Accused sf-2

by Mark Gimenez

  "SMU fans."

  "Not football, Scott. That murder case, McCall's son."

  "You know about that?"

  The senator laughed. "You went on national TV and accused the senior U.S. senator from Texas of obstructing justice… Yeah, I know about that."

  "Oh. Look, I…"

  "Impressed the hell out of me."

  "It did?"

  "And a lot of other conservatives, all across the country."

  "Conservatives?"

  "Sure. We hate the federal government. You stood up for an American citizen against the United States government. Shit, Scott, they should make a movie about that case. And you should make a fine federal judge."

  Scott couldn't fight a smile. He saw himself entering a courtroom as Judge A. Scott Fenney. He could have a good life and still be able to provide for his daughters.

  "Why, thank you, Senator."

  The senator downed his drink then held the empty glass in the air until he caught the waiter's attention.

  "So, Scott, as long as you win this case and pass the FBI's criminal background check, you're number two on the list."

  Scott felt the smile drop off his face. "Number two? "

  "Behind Shelby Morgan."

  "The judge on my ex-wife's murder case?"

  The senator nodded.

  "Does she know I'm number two?"

  "Yep."

  "Well, that should make for a fun trial."

  The senator smiled. "Like being in bed with a feral hog… except she's better looking."

  Scott now saw himself entering the Ford Fenney law firm.

  "Sorry, Scott, but I owe her." The waiter delivered another cocktail. "That's politics."

  "A federal judgeship isn't about politics, Senator."

  "Since when? Now don't go naive on me, Scott. You and I both know, everything is politics. The Supreme Court decided-actually, six lawyers decided-that there's a constitutional right to an abortion-where's that in the Constitution? They made it up, to suit their politics. Then five lawyers on the Court said 'public use' in the Fifth Amendment actually means 'public benefit'-like James Madison didn't know the difference between 'use' and 'benefit'-and the government can condemn your home for a fucking football stadium if it'll generate more taxes. That's not law, Scott, that's politics."

  The senator shook his head.

  "Constitutional law is the greatest hoax ever perpetrated on the American people. But both parties love it because a Supreme Court decision trumps democracy. You don't have to convince a majority of three hundred million people that you're right, just five lawyers. Five fucking lawyers and you win your political victory."

  He sipped his drink and shook his head again.

  "One thing I've learned in Washington, Scott-everything is politics. Why do Democrats want to grant citizenship to twelve million illegal Mexican immigrants? Because they care about those poor people? No. Because they want twelve million more Democratic voters. Politics. Why do Democrats want a government-run health care system? Because their voters are gonna get free health care, our voters are gonna pay for it. Politics. How much we pay for corn, milk, beef, steel… politics. How many miles to the gallon our cars get… politics. How much pollution we breathe… politics. Who sits on the federal bench… also politics."

  Scott felt like the moderator on Meet the Press.

  "The deal works like this, Scott: Texas senators pick our federal judges, New York senators pick theirs. Someone tries to go around us, we 'blue-slip' the nominee, he never gets a committee vote much less a floor vote."

  "What's a blue-slip?"

  "Veto, same as being black-balled at a country club. Means the home-state senators can block any judicial nominee for their state. Without blue-slips, the Senate would descend into chaos. Blue-slips keep things orderly."

  "If not democratic."

  "Democracy happens every six years in the Senate, Scott. Rest of the time, politics rules. Which is good for you."

  "Why?"

  "Because I voted for Roberts' assault weapons bill."

  Ron Roberts was the senior U.S. senator from Texas.

  "He wants to ensure that every American citizen has the unfettered opportunity to buy an assault weapon at a gun show-how stupid is that? He's pro-guns and pro-life and doesn't see the irony. But now he owes me, said I can pick our next federal judge. You're my first choice, but I owe Shelby."

  He didn't specify the debt.

  "Politics." The senator finished off his drink. "We'll hold off on the background checks until Buford dies. That would look unseemly, I think."

  The senator ordered another drink.

  "I don't like it anymore than you, Scott, having to put Shelby up for federal judge." He exhaled heavily. "I guess we can both hope she did something stupid when she was young and fails her criminal background check."

