by Mara White
Mr. Randolph is already seated when I walk into the restaurant. It’s too early for the dinner crowd so I spot him right away, briefcase at his side, stacks of papers covering the table. He stands as I approach him and offers a sturdy handshake. Mr. Randolph has never been particularly friendly or accommodating with me, but always extremely professional. I’m guessing these qualities also factored in Robert’s decision to hire him. My crime is emotional, a non-violent crime of passion, so a stone faced lawyer who wouldn’t even contemplate these variables is best for my overly sentimental, wanton, and impetuous wife.
Tonight, however, Mr. Randolph not only loosens his tie, but he orders a martini. I guess it is after 5PM. I order coffee and he orders an entire meal. As soon as the waiter’s out of earshot he addresses me.
“Nothing to eat?”
“I can’t really stomach anything when we talk about the case,” I offer up as excuse. It’s my guilt, my frustration, my disappointment that all but consume me.
“And coffee at 6 to boot, Mrs. Champion?”
“I take something to help me sleep. It knocks me out, doesn’t really matter, my caffeine intake,” I explain.
I wonder if Mr. Randolph has ever lain awake at night pining for someone like I do. If he knows how sleep becomes impossible when memories or mere thoughts of that person spike your adrenaline and engage your fight or flight response. The pain of lying still when your body is flooded with serotonin and dopamine from those memories, your body and mind helplessly adrift in love hormones. When your instinctual drive as an animal tells you nothing but seek and find over and over and over again. How it feels to consciously deny that drive every minute of every day, like stopping your own heart, like suffocating your own breath.
The coffee tastes sour, as if it’s been sitting in the pot stewing all day. I force it down and rally myself to listen to the plan, the approach, the expected outcome. I have the thought that if it weren’t for my daughters, I’d ask them to lock me away. Stuff me in a box with no light and no air. I’ll spend my days in a spiritual stupor asking the universe why it handed me these feelings, why it led me to him.
I realize when Mr. Randolph’s food arrives that I’ve tuned everything out. I usually have an auxiliary ear that picks up information even when I’m not actively listening. I think it’s a result of years spent in academia as well as speaking multiple languages. Apparently, that ear has shut down too. Just like the rest of me. He offers me a piece of cornbread and I reluctantly take it.
“I can almost unequivocally assure you that the outcome isn’t going to be as dramatic as you’re imagining. Your record’s spotless, Mrs. Champion. Not a parking ticket to speak of.”
If only the legal outcome were the source of my troubles. I pick at the cornbread. I accept more coffee from the stoic waiter. Then, through Mr. Randolph’s droning soliloquy, my auxiliary ear does hone in on something. It sounds like the possible beginnings of a commotion over my shoulder at the hostess’ stand. A ‘young man!’ and a ‘you can’t!’ I swivel in my chair and crane my neck to get a look. I see what appears to be a shirtless Oscar, sweaty and from the looks of it, intoxicated, trying to gain access to the restaurant. In a daze, I stand.
“Kate!” he yells.
“Oscar?” I mouth and then quickly holler, “He’s with me!”
A largely built bouncer holds him back, but drops him as I approach. The restaurant manager rushes over and spills forth his no sneakers, no shirts policy. I nod in understanding. I glance at Oscar’s sneakered feet and remove my navy Lanvin blazer and hold it out to him. He slips it on and I button the top of the deep-cut V. The tailored jacket comes to just the middle of his forearms.
“It’s too cold to be outside without a jacket, Oscar,” I say calmly.
I lead him by the hand to my table with the staff following anxiously behind muttering about how he’s obviously intoxicated. Mr. Randolph stands, his jaw hanging in disbelief as Oscar pulls me into a drunken bear-hug.
“We gotta go, it’s Jaylee.”
“It’s never good news when you come to find me,” I say. I’m bewildered and my senses feel dulled.
“Let’s go, we’ve got to beat him to Passaic.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Mrs. Champion,” Mr. Randolph interrupts. “As your lawyer, I’d advise against this. Any contact that you have with the accused can have repercussions that will affect your own case.”
