“See ya.”
The door closed behind him, and for the first time in her life Jessica wanted to kill.
He was back at ten that night, with two plainclothesmen and a search warrant, to look for weapons and drugs.
This time Houghton was straight-faced and businesslike, and he avoided her eyes for the entire hour they were there, digging into closets and drawers, unfolding her underwear, dumping her handbags on the bed, pouring out soap flakes, and spreading Ian’s clothes and papers all over the living room.
They found nothing, and Jessie said nothing about it to Ian. Ever. It took her four and a half hours to get everything put away, and another two hours to stop sobbing. Her fears had been justified. They had raped her. Not in the way she had feared, but in another way. Photographs of her mother lay strewn all over her desk, her birth-control pills lay dumped out in the kitchen, half of them gone, to be tested at the lab. Her whole life was spread all over the house. It was her war now too. And she was ready to fight. That night had changed everything. Now they were her enemy too, not just Ian’s. And for the first time in seven years, Ian was not there to defend her. Not only that, but it was he who had put her face to face with this enemy. He had brought this down around her ears as well as his own. And she was helpless. It was Ian’s fault. Now he was the enemy too.
Chapter 8
Jessica waited with Martin Schwartz in the back rows of the courtroom until after ten. The docket was heavily overscheduled, and the court was running late. The procedures Jessie watched looked very dull. Most of the charges were rattled off by number, bails were arbitrarily set, and new faces were brought in. Ian finally arrived through a door leading in from the jail, accompanied by a guard on each side.
Martin walked to the front of the room, and the charges were, mercifully, read off by number, not description. Ian was asked if he understood what he was accused of, and he answered, gravely, in the affirmative.
The bail was set at twenty-five thousand dollars. Martin asked to have it reduced and the judge pondered the question while a female assistant D.A. jumped to her feet and objected. She felt that the matter before the court warranted a heavier bail. But the judge didn’t agree. He lowered it to fifteen thousand, smacked his gavel, and had another man brought in. The preliminary hearing had been set for two weeks hence.
“Now what do we do?” Jessica whispered to Martin as he came back to her seat. Ian had already left the court and was back in the jail.
“Now you scare up fifteen hundred bucks to pay to a bailbondsman, and give him something worth fifteen thousand in collateral.”
“How do I do that?”
“Come on. I’ll take you over myself.”
But Jesus … fifteen thousand? Now it suddenly hit her. Fifteen thousand. It was enormous. Could anything be worth that much money? Yes. Ian.
They went down to the lobby and across the street to one of a long row of neon-lit bail offices. They didn’t look like nice places, and the one they walked into was no better than the rest. It reeked of cigar smoke, the ashtrays were full to overflowing, and two men were asleep on a couch, apparently waiting. A woman with teased yellow hair asked them their business and Martin explained. She called the jail and made a note of the charges while looking lengthily at Jessie. Jessie tried not to flinch.
“You’ll have to put up the collateral. Do you own your own home?”
Jessie nodded, and explained the mortgage. “And I own my own business as well.” She gave the woman the name and address of the boutique, the address of the house, and the name of the bank where they had their mortgage.
“What do you think your business is worth? What is it, anyway? A dress shop?” Jessie nodded, feeling degraded somehow, though she was not quite sure why. Maybe it was because the woman now knew what the charges were.
“Yes, it’s a dress shop. And we have a fairly large inventory.” Why did she want to impress this idiot woman? But then she knew that it was because the woman held the key to Ian’s bail. Martin Schwartz was standing to one side, watching the proceedings.
“We’ll have to call your bank. Come back at four o’clock.”
“And then can you bail him?” Oh God, please, can you bail him? The panic was coming back in her throat again, thick and sweet and bitter, like bile.
“We’ll bail him depending on what your bank says about the house and the shop,” she said flatly. “Do you use the same bank for both?” Jessie nodded, looking gray. “Good. That’ll save time. Bring the fifteen hundred with you when you come back. In cash.”
“In cash?”
“Cash or a bank check. No personal checks.”
“Thank you.”
They went back to the street and Jessie took a long breath of fresh air. It felt like years since she’d had any. She breathed again and looked at Martin.
“What happens to people who don’t have the money?”
“They don’t bail.”
“And then what?”
“They stay in custody till after the verdict.”
“Even if they’re innocent? They stay in jail all that time?”
“You don’t know if they’re innocent until after the trial.”
“What the hell ever happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?”
He shrugged and looked away, remaining silent. It had depressed him to be in the bail office. He rarely went to bailbondsmen with clients. But Ian had asked him to and he had promised. It seemed odd to treat such a tall, independent-looking woman as though she were frail and helpless. But he suspected that Ian was right: beneath the coat of armor, she hid a terrifying vulnerability. He wondered if that armor would crack before this was over. That was all they needed.
“What do poor people do about lawyers?” Jesus. He had enough headaches without playing social worker.
