Young Wives Page 32

  Michelle felt her hands clench into fists. Yes! Now this was going the way trials in the movies went. Michelle hoped Jada was enjoying this.

  “Well, one time I remember we talked about the children a real long time because he was so worried.” Tonya paused. “And I think one time he was so tired he might have fallen asleep on the sofa. He was right in the middle of a sentence and was just so tired he fell asleep.”

  Bullshit, Michelle thought, and gritted her teeth. From the back, Jada looked so strong, so upright. And Jada was such a good mother, such a good woman, and so good looking. She had to listen to this nonsense? This woman on the bench, with her ridiculous outfit and her huge drooping breasts was …

  Then it occurred to Michelle that the judge, or for that matter any man, wouldn’t take seriously the idea that Clinton would give up sleeping with lovely Jada for a cow like Tonya Green. That was why she dressed so badly and looked so unattractive. This isn’t reality, Michelle thought. It’s theater. Just like when any punk maniac goes postal and takes out half a restaurant, but then shows up for his trial in a nice dark suit, his hair carefully parted to the left.

  “Mrs. Green, isn’t it true you’re having a sexual liaison with Clinton Jackson and have been for many months?”

  Then everything seemed to happen at once. Tonya made a moaning noise as if she were having sex with Clinton at that moment. Her water glass fell and smashed. The greasy lawyer was yelling, and Angela either repeated her question or asked another, but Michelle didn’t hear it. Tonya didn’t answer, but instead drooped over the railing, dropped her fan, and slumped forward. Clinton’s lawyer stood up, then ran to the front of the courtroom.

  “Your Honor, Mrs. Green suffers from high blood pressure and migraines. I’m afraid that—” Tonya Green slumped farther forward, and only the railing of the witness box kept her from falling to the ground. Angie and the other lawyer both ran forward to her. “I think she’s fainted, Your Honor,” Mr. Creskin said.

  “Bailiff, get the nurse up here right away,” the judge directed.

  “We’ll break for lunch until one-fifteen. If the witness has recovered, we’ll continue then.”

  Michelle saw Tonya lift her head as the court clerk and bailiff helped her down from the stand. And then, as Tonya Green was helped out of the court, Michelle could swear she saw the greaseball lawyer wink at her.

  “All rise,” the bailiff called, returning from the hall. They all did, except Michelle, who sat on her bench demonstrating both meanings of contempt.

  35

  Consisting of major performances

  “It’s not going very well, is it?” Angie asked Michael Rice. He shrugged. Angie was only happy that Laura and her mother had left. “How the hell did Tonya have a license, when we checked on licenses?”

  “Hey, Angie,” Michael said, “Creskin is using every trick in the book. You established that she didn’t know dick about the kids. And that that husband was making night visitations. So she faints, with a migraine. Most judges wouldn’t put up with that, but Judge Speed here is always impatient, and apparently his flight leaves at six tonight. That isn’t going to help us. He doesn’t want it good, he wants it fast.”

  He smiled at Angie. “Look, this isn’t the Supreme Court. He hears these Dom Rel problems all day long, every day. Unlike you, this isn’t his first case, and he doesn’t have an attachment to the plaintiff. Makes it harder, doesn’t it? When you’re so close to it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just patted Angie on her arm. “We’re doing okay.”

  But Angie knew she wasn’t. “You knew about Sneed’s alcoholism.” If only she hadn’t pushed that with Mrs. Jackson.

  Michael sighed. “Yeah. My wife was in AA for a while. I used to drop her off at meetings and see him.”

  Angie didn’t know if she was supposed to say she was sorry or not. She took a bite of her tasteless turkey on rye sandwich. Even if it had been good, from a restaurant instead of the canteen here in the courthouse (where the flavor had been hydraulically removed), she wouldn’t have been able to taste it. She could barely swallow.

  “Look, Angie, we’re almost done with his witnesses. Then you can call up our child care expert; our social worker, the one who knows the other old bitch is biased; and maybe recall Jada herself. She did really well this morning.”

  “I don’t know if I should call her. She’s melting and I don’t blame her.”

  Mike looked up. “Here she comes,” he said. “She looks plenty strong to me.”

