Now and Forever (5 page)

Ian go to prison? Fuck you, mister.

"Yes, we have assets." She could hardly unclench her teeth.

"What kind of assets?"

"I can assure you that I could manage your fee."

"Well, I like to be sure. My fee for this would be fifteen thousand dollars."

"What? In advance?"

"I'd want half of that before the arraignment. I believe you said that's on Thursday. And half immediately after."

"But there's no way I could possibly turn my assets into cash in two days."

"Then I'm afraid there's no way I could possibly handle the case."

"Thank you." She wanted to tell him to get fucked. But by then she was beginning to panic again. Who in God's name would help her?

The sixth person whose name Philip had given her turned out to be human. His name was Martin Schwartz.

"Sounds like you've got yourself one hell of a problem, or at least your husband does. Do you think he did it?" It was an interesting question, and she liked him for even assuming there was some doubt. She hesitated for only a moment. The man deserved a thoughtful answer.

"No, I don't. And not just because I'm his wife. I don't believe he could do something like that. It isn't in him, and he doesn't need to."

"All right, I'll accept that. But people do strange things, Mrs. Clarke. For your own sake, be prepared to accept that. Your husband may have a side to him you don't even know."

It was possible. Anything was possible. But she didn't believe it. She couldn't.

"I'd like to talk to Philip Wald after he sees him," Schwartz went on.

"I'd appreciate it if you would. There's something called an arraignment scheduled for Thursday. We're going to need legal counsel by then, and Philip doesn't feel he's qualified to take the case." The case ... the case ... the case ... she already hated the word.

"Philip's a good man."

"I know. Mr. Schwartz ... I hate to bring this up, bit ..."

"My fee?"

"Your fee." She heaved a deep sigh and felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

"We can discuss that. I'll try to be reasonable."

"I'll tell you frankly, the man I spoke to before you asked for fifteen thousand dollars by Thursday. I couldn't even begin to swing that."

"Do you have any assets?" Oh Christ, not that again.

"Yes, I have assets." Her tone was suddenly disagreeable. "I have a business, a house, and a car. And my husband also has a car. But we can't just sell the house, or my business, in two days."

It interested him the way she said "my business," not "our." He wondered what "his" business was, if any.

"I wasn't expecting you to liquidate your assets on the spot, Mrs. Clarke." His tone was calm but firm. Something about him soothed her. "But I was thinking that you may need some collateral for the bail--if they make the charges stick, which remains to be seen. Bail can run pretty high. We'll worry about that later. As for my fee, I think two thousand dollars up to trial would be reasonable. And if it goes to trial, an additional five thousand dollars. But that won't be for a couple of months, and if you're a friend of Philip's, I won't worry." It struck her then that people who weren't "friends of Philip's" were in a world of trouble. She felt suddenly grateful. "How does that sound to you?"

She nodded silently to herself, aghast but relieved. It was certainly better than the fee she had heard a few moments before. It would clean out her savings account, but at least she could manage the two thousand. They could worry about the other five later, if it came to that. She'd sell the Morgan if she had to, and without thinking twice. Ian's ass was on the line, and she needed him one hell of a lot more than she needed the Morgan. And there was always her mother's jewelry. But that was sacred. Even for Ian.

"We can manage."

"Fine. When can I see you?"

"Anytime you like."

"Then I'd like to see you tomorrow in my office. I'll talk to Wald this afternoon, and get up to see Mr. Clarke in the morning. Can you be in my office at ten-thirty?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll get the police reports and see what the score is there. All right?"

"Wonderful. I suddenly feel as though a thousand-pound weight is off my back. I'll tell you, I've been totally frantic. I'm way out of my league. Police, bail, counts of this and counts of that, arraignments ... I don't know what the hell is going on. I don't even know what the hell happened."

"Well, we're going to find out. So you just relax."

"Thank you, Mr. Schwartz. Thank you very much."

"See you in the morning."

