Now and Forever (7 page)

He spent another ten minutes explaining the arraignment procedures: a simple appearance in court to put the charges on record, establish the bail, and set a date for Ian's next appearance in court, at a preliminary hearing. The victim would not be at the arraignment. Jessica was relieved.

"Is there a number, Mrs. Clarke, where I can reach you today if I need you?" She nodded and scribbled the number of the boutique. It was the first time she'd thought of going in.

"I'll be there after I see Ian. I'm going over to see him now. And Mr. Schwartz, please call me Jessica, or Jessie. It sounds like we're going to be seeing a lot of each other."

"Yes, we will. And I want you back in my office on Friday. Both of you, if you've managed to get Ian out on bail. The "if" sent a shiver down her spine. "No, actually, make it Monday. In case you do get him out, you two will deserve a little time off. And then we'll get down to work in earnest. We don't have much time."

"How much time?" It was like asking a doctor how long you had to live.

"We'll have a better idea of that after the arraignment. But the trial will probably come up in about two months."

"Before Christmas?" She reminded him again of an overgrown child as she asked.

"Before Christmas. Unless we get a continuance for some reason. But your husband told me this morning that he wants to get this over with as quickly as possible, so you could put it behind you and forget it."

Forget it? she thought. Who would ever forget it?

He stood up and held out a hand, removing his glasses for a moment. "Jessica, try to relax. Leave the worrying to me for a while."

"I'll do my best." She stood up too, shook his hand, and he was once again taken aback by her height. "Thank you, Martin, for everything. Any message for Ian?" She paused in the doorway.

"Tell him I said he's a lucky man." His eyes warmed her and she smiled at the compliment and slipped out the door.

Martin Schwartz sat down, swiveled his chair to face the view, chewed on his glasses, and shook his head. This was going to be a bitch of a case. He was sure Ian hadn't done it, but they both would be a real problem in court. Young, happy, beautiful, and rich. The jury would resent his screwing around on a woman like Jessie; the women in court would hate Jessie; the men in court would dislike Ian because they wouldn't believe that writing was work. And they looked as if they had too much money, no matter how sensible the explanation of Jessie's inheritance was. He just didn't like the looks of this case. And the victim was obviously a strange woman, maybe a sick one. His only hope was that they'd find out enough on her to destroy her. It was an ugly game to play, but it was Ian's only chance.

Jessica stopped in the lobby to call the boutique. Zina's voice was concerned when she heard her.

"Jessie, are you all right?" They had finally tried her at home at ten-thirty that morning, but she had already gone out.

"I'm fine." But Zina didn't like the sound of her voice. "Everything okay at your end?"

"Sure, we're okay. Are you coming in?"

"After lunch. See ya later." She hung up before Zina could ask more questions and went to reclaim the Morgan from the garage. She was off to the Hall of Justice to see Ian.

She was two thousand dollars poorer, but now she felt better. She had left the check in a blue envelope with the secretary at the front desk. The first part of Martin Schwartz's fee. She had been as good as her word. Now there were a hundred and eighty-one dollars left in their joint savings account, but Ian had an attorney. What a price they were going to pay for one piece of ass!

She tried not to let herself think as she drove across town. She wasn't so much angry as confused. What had happened? Who was this woman? Why was she doing this to them? What did she have against Ian? After speaking to Martin, Jessie was more certain than ever that Ian had done nothing wrong--except pick the wrong woman for an afternoon of delight. Oh Jesus, had he picked the wrong woman!

She found a parking space on Bryant Street, across from a long strip of neon-lit bailbondsmen's offices. She found herself wondering which one she'd be haggling with by the next afternoon. They all looked so sleazy; she wouldn't have wanted to enter any of those places to get in out of the cold, let alone to do business. She walked quickly into the Hall of Justice, where a metal detector checked her out while a guard rifled through her handbag. She had to stop for a pass for the jail, show her driver's license, and identify herself as Ian's wife. There was a crowd of people standing in line, but the line moved forward quickly.