“I’m sorry,” I say slowly. I take Oscar’s hand in mine.
I leave him there without signing the papers, without learning the plan or perfecting the performance. Oscar leads me to a car idling on Lenox Ave. It’s a wreck of a thing with dents, matte black paint and tinted windows. Oscar opens the passenger’s side door for me and I shake my head no.
“You’re drunk, Flash. I’ll drive.”
“Cómo quieras,” he says. “Keys are in the ignition.”
The seatbelt doesn’t work. I notice as I’m turning the key that the car’s a manual stick shift. I stare at it for a minute. I can feel the brain fog starting to lift.
“Oscar, who’s car is this?”
“Nardo’s, why?”
“I haven’t driven a stick since I was your age. What’s with all the cars? Is it some type of Dominican car share?”
Oscar laughs and the car only jerks twice before I pull out of the parking spot and onto 125th Street.
“Do you know how to get to Passaic?”
“No idea,” I say.
“Don’t worry, I’ll direct you.”
On the ride to New Jersey, Oscar fills me in on the crisis. Janine went out with some guy unbeknownst to Jaylee or the rest of her family. He took her to Passaic where he lives. He made sexual advances. Janinie declined. He kicked her out of his house. She walked to a bar and called Jaylee. Jaylee had been drinking.
“What? Oscar, you let him drink?”
“Just a few beers, Kate. Sarah taught him how to –”
“Fuuuck! Thank you, Sarah!” I yell, slamming my fist into the steering wheel.
“He’s got a suspended license,” Oscar says under his breath.
“He’s driving?” I ask, incredulously. “You let him drink and then you let him drive, out of state, on a conditional release.”
“Fuck you, Kate, you know Jaylee. Sorry,” Oscar says as he removes my blazer and points out a red welt on his upper arm and one on his torso. “ I tried to stop him. Sort of. He’s gonna fuckin’ kill that dude.”
“So, I’m supposed to stop him?”
“Yup.”
“I just jump in the middle and he stops?”
“That’s the idea,” Oscar says smiling. “Let’s just say that you have an effect on him that no one else has. The guy would move mountains if he thought they were gonna be in your way.”
“You’re drunk Oscar. Since you’ve forgotten, Jaylee and I are trying to be over. I’ve got a responsibility to my family and I’m out on bail too. I don’t want to get involved in more trouble.”
“Whatever,” he says.
“That was rude, Flash!” I say smacking his arm.
“No, I mean, ‘whatever’ to you and Jaylee trying to be over. Not the family stuff.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence. Once we arrive in Passaic, Oscar’s phone rings and he digs for it deep in his pocket. I see Janinie’s name plainly on the display screen.
“Neenay?” Oscar says as he answers.
What follows are a string of expletives, some fist pounding on the dashboard, some head grabbing and a gradual shifting into Spanish. Oscar throws the phone on the floor to hang up.
“Take a left.”
“Bad news? Are we walking into the middle or the aftermath?”
“Cops are at the bar. They got Jaylee on the floor in cuffs.”
My heart sinks. I tried to lessen the jail time. I wanted to give him time to say goodbye. I wanted him to be free. Dusk has fallen and I can see the lights from the police cars in the distance.
�
�Up here on the right.”
It looks like the bar has a broken window. Everyone is outside. It’s hard to tell the patrons from the bystanders. Janinie is by the door talking to an officer. Her arms are crossed protectively over her chest. I wonder if there’s anything at all I can do to remedy what’s been done. Oscar and I exit the car as soon as it stops.
Janinie’s head spins around as the doors close and she runs to me. It’s my name she yells. She collides into my arms and cries into my shoulder. Oscar approaches the officer outside the door.
“Are you okay?” I ask her. “Did the guy hurt you?”
“I shouldn’t have called him, Kate. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault,” she sobs into my shoulder.
Oscar comes back to us shaking his head.