“They get public defenders, Jessica. And we have plenty to think about ourselves right now, without worrying about poor people, don’t you think? Why don’t you just get yourself to the bank and get this over with?”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. The system is lousy, and I know it. But it’s not set up for the comfort of the poor. Just be grateful that you’re not one of them right now, and let it go at that.”
“That’s hard to do, Martin.”
He shook his head and gave her a small smile. “Are you going to the bank?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Do you want me to come with you?”
“Of course not. Is baby-sitting service always part of the deal, or did Ian strong-arm you into that?”
“I … no … oh, for Chrissake. Just go to the bank. And let me know when you get him out. Or before that, if there’s anything I can do.”
How about lending us fifteen thousand bucks, baby? She smiled, said good-bye, and walked slowly to her car. She still didn’t have any idea of how she’d come up with the money. And what the hell would she tell the bank? The truth. And she’d beg them if she had to. Fifteen thousand … it looked like the top of Mount Everest.
After six cigarettes and half an hour of agonizing conversation with the bank manager, Jessica took out a personal loan for fifteen hundred dollars against the car. And they assured her that all would be in order when the bail office called. There was a look of astonishment on the bank manager’s face throughout the conversation, and he tried desperately to conceal it. Unsuccessfully. And Jessica had not even told him what the charges were, only that Ian was in jail. She prayed that the bail office wouldn’t tell them the charges either, and that if they did he would keep his mouth shut. He had already sworn to her that he would see that everything remained confidential. And at least she had the fifteen hundred dollars … she had it … she had it! And her house and the business were worth ten times the collateral that she needed. But somehow she still didn’t feel that it was enough. What if they still wouldn’t let Ian out? And then she thought of it. The safe-deposit box.
“Mrs. Clarke?”
She didn’t answer. She just sat there.
“Mrs. Clarke? Was there something else?”
“Sorry. Oh … I … was just thinking of something. Yes, I … I think I’d like to get into my vault today.”
“Do you have the key with you?”
She nodded. She kept it on her key chain. She reached into her bag and handed it to him.
“I’ll have Miss Lopez open the box for you.”
Jessie followed him pensively, and then found herself following Miss Lopez, whom she did not know. And then she was standing in front of her safe-deposit box and Miss Lopez was looking at her, holding the box. It was a large one.
“Would you like to go into a room with this?”
“I … I … yes. Thank you.” She shouldn’t have done it. She didn’t need it. It was a mistake … no … but what if the house and Lady J weren’t enough? She knew she wasn’t making sense now. She was panicking. But it was better to be sure … to be … for Ian. But it was all so painful. And now she had to face it alone.
Miss Lopez left her in a small, sterile room with a brown Formica desk and a black vinyl chair. On the wall hung an ugly print of Venice that looked as though it had been cut from the top of a candy box. And she was alone with the box. Jessie opened it carefully and took out three large brown leather boxes and two faded red suede jewelry cases. There was another, smaller box at the bottom, in faded blue. The blue box was filled with Jake’s few treasures. The studs Father had given him on his twenty-first birthday, his school ring, his Navy ring. Junk, mostly, but very Jake.
The brown leather boxes contained the real treasures. Letters her parents had written to each other over the years. Letters they had exchanged while her father was in the service during the war. Poems her mother had written to her father. Photographs. Locks of her hair and Jake’s. Treasures. All the things that had mattered. Now, all the things that hurt most.
She opened the blue box first and smiled through a veil of tears as she saw Jake’s trinkets lying helter-skelter on the beige chamois. It still held the faintest hint of Jake’s smell. She remembered teasing him about the high-school ring. She had told him it was hideous, and he had been so damn proud of it. And now there it was. She slipped it on her finger. It was much too big for her. It would have been too big for Ian too. Jake had been almost six feet five.
She turned to the brown boxes then. She knew their touch so well. They were engraved with her parents’ initials, tiny gold letters in the lower right-hand corners. Each box identical. They were a family tradition. In the first box she found a picture of the four of them taken one Easter. She had been eleven or twelve; Jake had been seven. It was really more than she could face. She closed the box quietly and turned to what she had come for.
The red suede jewelry cases. It was incredible, really. She was actually going to take her mother’s jewelry with her. It was so precious to her, so sacred, so much still her mother’s that Jessie had worn none of it in all these years. And now she was willing to leave it in the hands of strangers. For Ian.
She carefully unfolded the cases and looked at the long row of rings. A ruby in an old setting that had been her grandmother’s. Two handsome jade rings her father had brought back from the Far East. The emerald ring her mother had wanted so much and had gotten for her fiftieth birthday. The diamond engagement ring … and her wedding ring, her “real” one, the worn, thin gold band she had always worn, always preferred to the emerald-and-diamond one Jessie’s father had bought to match the emerald ring. There were two simple gold chain bracelets. A gold watch with tiny diamonds carefully set around the face. And a large handsome sapphire brooch with diamonds set around it that had also been Jessie’s grandmother’s.
