by Mark M Bello
Zack was gently caressing her hand. It had been a long time since a man had caressed her in any way. It was nice. Her eyes met his. Blue like mine, she thought. Zack was a handsome man. Under different circumstances . . .
“There you go again.”
“What?”
“Wandering off somewhere.”
“I wasn’t wandering. I was looking . . . at your eyes. You have nice eyes.”
She couldn’t believe the words came out of her mouth. The timing sucked.
“Back at you,” Zack stuttered, surprised and somewhat embarrassed.
He’s blushing. So cute . . . stop, Tracey. He’s your kids’ lawyer. The case is our number one priority. Get your mind back on this afternoon’s business.
“So, Jenny . . .” Zack returned to matters at hand. “Yes or no to the press conference?”
“Yes.”
“Let me do the talking unless they ask you a direct question. Even then, wait to see if it’s a question I want you to answer. Take a deep breath, count to five. I’ll chime in before five seconds are up to save the day.”
“Ah, my knight in shining armor.”
“That’s me.”
“I’m glad I didn’t fire you, Zack.”
“So am I, Jen. So am I. Let’s get going.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“We have called this press conference to announce this morning’s filing of a forty-million-dollar lawsuit against the church, the Detroit Division, Our Lady of the Lakes, Father Jonathan Costigan, Bishop Andrew Glimesh, Father Gerry Bartholomew, and others,” Zachary Blake announced to a packed room at the Cobo Center, Detroit’s largest convention center.
Father Jon had to be named as a defendant in the lawsuit because Michigan law required all reasonable parties to be joined. Since Jon was Gerry’s direct supervisor, he was responsible for his conduct under the aforementioned agency theories. These issues and his status as a named defendant in the suit were explained to him in a private moment between Jon, Jennifer, and Zack. It was no surprise to Father Jon to be a named defendant in the lawsuit. He understood it was necessary and assented to the strategy. Zack scanned the room. All the major players were there. There were reporters and mini-cam operators from Channels 2, 4, 7, 50, and 62. Radio reporters from WWJ, WJR, and various religious stations were present. Detroit Free Press and Detroit News reporters, local newspaper and religion writers, as well as internet bloggers crammed into the room, recorders in hand.
Zack continued. “I don’t know how many of you picked up copies of the complaint filed this morning in Wayne Circuit, but I have several copies.”
“Mr. Blake, why was the lawsuit filed in Wayne County?” It was Benjamin, from Channel 7, young, aggressive, and eager to make an impact. “The alleged conduct, the church, and the boys’ residence are all in Oakland,” he reasoned.
“The church, the division, and Bishop Glimesh all reside in Wayne, which permits us to file there. We’re confident we will receive justice from a Wayne County jury even though the events occurred outside Wayne County,” Zack explained.
“Aren’t you simply forum shopping?” Benjamin charged. “Wayne County juries are notoriously more generous than Oakland County juries. Everyone knows that.”
“I would appreciate all of you holding your questions until I’ve finished my statement. Thank you.”
Benjamin backed off.
Of course, I’m forum shopping! Verdicts are traditionally higher in Wayne than in Oakland. “As I was saying, this complaint alleges seventeen counts of intentional and negligent misfeasance, malfeasance, and nonfeasance by the church and Father Gerry. Gerry sexually molested fourteen-year-old Kenneth Tracey and as his twelve-year-old brother, Jake. The church, pastor, and bishop failed to educate, train, and monitor this dangerous predator. Furthermore, they failed to screen or weed out pedophiliacs in the clergy. Finally, after helping to create this predator and discovering Father Gerry’s offensive proclivities, church officials covered up his prior conduct rather than reporting it or exposing it,” Blake charged.
This last comment caused a noticeable stir in the bloodthirsty crowd.
“Do you have proof of prior conduct and the church’s knowledge of same?” The question came from an unknown voice in the back of the large assembly room.
“Would you identify yourself, sir?”
“Sure, Al Schneider, National Religious Reporter.”
