Twisted Justice

by Patricia Gussin

  “Kim, will you tell me what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Look at you.” He traced a finger over her cheek and Kim flinched, pulling away. “Come on, we’ve been working together for more than a year. Those are bruises, goddamn it.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Kim, you’re in some kind of trouble. Maybe it’ll do us both good to talk about it.”

  She glanced around the empty studio. “Please, not here.”

  “Then let’s go somewhere, get a drink.”

  “It’s late. I don’t want to be out in public.”

  “We can go over to my house.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? Laura left a message that she won’t be back until morning with that big highway crash. Our housekeeper has an apartment over the garage and she’ll head for it as soon as I get back. Come on, you can follow me home.”

  “What about your kids?”

  “They’ll be asleep. It’s the middle of the night, remember?”

  “Well, I do need to talk to you. I’ve been thinking about leaving Tampa altogether.”

  Steve felt his body jerk, but he attempted a smile. “When we get to my place, we’ll talk about everything.”

  Steve headed up Davis Boulevard in his white Ford Fairlane. Kim followed in her yellow Firebird, top down in the sweltering South Florida night. It was early June and already the temperature was unbearable. Steve hated the heat, blaming his wife for dragging him down to South Florida so she could be closer to her family. But he did have to admit that Tampa had been good to him. Back in Michigan, he might still be a struggling social worker, not a big-deal celebrity. Where would he be if they had stayed in Detroit? Compared to that Tampa was a sultry paradise. But what had Kim meant about leaving Tampa? Deep down Steve knew that the clowns who ran the station considered Kim the stronger half of the night anchor team. Just the thought of losing Kim triggered a surge of acid reflux. Nearly retching, he reached into the glove compartment for a slug of Mylanta.

  Grudgingly he considered his anchor status. There were rumors, totally unfounded, that he got this job because of his wife. Laura had operated on George’s nine-year-old daughter over a year ago after the child had been thrown from a horse, sustaining near fatal chest injuries. Laura was just doing her job, but George treated her like some kind of a hero. Soon after that Steve was picked for the coveted nightspot. Yes, it was his dream job. Normally just the thought of being in so many Tampa Bay households every night made him puff out his chest. But now he was worried. Worried about Kim. Had someone beat her up? The word “abuse” stuck in his mind. But most of all he was worried that she may leave Channel 8 and where would that leave him?

  “Let me get you a drink.” Steve spoke softly as he ushered Kim through the vaulted foyer to the large family room in the far corner of his home. The room was cluttered with kids’ stuff and Kim suddenly lurched forward, tripping on a fragment of a train track. Steve grabbed her arm to stop her fall and supported her as she bent to remove her spike heels. Why had he led her to this one room in the house where he and Laura allowed the kids to leave their toys strewn about helter-skelter? He knew the answer: because it was the farthest room from the upstairs bedrooms.

  “I don’t know why I’m whispering,” he said, setting down a bottle of Scotch and two glasses on the square polished brass and glass coffee table. “It’s almost two, the kids are sound asleep.”

  “Dios mio, this room is larger than my whole apartment in Temple Terrace,” Kim said as Steve poured drinks.

  “Ice?” he asked.

  “Please.”

  As Steve returned to the kitchen, Kim picked up her glass and wandered back out into the foyer. With wide eyes she inspected the sparkling crystal chandelier, the gleaming hardwood floors, the intricate pattern of the Oriental rug in hues of gold.

  “Quite the hacienda. Your wife has good taste,” she said as he plunked a couple of ice cubes into her glass. Steve followed her into the formal living room with its marble fireplace and elegant furniture and exquisite window treatments.

  “How can you have such expensive stuff with so many kids?” Still barefoot, her feet sank into the plush carpeting as she stepped inside the living room.

  “They don’t spend much time in here,” Steve said, taking her elbow and silently leading her back to the family room.

  “As you can see, they do hang out here.” He gave a well-appointed dollhouse a nudge with his foot as he closed the door behind him.

  “I don’t know shit about kids,” Kim mused as she glanced at the pictures lining the shelves on both sides of the fireplace that dominated the room. She walked over to pick one off the shelf.