They hung up and Jessica was suddenly in tears again. He had been nice to her. Finally someone had been decent to her in all this. From police inspectors who would tell her nothing, to desk sergeants who announced the charges and hung up in her ear, to attorneys who wanted fifteen thousand dollars in cash on their desks in forty-eight hours, to ... Martin Schwartz, a human being. And according to Philip Wald, Schwartz was a competent lawyer. It had been an incredible day. And oh God, where was Ian? The tears burned a hot damp path down her face again. It felt as though they had been coming all day. And she had to pull herself together. Wald would be there soon.

Philip Wald arrived at five-thirty. His face wore an expression of grave concern and his eyes were tired.

"Did you see him?" Jessie could feel her eyes burn again and had to fight back the tears.

"I did."

"How is he?"

"He's all right. Shaken, but all right He was very concerned about how you are."

"Did you tell him I'm fine?" Her hands were shaking violently again and the coffee she'd been drinking all day had only made matters worse. She looked a far cry from "fine."

"I told him you were very upset, which is certainly natural, under the circumstances. Jessica, let's sit down." She didn't like the way he said it, but maybe he was just tired. They'd all had a long day. An endless day.

"I spoke to Martin Schwartz," she said. "I think he'll take the case. And he said he'd call you this afternoon."

"Good. I think you'll both like him. He's a very fine attorney, and also a very nice man."

Jessica led Philip into the living room, where he took a seat on the long white couch facing the view. Jessica chose a soft beige suede chair next to an old brass table she and Ian had found in Italy on their honeymoon. She took a deep breath, sighed, and let her feet slide into the rug. It was a warm, pleasant room that always gave her solace. A place she could come home to and unwind in ... except now. Now she felt as though nothing would ever be all right again, and as though it had been years since she had known the comfort of Ian's arms, or seen the light in his eyes.

Almost instinctively, her eyes went to a small portrait of him that she had done years before. It hung over the fireplace and smiled at her gently. It was agonizing. Where was he? She was suddenly and painfully reminded of the feeling she had had looking at Jake's high-school pictures when she'd gone through his things after they'd gotten the telegram from the Navy. That smile after it's all over.

"Jessica?" She glanced up with a shocked expression, and Philip looked pained. She seemed distraught, confused, as though her mind were wandering. He had seen her staring at the small oil portrait, and for a moment she had worn the bereft expression of a grieving widow ... the face that simply does not understand, the eyes that are drowning in pain. What a ghastly business. He looked at the view for a moment, and then back at her, hoping she might have composed herself. But there was nothing to compose. Her manner was in total control; it was the expression in her eyes that told the rest of the story. He wasn't at all sure how much she was ready to hear now, but he had to tell her. All of it.

"Jessica, you've got trouble." She smiled tiredly and brushed a stray tear away from her cheek.

"That sounds like the understatement of the year. What else is new?" Philip ignored the feeble attempt at humor and went on. He wanted to get it over with.

"I really don't think he did it. But he admits to having slept with the woman yesterday afternoon. That is to say, he ... he had intercourse with her." He concentrated on his right knee, trying to run the distasteful words into one long unintelligible syllable.

"I see." But she didn't really see. What was there to see? Ian had made love to someone. And the someone was accusing him of rape. Why couldn't she feel something? There was this incredible numbness that just sat on her like a giant hat. No anger, no anything, just numb. And maybe pity for Ian. But why was she numb? Maybe because she had to hear it from Philip, a relative stranger. Her cigarette burned through the filter and went dead in her hand, and still she waited for him to go on.

"He says that he had too much to drink yesterday at lunch, and you were due home last night. Something about your being away for several weeks, and his being a man--I'll spare you that. He noticed this girl in the restaurant, and after a few drinks she didn't look bad."

"He picked her up?" She felt as though someone else were speaking her words for her. She could hear them, but she couldn't feel her mouth move. Nothing seemed to be functioning. Not her mind, not her heart, not her mouth. She almost laughed hysterically, wondering what would happen if she had to go to the bathroom; surely she would pee all over the suede chair and not even know she was doing it. She felt as if she had overdosed on Novocain.