  TWENTY-ONE

  Scott arrived back at the beach house just as Bobby was leaving in the Prius.

  "How'd it go with the senator?" Bobby asked through his open window.

  "I'm number two for the job… behind Judge Morgan."

  "You're shitting me? Can this case get any weirder?"

  "I have a feeling it can. Another ice cream craving?"

  "Mint chocolate-chip. I'm running a tab at the 7-Eleven." Bobby's ice cream runs had become a nightly occurrence. "Between diapers and ice cream, I didn't know how expensive a pregnant woman could be."

  "Use a condom," Boo said.

  " What? "

  "If you have sex with Mother."

  "I won't."

  "Use a condom?"

  "Have sex with your mother."

  Scott had climbed the back stairs and gone directly up to the girls' bedroom to tuck them in. He found them huddled together reading a novel about vampires in love. They no longer required his reading services at bedtime. He missed it. They were growing up too fast, and sex ed had only accelerated the aging process. So he had made a deal with them when they had become a single-father family: they could talk to him about anything, ask him any questions they wanted, and he would always tell them the truth and never get mad. They took him up on the deal on a regular basis. Fifth grade had brought a lot of questions about sex. He had learned not to overreact.

  "She had sex with that dead man, Mr. Fenney. And he had sex with those other women-"

  "Were you two eavesdropping?"

  "Unh-huh, we sure were, Mr. Fenney."

  "If you have sex with Mother, it's just like you're having sex with all the women the dead man had sex with, Ms. Nelson said so in health class."

  "AIDS, Mr. Fenney."

  "Why were you eavesdropping?"

  "I need to know," Boo said.

  "Know what?"

  "If Mother killed her boyfriend."

  "She didn't."

  "That's what she said, but she lied to us before."

  "She's not lying about this, Boo. And I'm not going to have sex with her."

  "You used to."

  "When we were married."

  "Do you want to again?"

  "Get married?"

  "Have sex with her? It would relieve your stress."

  "So you don't have a heart attack, Mr. Fenney."

  "A. Scott, are you healthy enough for sexual activity?"

  "Boo, you sound like a commercial."

  "Well?"

  "Yes. I think. Look, I'm not going to have a heart attack, and I'm not going to have sex with your mother."

  "She might try to seed you," Pajamae said.

  " Seed me?"

  "Sedate you," Boo said.

  " Sedate? You mean seduce?"

  "That's it. To tempt or lead astray, Ms. Nelson said. Boys usually do it to girls, but Ms. Nelson said it can go both ways. And Mother's got a lot of sexy clothes, more than she used to have. We looked at her stuff while she was gone."

  Pajamae nodded a confession.

  "You shouldn't snoop around her stuff."

  "I used to go into her closet all the time. She
's still my mother, you said so yourself."

  "Yes, but-what do you mean, while she was gone?"

  "Mother put on her wig and went somewhere in her car today."

  "What wig?"

  "A black wig. She said she didn't want anyone to recognize her."

  Scott nodded. "Reporters. Where'd she go?"

  "I don't know. But she was really happy when she got back."

  What would make a woman really happy in the middle of the day? As Scott saw it, there were three possibilities: shopping, chocolate, or sex. She didn't have any money for shopping and chocolate was too fattening for the hottest WAG on tour. That left sex. Was she cheating on Trey? On Scott again?

  Scott returned downstairs to the living room where he found Carlos and Louis slouched at opposite ends of the couch and Rebecca and Karen sitting in chairs and staring at the TV. It was a commercial.

  "What's a five-letter word for 'bank job'?" Louis asked.

  "Why?" Carlos said.

  "That's three letters."

  "No, why do you want to know?"

  "For this here crossword puzzle."

  "Why are you doing crossword puzzles?"

  "To improve his vocabulary," Karen said.

  "Oh. Thief."

  "Is that a job?"

  "It is for the thief."

  "Where's Bobby with my ice cream?" Karen said.

  "You'd better sit down, Scott," Rebecca said.

  Scott sat. The commercial ended and returned to the local evening news from Houston. The anchor introduced the next story.