  Michelle and Jada were coming down the hall to join them. First they’d gone to the ladies’ room again to patch up their makeup. Angie knew she should do that, too, as well as do something about her hair, but she’d wanted to review everything while Jada was gone. Now it was time to comfort and prepare her client.

  Jada sat down and coolly crossed one of her long legs over the other. Angie noticed there was a run in her stocking, but said nothing. Michelle was the one who spoke up first.

  “Can you nominate any of the witnesses for Academy Awards?” she asked. “I just saw performances that were incredible.” She sat down next to Jada, but leaned around her to peer at Angie. She looked frightened, but spoke anyway. “I’m sorry about my face, but if you want to call me, I will. Of course I might wind up fainting, too. But Jada is so dedicated, such a good mom. She could tell you every toy that Shavonne ever played with. She’s got the doctor’s phone number memorized, and could reel off Kevon’s allergies alphabetically. I can testify to all of that.”

  Angie nodded and smiled. She thought of the horrors of George Creskin’s possible cross-examination of Michelle—And exactly when was your husband indicted for drug dealing, Mrs. Russo?—and merely nodded. “I think we’re in good shape,” she said. “Michael has a doctor from Yale, an expert in child development, who we have retained to testify. And we have an expensive drug expert from the city.”

  “Is that legal?” Michelle asked. “I mean, if you pay him, doesn’t that mean he’s biased?”

  Angie shook her head. She didn’t have time for this sort of conversation now. “No, it’s standard procedure. Everyone has expert witnesses if they can afford to. Expertise is expensive, but we can’t afford not to have big guns. And that social worker …” Angie thumbed through her file. “Mrs. Elroy. Well, we can neutralize her because one of her coworkers has volunteered to testify about how biased she is, as well as how many complaints have been registered against her.”

  “Uh, Angie, could I talk to you for a minute?” Bill asked. He’d stayed when her mother and Laura had to leave. She nodded, then realized he wanted to speak to her alone.

  Angie followed him across the crowded lunchroom. The path he was taking was as twisted as the way the hearing was going. “What is it?” Angie asked when Bill finally stopped in front of the water cooler. Typical drama prop, Angie thought.

  “Mrs. Innico hasn’t shown up yet.”

  “Call the office and—”

  “I have. No word, and she doesn’t answer her phone at work, her cell phone, or at home.”

  Angie didn’t want to show her panic so she took a cup and filled it with water. “There’s still time, Bill. I have the other witnesses to present first. Keep me updated on it.” Angie gulped down the water as if it were a shot of liquor, crumpled the cup, and threw it in the trash with the perfect arc of a professional basketball player. Breathe, she told herself and turned and went back to her client.

  Angie tried not to show her fear to Jada and Michelle. “I think we’re in pretty good shape,” she said. She looked Jada in the eyes. “The only question is whether you testify or not. You did great this morning, but if I call you to the stand, then you’ll have to testify again and take his cross-examination.” Angie tried to smile at Jada, who looked exhausted. “There’s a shiny quarter in it for you if you do,” Angie tried to joke.

  Michael reached over to both women. “There’s one turkey sandwich and one ham,” he said. “Actually, you can’t tell the difference by ta
ste, only by color. The pink one is the ham. But the macaroni salad isn’t bad.”

  “Oh please,” Michelle said, turning her head away.

  “As my mother would say,” Angie told Jada with a forced smile, “you have to eat to keep up your strength.”

  “You’re the one who’s got to be strong,” Jada said.

  “We’re counting on you,” Michelle added.

  Angie looked down at the disgusting food. “Two cannibal wives were having dinner together. So one says to the other, ‘I hate my husband.’ The other one looks down at their plates and says, ‘So just push him over and eat the noodles.’”

  “I think I once saw an Alfred Hitchcock show like that,” Jada said. Michelle didn’t say anything. It was Michael who groaned and stood up.

  “Okay. Let’s go in and let the Amazing Creskin pull his last trick. Then it’s our turn.”

