by Tracy Brown
Dominique had to smirk at her friend’s sarcasm. “You’re right,” she admitted.
Camille had to turn the tables on Toya. “Well, you just got around to telling us about your father and what you went through as a kid,” she said. “All this time, we’ve all been spilling our guts out about our problems and you never once shared your own pain.”
Toya nodded. “Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. We all have to stop keeping shit to ourselves.” She shook her head. “Yesterday Misa found out some terrible information. And instead of picking up the phone to call one of us, she spazzed out. Now she’s in serious trouble. We can’t let this happen again.”
Camille and Dominique agreed. “No more secrets.” Camille yawned and soon Toya and Dominique were doing the same.
“Let’s try to get some rest,” Dominique said.
Camille stretched and nodded in agreement. “Misa’s going to need to see our faces in that courtroom when she walks in.”
Dominique helped Camille and Toya get comfortable—Camille in Dominique’s bed and Toya in Octavia’s—and then lay down on her sofa with a chenille throw wrapped around her. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the horrible scenarios playing out in her mind. She imagined Octavia being victimized in countless ways, and the worry that tugged at her heart and mind kept her from getting one wink of sleep. More than ever, Dominique wished that her man Jamel was there with her instead of incarcerated in a correctional facility upstate. She would have given anything to be wrapped in his arms and reassured that everything was going to be all right. Instead, she snuggled into the cold leather couch and shut her eyes, praying for the safe return of her only child.
Not Guilty?
The courtroom was packed. Camille, her mother, Lily, and Toya sat just behind the defense attorneys and watched as the prosecutor presented case after case against a myriad of defendants. They had arrived early in order to get the best seats, hoping to place themselves in a position to be the first faces Misa saw when she was escorted into the courtroom. They had already been waiting for hours. It seemed that the court was determined to call every case besides Misa’s, and it was hard not to get antsy. As each poor, unfortunate soul was dragged out into open court, the women had watched to see what kind of judge Misa was about to face. So far, he had put bail on every single defendant who had come before him. So they resigned themselves to the fact that it was highly unlikely that Misa would be released on her own recognizance.
Camille fidgeted slightly in her seat. She wore a red wool crepe Michael Kors dress that used to fit her quite well. Today it felt snugger than usual, but that wasn’t the only reason she shifted uneasily. She was waiting for Frankie to come through the door at any moment. Despite all that he had put her through, Camille still loved her husband and was eager to see his face.
She had told her mother about her pregnancy on their way to court that afternoon. Lily had been so overcome with emotion that the usually stoic woman had burst into tears. Camille had been unable to tell whether they were happy tears or not. The reality was that Lily was happy for her daughter, but so worried for her, as well. Both of her daughters were in for the fight of their lives, and it would either make or break them. Misa being jailed and Shane being torn from them was enough to send Lily’s blood pressure soaring. Now, Camille would be facing extreme emotional turmoil in the months to come. So much was happening that the timing of Camille’s pregnancy seemed ill-advised. Still, Lily was happy that her eldest daughter was about to become a mother for the first time. It had been a long time coming. Lily hugged Camille, congratulated her and assured her that whether her husband came to his senses or not, she and her baby were going to be just fine.
Toya sat beside Camille and soaked it all in. She crossed her legs and noticed that her Pour La Victoire T-strap platform pumps were smudged. She felt a mess today anyway. She had borrowed an outfit from Dominique and it didn’t feel right. Dominique wore fine clothing, just as Toya did, but their styles were entirely different. Toya loved to accentuate her figure and wore body-baring silhouettes every day. Dominique’s style was more modest. Toya had searched through Dominique’s wardrobe for something she could tolerate and settled on a gray sheath dress with black piping that wasn’t tight but was, at least, short. She couldn’t help thinking about her dog, Ginger, whom she hoped was safely accounted for at Dominique’s place. Dominique had reluctantly agreed to dog-sit once Toya argued that she needed company, something to occupy her while everyone else was in court and Octavia was still missing. Toya wondered if it was selfish that she was praying Dominique was treating her “baby” well.
