(1987) The Celestial Bed (34 page)

‘Meaning none other than the little whore herself, Gayle Miller.’

‘Gayle Miller? I don’t get it.’

‘You said that she’s still under arrest for prostitution. She doesn’t know you’re not going to put her on trial.’

‘She’ll know tomorrow after my press conference, when we drop charges.’

‘This is today,’ insisted Scrafield, ‘and she still doesn’t know. I’ve seen your file on her. I remember one thing. She’s applied to UCLA for a graduate scholarship. If word gets out that she’s being tried for prostitution, she’ll lose any chance of getting that scholarship. That girl’s got a lot at stake in being tried.’

‘Reverend Scrafield, just what are you driving at?’

Scrafield came around the District Attorney’s desk, and stood hulking directly above him. ‘Hoyt, this Gayle knows only that she’s been arrested and is about to be tried as a hooker. She must be trembling in her boots. I bet she’d give anything to be unarrested, cleared, freed. Well, what if I go to her and offer her a proposition? Give her a chance to be free.’

‘How would you manage that?’

‘By going to see Gayle tonight and presenting her with this

proposition: “You’re arrested, about to be put behind bars and your reputation ruined, but there happens to be one way you can save yourself and come out looking like Miss Purity. Turn state’s evidence, Gayle, join our side and become our leading witness against Freeberg and his surrogate whores. Claim you were misled into living that kind of life, that Freeberg is pandering and the other girls are behaving like prostitutes, and you want no more of it. Turn state’s evidence, Gayle, be our witness for the prosecution, and the District Attorney will dismiss all charges against you.” What about it, Hoyt? Would you make such a deal with her?’ ‘I sure would. Having her as a witness would make it for us.’ ‘OK, tonight,’ said Scrafield. ‘I’m going to see our friend Gayle.’ ‘Do you think she’ll go for it?’ asked Lewis anxiously. ‘She’ll go for it,’ said Scrafield grimly. ‘I’ll see to that.’

Eleven

It was not quite eight thirty in the evening when the Reverend Josh Scrafield, having discarded his clerical collar for a blue knit tie and white shirt and conservative dark blue suit, reached the front door of Gayle Miller’s house. He noted that the overhead porch light was on.

For a moment, Scrafield remained immobilised, considering carefully what approach he would take with Gayle Miller. Getting in to see her was the major hurdle. Once in her living room, he was certain that there would be no problem. His approach, of course, had to be elastic. So much depended on what kind of person this Miller woman proved to be. He had never seen her, and except for the information Hunter’s journal and Hoyt Lewis’s dossier had given him, he knew not a thing about her personally. There had been some indication, in Hunter’s account, that she was attractive and forthright. But then, Scrafield assumed, all women in this line of work must be attractive and forthright - at least attractive, to be sure.

Getting into her house was the main step, and Scrafield began to feel more certain that he had the means to accomplish this.

His hand went to the doorbell and he pressed it three times and waited.

He thought that he heard someone approaching from behind the door, and then a muffled voice inquired, ‘Who is it?’

The Reverend Scrafield pressed closer to the door. ‘I’m here to see Miss Gayle Miller on a business matter. Are you Miss Miller?’

The door opened a crack, just enough to make a portion of Gayle visible.

‘I’m Gayle Miller,’ she said. ‘What do you want to see me about?’

For an instant, at the sight of her, Scrafield was too taken aback

to speak. He had expected someone attractive, true, yet by the nature of her calling and from the fact that she had been arrested for prostitution, he had expected someone whose good looks would be cheapened and coarse. What he saw, instead, through the slit of the doorway, was a fresh and lovely young thing, startlingly lush and beautiful, gowned in some kind of pale green silk robe that indicated her body was a match for her face.

‘There’s some important business I have to discuss with you, Miss Miller,’ Scrafield said.

‘I can’t imagine what … But whatever it is, can’t it wait until tomorrow? I have an appointment, and I have to get dressed.’

‘I’m afraid this is something that has to be settled tonight.’

Gayle opened the door a little more and peered at Scrafield. She seemed to recognise him but couldn’t quite place him.

‘Who are you?’ she wanted to know. ‘What kind of business?’

‘I’m the Reverend Josh Scrafield.’

‘The evangelist? I’ve seen you on television. I thought you looked familiar.’ She paused. ‘What do you want to see me about?’