  “You know, we don’t really know each other that well, even though we’ve worked together for a year. I didn’t even know you skied,” she added, suddenly shy as she examined the family of seven. In colorful ski apparel and with grins they posed at the bottom of a mountain. Stamped in the corner was the “Vail” logo with the date 1975.

  “We try to get to Colorado once a year. Didn’t make it this year or last because Laura was too busy.” Steve took the photo out of her hands. “Enough about family. Come on, sit down.” He gestured toward one of the two oversized beige and black sofas angled to face the big screen TV. “Let’s get to know each other better now. Tell me what happened.”

  Kim fingered the bruise on her cheek as she settled on the leather sofa. Then she took a long sip of her drink and shrugged. “I shouldn’t be telling you, it’s personal shit.”

  “Come on, it’s trouble if you let a guy do that to you.” Steve had been heading to the opposite sofa when he turned back to sit next to her. Somehow he had to make her drop the idea of leaving Tampa, but now that she had an abusive boyfriend shouldn’t he be more worried about her safety? “It’s Frank. Am I right?”

  Steve slung his arm casually around her shoulder and turned her face to him. “He did this to you?”

  Kim turned slightly, but he could see tears welling in her dark eyes. Taking a folded handkerchief from his pocket, Steve handed it to Kim and waited as she dabbed at her eyes, the bronze makeup mingling with tears to stain the white cloth.

  “Come on, Kimmie, tell me about it.” Steve tried for the paternal tone that he used for certain news stories.

  “The truth is, I’m scared.” Kim’s voice trembled and Steve felt his tone must have worked because Kim began her confession.

  “Frankie’s told me enough stuff to know he’s dangerous, Steve. And I … I don’t know how to get away from him. At first it was so good — gifts, nightclubs, that kind of thing. Remember how much fun I was having?”

  Steve nodded.

  “Well, now he’s just insanely jealous. At first I thought if I went along with what he wanted, he’d trust me. But he’s just gotten worse. He’s so paranoid he even sleeps with his gun.”

  “Shit — but if he’s connected —”

  “You’re not supposed to know that. Me and my big mouth.” Kim inched closer to Steve so close they were touching. “You know, what scares me the most is that he wants to get married. Last night he started talking about us having kids. When I told him I didn’t want any, that my career was more important — that’s when he hit me.”

  “Married?” On impulse Steve grabbed both her arms and pulled her face to face. “God, Kimmie, that’s crazy. Marry somebody who beats you up? That’s insane. What you gotta do is break it off.” Taking a deep breath, Steve considered options before he continued. “But you can’t let him chase you out of Tampa either. We’re a team. We’re great together.”

  “I know, Steve. But look, there’s a job in Atlanta. I’m scared shitless. Look, I’m shaking.”

  Now holding both of her hands, Steve leaned forward. Not only was she shaking, she was shivering. “You’re cold,” he said. “Let me put my arms around you.”

  Without hesitation Kim nestled against him, closer
and closer. Then reaching up, she turned his head to hers and pulled him to her so that their lips touched. Steve did not push back, but let his lips explore hers as he drew her more tightly into his arms. When she pressed her lips more insistently, Steve could feel the warmth of her breasts against his chest. Steve momentarily jerked back. What was happening? Was Kim coming on to him?

  “Shit, I’m sorry.” Kim pushed Steve back with both hands. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve murmured. He reached for her hands and pulled her firmly against him, urgently covering her mouth with his own.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The metallic blue station wagon was the only car on the road at three thirty in the morning as Laura pulled out of the “Doctors Only” lot and headed for home. Approaching the sole traffic light on her route, she glanced up as she habitually did. The brightly illuminated billboard above featured her husband and his sultry colleague, smiling down on Tampa from their news desk. The familiar caption: THE DYNAMIC KIM AND STEVE, CHANNEL EIGHT NEWS TEAM AT ELEVEN.

