Young Wives

by Olivia Goldsmith

  “Oh yes.” She nodded her head vigorously. “They were dirty. I could smell the little one.”

  “And you say their clothes were dirty?”

  Mrs. Jackson nodded.

  “I’ll need you to answer that aloud,” Judge Sneed directed. Angie looked up at him for the first time and tried a very small smile and a nod. She got back nothing, except to see Sneed look at his watch and turn back to Mrs. Jackson.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Jackson said very loudly. “The clothes was dirty and they was crying.”

  “Now, didn’t you testify that your son had been taking care of the children? Could we read back Mrs. Jackson’s testimony?” Angie asked the stenographer. “It was something about her son spending his life taking care of the children.”

  It took a few moments for the court stenographer to locate it, but then she read it back. ‘“My son had to feed the kids and wash ’em down,’” the stenographer read tonelessly. ‘“He spent his life taking care of those kids.’”

  “Thank you,” Angie said, and tried to keep the smugness she felt out of her voice. This was going to be easier than she’d thought. “So if what you said was true, none of the children was dirty or hungry. Unless it was because your son wasn’t taking care of them. So which was it?” Mrs. Jackson looked upset. Good.

  “They were dirty. Their mother—” she began.

  “According to your testimony, this doesn’t concern their mother. Was your son being irresponsible, or were the children well taken care of?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Miss Romazzano is badgering the witness,” Creskin said.

  “Objection sustained. But there is an issue here,” Judge Sneed said to Angie. “Lighten up, counselor.”

  Mrs. Jackson took out her handkerchief and used it to wipe her upper lip. That was good, Angie thought. She wanted to see the old woman sweat, not cry. “If the children were dirty and hungry, why hadn’t your son cleaned them?”

  “I told the truth,” Mrs. Jackson said. “They was dirty. But my son, he had been busy. He had been lookin’ for a job. So maybe just then he wasn’t doin’ everything for them.”

  “I see,” Angie said. “And how long has Clinton Jackson been looking for a job?” she asked, trying to keep her voice flat.

  “Oh, he’s been lookin’ hard for a long time.”

  “So how long has he been jobless?”

  Angie saw Mrs. Jackson’s eyes move from side to side as if she actually saw the jaws of the trap closing. “Well, he’d pick up some work now and then.”

  “So, sometimes he’s working and can’t take care of the children?” Angie asked, her voice raised in doubt.

  “No. He’s always takin’ care of the chilrun,” Mrs. Jackson said, ruffled as an old turkey buzzard. “He just hasn’t had a regular job since his company kinda went down.”

  “And exactly how long ago was that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. About four years ago … or maybe six.”

  Angie knew she had to be careful, but she thought she could go for a little more juice right there. “Well, which one was it? Was it four years, or six years? That’s a long span.”

  “I think …” Angie saw Mrs. Jackson’s eyes flick over to George Creskin when she paused, as if she were getting Morse code from over Angie’s shoulder. Whatever the dots and dashes for Shut up were, Mrs. Jackson received them. She closed her lips as tightly as she’d closed her hankie-filled purse. “I fail to remember exactly,” she said with great feigned dignity.

  Angie kept herself from smiling. Now was the time to pop the big question. “Mrs. Jackson, do you have a drinking problem?” She allowed herself to look behind her at Creskin, waiting for him to jump up and object. But, oddly, he didn’t.

  “No! Who said that? Who lied and said that?” Mrs. Jackson demanded, indignantly.

  Judge Sneed looked over at Creskin. “Counselor, are you permitting this line of questioning?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Creskin said, the odd little smile continuing. “My witness has nothing to hide.”

  The judge again looked at his watch. “Well, let’s see where this goes,” Sneed said, but Angie could tell he was as impatient as a commuter on a bus line. She’d cut to the chase for Judge “Speed,” and use some of the expensive investigative stuff they’d paid for.

  “Mrs. Jackson, have you ever been arrested?” Angie shot a look over to Creskin to see if she had surprised him, but his little smile had turned into something more concerned and impassive. Angie thought that she wouldn’t even want to play poker opposite this guy, then remembered that she was attempting something a lot more risky than a card game. She turned back to Mrs. Jackson, who was now wiping her forehead with the handkerchief.

  “I think I once did,” the old lady admitted.

  “You think you got arrested? Wouldn’t you remember?”

  “I mean, yes. I did. But I’m not proud of it.”

  “Weren’t you arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct? And for resisting arrest?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Jackson whispered. Bingo, Angie thought.

  “We can’t hear your response,” Judge Sneed said, but he didn’t sound too concerned.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Jackson repeated louder, directly at Sneed. “But that was a long time ago, Your Honor. I just once got into trouble.”

  “Oh, I think it was more than once,” Angie corrected. “Don’t you also have two citations for driving under the influence?”

  There was a very long pause. The courtroom was silent. Mrs. Jackson opened and closed her purse and the loud click in the quiet room sounded like the slam of a car door. “Yes,” Mrs. Jackson admitted, “I used to drink. It was wrong and I hated it, but I couldn’t stop.”

  Angie didn’t need any more. Mrs. Jackson was finished. “So you may have been wrong when you—”

  “I haven’t had a drink in four years. God saved me. I know what I did was wrong, but I have not had a drink in years, since God stepped into my life. I was saved.”

