Farewell, Dorothy Parker (35 page)

Violet looked across the table at Malcolm, whose head was down as he picked at his no-longer-manicured nails. He looked almost as
nervous as she felt, though Violet sensed he was more worried about Sandra’s wrath than about losing custody.

“Did something happen to threaten your marriage, Mrs. Weber?” Allison Oliveri asked. “Did one of you have an affair?”

Sandra mumbled her response.

“Excuse me?” the lawyer said. “I didn’t hear you.”

“My husband,” she said.

“Your husband had an affair?”

“Yes.”

“Since you’re so sure your marriage is on solid ground, it must have happened a long, long time ago. How long ago was it—more than ten years?”

“No,” Sandra said, her voice soft.

“More than five years?” the lawyer asked.

“No.”

“More than one year ago?”

“No.”

“No? Surely it was more than six months ago?”

“Objection!” barked Gibb.

“Sustained,” said the judge.

“I beg your pardon, Your Honor,” said Violet’s attorney. She turned back to Sandra. “When, exactly, did you learn of your husband’s affair?”

“Two months ago.”

“So about eight weeks,” Allison Oliveri said.

“More or less.”

“I see. That must have been devastating. And still so fresh. When did you go into marriage counseling?”

“Last month.”

“And how long was your husband’s affair?”

“About a year, I guess.”

“So just to be clear, your husband had a yearlong affair you found out about eight weeks ago, and you just started marriage counseling last month to try to work things out. Is that right?”

“We’re dealing with it,” Sandra said.

“Thank you,” said the lawyer. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

John Gibb called Malcolm to the stand. As he was sworn in, Violet was finally able to get a good look at him. With a few extra pounds and the orange tint of his spray-on tan faded away, his face looked gray and doughy. And even in his new suit, there was a shabbiness about him. Violet thought he looked defeated.

He took the stand, and John Gibb launched right into his questions. “I understand you’ve been married to your wife, Sandra, for forty-five years, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And during all those decades, have you ever moved out of the house and separated from her?”

“No, never.”

“Have you ever contacted a divorce attorney?”

“No. We have a good marriage.”

John Gibb folded his large arms and affected a somber expression. “But I understand the relationship has had some serious issues lately,” he said.

“Yes,” Malcolm said.

“You had an extramarital affair?”

Malcolm looked down. “I did.”

“Was it your first?”

“And my last,” Malcolm said, glancing up. “It was a terrible mistake. I love my wife.”

“Thank you,” John Gibb said. “No further questions.”

That was quick, Violet thought, and she guessed that John Gibb knew that the less Malcolm said, the better.

Allison Oliveri approached him and smiled. He grinned right back, the big dope, and Violet couldn’t help feeling just a little bit sorry for him. Not that he didn’t deserve the thrashing he was about to take. Violet wrung her hands as if she could squeeze out her ambivalence.

“I understand you’re sorry for your infidelity,” Allison said gently to Malcolm.

“
Very
sorry.”

“I imagine you must feel guilty for cheating on your wife.”

He nodded. “I do.”

“I guess that’s why you went to her and confessed your sins on your own accord,” she said. “You did confess on your own accord, didn’t you?”

“On my own accord?”

Allison was going in for the kill. Violet leaned forward.

“I’ll clarify,” said the attorney. “Did you go to your wife and confess the affair before she had any idea of what was going on?”

“Not exactly.”

“When, exactly, did you finally tell her the truth?” Her tone was getting harsher, and Malcolm looked shaken, as if a new friend had suddenly turned on him.

“Well, she…she found out. But right away I was totally honest. I didn’t try to cover it up or anything.”

“I see. You were caught. And then, once your lie was exposed, you confessed. Is that about right, Mr. Weber?”

“I really felt bad,” Malcolm said.

