Every Reasonable Doubt

by Pamela Samuels Young

  It was absolutely hilarious watching him skip into the bedroom like a big goofy kid. I heard the shower running and in a flash he was back, still damp, with a towel draped around his waist.

  He reached out for me and brought his lips to mine, kissing me so fervently that I wanted to cry out. It had been some time since we had really connected.

  He reached to unbutton my jeans, but I grabbed his hands in protest. “C’mon baby, we have to eat first.”

  “I am going to eat first,” he said smiling.

  He continued to undress me, then led me into the bedroom.

  “You’re awful frisky tonight,” I said.

  He just smiled and laid me down on the bed, and crawled in next to me. We were both laying on our sides, facing each other. “I’m crazy about you, you know that?” he said.

  “Ditto,” I replied. He smelled fresh and clean. I traced his chest muscles with my index finger. He pulled me on top of him and for a long time, we just held each other and it felt good.

  “Jefferson, I just want you to know that it doesn’t matter that—”

  He cut me off. “I don’t want to talk about that. I just want us to stay right here and kick it.”

  After a few minutes, he laid me on my back and positioned himself next to me. I felt his hand exploring my body, lightly touching me, slowly, deliberately, as if his fingers had eyes that were searching for some specific place. He kissed the curve of my neck as his hand descended from my breasts, to my waist and beyond. A wave of excitement stimulated every nerve in my body.

  His fingers were talking to me, telling me I was loved. He soon replaced his fingers with his tongue, retracing the exact same path his fingers had traveled. As I felt myself reach a point beyond my control, I pulled him to me and took him in. We thrashed about in a wild, yet coordinated series of fervent motions. It was as if Jefferson could feel the exact same fiery sensations I felt. As his pace quickened, my screams went from thunderous cries to faded whimpers. Seconds later, his groans had also faded and we held onto each other, twisted like a rope, still panting heavily from our encounter.

  He lifted his weight from my body and kissed my forehead.

  “Now that we’ve had dessert,” he said smiling, “it’s time to back up and have the main meal.”

  We quickly finished eating and climbed into bed to watch TV even though it was only 8:15. I lay across Jefferson’s chest as we watched an episode of The Sopranos Jefferson had recorded on our new TiVo system. This was the most relaxed I’d felt in a long time. I hated all the drama I’d gone through in the last few weeks, and I was thankful for this brief lull before the storm. When the show ended, Jefferson started channel-hopping.

  A news tease returned the tension to my body.

  “What is sure to be one of the most watched trials in L.A. in years begins on Monday—the murder trial of Tina Montgomery, accused in the vicious stabbing death of her husband, Max Montgomery. Join us for the latest after this brief commercial break.”

  Jefferson entwined my fingers with his. “You ready to roll?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You don’t sound too confident.”

  “I guess I’m a little scared. A woman’s life is on the line and I’m going to be partially responsible if she’s found guilty.”

  “Not if she did it.”

  When the commercial ended, we listened as a reporter rehashed the details of Max Montgomery’s murder and speculated about the evidence that would be presented at his wife’s trial.

  I picked up the remote and changed the channel. “That really pisses me off. They’re basically trying the case on TV. No telling how many potential jurors were watching that story. That’s why nobody in this city can get a fair trial.”

  “I have to ask you this question again,” Jefferson said. “Do you think she did it?”

  This time I didn’t try to hedge. “I don’t know.”

  “Ms. I-Have-An-Opinion-About-Everything still doesn’t have one?”

  “It’s turning out to be a weird case. As Neddy put it, there’re a lot of variables.”

  “All I know is, even if the brother was as big a ho as everybody’s making him out to be,” Jefferson said, “he didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  “Some people feel he got what he deserved.”

  “Is that what you feel?” Jefferson asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” He pulled away from me. “You telling me it’s cool to kill a brother just because he cheats on his woman?”

  “It’s not just the cheating, it’s the overall betrayal,” I said. “If she did kill him, I’m just saying part of me understands. It’s like the battered women’s syndrome. You take it for years and then suddenly you just snap. There should be a cheated-on woman’s syndrome.”

  Jefferson looked genuinely shocked. “Nah, baby, you’re wrong. Where’s all that women’s lib crap y’all like to spout? Where’s your self-respect? Why does a man cheating on you have to destroy you? If the brother couldn’t keep it zipped up, she should’ve just took her shit and left.” He hit the mute button.

  “So if you walked in and caught me cheating, you’re not getting enraged and strangling me? You’re just leaving?” I asked.

  Jefferson thought about my question for a moment. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to resort to violence, but I don’t think I would. I know how to keep my temper in check. Some people don’t. I would definitely have to leave the vicinity—fast. But I don’t know why we’re talking about this because it would never happen. You’d never cheat on me.”

  The lofty assurance in Jefferson’s voice bugged me. “You sound awful confident about that. In fact, you sound a little too confident.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he said. “You ain’t got it in you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re not stupid and you’re not greedy. As long as your needs are being taken care of, you’re not about to stray.”