As another defendant was led in, Camille anxiously waited to see if it was her sister. To her disappointment, it was not. Turning around to gaze at the spectators seated behind her, she spotted Louis walking in with his girlfriend, Nahla, on his arm. She was a Bajan beauty with a nice body, but the permanent scowl on her face took away from her appeal. Every single time Camille had seen this woman, she was frowning for some reason. It seemed that she was in a perpetual bad mood and Camille had often wondered how Louis put up with such a bitch. Louis made eye contact with Camille and nodded in her direction. He sat, however, on the opposite side of the courtroom, behind the prosecution, and faced forward.
Lily frowned, looking at Camille. “Who is taking care of Shane?” she asked.
“Good question,” Toya chimed in.
Lily shook her head in amazement. “That bastard couldn’t leave his pit bull home today? She had to come here, too? And where is my grandson?”
Before either of them could respond, Lily was out of her seat and headed in Louis’s direction. Toya and Camille watched as Lily rushed to the empty seat beside Louis’s girlfriend and spoke in hushed tones to her former son-in-law. Nahla’s facial expression showed her discomfort as Lily leaned over her in order to speak to Louis. It seemed as if something Lily was saying made Nahla uncomfortable. She looked amazed by the older woman’s brazenness. Finally, after Louis seemed to explain himself, gesturing with his hands and nodding vigorously, Lily returned to her seat and filled Toya and Camille in on what she’d learned.
“Louis’s mother is taking care of Shane while they’re here today.” Lily shook her head. “Shane don’t hardly even know that woman!” She looked at Camille incredulously. “I asked him why he brought the pit bull in a skirt with him and he said she wanted to be here to support him.” Lily rolled her eyes. “Hmm! If you ask me, she came to be fucking nosy!”
Toya had to resist the urge to giggle. She liked Lily. She was a plucky old lady who seemed to possess the balls that Camille didn’t have. Toya made a mental note to ask Camille how she turned out to be such a punk with a mother as straightforward as Lily.
“Anyway, I told him I’m coming over there today to see my grandson. Just me by myself and I don’t want no shit when I get there.”
“What did he say?” Toya asked.
“What could he say?” Lily asked as if the question was idiotic. “He nodded his peasy head and that was that.”
A commotion seemed to stir up just outside of the courtroom, as raised voices could be heard through the closed doors. When the doors swung open, Frankie and Gillian entered like a black Brad and Angelina, flanked by court officers who were trying to keep reporters in the lobby at bay. Since Camille, Toya, and Lily had arrived early, they had missed the crush of reporters who had assembled outside. Frankie and Gillian, however, had walked right into it.
Camille looked at her husband and swooned. He looked so handsome, his mustache and goatee groomed to precision. He wore a Banana Republic blazer, Thomas Pink shirt, and black Kenneth Cole pants and shoes. He walked in beside Gillian, who wore a long-sleeved blue dress with Louis Vuitton boots and bag. Spotting Camille and her mother sitting in the front row, Gillian squeezed his hand tighter. Frankie returned the gesture and ushered her into the row of seats behind Louis and Nahla. Camille couldn’t help noticing the irony. Louis and Frankie had both positioned themselve
s on the opposite side of the courtroom from the defense, showing Camille that the lines had most certainly been drawn. It was she and Misa versus Frankie and Louis. How drastically things had changed! Camille shook her head and struggled to keep her tears in check. Seeing her daughter battling with her emotions, Lily took her hand and winked at her. Camille smiled and together they faced forward.
At last, Misa was finally brought into the courtroom, her wrists cuffed behind her back. She looked defeated, her posture slightly slumped as she shuffled in. It had been a long night for her. Misa had lain atop that hard, cold metal bench, tossing and turning all night. She felt stiff and eager for a shower, for some real food. For a brief moment, her eyes seemed to brighten slightly as she scanned the courtroom and she saw her mother, sister, and Toya seated nearby. Then her gaze settled on the opposite side of the room where Louis sat with his girlfriend and her expression turned melancholy once more. Behind them were Frankie and Gillian and the icy stare Frankie sent Misa’s way made her turn and face the judge quickly.
