Praise Her, Praise Diana

by Anne Rothman-Hicks

  “I wasn’t suggesting that,” Jenna said.

  “Maybe I could just say a few general words for everyone,” Jane said then. “And this would go for Ari and for everyone else. If you do talk to Smalley or his cohort, be careful. You’re better off saying nothing than telling a lie.”

  “You mean we should take the Fifth?” Ellen asked.

  “I didn’t say that. But if there is something that you don’t want to answer, consult a lawyer. Don’t lie. It’s a crime, and it’ll come back to bite you. Hard.”

  “Maggie?” Jenna asked. “Are you going to take the Fifth?”

  “That’s really an inappropriate question,” Jane said.

  “Sorry. Just curious.”

  “Glaser certainly showed a lot of interest in Maggie when he was talking to me this morning,” Ellen said. “He asked me how long I’d known her. If I’d read that chapter from her new book—which I had, of course. I told him I found it inspiring and looked at his crotch.”

  “I’m not sure I’d be playing games with these people,” Jane said.

  “Maybe not. But he really pissed me off.”

  “Well, I’m not refusing to talk to them,” Maggie said. “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Everyone has something to hide,” Ari commented, drawing out the word “something” in an amusing way that broke the tension that had been present ever since the call turned to the police investigation.

  “Well, I think it’s been useful to hear the subjects they covered,” Jenna added. “I find this whole thing really creepy. Was there anything else?”

  “Nothing really,” Ellen said. “Oh wait. They had some questions about Martha.”

  “You’re joking,” Jane said.

  “It didn’t seem like a big deal, actually,” Ellen said. “They asked about WPW. Martha naturally came up as the founder. I told them that if they were looking for suspects on Martha’s client list, they would be at this investigation for a year.”

  “This is precisely the sort of loose talk that I was hoping to avoid by having this conference call,” Sheila said.

  “Relax,” Ellen replied. “Is it really a secret that Martha represented most of us at some point?”

  “I agree, it’s a big nothing,” Jenna said. “Martha did a pre-nup for me when I was thinking about getting married.”

  “She represented me on Getting There,” Maggie added.

  “We’re moving very far afield,” Sheila said. “Is there a motion to call an end to this meeting?”

  “Let me just say one thing first,” Jane interjected. “I’m sure there will be a broad range of questions, and I don’t think anyone should necessarily try to draw any conclusions from them.”

  “It just bothers me that they think they can ask anything,” Jenna said.

  “Me too,” added Ellen.

  “I’ll tell you what bothers me here,” a new voice said.

  “Who’s talking?” Susan asked. “I didn’t recognize your voice.”

  “Judith Frazier,” the woman answered.

  “Judith is one of my graduate students,” Sheila said. “She has been helping me for the last few days or so. My hip has been very bad.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Sheila,” Jenna said.

  “I am too,” Ellen added. “But Judith isn’t a member of the board and shouldn’t be on the call.”

  “Jane isn’t a member of the board,” Judith replied sharply.

  “Jane is a guest of the board,” Ellen rejoined.

  “And Judith is my guest,” Sheila said evenly in her most soothing tone of voice. “Ellen, it was my error not to let everyone know she was listening here with me. I am sorry. She came into my room as the call was progressing, and I didn’t want to interrupt. She is a member of WPW, of course.”

  “Let’s not make too big a deal of this,” Jane said. “No harm has been done.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” Ellen said. “And I oppose her attending any more WPW board meetings, either on the phone or in person. She’s shown that she is not acting in WPW’s best interests by trying to block the fund-raising exhibit. We all got the letter she sent out.”

  “Your objection is noted,” Sheila said.

  “I’d like to just butt in for a moment,” Jenna said then. “I agree that Sheila should have told us Judith was on the phone, but I would like to hear what she was going to say.”

  “Thank you, Jenna,” Judith said. “Although I have to say first that I don’t feel like I need permission from anyone to speak, and I will continue to speak out as I see fit.”