  Michelle was slumped in her seat when Anne Cherril, Jada’s bitch secretary and Michelle’s old coworker, walked into the courtroom. Michelle couldn’t believe it and slumped further down. Was Anne there to gloat, or to be supportive of Jada? Michelle knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, but somehow she didn’t feel like being seen by the old witch. She hadn’t expected this, but she really hadn’t expected what happened next: Creskin called Anne Cherril as his witness.

  “Objection, Your Honor.” Angie was up and really firm. Her voice was almost raised. “This witness is not listed, and there was adequate discovery time to inform us. I must insist on her not being called, or request a continuance.”

  Michelle watched as the judge looked at Mr. Creskin. “Counselor, you know better than to spring a surprise on this court,” he admonished. Good, Michelle thought. I hope he gets the judge good and mad.

  “Your Honor, this was a witness I could only locate yesterday, and the well-being of the children as my only concern, I felt that you would want to hear any testimony that would clarify the Jackson domestic situation.”

  The judge seemed to pause and consider. Then he said, “Objection overruled.”

  Michelle couldn’t believe it. Anne Cherril was going to be allowed to take the stand to talk about her boss? And talk she did. It was like a nightmare.

  “Oh, nothing was more important to Mrs. Jackson than her job,” she gabbled, bitter as old tea. Jada must be beside herself, Michelle thought. “She put in the hours, I’ll give her that,” Anne said, though she sounded as if she didn’t want to give Jada anything—just take things away. “She was always at work. Sometimes those kids would ring up and she wouldn’t even take their calls.”

  Michelle wished she had a gun. She’d shoot the woman. She really would.

  “I felt sorry for them, I did,” Anne went on. “Sometimes I talked to them myself just to give them someone to talk to.” It went on and on. Michelle got so angry that more than once she let a noise escape her lips, a low moan. Anne’s testimony was untrue, unfair, and biased, yet Michelle knew it was doing damage, big time. All those years of resentment that Anne had carried, all those years of jealousy as a black woman moved up the ladder ahead of her, spewed out in nasty little twisted factoids. “I don’t have children of my own,” Anne admitted when Angie began cross-examination, “but if I did, I would have given them a lot more time than I did my job.”

  Michelle shivered. She wondered which neighbors, coworkers, or friends would speak against Frank and against her at Frank’s trial. And she wondered what they would have to say. She suspected some people Frank knew would have a lot more reasons than Anne had to testify against him. Poor Jada. It was all horrible. What would a trial do to Michelle and her family? She shivered and put her hand in her pocket. She took out another Xanax and slipped it under her tongue.

  There was another surprise for Angie, and one worse than Anne Cherril. Creskin called a Miss Abigail Murchison. Angie searched the list of witnesses, panicking, and again, but the name didn’t appear anywhere. “Who the hell is she?” Angie asked. Creskin couldn’t keep getting away with this.

  Jada nudged her with a face Angie didn’t like to see, and whispered, “Kevon’s kindergarten teacher from last year. I tried to get her fired.”

  Angie objected and again was overruled. She grabbed a pen and began scribbling notes as Miss Murchison told how Jada showed up at school, was almost incoherent, completely out of control and irrational. “She appeared to be high on something,” Miss Murchison said.

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Angie almost shouted. The objection was sustained, but the woman continued to do her worst: Mrs. Jackson had been vituperative; she had made threats against her; she had thrown books around the classroom. When it was Angie’s turn to cross-examine, she asked for another brief recess. Clearly annoyed, Speed gave them only five minutes. She huddled with Michael and Jada.

  “She’s a nut,” Jada said. “I don’t think she ever taught a black child before. She used to make Kevon wash his hands five and six times after lunch and still say that they were dirty. She didn’t have a single book for story time with a person of color in it, except for a copy of Little Black Sambo. God knows where she got that one from. Anyway, I went in to see her and I was damn mad. I did throw a book, but it was Sambo. I also took her in about a dozen other ones. And I did tell her I would do my best to get her fired if she ever made him wash his hands more than once.”

  “Did you see the principal?” Michael asked.

  “Oh yes. She won’t show up. She’s a reasonable woman who doesn’t ever want to get involved. But the situation eventually straightened up. I also sent a letter to her and the Board of Education. It’s all on record.”