Camille had retained an attorney that morning. Teresa Rourke was a criminal lawyer with an impeccable reputation. Dominique had suggested that Camille hire her after watching Teresa win an unlikely acquittal in the case of one of the rap industry’s biggest stars. Infinite Knowledge was a rapper from Bed Stuy who had opened fire in a crowded nightclub in Manhattan in 2004 after an altercation with a hater. No one was hit by the gunfire, but the ensuing stampede for the exit caused a young lady to be trampled to death. Infinite had been charged with manslaughter, but in a stunning victory, Teresa Rourke had won an acquittal on the unlikely grounds of police misconduct. That high-profile case had earned her a reputation as a female Johnnie Cochran. She didn’t come cheap and Camille was praying that she would be worth every penny. Misa just couldn’t spend the rest of her life in jail.
Teresa sauntered over to Misa’s side decked out in a fabulous custom-fitted black D&G pantsuit. Her Stuart Weitzman pumps made her five-foot-nine frame seem even longer. She wore her hair in neat microbraids and, standing beside Misa, the contrast was evident. To her loved ones, Misa looked broken and haggard.
The case got under way with the court officer announcing, “The People vs. Misa Atkinson, case number 688973. The charges are New York State Penal Codes 265.04, criminal possession of a firearm in the first degree; 265.09, criminal use of a firearm in the first degree; and 125.27, premeditated murder in the first degree.”
“How do you plead?” the judge barked without so much as glancing at Misa.
“Not guilty,” Misa said, her voice cracking a little at the end.
A slight stir could be heard from somewhere behind her, but Misa didn’t dare turn around. The prosecution wasted no time laying out its case. Misa’s lawyer touched her arm comfortingly and offered her a reassuring smile. It did little to soothe her as they listened to the district attorney speak.
“Your honor, the defendant shot Mr. Steven Dennis Bingham a total of six times at point-blank range with an unlicensed revolver. She has expressed no remorse for her actions and has been uncooperative with our investigation. The charges she is facing carry a possible life sentence, and she is the sister-in-law of Mr. Frank Bingham, who owns and operates two successful local businesses. Mr. Bingham also came into sole ownership recently of the popular Manhattan restaurant Conga.”
Frankie noticed Gillian glance at him questioningly then. He avoided her gaze and kept looking forward, listening to the prosecution use his wealth against his wife and sister-in-law. Gillian didn’t ask him about it then, but he knew that her curiosity had been piqued. Gillian had no idea how Frankie had come to own her mother’s restaurant.
The prosecution finished stating its case. “By virtue of her access to cash, we assert that Ms. Atkinson is a flight risk and ask that she be held without bail.”
Misa looked over at the DA and shook her head. He wore a blue pinstriped suit and shoes so shiny she could see the light shining off them. He was a pale, snarling, gray-haired, bespectacled old man who looked like he’d been an asshole his entire life.
Teresa Rourke wasted no time with her rebuttal. “Your honor, my client poses no flight risk. The deceased, whom my client shot in self-defense, was the brother of Frankie Bingham. Therefore, it isn’t likely that Mr. Bingham would be willing to be of any assistance to her—monetary or otherwise—in this … imagined effort to escape prosecution.” Teresa shook her head as if the idea was absurd. “Mr. Bingham’s assets and apparent wealth should have no bearing whatsoever on whether bail is set for Ms. Atkinson.”
“Your honor—” The prosecutor tried to interject, but Teresa wasn’t having it.
“She is the mother of a three-year-old son who has been traumatized.” Teresa paused to let that sink in. “That child is now in the custody of his father and Ms. Atkinson is anxious to reconcile with her son. Going on the lam is not an option for her. And I assure the court that she is eager to cooperate with the investigation. Despite repeated requests for an attorney on the night in question, my client was forced to remain at the scene of the crime under grueling questioning by police for more than an hour with the deceased’s body lying just feet away. She was in shock and was denied her rights to an attorney.”