  He was right. But I still didn’t like his staunch confidence about it. “What about you? Are you going to stray?”

  “Highly unlikely.”

  “Highly unlikely? How about absolutely no way, Jose?”

  “Girl, you know me. As long as you’re taking care of business at home, then we’re cool.”

  “So, if I stop taking care of business, that gives you the right to mess around?” I asked.

  Jefferson chuckled. “You know what? I can see where this conversation is going. Let’s just change the subject.” He hit the volume button on the remote control, filling the room with sound again.

  “I don’t want to change the subject,” I said, half joking, half serious. “Basically you’re telling me you don’t respect your marriage vows?”

  He raised an eyebrow and laughed. “I’ll never understand female logic. How in the hell did you take that giant-ass leap?”

  “For better or worse. Remember? You just said, if it gets bad, you get to screw around.”

  Jefferson laughed louder. “That’s not what I said. What I said was—never mind what I said. It doesn’t matter. What I meant was, as long as our relationship is straight, you don’t have to worry about me trippin’.”

  “You just said it again!” I said, socking him on the arm. “If our relationship gets rocky, you plan on cheating.’”

  “You know what? We need to change the subject for real now because you’re trippin’. I love you. And you know that. I’m not going nowhere. And I don’t want to go anywhere. Let’s talk about something else.”

  I grabbed a pillow and pouted.

  “C’mon, baby, don’t trip.” He pulled the pillow from me and began tugging on my earlobes with his lips.

  “Stop it,” I said, laughing.

  He climbed on top of me and tickled my stomach. I laughed wildly and summoned up all my strength, but couldn’t get out from under him. He finally stopped tickling me, rolled over and pulled me on top of him.

  “This is fun,” I said. �
��It’s been a long time since we just hung out and acted crazy like this.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “Objection, non-responsive.” I leaned in closer and kissed him. “Can I talk to you about something?” I asked.

  “Aw, shit. Whenever you want to ‘talk,’ it usually ain’t good. What’s up now? If you tell me you’re taking on another big case after this one’s over, I’m filing for divorce. Tonight.”

  “I can’t believe you said that.” I socked him even harder this time. “And no, I don’t have another case.” I laid my head on his chest. “I want to talk about adoption.”

  I felt the muscles in his chest harden.

  “You did hear me, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said curtly.

  “And…?”

  “And that’s not something I want to talk about right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I just don’t.”

  “Jefferson, we have to deal with this.”

  He stared at the TV screen and didn’t say anything for a long time. I decided to wait him out.

  “I don’t want to raise anybody else’s kids,” he said finally. “And I definitely don’t want to do it by myself.” Jefferson sat up, resting his back against the leather headboard, and I joined him.

  “What does that mean?”

  “That means that the next case that comes up, you won’t be here. You don’t make time for me and I doubt you’ll make time for a kid.”

  His words stung like a punch in the face. “Then I’m confused. What the hell did we just do?”

  “You amaze the fuck out of me sometimes,” he said, turning to face me. “You cook dinner once every six months and think you deserve a fuckin’ award. Don’t play me. Your career is first. Then me. I’ve been trying to deal with that. So if we adopt, is the kid coming before me or after me?”

  The venom in his voice startled me. In my heart, I didn’t feel that I’d put my career first, but if the measuring stick was time, I had to admit that lately Jefferson had come in a distant second.

  “You’re not second to my career. I just can’t control my work schedule the way you can.”

  “Yes, you can,” he charged. “I know lawyers who don’t spend all day and night at the office.”

  “And I doubt any of them work at a firm with the reputation of O’Reilly & Finney. It comes with the territory.”

  He made an exasperated sucking sound. “There’re other firms in L.A. Other good firms. And like I keep telling you, you don’t need that firm to validate yourself. You’d be a good lawyer whether you were working for the best firm in the city or the worst one. And anyway, I don’t know why we’re even discussing this. It would be the same thing no matter where you worked. You’re a workaholic by nature.”

  I didn’t want to argue about my work schedule because there was no way for me to resolve the issue short of quitting. Neddy wasn’t even on partnership track and she worked hours just as long as mine. I wanted to get back to our conversation about adoption. The thought of never being a mother frightened me.

  “So are you telling me you won’t consider adoption because I work too much?”

  He switched channels and the familiar melody of a McDonald’s jingle filled the room. “That’s one reason.”

  “And the others?”

  He closed his eyes and looked away. “I just don’t want to adopt, Vernetta, okay?”

  “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

  “I didn’t know I did either.”

  I took the remote from his hand and hit the mute button again. “You’d really want us to live our lives never being parents.”

  “You know that’s not what I want. It’s just how it is. Anyway, I don’t understand the big switch. I had to basically threaten you to make that appointment with Dr. Bell. Now, all of a sudden, you’re ready for motherhood.”

  “It doesn’t have to be right away. But it bothers me that you don’t even want to talk about adoption. This is a decision we should make together.”

  “That’s a joke, right?” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “We don’t make any other decisions together. Why should this one be any different?”