  Angie began to feel buried under the weight of all of this. She had two minutes left to make her strategy. She looked at Michael.

  “With time,” he said, “we could easily counteract all of this.” He looked at Angie. “But we don’t have time and Creskin has really played it dirty by keeping his shots surprises.”

  Just then Michelle approached them. “God, I can’t believe it,” she said. “Miss Murchinson! She gave my son trouble right after my legal stuff began. She let him sit in his clothes after he wet his pants. I can testify to that. Do you want me to? I will.”

  Angie looked at her watch. Oh boy. Creskin would make a carnival out of that: So how soon after your drug bust did this happen? And would you show the court your bruised face and tell us how you got it?

  “We have to just move on with something better,” she said. She and Michael looked at one another. Michelle leaned over Jada and hugged her, then said something awful about Anne Cherril.

  “It’s taking a big risk, but it might be all I have left” Angie said quietly to Michael.

  “Michelle as a witness? He can only question her about what you bring up if she’s your witness,” Michael said. “But if he somehow manages to open up the drug stuff, he’ll cook your goose.”

  “I hope my goose isn’t already cooked.”

  In cross-examination, Miss Murchinson didn’t exactly admit to being a bigot, but she was easily flustered. She did acknowledge that Jada had registered a protest with the principal and the Board of Education. Angie couldn’t get her to admit that she read Little Black Sambo to the class—Miss Murchinson said she couldn’t remember all the books she’d read the children—but she did admit that many parents, when upset about their children’s problems, came to the school very angry. Angie also asked if Miss Murchinson had ever heard from the children’s father, and she had to admit that she hadn’t. Angie presented it all as a strength, an indication of Jada’s commitment and involvement with her kids.

  The social worker, Mrs. Elroy, was not as bad as Angie expected. Actually, she was terrible, but easy to take down if only she’d get a little luck. She bristled with outrage during Creskin’s questions. Elroy’s drug test request and some of her other testimony was damaging, but under cross-examination she harangued the court about how working mothers should not be raising children. How motherhood was a full-time job, blah, blah, blah. She clearly s
ounded more than a few cards short of a full deck, and when Angie pulled in Mrs. Elroy’s colleague, she figured Elroy’s credibility would be demolished.

  Luckily, Judge Speed didn’t have any patience for sermons on the box. Angie felt she’d done a fairly good job of neutralizing her, and had submitted as evidence the results of the daily drug tests that they had performed at the state laboratory. Still, Angie was acutely aware that Mrs. Innico, the witness from social services who would blow Elroy out of the water, even now had yet to appear.

  Bill kept calling, and kept reporting that no one could reach the witness. Angie actually felt queasy, about ready to lose her turkey sandwich, because Mrs. Innico still hadn’t arrived by the end of Mrs. Elroy’s testimony. She would have liked to begin her witnesses with her, and the woman had promised she’d be there at lunchtime. Yet it was past two and she still hadn’t made an appearance. When Creskin was finished, the judge gave them a ten-minute recess to prepare for their witnesses. Angie asked Michael what he thought was happening with Mrs. Innico.

  “I think what’s happening is what sometimes happens. Sometimes witnesses don’t show. Just because it’s important to you and your client doesn’t mean that they don’t get flat tires, or drunk at lunch, or miss a train, or need a tooth pulled.” Mike shrugged. “Sometimes they just forget, or chicken out. She might get here. And we’ve got Anna Pollasky from Yale. She’s fabulous, and she’s sitting in the hallway. Why don’t we lead with the big guns?”

  Angie thought it over. “No. We go with Clinton Jackson. I have to nail the lying son-of-a-bitch to the wall.”

  Jada felt as if, bit by bit, she was turning to ice, or perhaps stone. From the moment early this morning when she’d walked into the courthouse and seen her husband, dressed in a new suit and wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses—the man didn’t need glasses—she’d felt as if something beyond terrible was about to go on. But as the day had progressed, she doubted her own reality. She doubted everyone else’s, too. Each participant in this charade was taking a view so different from reality that Jada had to close her eyes more than once, take a deep breath, and remind herself that she was not crazy.