The Rough Cut

by Douglas Corleone

  Although the case still wasn’t national news, it continued to warrant the state’s full attention. Murder is uncommon in paradise; police see maybe twenty homicides a year. So Ethan, by then, was already being recognized in the streets. Some people, when they passed him, intentionally looked away, others pointed and gawked. Almost all the attention was negative, yet Ethan seemed to welcome it, strolling through town daily under the pretext of ‘being unafraid’. But as much as he liked being seen, we both understood we couldn’t be seen together, at least not alone.

  Since spontaneity requires forethought, we arranged to meet in the one place we thought no one would look for us – the editing room, which Brody and I barely used at the time. In fact, Brody had yet to put his copy of the key on his key ring. Instead it had sat in the recesses of my underwear drawer since the day we signed the lease. Since I knew Brody wouldn’t miss it, I lent the key to Ethan and told Brody I was hitting some bars with Kyle Myers, who had become somewhat of a friend. I knew Brody would have no interest in going to any of the bars I named, and that naming them would further confirm for Brody that Kyle Myers was safe.

  I sat in the editing room for hours beforehand, just in case; Ethan and I didn’t want to arrive too close in time. It goes without saying that the air conditioner was on the fritz. So by ten p.m., when the key finally turned in the lock, I was more sweat than flesh. Not that it mattered to Ethan. He immediately jerked me toward him, kissed me hungrily on the lips, gripped my ass as though he’d never let go. Seconds later, my shirt fell to the floor, my hands furiously worked at his belt. Free of our clothes, we instantly melted into one another, first on the chair, then atop the expensive equipment, until finally, still inside me, he lifted me in his arms and tenderly lowered me onto a blanket I’d laid on the floor.

  Sitting here now, that room seems like a place from a parallel universe, one I had no business being in to begin with. I recognize the heat and the smallness of the space. The rest, however, is alien.

  I toy with the idea of skipping ahead, of editing the opening statements at trial. But that would be counterintuitive. Everything else left to be done – titles, graphics, special effects, music – falls within Brody’s areas of expertise, and I wouldn’t know where to begin.

  Then I hear the key in the lock and know that I’m saved, at least for the time being, because Brody walks in, a sly grin on his face, an expression I only see when he either has good news or has stunk up the bathroom knowing I need to shower. Since there is no shower in the editing room, I assume the former and cross my fingers that it has to do with the movie, a treatment for which has been making the rounds in Los Angeles for just the past forty-eight hours.

  ‘Did you just stink up our bathroom?’ I ask, to be sure.

  ‘Even better,’ he says, reaching into the back of his pants and producing a small box adorned in navy velvet.

  I’m not one of those girls who’s been thinking of this moment since the third grade, started planning for it in the seventh. I’m not one of those girls who dreamt of what her stomach would do and whether tears would come to her eyes when presented with a box like this. I’ve never imagined this moment with Brody, not once, not even when I knew he was about to propose to me. But now there’s a dip deep in my stomach, a steep drop rivaled only by the plunge down Splash Mountain. And when he opens the box, my eyes immediately sting, instantly well, and as I stare in amazement at the most perfect ring – not the largest, not the clearest, not the most expensive, but the most perfect ring for me from him – I do something that would piss me off if it were anyone else: I completely break down, like I’ve just won the Showcase Showdown on The Price is Right.

  ‘Better late than never,’ he says.

  ‘Bullshit,’ I tell him, as I wipe the tears from my eyes. ‘You waited until I said yes, and I don’t blame you.’

  TWENTY-NINE

  Inside Piper’s home for the first time in years, I felt like an intruder, only worse, like an invader, a conqueror, a usurper. Standing next to Ethan, I almost felt like a cold-blooded killer, as if Piper’s death was, in some strange cosmic way, my fault. As irrational as it all was, I felt as though something had crawled down my throat into my stomach and nested. That it would leave a residue I would never fully be rid of.

  It didn’t help that, with the exception of a few uniformed chaperones, our visit to the crime scene felt like a double date. This morning it was Ethan and me, Church and Marissa, she standing in for Brody, who’d eaten some bad sushi last night. Sadly, when I later viewed the footage, her camerawork dispelled the pleasant myth I’d created that Marissa Linden had simply gotten lucky, that anyone with a camera could have pulled off The Prosecutor, if only in the right time and place. But no, Marissa wasn’t just a world-class director and editor, she was magic with the lens as well – a triple threat I couldn’t hope to achieve in four lifetimes. It should have made me dislike her less, since I’d been telling myself her thriving on luck was what made her so unpalatable in the first place. But luck was clearly only a pretense for my hating her, because once that hypothesis was obliterated, I started hating her even more.

  But, ever the consummate professional, I donned my latex gloves and polypropylene booties and surged forward into the crime scene. First the living room, where Ethan had sat with Piper on the final night of her life, watching Sausage Party. A silly part of me wished I could find and replace that title with Casablanca or Citizen Kane prior to trial. I mean, what would be the difference, other than to bring a shred of dignity to the last night of Piper’s existence? Don’t get me wrong, I found Sausage Party to be a far better movie than either of the classics. It was just a matter of perception, and as I’d been told again and again by Church: ‘At trial, perception is all that matters.’

