A Verdict for Love (9 page)

When Clay had first heard what was up
he’d almost pissed himself laughing. So Chiara Bianchi was a rug
muncher. He’d suspected as much. Clay had made a play for her way
back when. He’d spotted her at a party and asked her to dance. The
damn woman had a body on her and he’d gotten a little free with his
hands. The prissy wop bitch had given him the “Now, now. Be a good
boy” bit. A lot of women said that sort of thing without really
meaning it. So he’d grabbed another handful and gotten slapped hard
for it with the whole room watching. If it hadn’t been for all the
eyes on them he’d have given her one back. Nailing her dyke ass in
a courtroom would offer him the perfect chance for a long overdue
payback.

“The suit was filed this morning by
some downtown injury lawyer.” Smith was saying, “A black woman by
the name of Tamika Brown. Civil rights background. Get someone to
review her court history.”

“Sounds like a nobody to me…” Brooks
started but Smith cut him off.

“Don’t make me tell any of you again…do
not take this lightly. Ten years ago we could probably have had it
tossed out as frivolous but times have changed. Even if we do get a
friendly judge, you can bet that Butrell girl will show up looking
all blonde and angelic and Chiara will try and make us look like
shitbird angel bashers.”

“Yes times have changed, Peter, but you
needn’t worry. I will take this seriously. You just get me any dirt
at all and by the time I’m done nobody in that courtroom will be
seeing an angel. They’ll be seeing two skanky lesbos. And if that
isn’t enough to raise a stink I’ll turn the pair of them into
un-American commie skank lesbos!”

The men shared a general laugh at the
vision that inspired.

“I was assured that the case will go to
Cyrus Milton. It’s not a fix but he is an old school conservative
Judge. Best I could do.” Weinstein said.

“Has that investigator come up with
anything we can use yet?” Brooks queried.

“He says he has located a couple of
love interests from the girl’s college years. He’s looking for
more. And there was some woman living with Bianchi for awhile but
she is out of the picture now. As soon as he gets all the names and
addresses I’ll get subpoenas delivered.”

No one had anything else. On the way to
the door Smith had his arm around Clay’s shoulder.

“We need you to bring your A game to
court, Adam.”

“Relax hoss. I don’t even have a B
game.”

Peter Smith was satisfied. He liked
arrogant lawyers. They tried harder than the humble ones because
they couldn’t stand having to eat their own words.

T
he
docket was crowded and the discovery process would be lengthy. It
would take a few months for pretrial to start. In the meantime,
Chiara felt she and Grace should not just wait and worry. They
needed to keep busy

They worked very hard to maintain a
surface calm but inside they were anything but blasé about what was
happening. Then small things began occurring that added tension to
the situation. They started receiving ‘hang-up’ phone calls and one
afternoon at the Piggly Wiggly, Grace was sure someone was
following her. Paranoia began to grow.

Then one night, when they were coming
home from a dinner party with friends in Ansley Park, Chiara
noticed that a car followed them all the way back to their house on
E. Paces Ferry.

She’d watched closely and became
certain the same headlights were behind them all the way. Not
wanting to upset Grace unnecessarily, she invented a sudden thirst
for making an unplanned stop just to see if she was being paranoid
or if they were truly being followed. Sure enough as she pulled
into the Speedy Shop to buy a Coke the car slid to a stop across
the way. When she got out of the car to go inside she gave a look
in that general direction. It was a dark blue Mercedes with tinted
windows. She couldn’t see who was driving but she knew that this
had something to do with the case.

She didn’t mention the matter to Grace.
Instead, she just quietly drove them home, popping the Coke can and
sipping the sweet carbonated confection as though nothing were
wrong.

G
race had been caught up in her own thoughts anyway. She’d had
a difficult conversation on the phone with her Momma the night
before. It was over her decision to move in with Chiara. Mrs.
Butrell couldn’t understand why Grace would have moved in with her
boss, an older woman, and she certainly wouldn’t have understood
the full truth if Grace tried to explain it.

Though she had never been entirely
upfront with her parents about her personal life, Grace had also
never been outright deceitful. At this juncture though, she felt it
necessary to keep this huge development in her life private. And
she was worried about what her family was going to think when they
saw this lawsuit business going public and when they realized she
didn’t have a job. Questions would come and Grace wasn’t sure how
she would answer them. She had been putting on a brave face for
Chiara but she was feeling insecure and more than a little afraid
of what the future might hold.

At home and undressing for bed, both
women were caught up in their own thoughts. Grace decided to have a
hot shower and Chiara took the chance to make a quick phone call to
Tamika to tell her about them being tailed after the party. As she
picked up the phone to call Tamika, she heard an odd clicking
noise. She was quite familiar with the sound, having heard it many
times on tapes being played during depositions. Tapes
surreptitiously gotten from wire-tapping.

She returned the phone to its cradle,
grabbed her cell-phone and walked out back to make her call. She
knew that the cell wouldn’t be tapped.

“Tamika?”

“Chiara…what’s going on? It’s late,
girl.”

“I’m sorry. I just thought you might
want to know that we’re being tailed and I also just discovered our
phone has been tapped.”

“Hmm. Why doesn’t that surprise me,
Miss C? Those old boys are scared. We both knew they’d be trying to
find dirt on you. They have been at the county clerk’s office going
over my past cases as well.”

“Yes, you and I knew it would happen
but I’m worried for Grace.”

Tamika chuckled, “It’s a good sign,
Chiara. It means we’ve got ‘em on the defensive. At least we know
what’s what. Why not take Grace away for a week or two to relax?
This is going to be a long, drawn-out thing, honey, so you might as
well get some R&R now.”

“Yes. Tamika. I think that’s a good
idea. Sorry for the late call. You’re a gem.”