‘About your arrest this morning.’

She appeared surprised. ‘How do you know about that? Besides, why is that any business of yours?’

Scrafield felt more confident now. ‘I’ve been asked to serve as an intermediary between District Attorney Hoyt Lewis and yourself. It has to do with the District Attorney’s planned prosecution of you. He sent me over tonight to offer you a proposal concerning your arrest. May I come inside?’

She opened the door wider. ‘All right, I guess I should listen to what this is all about. Come on in.’

With a pleased and grateful smile, Scrafield entered her modest living room.

Gayle waved him towards the sofa, but Scrafield lingered briefly where he stood, unable to take his eyes from her. The delicacy of her features, the ample curves of her youthful figure, utterly belied what he had read about her in Hunter’s erotic journal. This girl resembled a vestal virgin, not the shocking and experienced sex surrogate he had envisioned from Hunter’s account.

She had tightened her silk robe in front of her, but its soft folds could not hide from Scrafield’s stare that she was clad only in a half bra and the tiniest of bikini panties beneath it. T was about to

get dressed. I have an appointment pretty soon,’ she said. ‘Please be brief. Sit down and tell me what’s going on.’

‘Thank you, Miss Miller.’ Scrafield sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, wondering what assignations had taken place here.

He watched while she adjusted a pull-up chair to face him, crossing her shapely legs beneath the silk robe, careful not to let her knees be exposed.

‘So the District Attorney sent you to see me?’ she said. ‘He has some kind of proposal about my arrest?’

Scrafield cleared his throat. ‘Exactly.’

‘Well, do you want to tell me about it?’

‘Yes, of course. The District Attorney has looked into your background and activities, which you understand is normal procedure. He knows, for one thing, that you performed as a sex surrogate for Dr Arnold Freeberg in Arizona when it was against the law. You were both forced to leave Arizona.’

Gayle bristled. ‘That’s not quite the story, Mr Scrafield. Dr Freeberg was given the opportunity to continue practising sex therapy without the aid of surrogates. He thought that would be ineffective and chose to leave the state. I volunteered to follow him. We came to California, where we thought the attitudes were more liberal’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Obviously, we were mistaken.’ She met Scrafield’s gaze. ‘Anyway, what’s that got to do with what?’

‘Perhaps it’s not precisely relevant to your current case,’ Scrafield admitted, ‘but I mention it to give you an idea of the kind of information that the District Attorney has been able to obtain about you. What is more relevant is your current status and activities. For example, we know just what you’ve been doing as a surrogate here in Hillsdale.’

‘It’s hardly a secret,’ Gayle flared. ‘Surrogate procedures have been well publicised.’ She studied the clergyman. ‘About me, what I’ve been doing - who told you about me?’

Scrafield shook his head. ‘That’s not a matter for me to disclose. That will be revealed when you stand trial. But there is other information the District Attorney has that may be of even more interest to you.’

‘Like what?’

‘You wish to enter graduate school at UCLA. You can’t afford it without a scholarship. Recently, you applied for a scholarship.’

‘Is there anything wrong with that?’ said Gayle belligerently.

‘Not from the District Attorney’s point of view. Only from yours. Because once your arrest for prostitution has been disclosed, and once you go on trial so charged, it seems unlikely that you will be a successful candidate for a scholarship.’ Scrafield paused. ‘This could hurt your future. District Attorney Lewis made it clear to me he does not wish to hurt your future.’

Gayle seemed to slump. ‘All right, what are you leading up to?’

When Gayle slumped, her breasts moved, and Scrafield was mesmerised. Her breasts were full, ripe, the best he had seen in years. No wonder Hunter had been able to get it up, Scrafield thought, and no wonder Hunter had not wanted to testify against her. He was probably hoping for an encore with this lush creature.

Scrafield had hardly heard what Gayle had been saying. Distracted, he said, ‘Uh, Miss Miller, do you have a drink in the house? I find this assignment a bit difficult, and a shot of whisky might make it easier.’

‘I have some Scotch, but I don’t have much time.’ Reluctantly, she came to her feet. ‘Oh, all right, I’ll get you a shot.’

She started off to her kitchen. Her ass undulated. Scrafield felt the stirring between his legs. This was unseemly, and he tried to ignore his reaction.

‘Uh, Miss Miller, make it a double if you don’t mind.’

‘OK.’