  Ethan, clearly uncomfortable, probably a little sick to his stomach, plodded along like the walking dead, arbitrarily pointing out fixtures and furniture and naming them like a toddler on his first tour through daycare.

  ‘That’s the couch,’ he said quietly of the couch. ‘That’s the television, the television stand.’

  Church abruptly turned to him. ‘I know words, E-rotica. And what did I tell you outside?’

  ‘Not to say anything.’

  ‘Unless …’

  ‘Unless you tell me to say something.’

  Church smacked the back of Ethan’s head in the way Moe would Larry and Curly. ‘Pay attention, huh? Every one of the officers in this house could theoretically be called to testify. And perk up, you’re on camera, for Christ’s sake.’

  It was as clear a demonstration as any of how drastically the power structure between these two men had changed since Nathan’s departure from the case. Church was now about to try a complex murder case knowing he’d never get paid for it. It was no wonder he’d been so irritable of late.

  But the uniforms kept enough distance that we could speak privately, and we did, not thirty seconds later. As Church studied the stairs leading to the second floor, he said, ‘Lau won’t argue she was killed upstairs. There would be bruises all over the body from the killer dragging her down. That makes the blood found in the upstairs bathroom a non-issue. For her side at least.’

  ‘What will she argue?’ I asked.

  ‘Her theory will be as straightforward and comprehensible as possible, and it will align neatly with every provable fact.’

  In the center of the colossal living room, Church said, ‘Riles, come here. Marissa, move back for a wide shot. E-moji, you need to be out of the shot altogether.’

  When Church positioned me in the center of the room, the knot in my stomach grew three sizes. Of all the things I’d dreaded about today, I never imagined I’d be standing in for Piper herself, certainly never fathomed I’d be reenacting her murder.

  As he talked us through Lau’s probable theory of the case, Church gently manipulated my body to demonstrate. ‘The defendant,’ he said, ‘about to lose his meal ticket, snaps. An argument, likely over her leaving the islan
ds, escalates into a physical encounter. During which the defendant grabs the victim by the throat and applies pressure.’

  As he said it, Church placed his hands around my throat without touching it, as though I were protected by some invisible forcefield that Piper wasn’t lucky enough to have that night. Then he let go.

  ‘She loses consciousness,’ he continued. ‘It happens quickly, in the first fifteen, twenty seconds. Her body goes limp; he thinks she’s dead. He begins to look for a way to stage the scene, maybe runs upstairs and takes a spare shower curtain from the linen closet.’

  I lay on the floor and closed my eyes.

  ‘But when he returns,’ Church continued, ‘she suddenly gasps for air. She’s alive, terrified now because this has turned violent. The phone is not enough, she needs the fastest way out of the house. She scrambles to her feet, heads toward the sliding glass door.’

  I went through the motions, hoping I wouldn’t throw up. Church stopped me at the sliding glass door, had me yank it open with as much strength as I could.

  He said, ‘Seeing her run puts the fear into the defendant. If she goes out that door, he knows he’ll never see her again, not after what he’s done, not after nearly choking the life out of her. Desperate, he pursues, but not before grabbing an empty beer bottle standing on one of these pieces of furniture.’

  He edged me forward out the sliding glass door.

  ‘He catches her,’ he said, slipping his arm around my waist and nudging me forward from behind. ‘Smashes her head with the beer bottle. She’s stunned, maybe even loses consciousness again. He runs inside and grabs the shower curtain he was about to wrap her body in.’

  I stood in a daze, my eyes glued to the pool, now eerily empty of all but a thin layer of muck at the bottom. The patio table around which I’d once downed a dozen mai tais appeared as though it had been abandoned for years.

  Church came up behind me. ‘The victim is back on her feet. The defendant wraps the plastic around her face. She struggles, hence the cuts on her feet. But he’s too powerful. This time it takes a full two minutes for her to lose consciousness. But this time, when she does lose consciousness, he doesn’t stop. This time he makes damn sure she’s dead.’

  From behind the camera, Marissa said, ‘This is one of the prosecution’s biggest obstacles, Nick. What did he put over her face to suffocate her? What happened to the murder weapon, where did it go?’

  Church drew a deep breath. ‘Lau will say the murder weapon went wherever the victim’s clothes went. And that their location is something known only by the defendant.’

  THIRTY

  In the editing room, Brody slips the ring on my finger. It’s slightly too large, but he assures me we can have it resized in an hour at a place just down the street.

  ‘That’s an hour I’ll have to be without it,’ I say, my eyes still moist. ‘I’d rather give them my finger and have them make it a little bigger to fit the ring.’

  He smiles. ‘The swelling alone should do the trick.’

  I place my arms around him. When he lifts me up, I wrap my legs around him, until my weight forces him into my chair.

  Gazing deep into his eyes, I say, ‘When are we going to do it?’

  ‘I was thinking right after we finish the movie. There’s a little nondenominational chapel right in Ko Olina near the Four Seasons. I thought maybe we could tie the knot here on Oahu, then hit Maui or Kauai for our honeymoon. Your choice.’