“That’s not true, your honor.” The prosecutor was raising his voice now.
“Again, my client is eager to answer these charges against her and has no intention of fleeing prosecution.”
The judge made some notes and flipped through Misa’s file. For seconds that felt to Misa like hours, the judge read silently and then peered over his glasses at Misa. She held his gaze, hoping to convey that she was harmless, that she wouldn’t try to run. Her lawyer had briefed her in the holding cell on what to expect today. She said that Judge Mitchell Williams was a stern bulldog with a permanent frown. He was no-nonsense and no-holds-barred and brought down his decisions with a finality that often left jaws ajar. But despite all that, Judge Williams was pretty fair. Misa was counting on that today. Her eyes locked with his and she spoke silently, willing him to see that she was not the heartless bitch the prosecution had made her out to be. The judge looked again at the papers before him, and then spoke up at last.
“Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars.” He banged his gavel, and the hearing was over just like that.
“I’m going back to jail?” Misa asked, innocence resonating in her tone.
Teresa looked at her watch and sighed. It was already after two-thirty in the afternoon. “It’s pretty late, but there’s a chance we can get you out tonight. If you have collateral or if your sister has assets she can use as collateral, she can bail you out before the bus leaves for Rikers at five o’clock.”
Misa’s heart sank and she looked at the floor. The court officer came to bring Misa back to the holding pen. Teresa told her she would come and talk to her about what her options were in a few minutes. Misa turned to look at her mother and sister and mouthed the words, “Get me out.” As she was hustled back to the holding pen, she avoided looking in Frankie and Louis’s direction and for a fleeting moment she wondered if she’d be better off staying in jail.
Frankie and Gillian were the first ones out the door. He had always been careful to avoid publicity, eager to remain in the shadows instead, where he was safe from the scrutiny of anyone who might connect him to the shady ways he truly made his money. All these photographers and reporters were the last thing he needed.
Camille marveled at how swiftly the two of them had slithered out of the packed courtroom and into the lights and cameras flashing in the lobby. Louis tried to pull the same maneuver, but Lily was on him before he could reach the door.
“I’m going to be there to visit with Shane in about an hour. Let him know that Grandma is coming to see him.”
Louis nodded and slunk out with his screw-faced girlfriend in tow.
Misa’s attorney came over to Camille and explained Misa’s bail situation. “Basically, you would need to put up cash totaling fi
ve hundred thousand dollars in order to bail her out tonight. Or, you can present collateral in the amount of twenty percent of her bail. In this case, that would mean assets totaling one hundred thousand dollars.”
Camille was at a loss for words at first. Teresa made it sound so easy, with her designer suits and expensive bags. Camille figured the prominent attorney probably had that kind of money to burn. Camille did not.
“Oh my God…”
Toya stood there and wondered if her friend was one of those dumb bitches her father had warned her about growing up: a dumb bitch who didn’t know her worth, who never saved for a rainy day, who never asked a nigga for shit or planned for the day when he wasn’t there. She felt a headache coming on as she watched her friend—the wife of Frankie B, head of the Nobles crime syndicate—struggle to come to terms with what had just happened.
“I don’t have that kind of money,” Camille said.
“You can put your house up, Camille,” Toya pointed out.
Teresa nodded in agreement. “Yes, the court will accept the deed to your house as collateral.”
Camille shook her head. “The house is in Frankie’s name. Everything is in Frankie’s name.”
Toya almost wanted to choke Camille to death. “Everything?”
Camille felt like the dumbest bitch on the planet. “Yeah.” She nodded sadly. “Everything.” The severity of the situation made her weak in the knees and she sat down on the courtroom bench before she collapsed.
Teresa seemed dismayed, as well. “Well, then…” She began to pack her belongings into her briefcase, assuming that if these ladies couldn’t afford bail, they couldn’t afford her. On her way out the door, she handed Camille a business card. “Call me when you’re able to work things out with your husband.”
They watched Teresa Rourke, Misa’s ticket to freedom, saunter out the door one dollar sign at a time.
* * *