  "Now for our first installment of 'Murder on the Beach,' we go live to Renee Ramirez in Galveston."

  The picture cut to the reporter holding a microphone in front of the courthouse, framed by palm trees. Her tan skin glowed in the camera lights. Carlos sat up.

  " Estoy enamorado."

  "You're in love with every beautiful woman you see," Karen said.

  "What's your point?"

  "Trey Rawlins," the reporter said, "was murdered nine days ago. He was buried Thursday at the Old City Cemetery, and yesterday the grand jury indicted his longtime lover for allegedly stabbing him to death with a butcher knife from their own kitchen. The national media has dubbed Rebecca Fenney the 'Guilty Groupie,' and with good reason. I've learned that her fingerprints were on the murder weapon-"

  Scott jumped up. "How'd she get that?"

  "The D.A. had to leak it to her," Karen said. "Or that detective."

  — "and that there's no evidence that anyone other than Rebecca Fenney entered the bedroom the night Trey was found dead in his bed. Prosecutors are convinced that Ms. Fenney did in fact kill Trey, a conclusion bolstered by the fact that she has refused to take a polygraph exam."

  "Damnit-that taints the jury pool! Rex said he didn't try his cases in the press."

  Back on the TV: "But while convinced she killed Trey, prosecutors are confounded by the apparent lack of a motive. Why would Rebecca Fenney kill the man who gave her everything from the clothes she wore to the Corvette she drove? She claims Trey proposed to her that same night. Surely that will all come out at trial, which promises to be another O.J. circus-like spectacle, particularly with the news that guns, porn, and Viagra were found in the residence and with the confirmation that Ms. Fenney is being represented by her ex-husband, A. Scott Fenney from Dallas. Scott Fenney was a star football player at SMU back in the early nineties-"

  On the screen now was a clip of Scott running the football against Texas.

  — "and became a legend when he rushed for one hundred ninety-three yards against UT. But he became a legal legend two years ago when he defended Shawanda Jones, a black Dallas prostitute charged with the murder of Clark McCall, the thirty-year-old son of the late Senator Mack McCall."

  The screen showed Scott, Shawanda, and the girls on the courthouse steps after the verdict.

  "She's gorgeous," Rebecca said.

  "She was."

  Renee Ramirez appeared on-screen. "Ms. Jones was acquitted by a federal jury in Dallas, but died of a heroin overdose two months later. Scott Fenney adopted her daughter. Rebecca Fenney began an extramarital affair with Trey Rawlins while he was an assistant golf pro at the Highland Park Country Club where the Fenneys were members. She left Scott Fenney for Trey, and now he's representing her. Now that's a man who really meant 'until death do us part.' Of course, that could happen. At Trey's funeral service this past Thursday, I spoke with his twin sister, Terri Rawlins."

  The picture cut to the front of the church and the young woman Rebecca had identified as Terri on the funeral tape. She looked like Trey.

  "I hope they give her the death penalty."

  Scott turned to Rebecca just as she turned to him. Her face was pale.

  "The death penalty?"

  "It's not a capital murder case, Rebecca. They can't give you the death penalty."

  "But this is Texas."

  Back to Renee Ramirez: "While I certainly believe in 'innocent until proven guilty,' I must ask why Rebecca Fenney, an indicted murderer, is not in jail at this hour? Why was she released on her personal recognizance? Is the D.A. extending professional courtesy to Mr. Fenney because he's a Texas legend and thereby endangering the good citizens of Galveston? Is Mr. Fenney receiving preferential treatment because of his political connections-he was seen dining with our own Senator George Armstrong tonight at Gaido's by this reporter. Rumor has it that Mr. Fenney is up for a federal judgeship in Dallas. It is all quite interesting. Perhaps Judge Shelby Morgan will have something to say about all of this when Ms. Fenney is arraigned next week. Finally, Rebecca Fenney is reportedly residing until trial with Mr. Fenney and his family in a rented house here on the Island. Hopefully there are no sharp knives in the kitchen. Reporting live from Galveston Island, this is Renee Ramirez."

  They went to commercial break.

  "The D.A. was right," Scott said.

  Karen looked up. "About what?"