  “Not at WPW board meetings, you won’t!” Ellen responded angrily.

  “That’s not the issue right now,” Jane said. “Jenna has invited Judith to speak.”

  “Two votes for free speech,” Judith said. “How marvelous. I merely wanted to express my amazement that a group such as WPW, founded by Martha to protect and help women, would be cooperating with the police to help catch Diana.”

  “She’s a murderer,” Susan said.

  “Well, I think she is more than that, and frankly I think you should all be ashamed of yourselves. And Jane, you know I admire what you have done for women with your law practice, but Martha must be rolling in her grave right now, hearing you speak.”

  “Between you and me, Judith,” Jane said, “Martha apparently does a lot of rolling in her grave. And if she doesn’t like something I do, she tends to visit me in the middle of the night and sit on the foot of my bed and tell me what a poor excuse for a feminist I am.”

  Laughter met Jane’s comments. Virtually all of the WPW board members had memories, fond and not so fond, of stern lectures that Martha used to give on what it meant to be a feminist.

  “Do I hear a motion to adjourn this meeting?” Sheila asked.

  “I so move,” Ari said.

  “Second,” said Jenna.

  “The meeting is adjourned.”

  * * * *

  Sheila pressed the button on her phone that disconnected the call and looked at Judith, who had been sitting beside her at the desk. She shook her head gently and smiled at Judith before speaking.

  “Do you have to pick a fight every time you talk to my friends?”

  “I don’t fight with everyone,” Judith said. “But Ellen has a way of enraging me. She doesn’t care about WPW or that exhibit, except as it benefits her and her gallery. It’s completely obvious. Plus, she’s just such a tool for the Mr. Pigs of the art establishment.”

  “We all have our own silent motives for doing what we do,” Sheila said.

  “You’re much too forgiving, Sheila,” Judith said. “I particularly can’t stand the thought that she will benefit from Diana having sent in her self-portrait. It’s the part of this that I regret the most. But she’ll get hers.”

  “Now, now,” Sheila said. With her hands on the arms of the chair, she tried to lift herself to her feet and stopped, the strain showing on her face. Her gray hair was short and somewhat frizzy around her face. A bead of perspiration appeared at her right temple.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not planning a physical confrontation,” Judith replied. “But I and others who think like me will be there on opening night, educating the people who show up to view that pornography.” She paused, frowning. “Half the photographs are nude or semi nude, did you know that? If it were a show of male self-portraits, would there be anything like that?”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, my dear,” Sheila said. “Now help me up, would you? I’d like to take a shower.”

  “Of course.” Judith stood in front of the chair and gripped Sheila’s arms, almost effortlessly raising her to her feet. Her black hair was long and pulled back in a shaggy sort of ponytail. Sheila had often thought that with her wide-set brown eyes, thick lashes and even features, Judith would have been attractive to some members of the opposite sex if she weren’t always so very serious—so angry. But who could blame her after what she had gone through as a child?

  “I’m going to
need your help getting out of these clothes,” Sheila said. “My hip is as bad as I ever remember it today. I hope you don’t mind too much. It’s not a pretty sight, God knows.”

  Judith came around to the side that always hurt the most and supported her under one arm.

  “Our bodies are temples,” Judith said as they walked gingerly toward the bathroom. “And yours is the home of a fierce and indomitable spirit. I never forget that.”

  “Fierce and indomitable in spirit, yes,” Sheila repeated with a grimace. She leaned more heavily on Judith’s arm as they walked slowly across the room. “But this body is weary of pain. Very weary, my dear.”