  My eyes told him that he’d hurt my feelings, but he didn’t make any effort to say or do anything about it.

  “Let’s just talk about this some other time.” He hopped off the bed and grabbed his jeans from a nearby chair. “I’m going to the store to get some ice cream. You want anything?”

  Yeah, a baby. “Yeah, check the refrigerator,” I said instead. “I think we’re low on milk.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Bright and early on Monday morning, a long line of reporters, spectators, and courthouse gadflies lined up outside Judge Graciano’s courtroom as if it were Caesar’s Palace and they were awaiting for admission to the heavyweight fight of the year. We were already seated at the defense table when the bailiff finally allowed the spectators to flood into the courtroom. We turned around to watch as they scurried for the best possible seats.

  I looked over at Neddy, seated next to me. She showed absolutely no sign of fear. I, on the other hand, was a ball of nerves. Neddy was wearing a powder blue skirt suit with a gray blouse and black leather pumps. I’d changed three times before finally walking out of the door in a double-breasted, navy blue skirt suit that made my hips look too big. I wished I’d worn something else.

  Tina, seated next to Neddy and flanked on the far side by David, was professionally dressed in a lavender Evan Picone dress, with a wide belt. I smiled. I guess Tina’s idea of dressing down was wearing something that cost less than five hundred bucks. I noticed age lines in her face that hadn’t been there during our first meeting. Her makeup, as usual, was flawless. Her eyes were no longer puffy. I guess she wasn’t crying herself to sleep anymore. David drummed his fingers on the table. He was probably experiencing caffeine withdrawal. We’d been at the office since six that morning and he wasn’t able to make a second Starbucks run.

  A quiet commotion hit the room as Julie strolled in, obviously intent on making an entrance. I had to admit she looked good in black. She was wearing her trademark long-waisted jacket and a short skirt, with a black and white pinstriped blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a conservative bun. Her lipstick was an enticing rose-colored shade that matched her nails. Her co-counsel, Sandy, trailed awkwardly behind her, struggling with a box of documents too heavy for one person to carry. I’d heard her only role would be to hand Julie exhibits and perform whatever gofer tasks Julie demanded.

  Julie looked in our direction and politely nodded before taking a seat. A move intended solely for the benefit of onlookers.

  When Judge Graciano finally took the bench, it was clear that she, too, had spent some extra time in front of the mirror that morning. She was a tiny woman whose smooth skin did not betray her fifty-plus years. Her hair had a fresh cut and the collar of her pink silk blouse peeked out of the top of her drab black robe, giving it a bit of life. Her only makeup mistake was having applied too much blush to her cheeks.

  The judge rushed through the administrative matters and made it clear that she wasn’t going to allow us to take forever to pick a jury. And she stuck to that vow. We had the jury seated in two and a half days.

  Julie used all of her preemptory challenges carefully, excluding any potential juror, male or female, who’d had any kind of run-in with domestic violence. For Neddy, anyone who seemed to have an unusually strong religious conviction was stricken. The Bible said “thou shalt not kill” and didn’t mention any exceptions for cheating husbands. We couldn’t take a chance on someone interpreting that verse literally.

  When voir dire ended, seven women and five men were seated. There were four whites, six Hispanics, and two blacks. Four of the Hispanics were men, and there was only one black female and one black male. The rest of the jurors were female. The alternates were all white women. Based on the jurors’ responses to the voir dire questions, my non-scientific st
udy pegged Juror No. 7, a black woman in her fifties, and Juror No. 9, a Hispanic women close to forty, as our best bets for a hung jury. There was something about them, something I couldn’t precisely pinpoint, that told me they had experienced the pain of betrayal. I only hoped their personal experiences gave them enough empathy to reject the circumstantial evidence against Tina.

  Following the lunch break, Julie gave a brief opening statement that sounded like one of her press conferences. She began by discussing her theory of the case, methodically describing the evidence she planned to produce during the trial. Evidence that she claimed would prove Tina Montgomery was a murderer. Neddy decided to waive opening statement, which didn’t seem to faze the jurors. At least not as far as I could tell.

  The first two days of testimony posed no surprises. The crime scene investigator and the coroner presented exactly the same testimony they had offered at the prelim, only longer. Neddy crossed the crime scene investigator and David took the coroner, both without incident. Ernestine Frye, Max’s personal assistant, didn’t lay any smoking guns on the table either. On cross, I cautiously honed in on the fact that Frye had no evidence that Tina Montgomery knew about her husband’s many affairs. The jurors seemed to be paying close attention to the testimony and none of them had dozed off yet.

  During an afternoon break on the second day of testimony we convened in a small conference room we would be using throughout the trial to discuss matters in private.

  Neddy looked worried.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “There’s still nobody on the D.A.’s list of witnesses who can corroborate that Tina knew about her husband’s affairs. Without that, the prosecution has no motive. This case is too important for Julie to let that point slide.”

  David pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “Well, that can only mean Julie has a surprise witness for us.”

  “But how can she surprise us?” I asked. “We’ve seen her witness list. She can’t just introduce a new witness mid-trial.”