It was a shaggy, disheveled-looking lot of humanity, and she was strikingly out of place. Her height set her apart from the rest of the women and most of the men, and the navy blue suit looked absurd. There were white women in imitation leather pants wearing fake leopard jackets, beehive hairstyles, and floppy white sandals. Black men in puce satin, and black girls in what looked like cheap satin nightgowns or pajamas. It was an interesting crowd, but for a movie, not for a life. She couldn't help wondering if the woman Ian had slept with looked like one of these. She hoped not--not that it mattered at this point. Her knees were already quaking, and she didn't know what she'd say to him. What could she say?

Her hand trembled as she pressed the elevator button for the sixth floor. There was an alternating sensation of sinking and rising in her stomach as she wondered what the jail would be like. She had seen it briefly the one time she had bailed him out, but there had never been time for a visit, thank God. She'd just gone down and gotten him. This time it was all so different.

The elevator let her out on the sixth floor, and all she knew was that she wanted to see Ian. Suddenly she knew she could crawl through any amount of fear and anger, over a thousand puce satin pimps, just to get to Ian.

The visitors waited in single file outside an iron door and a guard let them into the room beyond in groups of five or six. They made their exit through another door at the far side of the room. But it seemed to Jessie that they were being swallowed up, never to be seen again.

A moment later, Jessica was inside. The room was hot and stuffy, windowless and fluorescent-lit. There were long glass panes in the interior walls with little shelves on either side holding telephones. She realized then that she would see him through a window. She hadn't thought about that. What could you say on a phone?

His face appeared in a far window as she wondered which one to go to, and he stood there, watching her as she felt tears burn her eyes. She couldn't let herself cry ... couldn't ... couldn't ... couldn't! She walked slowly toward the phone, feeling a vise tighten around her heart and her legs turn to straw, but she was walking, one foot after the other, and he couldn't see her hands tremble as she waved hesitantly. And then suddenly she was facing him, and she had the phone in her hand. They watched each other briefly in silence. And then he spoke first.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

He was silent again for a moment and then nodded with a small, crooked smile.

"Terrific." But the smile faded quickly. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry to put you through this. It's all so crazy and so goddam ... I think all I want to tell you, Jess, is that I love you, and I don't know how this whole fucking mess happened. I wasn't sure how you'd take it."

"What did you think? That I'd run away? Have I ever done that?" She looked so hurt he wanted to turn away. It was hard to look at her. Very hard.

"No, but this isn't exactly your run-of-the-mill problem, like a thirty-dollar overdraft at the bank. I mean this is ... Jesus, what can I say, Jessie?" She gave him a tiny smile in answer.

"You already said it. And I love you too. That's all that matters. We'll get this thing straightened out."

"Yeah ... but ... Jess, it doesn't sound like it's going to be easy. That woman is sticking to the accusations, and this cop, Houghton, he acts like he thinks he's got the local hotshot rapist on his hands."

"Adorable, isn't he?"

"He talked to you?" Ian looked surprised.

"Just before he went to the house to see you." Ian looked pale.

"Did he tell you what it was about?" She shook her head and looked away. "Oh, Jess ... what an incredible horror show to put you through. I just can't believe it."

"Neither can I. But we'll survive it." She gave him her best brave girl smile. "What do you think of Martin?"

"Schwartz? I like him. But that's going to cost you a pretty penny, isn't it?" Jessie tried to look noncommital and started to say something, but he cut her off. "How much?" There was a look of bitterness in his eyes for a moment.

"That's not important."

"Maybe not to you, Jessie, but it is to me. How much?" "Two thousand now, and another five if it goes to trial." There was no avoiding that look in his eyes. She had had to tell him.

"Are you kidding?"

Jessie shook her head in reply.

"The man I spoke to before him wanted fifteen thousand, in cash, and by the end of this week."

"Jesus Christ, Jessica ... that's insanity. But I'll pay you back for Schwartz."

"You're boring me, sweetheart."

"I love you, Jess." They exchanged a long tender look and Jessica felt the hot coals behind her eyes again.

"How come you didn't call me last night?" She didn't tell him that she had lain on the floor all night, waiting, frightened, almost hysterical, but too tired to move. She had felt as though her body were paralyzed while her mind was racing.