“Yeah, it’s over. The guy followed Neenay to the bar. Jaylee got here a few minutes later and saw them arguing. He put his head through the window. Holmes left in an ambulance.”
“Oh God!” I say. Then I’m silent. Oscar looks at me and slowly his eyes widen.
“Oh, Shit, Kate! Oh, fuck! I just realized. Oh, Fuck!” Oscar says turning around in circles completely distraught.
“It’s okay, Oscar. Really. Don’t. It’s fine.”
“Fuck!” he says again loudly enough to turn heads in the gawking crowd.
“What? What’s going on?” Janinie asks frightened by his display.
“The bail! Kate just lost the bail. Fucking two hundred and fifty thousand dollars! Jesus Christ!”
“Oscar, really. It doesn’t matter, I . . .”
Our voices go silent simultaneously as Jaylee is escorted out of the bar by two officers, his hands cuffed behind him. He’s shirtless and bears marks of a struggle all over his arms, chest and abdomen. His beautiful, full upper lip is split and bloodied. His head is hung slightly, his gaze toward the ground.
As if his animal instinct could sense me, as if he caught my scent in the wind, his head jerks up and our eyes lock. His golden eyes are alert, his breath fierce as it enters his chest, flaring his nostrils. I drink in the sheer force of his penetrating gaze. My body reacts to him instantaneously as if on command; as if it had been waiting on standby, dormant in his absence. In his eyes I see no hint of remorse, no fleck of apology, yet he knows what he’s done. His eyes take mine as if we existed together outside of circumstance and outside of time. Not a word escapes his lips but he never breaks our gaze. His eyes communicate enough to me, they speak only of unbridled desire, of unrelenting love.
CHAPTER 27
The night before my preliminary hearing, Janinie calls me on my home phone. The girls have gone to sleep but Robert is up with me watching the History Channel and shoots me a look of disapproval when I take the call in the kitchen. He wants everything out in the open even if I’m speaking to my parents or Sarah. I guess he has good cause.
It’s been a little over a week since Jaylee was arrested. Robert doesn’t know about losing the bail money and I intend to keep it that way. The final decision of bail forfeit will be up to the judge anyway. I’m not too hopeful seeing as they have no reason to go easy on him. With the trust from my parents, I should have no trouble just absorbing the cost in addition to covering up the loss with a little help from my financial advisor. Janinie has taken a different tone with me since the incident in Passaic. Apparently, we’re now on the same team.
“Hi Kate, I wanted to give you Jaylee’s info. In case you wanted to, like, write him or put money in his commissary,” she says brightly.
“Oh. Okay. I hadn’t thought of doing that. Writing, I mean.”
“You should, Kate. I write to my Dad and my counselor at school said it helps you work things out. I already wrote Jay a letter. He hasn’t written back yet, but it, like, gives them something to do in there.”
Maybe Janinie is on to something. Maybe it would help me to write him and tell him how I’m feeling. He wrote me a letter and I’ve safeguarded the thing in my lock box like a treasure. It meant a lot to me. The thought of him crafting it still makes me melt inside.
Janinie gives me his NYSID in addition to his case and book number so that I can write to him as well as deposit in his commissary. She explains how to do it online through a site called Jpay.
“How much do I put in there? I know it’s for phone calls and food, but do you deposit fifty dollars at a time or fifteen hundred? I’ve never done . . . I don’t have any experience with . . .” I sound like an idiot. I can’t complete a sentence. My own father should have served time a thousand times over. Corruption, insider trading, bailouts. He relaxes in his penthouse. All Janinie has ever known is her father being locked away.
“Put fifteen hundred in, Kate,” Janinie says barely containing a giggle.
“What? Is that too much?”
“No it’s perfect! And write him a letter. Tell him how much you love him, and Kate?”
“Yes?” I say my heart swelling with pain and love simultaneously.
“Tell him that you’ll wait for him. Even if it isn’t true. I think he needs to hear it from you.”
“Okay, Neenay. Are you okay? With everything . . . do you need anything?”
