(1987) The Celestial Bed

by Irving Wallace

  ‘Let go of him,’ ordered Lewis. The District Attorney studied

  Hunter. ‘Chet, this may have been a momentary aberration on your part. I don’t know what’s behind it, but you deserve another chance. Are you going to stick to the script and be my witness?’

  ‘No,’ said Hunter. ‘I absolutely refuse to testify for you.’

  ‘You can’t refuse to testify,’ said Lewis evenly. ‘That’s a crime in itself. If you won’t testify voluntarily, then I’ll have you subpoenaed to stand as a witness.’

  ‘You can do that, and I’ll comply,’ said Hunter. ‘But the one thing you can’t do is make me be a friendly witness for the prosecution. In fact, I’d be a very bad witness for you. The defence would be happy to have you put me on the stand. Need I say more?’

  The District Attorney sat silent and fuming in his chair.

  ‘I guess that’s all there is to say,’ concluded Hunter. ‘I’d better go now. Hope to see you again one day - but it won’t be in court.’

  With that, Hunter turned and left the office.

  As Hunter entered the City Hall corridor outside the District Attorney’s office, he felt a vast sense of relief. He had not known how he would stand up under the pressure from Hoyt Lewis and the Reverend Scrafield, and now he felt that he had stood up quite well. He had not been craven. He had shown courage. He suspected, as Suzy had suggested, that he owed Gayle more than merely his repaired sexuality. In restoring his manhood, Gayle had somehow restored his morality and his confidence in his future. He was pleased he had not sold her out.

  Proceeding up the corridor, he thought that he heard his name called out. He halted, then whirled about to see if either Lewis or Scrafield was calling to him.

  The person leaving the men’s room, who was trying to get his attention, was neither Lewis nor Scrafield, but someone else he had not expected to see again.

  ‘Chet,’ said Otto Ferguson, approaching him, ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘Waiting for me?’ said Hunter with surprise.

  Ferguson came before him. ‘I wanted to have a few words with you. I tried to find you, and then guessed you probably came here. When I verified with Lewis’s secretary that you were indeed here, I hurried straight over to stand by until you came out. I suspect you were having a heavy meeting in there.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Hunter, still confused by the editor’s presence, ‘it was a very heavy meeting.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Ferguson, his gaze fixed on Hunter. ‘Did you tell them you’d be their witness, or did you change your mind?’

  Hunter blinked at the editor. ‘I changed my mind. I refused to cooperate with them.’

  ‘I’m mighty glad,’ said Ferguson. ‘If you hadn’t I wouldn’t be here speaking to you.’

  Hunter was now thoroughly bewildered. ‘What are you talking about, Mr Ferguson? You’re the one who got me into this whole thing in the first place.’

  ‘That’s before I knew what Dr Freeberg and his surrogates were really up to,’ said Ferguson. He pulled a roll of papers out of his jacket pocket and waved them at Hunter. ‘Now I know.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Hunter.

  ‘Your own pages. The journal you sent over to me earlier today. Chet, when all this started, naturally I was suspicious of Freeberg’s operation; and I thought your story might be too raunchy for family reading. That’s why I advised you to make it into a political issue. I felt that as a political issue, it would be valid for me to run all the sex stuff, especially if the DA brought up charges of pandering and prostitution. But I was wrong. I was misguided by my lack of facts.’

  Hunter’s bewilderment was total. ‘What do you mean?’

  Ferguson shook the story under Hunter’s nose. ‘I mean this. I read every word of it, and it really shook me up. You come through sounding like a decent, compassionate creature who desperately needed help, and Gayle comes out like an angel of mercy.’

  Hunter stared at Ferguson with disbelief. ‘You - you liked what I reported on the surrogate treatments?’

  ‘I loved it! It has all the elements of a perfect story - a suffering hero filled with inner conflicts and defeat, a beautiful heroine who will do anything to save him, then boy meets girl, and after weeks of suspense, the boy is saved and we get a happy ending.’ Ferguson paused. ‘It’s all true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Every word, Mr Ferguson.’

  ‘Well, there are thousands and thousands of people out there, silently and secretly suffering from sexual disabilities, and your

  personal account could give them a chance of happiness.’

  Hunter’s mouth had gone dry. He found breathing difficult. ‘What are you saying, Mr Ferguson?’

  ‘I’m saying I’m going to run your surrogate story almost in its entirety as a series of articles under your own by-line. I may ask you to edit out a bit of the overt sexuality - some judicious cutting, a few euphemisms, might make it more acceptable without distorting or compromising the honesty of your narrative.’

  ‘You’re going to let me edit it?’

  ‘Of course, once you’re behind your desk at the Chronicle.’ He grabbed Hunter’s hand and shook it. ‘Congratulations, Chet.’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  Ferguson winked. ‘As you grow older, my son, you’ll learn that virtue is sometimes rewarded. Be in my office at ten tomorrow morning. We’ll discuss your salary.’ He started away, then stopped and turned. ‘I hope you have someone who’s going to benefit from all your newly acquired sexual wisdom.’

  ‘I have! We’re getting married!’

  i hope Gayle gets to catch the bouquet thrown by the bride.’

  After Ferguson had left, Hunter stood in the corridor, dazed by the turn of events.

  Then he started to run in search of a phone, to let Suzy Edwards know that they could now get married as soon as possible.

  Inside the District Attorney’s office, Hoyt Lewis sat bent over, elbows on his desk, hands holding his aching head, a picture of utter dejection.

  Only an hour before, he had never been happier. After reading what Hunter had uncovered and was ready to stand witness to, Hoyt Lewis’s wildest dreams of his glorious future had seemed close to reality.

  And now, because of a mushy-headed witness who had refused to testify for him, Lewis’s ambitions had all gone up in smoke.

  ‘Disgusting, absolutely disgusting,’ he muttered.

  The Reverend Scrafield, who angrily continued to stride back and forth in front of Lewis’s desk, agreed.

  ‘I could kill that dumb son of a bitch,’ Scrafield growled.

  Lewis took his chin off his hands, and tried to straighten up. ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do. Hunter’s got us by the balls, so to speak. We’ll have to call it quits.’

  ‘What about your press conference?’ Scrafield wanted to know.

  ‘I’ll go through with it, but make only a brief announcement stating that we were misinformed about Dr Freeberg’s operation and that we are dropping our charges. I’ll have to say that although Freeberg and Gayle Miller are presently under arrest, we will drop the charges against them immediately.’

  Hoyt Lewis realised that Scrafield had stopped abruptly before his desk and was looking down at him. ‘Wait a minute,’ said Scrafield slowly, ‘I think I’ve got an idea that can resurrect our case.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You reminded me of something,’ Scrafield said, ‘that Gayle Miller is still under arrest for prostitution. She is under arrest, isn’t she?’

  ‘Of course, but we can’t proceed against her. Without a witness, we have no case.’

  ‘Hold it,’ said Scrafield. ‘I have an idea. What if I came up with a perfect witness, a witness twice as good as Hunter might have been?’

  Lewis became alert. ‘Meaning whom?’

  ‘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?’
<
br />   ‘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.’