“Yes,” Allison Oliveri said, “people who get caught usually do. Good luck with your marriage. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Malcolm left the stand wearing an embarrassed grin, and Violet squirmed. But as hard as this was, she knew the worst was yet to come. And indeed, after she was called to the stand, sworn in, and questioned by her own attorney about how she would support the child, as well as the particulars of taking possession of the house Delaney had
grown up in, it was John Gibb’s turn to cross-examine. Violet felt her armpits go damp beneath her summer suit. She held her trembling hands on her lap. Do not slip, she coached herself. You’ve come so far. Don’t let him scare you.

“
Ms.
Epps—” he began, emphasizing the pronunciation of the form of address as if it were ludicrous. “You do prefer
Ms.,
don’t you?”

Already, a lump was forming in her throat. Keep it together, she coached herself. You can do this.

“Yes.”

“Well, then,
Ms.
Epps, can you tell the court what you do for a living?”

“I’m a movie critic.”

“A critic?”

“Yes.”

“So I assume people read your reviews to decide whether or not to go see a particular movie?”

“Yes.”

“And do parents sometimes read your reviews to decide whether a movie is appropriate for a child?”

“Sure,” she said quickly, and started to understand where he was going with this. She wished she still had that magazine to fan herself.

“And do you think this is an important, responsible thing for a parent to do—to make sure the movie is appropriate before bringing a child to see it?”

She took a deep breath and tried to center herself.
You are not going to bully me,
she thought.

“Well,” he pressed, “do you?”

“Yes.”

“For instance,” he said, “if there’s full frontal male and female nudity, a responsible parent would understand that it’s an adult film, is that right?”

“Well, it would be rated NC-Seventeen, so—”

“NC-Seventeen? Isn’t that what used to be called X?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“But either way, if a movie shows a man’s genitalia it gets that rating, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So the Motion Picture Association of America has determined that no one under the age of seventeen should see entertainment showing a man’s genitals, is that right?”

Violet swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“And wouldn’t it be terribly irresponsible, if not downright dangerous, for a parent to take a child to an X-rated movie?”

“NC-Seventeen,” Violet corrected.

He paused and smiled theatrically, as if he thought that was funny. An evil grin, Violet thought, not meant to charm but to intimidate.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Excuse me, I’ll rephrase. Wouldn’t it be irresponsible and dangerous for a parent to take a child to see a movie rated NC-Seventeen?”

“The child wouldn’t even be allowed in.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. These performances are so objectionable it’s not even left to the parent’s discretion. Children under seventeen are not allowed in the theater under any circumstances, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And what is your opinion of this rule?”

“Mine?”

He looked around and held up his hands. “Who else would I be asking?”

Violet felt herself blush. It wasn’t enough to pummel her—he had to embarrass her, as well. Fortunately, her lawyer objected and the judge sustained.

“I’ll repeat the question, Ms. Epps,” said John Gibb. “What is your opinion of the MPAA’s authority over age limits?”

“I think it’s necessary,” she said.

“So you agree that if a man’s genitalia is shown on screen no one under the age of seventeen should be permitted to see it?”

“Usually, yes.”

“What if it was a live performance and not a movie? Is there any reason why that would be an exception?”

Violet’s face broke out in a sweat, but she knew it would be worse to wipe it off than to just let herself dampen. So she just licked her lips and responded. “Mr. Gibb, it was an honest mistake.”

“Just answer the question, Ms. Epps. Is there any reason why full frontal nudity in a live, theatrical performance would be
less
objectionable than the same nudity in a film?”

“No,” Violet said. “There isn’t.”

“And yet you took your thirteen-year-old niece, Delaney, to just such a show last May, didn’t you?”

“I was under the impression that—”

“Yes, of course. You didn’t know it was X-rated. But you didn’t bother to check, did you? You just subjected your innocent young niece to a pornographic performance.”

“It wasn’t pornographic.” She was doing it. She was standing up for herself, refusing to be intimidated.

“I guess that’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it? The Motion Picture Association of America would classify it as pornographic, but Violet Epps, famous film critic, thinks it’s perfectly suitable for a child.”

“That’s not true.”

“So you agree that the performance was unsuitable for a child?”

“I would never have taken Delaney to the show if I had known. I made a mistake when I assumed it would be family entertainment.”

“Would it be safe to say it was an error in judgment?” he asked.