Zack could see him in the back of the room. He was a squirrelly looking guy with thick plastic glasses perched at the end of an ample nose. About thirty-five years old, with kinky hair, he wore a plaid jacket and striped shirt. He wouldn’t win a fashion contest. If Steve Urkel was a white man, he’d be Al Schneider.
“Well, Mr. Schneider, thank you for that question. Unfortunately, if I told you, I would have to kill you.”
Laughter filled the tense, crowded room. Zack’s sudden attempt to add a bit of levity to the proceedings eased tensions.
“Seriously, though,” Zack continued. “I cannot reveal certain sources of information at this time. I need to protect confidentiality and confirm the reliability of the sources. You members of the press can appreciate that. Next question?”
“What do the boys say was done to them by this priest?”
“I don’t think we need to get into the prurient details. Suffice it to say Father Gerry is guilty of statutory rape.” There was another noticeable stir in the crowd. “The acts were deplorable and repetitive. As perverted as this sounds, there is a second violation here. The priest used God as a pretext for his depraved behavior. God sanctioned this; don’t you know? Post-incident, two boys’ faith in God and their church have been damaged, perhaps destroyed. A male trust figure has betrayed them most egregiously. These essential virtues of childhood will be hard for them to reclaim as adults.”
“How do we know the boys are telling the truth?” Harlow, from Channel 4, challenged. She was an anchor. The event attracted all the big guns from Detroit’s media community.
“Forensics and common sense will back up their allegations. When you hear their stories from their own lips, you be the judge. When the time comes, read their testimony. I defy you to disbelieve them. Besides, this is now a police matter. Before the civil case ever goes to trial, Gerry Bartholomew will be formally charged with first-degree criminal sexual conduct, will be convicted, or will enter a plea bargain on a lesser charge.”
“Mrs. Tracey, in this lawsuit-happy society of ours, why sue the priest and the church? I understand treatment is being provided for the boys by the very entity you are now suing. How is money going to help your kids, or is this just another money grab?” Al Schneider charged. Did someone put him up to this? Zack wondered.
Jennifer paused and glanced at Blake for approval. Zack shrugged his shoulders. “Answer it if you can.”
“We seek compensation, true, but we also seek to prevent future abhorrent conduct by this or any other priest. We seek to punish a vicious predator of children and the religious institution that stands idly by and watches while a whole generation of God’s precious children are physically and psychologically raped of their childhood, their faith, and their trust in role models. This is about a hierarchy whose solution to the problem is to send the offending priest packing, quietly pay off victims, and actively cover up crimes. The cover-up is responsible for a vicious cycle of crime upon crime. This lawsuit says we will not go quietly like those who came before us. The vicious cycle stops here and now.”
“How do you mean?”
“This lawsuit will be conducted in public. Members of the press will have full access. Gerry Bartholomew can no longer hit and run, as we believe he has in the past. After this case is resolved, the result will follow this predator everywhere he goes. We will not consent to a confidential settlement. Gerry will be branded a child molester, which should have happened long ago. We seek to prevent another child from being molested by this monster.”
“Are there any other questions?” Zack inq
uired, scanning the room.
“Before taking more questions, I want to say one more thing about what this lawsuit accomplishes, ” Jennifer interrupted.
Zack shot her a ‘sit down, shut up, you talk too much,’ look, but he was helpless to stop her. She had a mind of her own, and he admired her more with each passing moment. He gazed at her in the lights of the television cameras. What tenacity! What spirit! I feel so alive in her presence. I can conquer the world with her by my side. If she’d let him, he’d violate his rule about becoming involved with a client.
“Go ahead, Mrs. Tracey,” he prompted
“If the jury does its job properly, this lawsuit will vindicate my sons and prove they’ve done nothing wrong . . .”
Zack was astonished. She just challenged an unpicked jury!
“My boys have nothing to feel guilty or shameful about. A verdict will prove my sons were victims and Gerry is a criminal predator. He has used his position to prey on the most innocent and helpless in society, our children.” Her voice trembled with anger but grew stronger as she progressed. “He and others like him, if not stopped, will create a generation of faithless and trustless adults. We cannot let this happen to our children.”