She returned with the double shot, no ice, handed it to him and sat right down.

As Scrafield swallowed the whisky in two gulps, Gayle said steadily, ‘What are you leading up to? You say the DA doesn’t want to hurt me. Then what does he expect to do putting me under arrest?’

Scrafield savoured the effects of the Scotch. ‘That’s better. Thank you. What does the District Attorney want to do? He arrested you to throw a scare into you, bring you to your senses. But he has no desire to try you in court, make a public spectacle of you. He would rather make you into a useful member of our community.’

‘How?’ asked Gayle suspiciously.

‘By offering you a deal that would enable him to drop the charges against you, not reveal your name, and to offer you freedom from further prosecution.’

Gayle’s suspicions mounted. ‘What kind of deal?’

‘He has authorised me to inform you that if you will turn State’s Evidence, all charges against you will immediately be dropped.’

Gayle’s face displayed an expression of hope. Yet, she remained cautious. ‘Turn State’s Evidence. What does that mean?’

Through her thin robe Scrafield could discern the outline of her thighs, and the lines of her panties. He tried desperately to concentrate. ‘State’s Evidence, a great opportunity, would give you a chance to join the prosecution as a firsthand witness for the District Attorney.’

Gayle stiffened. ‘Witness against whom?’

‘Why, against the other defendant in the case,’ Scrafield went on smoothly. ‘You need only take the witness stand for the prosecution and admit you committed all the acts you did under the direction of the other defendant.’

Gayle glared at the clergyman. ‘The other defendant being Dr Freeberg?’

‘Yes, Dr Freeberg, of course.’

Gayle was on her feet. ‘You want me to testify against Dr Freeberg? Are you crazy?’

‘I’m simply trying to help you,’ said Scrafield innocently. ‘Only trying to get you out of trouble.’

‘By putting a wonderful, decent man in jail, a man who’s done nothing wrong ever? You want me to turn against the man who’s done so much for so many people, myself included?’

Scrafield came to his feet quickly, imploring her, ‘Miss Miller -Gayle - be reasonable. The District Attorney and I are offering you a chance to be free. In court you won’t have to accuse Freeberg of anything - simply, under oath, relate how he paid you to have sexual acts with strange men.’

‘You expect me to crucify Dr Freeberg - have him found guilty of pimping?’

‘Pandering,’ Scrafield tried to correct her.

‘You want to turn me against one of the finest human beings I’ve known in my life? You’re plain out of your mind. I wouldn’t do that in a million years. I’d rather go to jail forever than turn against Dr Freeberg.’

‘Gayle, he’s a panderer,’ Scrafield repeated evenly. ‘Don’t sacrifice yourself for a - ’

‘And you, you’re a fucking Holy Joe!’ she interrupted angrily. ‘Now get out of here with your goddamn propositions! I don’t want to see you or hear from you ever again! You fucking bastard, get out of here!’

Scrafield trembled with excitement at her sluttish language. Underneath the virginal facade, she was a hooker through and through, a real piece of ass who had handed it out, for pay, even for free, to dozens and dozens of men.

‘You heard me!’ she shouted at him. ‘Get out and leave me alone!’

Scrafield walked slowly to the door, with Gayle at his heels.

‘Please reconsider,’ he mumbled.

‘Beat it!’ she cried out, and as he put his hand on the doorknob, she pivoted angrily away and rushed towards the entrance to her bedroom.

Scrafield opened the door to leave, looked over his shoulder, and what he saw in the bedroom made him slam the door shut, while he remained inside the living room.

He could see her in the bedroom, pulling off her silk robe and throwing it aside. Between her lace half bra and her abbreviated transparent panties, her body was silkier than her robe had been. As she turned to survey herself in a mirror, he had a full front view of her, and even from this distance believed he could make out the long dark triangle of pubic hair at the crotch of her panties.

Scrafield felt his heart beginning to hammer. He’d had women through the years, many of them, often some of his unhappily-married parishioners who worshipped his golden voice and obvious virility. He’d also enjoyed the favours of Darlene Young regularly for several years. He accepted Darlene’s servicing him, although lately he had begun to think her too fat and just a little too far along in years to provide him any real titillation.

But this sexy slut in the bedroom … She was the most desirable female he had ever seen. He could not leave. He had to have her. In the end, it would mean nothing at all to her. She’d had a thousand men before. He’d merely be the thousandth and one.