  That her husband was a television personality, Laura still found incredible. She’d never envisioned that employment scenario fifteen years ago when she’d married the serious, reticent college student. But since they’d moved from Detroit to Tampa, Steve had changed dramatically. That had been seven years ago. No longer the dedicated inner city social worker, Steve had had morphed first into a field news reporter, and then hit the top — the coveted anchor spot.

  Stopping at the flashing red traffic light, Laura took a last glance at the billboard. She managed a tired smile. Her husband certainly was attractive. And articulate. And becoming arrogant, even egotistical. Steve had changed so much, but hadn’t she too?

  A grimace replaced her faint smile as she thought of the pressure George Granger was putting on Steve. Channel 8’s ratings were slipping. She realized that George wanted Steve to succeed as a gesture of gratitude to her. Laura was no expert when it came to communication, but she was worried that Steve came off too remote on camera. Too much like a robot reciting the news. She couldn’t sense any passion or compassion, like he really didn’t connect with the news he reported, most of it tragic. Maybe viewers felt this way too. If so, how long could George keep him as anchor? The thought of Steve losing his job make Laura shudder. Not so much for the money. They could live on her income, but it would shatter his ego.

  As Laura pulled up to her two-story stucco home with its red tile roof and wrought iron balconies, she switched off the headlights and parked in the driveway instead of the three-car garage. This was her routine, not wanting to risk waking the housekeeper or the kids at night with the rumble of the garage door. She let herself in through the kitchen, dark except for the luminescence of the microwave clock. She intended to head directly upstairs, but as she rounded the corner into the foyer, she noticed light seeping beneath the family room door. Surprised that her frugal housekeeper had left it on, Laura turned the door handle. She opened the door and without entering reached in to hit the dimmer switch.

  Laura heard shuffling inside before she saw them. She blinked and stifling a gasp, adjusted her glasses. Knowing she was at the brink of exhaustion, she squeezed her eyes shut. Steve and Kim on that billboard had thrown her. She had to get a grip. But when she opened her eyes, she groaned. “Oh, no,” escaped before she clamped her mouth shut and started grinding her teeth. The real Steve cringed in front of her, hair tousled, blue eyes flashing with panic. And Kim was real too and half naked.

  Laura’s hand flew to cover her mouth. Too shocked to speak. Too paralyzed to even breathe, she remained locked in that position. As for Steve, he just stood there, his chest bare, her favorite afghan clutched around his hips. Kim was the first to move, turning away from Laura, bending down to pick up her bra and sweater. The bra she stuffed in her purse. The sweater she pulled over her head as she struggled to adjust the tight skirt she must have pulled on in haste.

  Still Laura had not moved. Hands over her mouth, her eyes focused on Kim as she smoothed her short black hair. From where she stood, she blocked the doorway. No words had been spoken.

  Steve was the first to break the silence as Kim shifted her gaze from husband to wife and back. “Laura, let Kim leave, okay?”

  Laura dropped her hands and took a step backward. Tears had sprung to her eyes. Her voice sounded hoarse. “How could you?”

  Kim grabbed her spike heels and carried them in her hands as she passed by Laura in the hall and sped toward the front door. The door clicked shut. The turn of a car engine penetrated complete silence.

  “Honey, I don’t know what to say,” Steve began, stepping toward Laura. “Kim came by because —”

  Laura held up her hands to stop him. “Not out here.” Tears now streamed down her face so violently that she choked on her words. She pointed toward the family room, still strewn with Steve’s clothes. The bottle of Scotch and the two glasses, one smeared with brilliant red lipstick, made her want to slap him.

  How could he do this? To her? To the kids?

  Laura let her body sink into the plush chair facing the sofa where Steve positioned himself; the sofa where he and Kim had obviously been together. Still wrapped in the pale blue afghan that he’d grabbed to conceal his naked chest, Steve reached sheepishly for his clothes which he folded clumsily and set on his lap.

  He cleared his throat. “I can explain.”

  Laura blinked away nonstop tears. “You can?”

  “It’s not — Kim followed me home after the program. She needed to talk.”