The second case held three strands of perfectly matched pearls, pearl earrings, and a small pair of diamond earrings that she and Jake had bought her together the year before she’d died. It was all there. Jessie’s stomach turned over as she looked at it. She knew she wouldn’t really be able to leave it with the bailbondsmen, but at least she had it if she needed it. Two days before she wouldn’t have considered such a thing, but now …
She put the rest of the boxes back into the metal vault and left the room almost two hours after she had entered it. The bank was almost ready to close.
When she went back to Bryant Street the woman was eating a dripping cheeseburger over the afternoon paper. “Got the money?” She looked up and spoke to Jessica with her mouth full.
Jessica nodded. “Did you talk to the bank about the collateral?” She had had enough, and wading through the private agony that safe-deposit box represented had topped it off. She wanted the nightmare to end. Now.
“What bank?” The woman’s face wore an unexpectedly blank expression, and Jessie clenched her hands to keep from screaming.
“The California Union Trust Bank. I wanted to bail my husband out tonight.”
“What were the charges?” For Chrissake, what was this woman trying to do to her? She remembered that Jessica was due back with some money—how could she have forgotten the rest? Or was she playing a game? Well, if she was, fuck her.
“The charges were rape and assault.” She almost shouted the words.
“Did you own any property?” Oh, shit.
“For God’s sake, we went through all that this afternoon, and you were going to call my bank about my business and our mortgage. I was here with our attorney, filled out papers, and …”
“Okay. What’s your name?”
“Clarke. With an ‘E.’ ”
“Yeah. Here it is.” She pulled out the form with two greasy fingers. “Can’t bail him now, though.”
“Why not?” Jessie’s stomach turned over again.
“Too late to call the bank.”
“Shit. Now what?”
“Come back in the morning.” Sure, while Ian sat in jail for another night. Wonderful. Tears of frustration choked her throat, but there was nothing she could do except go home and come back in the morning.
“You want to talk to the boss?”
Jessie’s face lit up.
“Now?”
“Yeah. He’s here. In the back.”
“Fabulous. Tell him I’m here.” Oh God, please … please let him be human … please …
The man emerged from the back room picking his teeth with a dirty finger that boasted a small gold ring with a large pink diamond. He had a beer can in his other hand. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and had a lot of curly black hair on his arms and at the neck of the shirt; his hair was almost an Afro. And he wasn’t much older than Jessie. He grinned when he saw her, gave a last stab at his teeth, then removed his hand from his mouth and extended it for her to shake. She shook it, but with difficulty.
“How do you do. I’m Jessica Clarke.”
“Barry York. What can I do you for?”
“I’m trying to bail my husband.”
“From what? What are the charges? Hey … wait a minute. Let’s go in my office. You want a beer?” Actually, she did. But not with him. She was hot and tired and thirsty and fed up and scared, but she didn’t want to drink anything with Barry York, not even water.
“No thanks.”
“Coffee?”
“No, really. I’m fine, but thanks.” He was trying to be decent. One had to give him credit for that. He led her into a small, dingy office with pictures of nude women on the walls, sat down in a swivel chair, put a green eyeshade on his head, switched on a stereo, and grinned at her.
“We don’t see many people like you, Mrs. Clarke.”
“I … no … thank you.”
“So what’s with the old man? What’s the beef? Drunk driving?”
“No, rape.” Barry whistled lengthily while Jessie stared at his stomach. At least he was honest about what he thought. “That’s a bitch. What’s the bail?”
“Fifteen thousand.”
“Bad news.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here.” Good news for you, Barry, baby; maybe you can ev
en buy yourself a gold toothpick after this, with a diamond tip. “I spoke to the young lady out there earlier today, and she was to call my bank, and …”
“And?” His face hardened slightly.
“She forgot.”
Barry shook his head. “She didn’t forget. We don’t do bonds that high.”
“You don’t?”
He shook his head again. “Not usually.” Jessica thought she was going to cry. “I guess she just didn’t want to tell you.”
“So I lost a day, and my husband is still in jail, and my bank is expecting to hear from you, and … now what, Mr. York? What the hell do I do now?”
“How about some dinner?” He turned the stereo down and patted her hand. His breath smelled like pastrami and garlic. He stank.
Jessica simply looked at him and stood up. “You know, my attorney must be all wrong about this place, Mr. York. And I have every intention of telling him just that.”
“Who’s your attorney?”
“Martin Schwartz. He was here with me this morning.”
“Look, Mrs…. what’s your name again?”
“Clarke.”
“Mrs. Clarke. Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk a little business.”
“Now or after dinner? Or after we listen to a few more records?”
He smiled. “You like the records? I thought that was a nice touch.”
He turned the stereo up again and Jessie didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. It was obvious that she’d never get Ian out of jail. Not at this rate. “You want to have dinner?”
“Yes, Mr. York. With my husband. What are the chances of your getting my husband out of jail so I can have dinner with him?”
“Tonight? No way. I’ve got to talk to your bank first.”
“That’s exactly where I left it at twelve-thirty this afternoon.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry. And I’ll take care of it myself in the morning, but I can’t do anything after banking hours, not on a bond the size of the one you’re talking about. What are you putting up as collateral?”
Now and Forever Page 8