“No problem, sweetie. I’m right here in
your corner. Don’t you worry now. Good night.”

Chiara clicked off and went inside to
find Grace had already fallen asleep in their big four poster bed.
She quietly slipped under the covers and spooned in behind her to
hold the girl closer. Grace let out a small sigh in
response.

C
hiara made plans for a surprise trip to Tybee Island, where
she owned a beautiful little house on the beach. The island was
only a few minutes drive from Savannah, and she adored the place.
She felt that, as Tamika suggested, it would be the perfect place
for a get away while they waited for the trial date.

The long wait had already begun to
take its toll on both women. Chiara tried to fill the days with
diversions but the delay had them tied up in knots. They both
wanted the whole thing settled for better or worse so that they
could get on with living.

Lately, at night usually, they fought
over silly domestic things. They had screamed at one another over
things as stupid as whether the laundry had been picked up or whose
turn it was to go and get something for dinner.

That very night, as they were both
standing in the kitchen trying to figure out dinner, Chiara
suddenly exploded in anger. Her buried tension bubbled up in
domestic disgust,

“God, you’re so thoughtless, Grace.
You could have done some shopping. All you ever think about is
yourself. Why can you not just take care of something as simple as
dinner, huh? There’s nothing here in the fridge except some
three-day old pizza and there’s nothing to drink, God
damnit.”

Chiara was not on edge alone. Her
outburst made Grace explode back. In answer she picked up a
miniature butter-churn that was on the counter top and threw it at
Chiara’s head, barely missing her.

“What the hell?”

Chiara was furious and as she turned
to throw a plate in response, Grace dodged away and ran down the
hall screaming. The plate shattered against the wall as Grace
yelled, “God damn you, Chiara. Don’t take this out on
me!”

Chiara followed her into the bedroom.
Her outstretched hands moved toward the girl’s slender throat as if
she might choke her. Her flashing dark eyes penetrated Grace and
the girl quaked slightly in fear. Chiara stopped in mid-stride,
suddenly realizing that she was aroused by their argument or
perhaps aroused by Grace’s fear.

“Get on the bed, Grace and don’t mess
about.”

Grace was too scared to respond with
anything other than acquiescence. She too was becoming aroused by
the violence that had erupted between them. Beneath the violence, a
strong chord of desire was playing in her mind. As she sat on the
edge of the bed Chiara pushed Grace backward, hard, with no concern
over whether the girl liked it or wanted it.

She yanked Grace’s shorts off and
spread her legs and with no preliminaries she sucked two fingers
wet and pushed them into Grace’s cunt.

Grace grunted uncomfortably but her
eyes shifted to the familiar look of lust that Chiara knew so well
by then. Chiara pushed her fingers in and out of her pussy until it
began to make the popping sound she wanted to hear. The slapping,
popping, hitting sound of wetness on skin and fingers moving in and
out.

Chiara became deeply aroused and
Grace’s head was flung back.

“OH MY GOD. Chiara. Fuck me. Fuck me.”
she yelled.

Chiara rose above her then,
relentlessly continuing her long slapping strokes in and out of
Grace’s pussy. She rode Grace hard with her own body and hips
following each stroke, Grace came wildly, screaming

“Chiara. Chiara. Chiara. I can never
get enough of you.”

Once sated and spent they both fell on
the bed exhausted, lying nakedly spread across the bed. Sleep came
quickly.

The next morning they laughed as they
swept up the shattered ornamental butter-churn and the broken
plate.

“I’m sorry I lost it last night.”
Chiara apologized, “I acted like an ass.”

“So did I.” Grace admitted, “I’ve
never thrown anything at someone before. Thank God I
missed.”

They sat down then to enjoy a quiet
breakfast together. As Chiara spread a bit of cream cheese on a
bagel, she looked at Grace for a moment and paused before asking
her,

“What do you think about us getting
away for a bit? I have a small house down off the coast near
Savannah. It’s quiet this time of year, and I think it would do us
good.”

Grace brightened at this as she
finished up her pineapple juice.

“Definitely, Chiara. Let’s go! I’m so
tired of worrying all the time. Maybe I’ll still worry but at least
I can get a tan while I do it,” she said laughingly.

“Oh Grace. You do make me smile. Yes.
That’s the plan then. Go and pack a bag. I’ll get my stuff together
and we’ll get the hell out of Dodge.”

Chiara felt that this was a perfect
time to show Grace her little place down there. She had often
fantasized about moving to Tybee Island and never coming back to
Atlanta. And she was beginning to include Grace in the fantasy. The
stormy days ahead in court would eventually be behind them. Win or
lose they could go live down there together and find some peace in
their lives. It was a beautiful thought and one that began to take
root in Chiara’s mind.

T
hey began the journey southeastward to Savannah, driving
along 75 south until the exits became farther apart and the signs
for roadside eateries began to fade. As they picked up highway 16
they enjoyed long stretches of highway with nothing but the sun,
sky and millions of pine-trees to keep them company.

It was a lovely escape for them after
spending so much time pent up in the house worrying about the case
facing them.

They listened to music and rolled the
windows down to enjoy the soft breeze that afternoon in late
summer. It was a dreamy way to spend their time, feeling freer and
lighter because of the absence of the constant din of Atlanta in
the background of their lives.

Life was good that day. Chiara held
Grace’s paler hand in hers and their sweat mingled together in the
warmth of their palms clasped together. They spoke very little on
the drive. This was a time for wordless pleasure, a time for
forgetting.

The change in scenery
inspired an appetite so when they chanced upon a barbeque joint
called Big O’s they pulled off. The tables were oil-cloth covered
and only decorated with hot sauce and tiny pepper and salt shakers.
The waitress had her hair up in one of those antiquated styles
almost like a beehive
straight out of
Mayberry days. She was smacking her gum as she asked,