"How could I call you, Jess? What could I say?" That you love me ... "I think I was in shock. I just kept sitting here, stunned. I couldn't understand it."

Then why did you screw her, damn you? But the flash of anger left her eyes again as soon as she looked up at him. He was as unhappy as she was. More so.

"Why do you suppose she accused you of ... of ..."

"Rape?" He said it as if it were a death sentence. "I don't know. Maybe she's sick or crazy, or pissed off at someone, or maybe she wanted money. What the hell do I know? I was a fool to do that anyway. Jessie, I--" He looked away and then back into her eyes with tears hovering in the corners of his own. "How are we going to live with this? How are you going to live with it, Jessie? Without hating me? And ... I just don't see ..."

"Stop it!" She spat the words into the phone in a whisper. "Stop it right now! We'll see this thing through and it'll be over and straightened out and we'll never have to think about it again."

"But won't you? I mean honestly, Jessie, won't you? Every time you look at me, won't you hate me a little bit for her, and for the money this'll cost you, and ... fuck." He ran a hand through his hair and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. Jessie watched him and then suddenly noticed his pants. He was wearing white cotton hospital pajama bottoms.

"Good God, what happened to your pants? Didn't they give you time to get dressed?" Her eyes grew wide as she envisioned Sergeant Houghton dragging him out of the house bare-assed and in handcuffs.

"Adorable, aren't they? They took my pants down to the lab to test them for sperm." It was all so goddam tawdry, so ugly, so ... "I'm going to need some pants for court tomorrow morning, by the way." And then he grew pensive for a moment and took a long drag on his cigarette. "I just don't understand it. You know, if she wanted money, all she had to do was call and blackmail me. I told her I was married." How nice ... and then for no reason she could fathom, she looked at Ian, at his wrinkled white cotton pajamas, at the boyish face and rumpled blond hair, at the madhouse of people around her, and she started to laugh.

"Are you okay?" He looked suddenly frightened. What if she got hysterical? But she didn't look hysterical, she looked genuinely amused.

"You know something nutty? I'm fine. And I love you, and this is ridiculous, dammit, so will you please come home--and you know what else? You look cute in pajamas." It was the same laughter he had heard a million times at two in the morning when she'd teased him about walking around the house reading his work, stark naked, and with a pencil behind each ear. It was the laughter of splashing water at each other in the shower, of tickling him when he got into bed. It was Jessie, and it suddenly made him smile, as he hadn't smiled since this whole nightmare had begun.

"Lady, you are absolutely screwy, but I adore you. Will you please get me out of this shithouse so I can come home and--" He stopped on the word and looked suddenly pale.

"Rape me? Why not?" And then they grinned again, but quietly. She was okay now. She had Ian right in front of her, she knew she was loved and safe and protected. With Ian suddenly gone and that incredible silence, it had been as though he were dead. But he wasn't dead. He was alive. He would always be alive, and he was all hers. Suddenly she wanted to dance, standing there in the jail in the midst of pimps and thieves, she wanted to dance. She had Ian back.

"Mr. Clarke, how come I love you so much?"

"Because you happen to be mentally retarded, but I love you that way. Hey, lady, could you be serious for a moment?" His face showed that he meant it, but Jessie still had laughter in her tired, bloodshot eyes.

"What?"

"I meant what I said about paying you back. I will."

"Don't worry about it."

"But I will. I think it's time I went back to some kind of job anyway. It doesn't work like this, Jess, and you know it too."

"Yes, it does. What do you mean, 'it doesn't work'?" She looked frightened again.

"I mean I don't like being kept, even if it is for the supposed benefit of my writing career. It's lousy for my ego, and worse for our marriage."

"Bullshit."

"No bullshit. I'm serious. But this isn't the time or the place to talk about it. I just want you to know, though, that whatever money you put out on this, you're getting back. Is that clear?" She looked evasive, and Ian's voice got louder in her ear. "I mean it, Jessie. Don't fuck around with me on this. You're not paying for it."

"Okay." She looked at him pointedly, and at the same moment a guard tapped her on the shoulder. The visit was over. And they had so much left to say.