  I smile, excited because I am, but stifle a question I’m not sure I want the answer to. What are we going to do once the honeymoon’s over? Where are we going to begin the rest of our lives?

  Ethan and I took advantage of Brody’s bout with bad sushi, only this time we barely even hid. Instead, we stole a cushion from a cabana at the Hilton Hawaiian Village and made love on the lip of the ocean, following a long moonlit walk along Waikiki Beach.

  Afterward, we lay side by side, under a sky as dark as death, both of us wearing long shirts, no pants, as though we wanted those curious enough not only to notice us, but to take pictures.

  ‘How are you going to show all those experts we hired without putting your audience to sleep?’ Ethan asked me.

  ‘Is that really what we’re going to talk about until you’re ready to go again?’

  He chuckled. ‘If that’s what we talk about, I’ll never be ready to go again.’

  ‘They were pretty awful, though, weren’t they? I mean, brilliant but boring. That could be a concern during trial. We don’t want the jury sleeping through the science. At least not the science that helps us.’

  ‘I asked Church about that right after our visit to Piper’s house. Only not as eloquently, of course.’

  ‘What did he say?’ I asked, gazing up at the stars.

  ‘He told me that if he thinks the answers aren’t interesting enough to keep the jury’s attention, he’ll make sure that the questions are.’

  In the dark, I smiled.

  Following a few seconds of contented silence, I turned my body to face his. ‘How did you learn to fight like that? The way you did in Breakers’ parking lot.’

  ‘Nate and I grew up in a pretty tough neighborhood. A place where people didn’t necessarily like haoles. Especially haoles of the asshole variety, like Nathan and myself.’

  ‘You have scars?’ I asked.

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Can I see them?’

  ‘Can you see me?’

  ‘Can I feel them, then?’

  He took my hand and ran it up the inside of his shirt. A long, jagged scar ran down the left side of his ribcage. On his stomach, something circular, something that felt more like a burn than a cut.

  ‘It just occurred to me,’ I said. ‘We’ve known each other for months, and we live in Hawaii, yet this is our first time on a beach together.’

  ‘Well, if I’d known it was going to be this much fun …’

  I fake-punched him in the chest. I don’t know why, and I felt stupid immediately afterward.

  ‘There was the night at Kaena Point,’ I said. ‘The night I came face to face with a Hawaiian monk seal for the first, hopefully last, time. We were sort of on a beach then.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope this night ends up better than that one.’

  We giggled until our giggle turned into a kiss, maybe the most perfect kiss of my life. Easily the most memorable.

  ‘I let you feel my scars,’ he said in his sexy, gravelly voice. ‘Can I feel your tattoos?’

  ‘The ones covering practically every inch of my body?’ I laughed, but considered suggesting he do so with his tongue.

  ‘Why is all your ink abstract?’ he asked.

  ‘So that the images exist on me alone. I make sure the artist burns the design right afterward.’

  ‘You regret any of those tats?’

  ‘Not one. Each of those tattoos reflects in some way who I was on that particular day of my life.’

  Following a brief gap in conversation, Ethan’s tone became more serious. ‘Did you see that our case made it onto Judge Jacqueline last night?’

  I tried to keep things light. ‘What’s with this our case shit, huh? I’m only facing bad reviews.’

  He laughed, but it was more like one of Dr Farrockh’s pity laughs than the Ethan Supreme.

  ‘After watching that show,’ he said, ‘I never wanted heroin so badly in my life.’

  Curiosity got the best of me. ‘What’s it like, heroin? It’s, like, the only drug I never tried because I know so many people who OD’d on it.’

  ‘It’s like having someone gently remove the top of your skull and place a warm compress directly on your brain.’

  ‘That sounds extraordinary.’

  ‘It is,’ he said. ‘There are so many human experiences that are extraordinary – right up until the moment they kill you.’

  When I walked into the apartment just after midnight, Brody was finishing up a conversation on the phone.

  ‘That was Marissa,’ he said.


  Bizarrely enough under the circumstances, I felt a stab of jealousy. Unlike myself, Brody and Marissa had been getting along fabulously from the start. The other day he said he’d learned more from Marissa in a few months than he’d learned in two years in film school.

  ‘There’s a problem,’ he said. ‘Marissa wouldn’t get into it over the phone.’

  ‘Let me guess.’ I headed straight for the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to curl up in the sheets and sleep for a week. ‘She wants us at Church’s suite first thing in the morning.’

  Brody shook his head. ‘She says it’s urgent. We need to get over there now.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  I prefer women. My shrink, my gynecologist, primary care physician, even my dentist; all women. I can’t articulate precisely why, though I’ve ruled out various reasons. Obviously it’s not that I don’t like being alone with men, or having men touch me. It’s not a sexual thing. It’s not a matter of trust because I trust men just as much as I trust women, which is to say, not much at all. It’s not that I think women are smarter or somehow superior in the field of medical science. Maybe I simply feel like, when I step into a female doctor’s office, I have for at least an hour or so, a female friend.

  ‘You didn’t have many female friends growing up?’ Dr Yasmin Farrockh says.