  Chapter Ten

  After dinner that evening, Jane went outside to the front porch and sat lengthwise on the wicker sofa, her back propped against one end and her feet at the other, the wide sweep of the horizon before her as she watched the remnants of the sunset in a nearly cloudless sky. From the knoll on which the house had been built a hundred and fifty years before, the land dipped gradually across an open field and then rose again to the level of the road. On the other side of that narrow band of asphalt, more fields extended into the distance with scattered forests and rolling hills. In the deepening twilight, a doe and two of her young had appeared as if by magic to feed on the vegetation growing along the edge of a stone wall. The doe alternately ate and lifted her head, looking in all directions, sniffing the air. Her fawns seemed nearly fearless with their mother so close by.

  Maggie had gone off to the kitchen and Jane suspected she was washing the dishes, although she had promised to let Jane help. She was a tireless worker out here. Almost from the minute the conference call had ended, she had been doing one job after another. At first Jane had sat in a lawn chair nearby with a fresh cup of coffee and some client materials, but she had soon asked to borrow a pair of worn overalls and joined Maggie at her labors. Planting fruit trees, fixing the door hinges on the barn, clearing brush from the stone wall that bordered the yard, raking up the yellow and red leaves that carpeted the grass. There truly was no end to the work or to the enjoyment that Maggie derived from it.

  On the car ride itself, the signs of strain in Maggie’s face had begun to loosen and lift, but over the course of the afternoon she was fully transformed: her smile, her bright eyes, her glowing skin, even the way she walked and stood was full of a sense of ease. At one point, they were digging a hole to plant a young cherry tree when Maggie paused to lean on her shovel for a moment. She had removed her t-shirt under the denim overalls, and with disheveled hair, and sweaty, dusty skin, she still looked remarkably beautiful.

  She saw Jane glance at her, head cocked to the side.

  “What?” Maggie asked.

  “You really are a farm girl, aren’t you?”

  “What a funny thing to say. Martha used to call me that. You know the way she gave clients nicknames on their files?”

  “Of course. That is funny.” Jane paused. “Stand right there. Don’t move.”

  She ran into the house and grabbed the camera. Maggie had been talking intermittently about the self-portrait for the WPW show, and she had planned to position herself at an upstairs window, looking out toward the camera with the lace curtain almost like a veil. But Jane knew that was all wrong.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” Maggie said when Jane returned and pointed the camera at her.

  “Just do what I say. Turn a little. I want that worn old shed behind you. Now think of something wonderful. Good. Again, please. Jesus, you are drop-dead gorgeous whether you want to admit it or not!”

  Jane captured several of the digital images, with slightly different framing in the background, and minor variations in the lighting and focus. She showed the best of them to Maggie, who displayed no reaction. But later while Jane was taking a shower, Maggie called to her. Jane poked her face out from behind the shower curtain and saw Maggie standing in the bathroom, smiling, with tears rolling down her face.

  “What’s the matter?” Jane asked.

  “Nothing. Everything is great, Jane. I just was thinking about the photos you took of me earlier, and they really are very nice. I ... I wanted to thank you. That’s all. For seeing me that way.”

  “Come here,” Jane said.

  She reached out of the shower and wiped Maggie’s tears away, then gently pulled her close and kissed her on both eyes. Maggie kissed her back and stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. By the time Jane rinsed her hair, dried off and put on her clothes, Maggie had prepared a fabulous meal of curried chicken and rice with a sautéed medley of vegetables from her garden.

  Jane’s post-dinner reverie was interrupted by the sight of her cell phone on the table beside her. As promised, she had left it in the bedroom upstairs for the afternoon, and upon her return it was loaded with messages. Three were from Daniel Meyers, with the last two quite a bit more impatient than the first. Maggie had wanted to call him back right away, but Jane had persuaded her to wait. Harry clearly needed something or there would not have been three calls. She was sure that time was on their side.

  Several clients had left other messages, all of which could wait until Monday except one from Rosita Morales. Rosita was the older sister of the client for whom Jane had gone to Family Court on Friday morning. She worked as an administrator for a large Park Avenue law firm and had been referred by a law school acquaintance of Jane’s. The oldest of three children in a family raised near the poverty level in Spanish Harlem, she supported her mother and younger brother with a grim sense of duty. Rosita was the person who initially contacted Jane on behalf of her younger sister, Mariana, and paid the small retainer fee. She was prettier than her younger sister, with high cheekbones, a small straight nose, and dark intelligent eyes. However, she shunned any sort of social life except her church. Even the men she met at Sunday services received a polite rebuff and would continue to until her younger brother finished college and established himself in a good job.

