. And what voter shakes a
hand, then votes for the opposition? Gabby was required to learn a
dozen
what-if
situations; each demanding
repetitious practice until her reactions were honed. During these
exercises Kye remained patient and encouraging.

"Easy for you," she muttered. "You were born
with a monitor in your crib."

"And you, with dreams in your little head,"
he said while placing his hands on her and drawing her against his
chest. She liked the easy familiarity of his touch and folded her
arms around him. Their lips met then wandered over unexplored
regions of the chins and necks, followed by deeper arousal. Rolling
on the sofa she felt the strength of his interest against her upper
thigh. A part of her cautioned against further sexual intimacy. How
many times had she witnessed other women besotted by the men they
slept with? And it was never clear to her as an observer whether
they had slept with their partners because they loved them or
whether they loved them because they slept with them. Despite
reservations that rumbled within, part of her welcomed the fires of
love, whatever their mad consequences. The world, she told herself,
was moved as much by madness and passion as rational design. Had
not God endowed his creatures with as much emotion as reason? Her
fingers fumbled with small, resistant buttons on Kye's flannel
shirt, but then stopped abruptly.

Her telephone on the breakfront further
deadened this foreplay. Both pretended not to hear until the
answering machine answered and her out-going message cycled through
the speaker. The in-coming message brought a familiar voice.
"Gabby, it's Asa in San Francisco."

San Francisco had slipped from her mind. She
paused to lift her head from Kye. It was no longer urgent to speak
with Asa, yet she knew that making contact with him later might be
difficult.

"I've got wonderful news to share with you
about
Jazzman's Sorrow
…." His voice
continued through the speaker.

She placed a hand under Kye's chin and
stroked affectionately along his cheek, then untangled herself to
step over to the breakfront and snatch the receiver, her eyes
remaining on him.

She said, "Hey, Asa, it's Gabby. I'm here.
Good to hear your voice. I wanted to report about today's meeting
with the insurance people in Baltimore. But first, tell me your
good news. We could use some."

"The San Francisco Symphony Orchestra wants
to play my work next season and has offered me a ton of money to
score it, giving me a big bonus if the work is fully ready for
rehearsal in four months. I also got a call from Jonas Demarco,
musical director of the Los Angeles Symphony. He wants me to fly
down tomorrow and talk about a commission to write two new
compositions. I never thought anybody was listening."

"That's fabulous news, Asa. You deserve every
ounce of this recognition and more, too! I want you to become the
most successful composer in the country. How's San Francisco?"

"Yes. Yes. Absolutely," excitement echoed in
his voice. "Gabby, I can breathe here. In Washington, everything
feels so stifling. But it's the cool air and the vitality of this
city, the colors, the vistas, the ambience. Does that make any
sense?"

"Remember, I am a California girl. Of course,
it makes sense. Once people plant their feet in the Golden State,
they're lost forever in paradise. Nothing has changed since the
Gold Rush. That's why California has over forty million residents,
four times as many as when I was born there."

"Tell me what happened in Baltimore," he
changed subject abruptly.

"My news isn't as good as yours. Dominion
Mutual has offered to settle with the Morgensterns for up to ten
mill. That's the limit of Ohav Shalom's insurance. But Marc
Sutterfeld is adamant about receiving all forty-six. Ohav hasn't
got the money to make up the shortfall. Looks like we're going to
court. Dominion attorneys are preparing for trial."

A long pause elapsed on the other end.
"That's more than I expected. I didn't think the insurance company
would cough up even their share of the money. Do you think we could
talk with David Morgenstern?"

"He hasn't wanted to talk with us in the
past. Why now?"

"Because he would be ten million dollars
richer. It may not compensate for his suffering, but then would a
hundred million make his loss any easier? Or a million million.
Perhaps he's mellowed."

"I'll have a word with Stan Melkin about it,
but don't hold your breath. In the meantime, enjoy California. I'm
so proud of you, Asa. Reuben Blass boasts about you as if he gave
birth to Ludwig Beethoven. Someday, I hope you'll put the entire
Shabbat
service to music and lift our
worshippers into heaven on angels' wings. Don't rush back. Enjoy
your glory and the sunshine. I'll cover for you at the synagogue.
Can Anina join you?"

"No, I don't think so. She's busy. Besides,
after a few bars of anything but hard rock she falls asleep."

"Oh, I doubt that. I know how she admires
you. Remember, friend, it takes all kinds of people to make this
crazy world run. Keep in touch, please. I'm positively ecstatic
about your success."

"I'm worried about you and Ohav Shalom."

"Don't be. We'll take care of ourselves.
Somehow, things will work out. They always do."

Kye was standing in front of his laptops,
straightening his clothes as she returned to take him in her arms
with a silent bear hug. Moisture from her eyes smeared his neck but
he said nothing and just listened to her labored breathing.

"What's wrong?" he eventually asked.