The entire press corps, with the possible exception of Schneider, erupted in thunderous applause. Jennifer blushed, nodded appreciation, and sat down. The rest of the press conference was uneventful. Jennifer Tracey had them eating out of her hand. She was a woman on a mission. It was a nice beginning to a long, hard journey.
When the press conference was over, Zack approached Jennifer. “You were incredible today,” he marveled.
“Thank you. You were quite smashing yourself,” Jennifer beamed.
“Jenny, have dinner with me tonight,” he requested.
“What?” The invitation startled her.
“Come on. The boys are at your sister’s. It’ll do us both good.”
“I don’t know, Zack. We should keep our relationship on a professional level.”
“Jenny, it’s just dinner. If it makes you feel better, we can discuss the case, thus making it a business dinner. We can even split the bill.”
“What if someone sees us? We’re like celebrities now.” She cautioned.
“No, you are a celebrity after your performance today. Can’t a lawyer take his client out to dinner to discuss the case? Haven’t you ever heard of the two-martini lunch?”
“Yes, but this is dinner,” she corrected.
“It’s the same thing. I looked it up in my Etiquette and Tax Deductions for Lawyers handbook.” He joked.
“And this book says it’s okay?” She rolled her eyes.
“Absolutely, page 357,” he whispered.
“Well, all right, Zack. I’d love to.” She paused and gazed out at the now empty room.
“There you go again,” Zack noticed.
“What, now?”
“Daydreaming.”
“I was seeking permission.”
“Permission from whom? For what?”
“For dinner, from Jim.”
A solitary tear fell from her eye, and she lowered her head. Zack lifted her chin. Their eyes met and Zack saw profound sadness.
“And what did Jim say?” He dared.
She smiled. “He suggested that dinner with Zachary Blake is a splendid idea.”
“Smart man, Jim. There’s something I admire greatly about him, although we never met.”
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“He had terrific taste in women.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
They went to Mitchell’s, located in the heart of downtown Birmingham. Inside, tables were crammed together in a fashion that required hostesses and dinner guests to zigzag around to get to their chosen table. To the right was a large bar with television sets mounted from the ceiling. The volume was turned off, but captions appeared at the bottom of each screen. The interior was much like the exterior—polished wood, with numerous odd-shaped ceiling fixtures, providing rather dim lighting. The seafood fare was expensive, dinner for two, with drinks, could easily cost over a hundred dollars. The food was excellent and the portions reasonable.
Zack pulled his 2007 Z4—a remnant of his wealthy days—over and handed the keys to the valet. He rushed out of the car so he would open Jennifer’s door. The roadster was cramped, low to the ground, and difficult to exit. Her low-cut, red satin dress made things worse. She took Zack’s helping hand and noticed a couple of men ogling her. She hadn’t dated in a while. The attention made her uncomfortable.
Zack wore a pair of black dress pants and a black mock turtleneck with a black-and-white tweed blazer. He cleans up well. Jennifer studied the movers and shakers in the bright lights reflecting from the downtown district. This wasn’t her style. Evenings out with Jim consisted of buck fifty, second-run movies at Farmington Civic and dinner at the local diner. The couple didn’t go out much, preferring to stay home with the kids. Everyone is staring at me; my imagination? She took Zack’s arm and held on for dear life, as they entered the restaurant.
A hostess guided them to their reserved table, and both ordered drinks, a sea breeze for Jennifer and an Absolut on the rocks for Zack.
“It takes some notice to get a reservation here, but I pulled some strings,” Zack boasted.
“It’s very nice,” Jennifer nodded.
“Only the finest, for my favorite client,” Zack boasted.
Jennifer smiled, the drinks arrived, and a waiter brought menus. After a detailed discussion of the offerings with the accommodating waiter, Zack ordered sea bass, and Jennifer, whitefish.