  "Her. She is annoying as hell."

  "Bitch," Louis said.

  "That, too."

  "No, that's a five-letter word for 'female dog'."

  TWENTY-TWO

  They were dressed for church the next morning when Rebecca came downstairs looking like she hadn't slept all night. Scott caught Karen giving Bobby a quick glance.

  "Where are y'all going?"

  "To church," Scott said.

  "You go to church now?"

  "Pajamae got us going."

  "You want to go with us, Mother?"

  "Maybe next week, honey. I couldn't sleep. Anyone make coffee?"

  "I liked that preacher," Pajamae said. "He was interesting."

  They were driving back from church down Broadway when Scott spotted the red Corvette parked on 40th Street adjacent to the Old City Cemetery. He pulled over and parked.

  "I'll be right back."

  Consuela was up front, and Maria was sleeping in her car seat between the girls in the back. Scott got out and stepped over the low rock wall bordering the cemetery. A woman stood alone among the graves. He walked toward her, staying on the grid of sunken sidewalks fronting the graves of Confederate soldiers, members of the old Galveston families, and victims of the Great Storm, past gravestones and tombstones and family mausoleums, and cracked and weathered statues of Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and an angel with one wing broken off. Rebecca was wearing sunglasses and a black wig. She was standing over Trey Rawlins' grave, and she was crying.

  "I guess you never really know someone," she said.

  "Were you happy with him?"

  She nodded. "I loved him. I thought he loved me. But I didn't know the truth."

  Scott thought of Trey Rawlins' all-American image and the real Trey Rawlins he was getting to know. What else would he learn about the man lying in that grave?

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "For what?"

  "Because now I know how much I hurt you."

  "Rebecca, you need to stay at the house. I don't want Renee Ramirez to know where
you're at."

  "That's why I wore the wig."

  "The wig works, but not the car. Everyone on the Island knows you drive that red Corvette."

  "Oh."

  "Where'd you get the wig?"

  "From my closet. I told Bobby to bring everything."

  They played tourist that day. Scott tried to put the murder trial out of his mind and to be a father instead of a lawyer, at least for a day. The top attraction on the Island is Moody Gardens, a 242-acre, "public, non-profit educational destination utilizing nature in the advancement of rehabilitation, conservation, recreation and research." Three glass pyramids rise tall above the Island at Moody Gardens: the blue Aquarium Pyramid, where the girls shrieked at the sharks and posed with the penguins; the pink Discovery Pyramid, where they toured the "Forgotten Gateway: Coming to America through Galveston Island" exhibit which explained the history of immigration in Galveston, an entry point into America for white Europeans and African slaves-Negroes and cotton had been bought and sold on the docks of Galveston; and the white Rainforest Pyramid, where they touched the turtles and chased the birds and butterflies flying about the ten-story-tall, one-acre-under-glass living rainforest with plants, birds, bugs, and fish from Asian, African, and South American rainforests. The tarantulas creeped out Pajamae, but Boo thought the Macaws were cool. They took an extreme log ride in the IMAX RideFilm Theater and smelled the dinosaurs in the 4D Special FX film Walking with Dinosaurs. They took a ride on the Colonel Paddlewheel Boat and then finished the day swimming and playing on the white sand at the Palm Beach pool. Rebecca looked stunning in her black wig and white bikini.

  She had recovered from her morning melancholy. She acted upbeat and energetic. She laughed and played with the girls. It was as if the knowledge of Trey's affairs had released her from his hold. As if she were free of Trey Rawlins. Over him. She was a different woman. When they walked out to the cars, Boo stopped Scott and said, "Mother's changed. She smiles… she's sweet… she sweats. I like her again."

  Late that afternoon they played a game of touch football on the beach. Consuela, Maria, and Karen sat under a big beach umbrella and cheered. It was supposed to be two-hand touch, but Rebecca put a full-body tackle on Scott; he didn't complain. Afterwards, he walked up to the house to check on the final round of the Houston Classic, but stopped on the deck and looked back at Rebecca. She and Boo were walking hand in hand far down the beach. They were growing close again. He wondered what an eleven-year-old girl talked to her mother about.