“No, just the letter and the commissary, Kate. I’m good.”
I hang up the phone and wander back into the living room. My head is a million miles away from Robert, from my own pending hearing. He’s gone to bed but left the lights on for me. I know what lies ahead is a night of relentless worry and despair. I grab my Prada bag off of the bench in the hallway and shake out two prescription sleeping pills into my hand. There have been a few nights in the last two months when I’ve considered taking all of them. What stops me tonight are Ada and Pearl’s rain boots standing side by side in the hallway. Carmen put them out before she left for the day, as rain is in the forecast for tomorrow. Ada’s are frogs and Pearl’s are ladybugs.
I pull out the desk chair in the downstairs den and boot up the desktop. Robert used to use this room for looking over stocks in the morning with coffee but now he does it all on his phone. I quickly transfer funds into Jaylee’s account through the site Janinie gave me and pull up a blank document to draft him a letter.
The line for security at the Center Street criminal courthouse is worse than JFK on a weekend. I’m glad we left early or else I would have been late for my own hearing. Robert grips my hand and periodically kneads the tension out of my aching shoulders. I’ve been up almost all night with worry, and sick with nerves twice already this morning. I have no idea how to deal with this much life-altering stress. My upbringing didn’t prepare me for it – not at all.
Robert suggests that each of us wait in a different line and move over to whichever one proceeds faster. For some reason I can’t separate from him. I need his hands on me to help me calm down. I’m nothing but a wound up ball of frayed nerves and emotions. I think I could even be sick again before we enter the courtroom.
The security here seems extreme and costly. There are large box-framed scanners that probably expose your naked body to the screeners and whoever else gets a look at the viewing monitors from the other side. I understand the necessity in a post-9/11 lower Manhattan but the invasion only adds to the humiliation of those that come here already accused in order to defend themselves – like me.
Robert removes his watch and his wallet. He’s friendly with the screeners as this is a familiar destination when he’s representing a client at trial. On those days, he uses the much shorter employee screening line. Today he’s here as a possible witness and as my sole supporter. I remove the platinum necklace Robert gave me; Jaylee’s I can keep on. I take off my Cartier bracelets and my watch as well. A security guard with short dreadlocks and a pretty smile tells me to lay my purse flat and take off my coat.
“You must be the lucky Mrs. Champion?” she asks.
I smile at her and nod my head. Robert is next in line for the scanner.
“Any chance you could be pregnant, Mrs. Champion?” she asks softly.
I shake m
y head no, the standard question having absolutely no effect on me whatsoever.
Then my head jerks up and I look her in the eyes. My lips part to speak but there isn’t any air in my lungs to form a response.
“I,” is all I can manage.
My periods have been non-existent the last two months, my stomach upset, my emotions riding the Cyclone. I thought it was grief. I thought it was from not eating well.
Robert stops and zeros in on us, his eyes focusing in like the scope of a rifle. He’s holding his body tense. He too seems to have stopped breathing.
The guard smiles sweetly at me.
“Maybe?” she asks shrugging her shoulders lightly.
“Maybe,” I squeak out of a dry throat. My own chest is suffocating me. And I’d thought the anxiety was peaking before.
Robert turns and walks through the scanner. I can feel the anger pouring off of him. He’s unarmed but likely the most volatile thing in this entire building. As he should be. Robert had a vasectomy right after Ada was born.
“Sometimes that happens,” the security guard says jovially. “Just step around to the side here and put your feet on those white footprints – I’ll use the wand on you.”
I put my arms out to the side like she shows me while she runs the hand wand down my body. I’m trying exceedingly hard to hold them in but the teardrops are slipping out over the rims of my eyes and running down my face.
“By the looks of it maybe the answer’s ‘yes’,” she says to me sweetly. “It’s okay, we’ve all been there before, Mama.”
I nod at her and try to smile through my tears. No we haven’t all been here before. Not with a twenty three year old lover’s baby. Not with a lover who’s likely to spend the rest of his life in jail.