  Laura got up, walked across the room and pulled out a wad of tissues. She blew her nose and dabbed vigorously at her eyes. “Is that right?” she said, returning to sit on the arm of a chair. She wished she could think of something more relevant to say, but her mind felt paralyzed.

  “Yeah,” Steve blurted. “The guy she’s seeing beat her up pretty bad, and she needed a shoulder to cry on. We didn’t mean to — it just happened.” Steve’s fair skin looked ghastly pale. He leaned forward in his seat, wringing his hands. “Laura, honey, it shouldn’t have happened, but it did. I’m sorry. It never happened before and it will never again. I swear. You mean the world to me.”

  When Steve stood, his clothes dropped from his lap onto the carpet. He took a tentative step toward Laura, but she held her hand out to stop him. Tears had refilled her eyes and she wiped them away with her other hand. Slowly, she rose off the arm of the chair. Like a robot she headed toward the staircase. What else could she do right now? Check to make sure the kids were asleep? Go to her room — no longer “their” room? Lock the bedroom door? Yet as she passed by the front door, she did not round the corner toward the stairs. Instead she opened the front door and walked out of the house.

  Laura couldn’t think. She couldn’t feel. Without premeditation, she started up the station wagon and drove to the hospital. This all must be a nightmare. Too much fatigue. A full surgical load. Five active kids. Maybe tonight hadn’t really happened. She’d wake up. The Ruiz girl would be stabilized in the recovery room and she’d return home to find Steve snoring in their king-size bed.

  Laura parked at the entrance to the emergency room. Talking to no one, she walked through the trauma bays. She rode the elevator to the fifth floor and headed directly to the tiny, drab on-call room the hospital kept reserved for her. Just enough room for a narrow cot, made up with white sheets and a cotton blanket and a sink, shower, and toilet. And, of course, a nightstand upon which sat the telephone. Nothing on the walls, not a speck of color or cheer in the room. Still, she felt the familiar sense of comfort that hospitals brought to her.

  All night long, Laura lay between starched sheets, trying to accept the jarring reality that Steve had had sex with Kim Connor right there in their house. All of their children had been upstairs. Could he be in love with Kim? For some reason, she was unable to accept that he loved another woman. Wouldn’t she have known? And hadn’t he said it was the first time? But cou
ld she believe him? Should she have suspected this? Did she deserve this betrayal?

  The hospital’s pulse had been imprinted on Laura from the early days of her medical training, and this morning she felt it take over as she lay in the small, dark room. It had taken all night but in the eerie silence of the morning lull, she began to come to grips with reality. Finding Steve and Kim had not been a dream. She would have to figure out how to deal with it. She forced herself to get beyond the hurt just long enough to focus on the past few years of her life with Steve.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she could see Steve as a young college sophomore. She’d met him at the bookstore at Michigan State. He’d been stocking shelves, and she’d been looking for the freshman English text. He’d introduced himself and offered to give her his copy from the previous year, so she’d gone with him to his dorm room. To this day she could still feel the thrill of his touch when he’d reached for her hand to guide her along the path. Once there, they’d listened to some music and discovered they were both Elvis fans. She’d offered to buy him coffee, and he’d smiled that dazzling smile of his. After that they’d been inseparable. Imagine, she, a girl who had never even dated in high school — except for proms and football games — having a college boyfriend before classes even began. They had a whirlwind of fun and as Laura looked back, maybe mistook infatuation for love.

  Or maybe things had just gone too fast. Within four months Steve had proposed and, despite her parents’ misgivings, they were married at the end of her freshman year. Living in Spartan Village — student housing for married couples — they’d made ends meet with her part-time library job and his in the bookstore. She had scholarships; his parents took care of his tuition. She was nineteen, he was twenty-one. Within fifteen months they’d had their first child, and three years later, their second. In those early years, they’d been happy and successful, Steve with a degree in social work and she with a biology degree. Then it was on to the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor for a Master’s degree for Steve and to University Medical School in Detroit for her. With a surge of sorrow, Laura’s thoughts drifted back to Detroit. Moving there was when things started to go wrong. Med school was so demanding and there’d been three more children. But when —