  “I just talked to Mariana,” Rosita said now. “Jose came over to her apartment last night.”

  “That’s a violation of the Order.”

  “I know it’s a violation of the Order,” she snapped. As always, there was an edge to her voice, as if the whole world—including her own lawyer—conspired against her.

  “Did he come in?”

  “No.”

  “She still should call the police, Rosita.”

  “I’ve told her that. She knows it in her brain, but her heart is so weak! She keeps saying he’s sorry for what happened. He’s changed. He loves her. She said he was crying. The bastard! You see how he does it? He makes her feel bad.”

  “Give me her number. I’ll call her.”

  “No. I need you to get the police over there and have him arrested.”

  “I can’t do that. Your sister has to call herself. You know that.”

  There was a long pause. Maggie opened the screen door and came out onto the porch, carrying two glasses of wine. Jane took one, mouthing a ‘thank-you,’ and swung her legs to the floor, making room for Maggie to sit next to her.

  “So the protective order I paid you to get is useless?”

  “Not useless, Rosita. I told you both from the beginning that Mariana has to be committed to this. We can get others to help her, but ultimately she has to be willing to help herself.”

  Beside her, Maggie could hear Rosita’s strident words coming out of the phone. She gave Jane a sympathetic grimace. Jane just shook her head resignedly, her eyes half closed.

  “Words. That’s all you lawyers are good for. Smooth words that no one understands.”

  “I don’t want to argue with you, Rosita. You’re angry and upset.”

  “You don’t want to do nothing! I thought you were different. People told me you were different. But you’re just like all of them. You take our money and you give back words. Well, I’m sorry I bothered you on your weekend away.”

  “Rosita ...”

  “Thank you for everyth
ing,” Rosita said and hung up.

  Jane took another sip of wine and placed her glass on the coffee table in front of the sofa, also made of wicker with a glass top. Her hand trembled and the bottom of the wineglass clicked gently against the surface.

  “Are you okay?” Maggie asked.

  “Yeah, no, whatever. It was one of my clients—the sister of a client, actually.” Jane quickly explained what had happened at court on Friday and Jose’s apparent attempt to return to Mariana’s apartment. “The guy has only been punching her around for two years.”

  “Lovely,” Maggie said. “But why is she mad at you?”

  “She’s frustrated. Jose is kicking the shit out of her sister and she’s unable to help her. These guys can exert a real power. They convince the woman that it’s all her fault—that she’s stupid or selfish or ugly and that no one else would have her. So she sticks around, desperate for a little kindness, blaming herself for each smack across the face.”

  “It’s hard to imagine,” Maggie said. “I just wish she wouldn’t take it out on you.”

  She reached over and touched Jane gently on the hand. The skin of Jane’s cheeks flushed slightly in the low light.

  “Thanks.”

  Jane took another long sip of wine and leaned backward against the cushions, slowly stretching her legs out in front of her. The muscles used in that afternoon’s work, especially in her back and upper arms, began to protest in earnest. She stretched again, let out a sigh of pleasure and allowed her eyes to close to slits.

  “What would you like to do tonight?” Maggie asked. “There’s a Cineplex in a mall about twenty minutes away. We could catch a movie.”

  “Or?”

  “There aren’t too many alternative entertainments up here. We could put on some music and play some board games. Talk. Drink a little wine.”

  “Sold!” whispered Jane. “I like the idea of just staying in, although I’d prefer a lot of wine.”

  “Done,” Maggie said, pouring her another glass.

  Jane’s cell phone began to vibrate and chime on the coffee table. She picked it up and looked at the screen.