She enlarged the space between them, though
her hands remained on his waist. "Asa is going to be the success
Reuben Blass predicted. I know what happens when people move to
California; they seldom come back. He won't be here to cover for me
during the election. And I can't ask him to sacrifice his career to
facilitate mine. I'm going to lose him, Kye. It's inevitable
now."

"If you ask him, he might remain in
Washington through your sabbatical."

"That wouldn't be fair and, besides, you
can't do that to an artist. They work by inspiration not an
appointment calendar."

"I don't see how that will affect your race,"
he said, suddenly sounding boorish to himself because he knew
exactly where her logic was heading.

"If Asa isn't here to cover for me, I can't
run. This isn't complicated."

"Why sacrifice your future for Ohav? Since
when have they honored their pledges to you?" His voice was studded
with injury. "They're constantly asking what have you done for them
lately. When have they considered
your
feelings? Or
your
sabbatical?"

She pursed her lips. "I don't think they
have. But that's not what I signed up for. Nobody who enters the
clergy expects equal or even fair treatment. It isn't tit for tat.
What else can I tell you? That's just the way things are. Members
of Ohav Shalom aren't saints. But they're not devils either."

He unhooked her arms and leaned over the
laptops to close down software and detach the cabling. Given
Gabby's frame of mind, there was no purpose in continuing their
work.

"Stay with me tonight," she said, her voice
devoid of its usual clarity.

He continued to gather his equipment. "Not
tonight, Gabby. I've got things to think about, too. Let's talk
tomorrow. I understand what's happening. In the end, you're
unlikely to leave your congregation. They've got you caught like a
fly in a spider web. If you weren't so damn good at what you do,
I'd advise you to fight like crazy for your freedom. But when I
heard you explain the Bread of Affliction on Passover, something
snapped inside me. I knew then that you'd never run for Congress.
Sure, you might go through the motions, like learning my software
programs and perhaps making a few speeches on the Internet. But in
the final round, you'd return to your synagogue. Who the hell am I
to tell you that's a mistake? It probably isn't."

She snuggled against him again, but he
unhooked her arms and stepped back. "And the other thing I learned
when you lifted that
matzah
before the
camera is how much I admire you."

"Stay with me tonight," she pleaded, her
hands on his arm.

"Sorry, Love. This has major repercussions
for my business. If you're not going to be my showcase candidate,
I've got to make changes at the shop and make them fast. By
tomorrow, maybe I'll have a clearer picture."

His laptops fit into two leather carrying
cases. When all was packed, he needed both hands to lift them and
was unable to return Gabby's hug. She planted herself in his path
and delivered a half-dozen small kisses to his cheek, then pulled
away, her eyes ready to flood with tears.

"I'll wait for your call tomorrow," she said
in the vestibule as he prepared to move through the front door
toward the street.

"Absolutely," he responded, sounding eager to
get away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BROKEN HEART

You could argue that Asa's phone call from
San Francisco was the catalyst that forced Gabby to face reality.
She had permitted herself to consider running for Congress by the
attentions of the Democratic National Committee, the president,
Kye, and, not the least in importance, by personal ambition and
growing uneasiness with her rabbinical career – all powerful
inducements. She had asked herself how different leaving Ohav
Shalom was from ambitious politicians who constantly abandoned
their supporters to seek higher, more prestigious office. Yet an
honest appraisal of her qualifications left gaps that could not be
ignored, particularly a dearth of political skills or the desire to
acquire them, as evidenced by her continuous conflict with Ohav
Shalom's Board of Directors. And now that Asa Folkman was
transitioning into a new career, the delicate balance she had
nurtured disappeared. For Ohav Shalom to be one rabbi short was
undesirable but manageable, a condition that had occurred when she
filled-in after Rabbi Greer's resignation. For the congregation to
be without rabbinical services was intolerable. She simply could
not leave her congregants high and dry.

In a mental replay of her dialogue with Kye,
there was much she would have liked to rephrase. In retrospect, she
was forced to admit that her ambivalence about running for Congress
induced a sort of vagueness. The last thing she wanted was to
jeopardize
Politicstoday
, yet she also
bore indisputable responsibility to those in her congregation. She
chided herself not for Kye's debts, but for feeding him with false
hope. How could she have led him down a false path?

Gabby didn't wait for him to initiate a new
conversation, but called his mobile phone and left emails at
several addresses.

Her own email box was stuffed with messages
from friends, but regrettably nothing from him. It was maddening
not to speak with him and she blamed herself for not doing a better
job of communicating when the opportunity availed itself. Her brain
counseled her to be patient and let the dust settle so that saner
minds might prevail. But a fire burning inside continuously upset
her deliberations. She wanted to hold Kye in her arms and smother
him with kisses, to let their bodies speak in a language their
minds did not recognize. Over and over, she repeated his parting
words in which he promised to call and, she told herself, it was
unlikely he would not fulfill his word.