“Zack, does this qualify as a date?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“I’ve only dated twice since Jim died . . .” she drifted. “The dates didn’t go too well—they ended in apologies. I haven’t been good company since he died. Lack of preparation, I thought Jim would live forever.”
“Who prepares for sudden tragedy? If it makes you feel better, I haven’t been on a date for over twenty years. My wife and I used to go out to dinner often—Tobey hates to cook—but that doesn’t qualify as a date, does it?”
“Well, it might, did you have to ask her to go?”
“I had to beg,” Zack kibitzed. “No, it was assumed, sometimes with the girls and sometimes without.”
“I don’t think that qualifies.”
“Then, officially, we’re both on our first date in years. Your two don’t count because they ended in apologies,” he rationalized. Jennifer began to relax.
The waiter brought the meals. They ate in relative silence.
“That was delicious,” Jennifer remarked, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “I’m glad I let you talk me into this. I haven’t felt this relaxed in years.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. You’re the most beautiful woman in this restaurant. All the men are looking at us in disbelief, wondering how a schmuck like me could be dining with a babe like you.”
“Babe? Is that term socially acceptable in the new millennium?”
“Absolutely, very politically correct.”
“If you say so.”
The waiter returned. “Coffee or dessert, anyone?” He recommended Mitchell’s dessert special, the Shark Fin Pie, consisting of Oreo Cookie crust and vanilla and chocolate ice cream with a hot fudge topping. The pie was tempting, but they passed on dessert, opting instead to visit one of the trendy coffee shops on South Woodward. They held hands and browsed through windows of closed retail stores. It was a beautiful spring evening. The moon was full, and stars filled the night sky.
“Zack?”
“Yes?”
“How tough will the lawsuit be for Jake and Kenny?”
This was her biggest worry. Rothenberg could tell her a public airing of their grievances would be a net positive until he was blue in the face. She would still agonize over her part in the decision to put her boys through this.
“Most of the way, not very tough at all. Until trial, the mos
t stressful part will be giving a deposition. If the case goes to trial, the boys will have to testify. Until then, it’s all grunt work, discovery, deposition testimony of others, records, subpoenas and reviews, and investigations. While their deposition and trial testimony will cause them the most difficulty, most defense attorneys don’t lean on kids too hard because it might backfire.”
“How do you mean?”
“Walsh won’t want a judge or a jury to think he’s picking on children. The quickest way to get a kid to clam up during testimony is to bully them. He’ll demand answers to his questions, but he’ll be gentle in the way he poses them. Understand? Walsh is a pro. The boys should be fine.”
“What about how they treat me?”
“About the same. Everyone knows you’ve had a rough go, losing your husband and now this crap with your kids. If Walsh isn’t courteous, he’ll lose points with a judge or jury.”
“It has been a tough three years.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.”
“Of course you do. I wallow in self-pity but look at you. Your partners cheated you. Your wife deserted you and took your children. We’ve been leading parallel lives over the last three years,” Jennifer realized.
“True, but together, we’re going to turn it around. So are the boys.”
“Together?”
“Professionally, of course.”
“Of course.”
“We could explore the other if you’re willing.”
“I don’t know, Zack. There’s a lot of emotional baggage. My number-one priority is helping my kids through this ordeal. I don’t know if there’s room . . .” Her heart was beginning to feel one thing, while her head screamed another.
Zack stopped and pulled Jennifer to a stop as well. He cradled her cheeks with both hands and peered into beautiful blue eyes.
“Jenny, we will see this through, together,” he promised. “Both of us have our demons. We’ve both been cheated and lied to. But fate has brought us together. We need to trust again, to have faith in someone.
“You are an inspiration to me. You made me take a long, hard look in the mirror and I didn’t like what I saw. Now, I have a chance to resurrect myself, personally and professionally. One evening with you makes me realize I’ve not only been a professional cripple but an emotional one as well. It’s time to start caring and trusting again. In time, maybe we find love together. To not try would be a tragedy. I’ll promise you this: I will pursue this case to the bitter end. I will never, ever let you or your boys down.”