"No, he didn't pick her up. He left the restaurant to go home and work on his book, but he drove past Enrico's again on his way, and she just happened to be standing at the corner when he stopped for a light. And just for the hell of it, he offered her a lift. She didn't look like much when she got in, she was quite a bit older than he had thought. She claims thirty on the police report, but he says she's at least thirty-seven or -eight. She gave him the address of a hotel on Market where she claimed she lived, and Ian says he felt sorry for her when she invited him up for a drink. So he went up with her, had a drink--there was half a bottle of bourbon in her room--and he says it went to his head, and he ... they had intercourse." Wald cleared his throat, looked away, and went on. Jessica's face showed no expression; the cigarette filter was still in her hand. "And he says that was it. To put it bluntly, he put on his pants and went home. He had a shower, took a nap, made a sandwich, and came out to meet your plane. That's the whole story. Ian's story." But she could hear in his voice that there was more.

"It sounds fairly tawdry, Philip. But it does not sound like rape. What are they basing the charges on?"

"Her story. And you've got to remember, Jessica, how sensitive an issue rape is these days. For years women cried rape, and men made damaging statements about those women in court. Private investigators uncovered the supposedly startling fact that the plaintiff was not a virgin, and instantly the men were exonerated, the cases dismissed, and the women disgraced. For many reasons, it doesn't work like that anymore. No matter what really happened. Now the police and the courts are more cautious, more inclined to believe the women, and give the victim a much fairer deal. It's a damn good thing too, and about time ... except once in a while, some woman comes along with an axe to grind, tells a lie, and some decent guy takes a bad fall. Just like some decent women used to get hurt the way things were before, now some decent guys get it in the ... ahem ... where it hurts."

Jessica couldn't suppress a smile. Philip was so utterly, totally proper. She was sure he made love to his wife with his Brooks Brothers boxer shorts on.

"Frankly, Jessica, I think that what happened here is that Ian fell into the hands of a sick, unhappy woman. She slept with him, and then called it rape. Ian says she was seductive in her manner and claimed to be a waitress in a topless bar, which is not the case. But she could have been playing a very sick psychological game with him. And God knows how often she's done this before, in subtle ways, with threats, accusations. Apparently, though, she's never gone to the police before. I think you're going to have a hell of a time proving she's lying. Certainly not without a trial. Rape is hard to prove, but it's also hard to prove that it wasn't rape. If she's insisting it was, then the district attorney has to prosecute. And apparently the inspector on the case believes this woman's story. So we're stuck. If they've decided they want Ian's head, for whatever reasons, it'll have to go to a jury."

They were both silent for a long time, and then Philip sighed and spoke again.

"I read the police reports, and the woman claims that he picked her up and she asked him to take her" back to her office. She's a secretary at a hotel on Van Ness. Instead, he took her to this hotel on Market where they ... where they had that last drink. Given that part of the story, he's damn lucky they didn't hit him with a charge of kidnap as well. In any case, he allegedly forced her into both normal intercourse, and ... unnatural acts. That's where the second and third counts of rape come in, and the one charge of assault. Though I assume they'll drop the assault--there's no medical proof of it." Somehow Philip sounded horrifyingly matter-of-fact about the details, and Jessica was beginning to feel sick. She felt as though she were swimming in molasses, as though everything around her was slow and thick and unreal. She wanted to scrape the words off her skin with a knife. "Unnatural acts." What unnatural acts?

"For Chrissake, Philip, what do you mean by 'unnatural'? Ian is perfectly normal in bed." Philip blushed. Jessie didn't. This was no time to be prim.

"Oral copulation, and sodomy. They are felonies, you know." Jessica pursed her lips and looked fierce. Oral copulation hardly seemed unnatural.

"There was no clear evidence of the sodomy, but I don't think they'll drop it. Again, it's her word against his, and they're listening, and unfortunately, before I got down there, Ian admitted to the inspector on the case that he had had intercourse with the woman. He didn't confess to the oral copulation or the sodomy, but he shouldn't have admitted to intercourse at all. Damn shame that he did."