Violet cleared her throat. It was so hard to know how to answer when she couldn’t tell what he was setting her up for. She glanced at her attorney, who gave her a small nod.

“Fortunately,” Violet said, “the girl wasn’t traumatized.”

“And how did you determine that, Ms. Epps?”

“We spoke about it. She’s fine.”

“You
spoke
about it. I see. Are you a licensed child psychologist?”

“I…uh, no.”

“Are you a therapist?”

“No.”

“Are you a social worker? A school counselor? Have you done any fieldwork with troubled teens?”

“No, but—”

“Then I’ll repeat my earlier question. Would it be safe to say that taking Delaney to a live performance with full frontal female and male nudity was an error in judgment?”

“I…uh, yes. I guess it was.”

“Seems you make a lot of errors in judgment,” John Gibb said. “What can you tell us about a woman named Daisy Buchanan?”

“She’s a character from
The Great Gatsby.
”

“Very amusing,” he said, without smiling. “It’s also the name of a friend of yours, isn’t it?”

“Well, I, um…I knew someone who went by that name.”

“And how did you know this woman?”

“We met…at the Algonquin Hotel. She’s a fellow critic. Or was. She hasn’t written for a long time.”

“But this is the same woman who was seen with your niece the day she disappeared, is that right?”

“Yes.”

John Gibb took a long pause, as if he had to think hard about his
next question, but it was pure theatrics. He was going for a long, uncomfortable silence after determining that Delaney had disappeared with Violet’s friend.

“How long was the girl missing?” he finally said.

“All day—about ten hours.”

“Ten hours. That’s a long time for a child to be lost.”

Violet closed her eyes for a moment, and the black terror of that day came back. “It felt like weeks,” she said.

“Did you call the police?”

“No, but—”

“It was the girl’s grandparents who called the police,” he said, pointing to the Webers. “Wasn’t it?”

“Well, of course. She didn’t come home on the school bus. How could I have known—”

“They spent the entire day wondering if the girl was dead or in danger, right?”

“And so did I.”

“Really? That’s very interesting, since the girl was with your friend the entire time.”

“I didn’t know!”

“Is that so?”

“Of course.”

“Isn’t it true that you were worried about your custody case, especially after your error in judgment regarding the pornographic performance was revealed?”

“Yes. I mean, it wasn’t pornographic, but of course I was worried. I love Delaney, and I want her to come home.”

“Is that why you arranged to have your friend kidnap her?”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“You realize, of course, the girl could have died without her medication.”

“It was Sandra’s fault she didn’t have her medication. She hid it.”

“Is that why you changed your mind at the last minute and pretended to discover the girl at the cemetery?”

“Objection!” yelled Violet’s lawyer.

“Sustained,” the judge said, and then addressed John Gibb. “Counselor, you’re on thin ice.”

Gibb nodded and looked back at Violet. “Ms. Epps, can you please tell the court what happened to the mysterious friend of yours who goes by the name Daisy Buchanan?”

“She disappeared.”

“Into thin air?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“And the police have been unable to find her for questioning, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And you have no idea where she is?”

“Like I said, she disappeared. But she didn’t commit any crime. In fact—”

“No further questions,” John Gibb said, and turned to walk back to his seat.

Violet looked at her lawyer, who made no move to rise and tell the judge she wanted to redirect. Please, Violet thought, you can’t just let this pass! I have more to say! Everything is riding on this.

“Thank you, Ms. Epps,” said the judge. “You’re excused.”

Violet’s heart thumped so hard it felt like a prisoner trying to beat its way out of her chest. She could barely breathe.

“Wait a minute,” Violet said, sounding winded. “I’m not finished.”

John Gibb did the slowest, foulest, meanest, most deliberate turn toward her. He seemed to twist from the bottom up: his massive frame, his head, and finally his glowering eyes, which fixed on her with a fury that tried to suck out her courage and spit it on the floor. It was
working, too. Violet’s spirit disappeared behind the rush of fight-or-flight hormones compelling her to get the hell out of there so she wouldn’t have to face this charging mammoth.