  Angie couldn’t be more pleased. Their detective had done a good job, and Angie was prepared. “So, if that’s the case, why did you appear at Alcoholics Anonymous meetings at the River Street Baptist Church in April and May of this year and admit to dozens of witnesses that you were drinking again?” Angie stared at Mrs. Jackson and saw her face collapse in on itself. A handkerchief wouldn’t help her now. Angie, momentarily, felt sorry for the woman. But then the judge spoke up.

  “Miss Romazzano,” he said. “From this bench I have directed people to attend twelve-step meetings in various anonymous groups. Do you know why they are called Narcotics or Alcoholics Anonymous?” He put the emphasis on the last word. “It’s because what goes on in those rooms is privileged information. Those programs do a world of good. If you had plans to use information gleaned from those meetings, you can forget about it right now. That undermines not only the well-being of people making a huge effort, but also undermines this courtroom. I will not allow testimony in that direction. Give it up, counselor. Now.” He looked at his watch yet again. “We’ll take a short recess now. Back in ten minutes. I want you all back here in ten.”

  “All rise,” the bailiff said, and they did.

  34

  Consisting of liar, liar, pants on fire

  “How was I supposed to know that Sneed wouldn’t allow a witness to testify about Mrs. Jackson’s binges? Or that AA was sacrosanct to him?” Angie asked her mother as they gulped coffee in the hallway of the family court building. Natalie and Laura and Bill had showed up for the last—and worst—fifteen minutes of questioning. Now they were clustered in the wide hallway of the courthouse. Angie didn’t feel quite so confident now about either the case or her job security.

  “Well,” Natalie said tartly, “some of us happen to know that he’s in AA himself, and has been for over twenty years. Although there have been a couple of well-publicized slips.” Natalie sighed. “You could have asked.”

  “It didn’t even occur to me,” Angie admitted.


  “Michael,” Laura said. “You should have known it.”

  Michael nodded. “I did know. I just didn’t know his witness policy. AA isn’t a priesthood, after all.” He shook his head. “I don’t think there’s a chance of discrediting Mrs. Jackson now,” Michael said, moving them forward. “Here comes our client. Let’s be optimistic. You did a really good job with the beginning of the cross anyway.” Angie was grateful that Jada was with Michelle in the ladies’ room and hadn’t heard this, though she was sure that Jada knew perfectly well that they had blundered.

  Then Jada and Michelle came out of the rest room together and joined their group. “I just can’t get over the lying she did,” Jada said. “I can’t get over it. It isn’t fair.”

  “Fair? They’re so far off base they aren’t even in the stadium. We just saw Tonya in the bathroom, fixing her eye makeup as if this was an appearance on Oprah.” Michelle took Jada’s hand and Angie was tempted to take Jada’s other one, but instead just gave her a quick pat on the shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Angie said. “Your mother-in-law contradicted herself. I think we’re fine. And Creskin’s gonna call Tonya next. We’ll take her apart.”

  “We better get in there,” Michael said. “Judge Sneed’s a nut about punctuality, so let’s not be late.”

  “Oh yeah,” Laura agreed. “He once gave me eleven minutes for an entire cross in a wrongful death suit. But I won.” She looked at Angie. “The bailiff said he’s leaving tonight for his vacation place in Fort Myers. You better not dawdle.”

  “What?” Angie asked. “This has to wrap today? But I have six witnesses. And before that, all of Creskin’s to cross.”

  “Do it fast,” Laura said.

  “This isn’t the trial,” Michael reminded them all. “It’s only the pendente lite. It’s not the final word.”

  “No. Just temporary custody and purgatory,” Jada said.

  “There’s not much room for maneuvering. And no chance for a continuance,” Michael said.

  “Rocket Docket rides again,” Natalie said, throwing away the rest of her coffee. “Let’s not be tardy,” she added, and led the way back into the court room.

  From her seat in the middle of the courtroom, Michelle looked at Tonya Green as carefully as she could from behind her sunglasses. Despite her primping at the mirror during the break, the woman was a mess. She was wearing a too-tight turquoise dress and every bulge of flesh showed. How could Clinton have picked that woman over elegant, tall, slim Jada? Of course, Michelle could see—even with her puffy eye—that Tonya Green was being presented as a caregiver, not a girlfriend. Too bad she dressed like a slut. The creepy lawyer—Michelle couldn’t remember his name—was questioning her only about her role as a sitter to the kids.

  “What was the most surprising or disturbing thing about the children when they first came into your care?” the creepy guy asked Tonya.

  “Well,” Tonya said, leaning forward, her heavy breasts shifting under the cheap fabric of her dress, “they wouldn’t talk for three whole days. It was the worst I’ve seen in children in ten years of doing this.”

  “Why do you think they didn’t speak?”

  “I think it’s because they were afraid of her. Their mother. That she’d punish them. They don’t like her.” Michelle saw Angie rise and heard her object, though she couldn’t hear what else was said by the judge and the creep. Then Tonya responded and said, “They never mention their mother. None of them cried for her. And little Kevon—I call him my angel—he curl up on my lap after two days and he say, ‘Would you be my mommy?’”

  Michelle felt sick to her stomach. If one of her children had ever … But, of course, Kevon hadn’t done that, either. Of the three children, Michelle knew Kevon was the mama’s boy. But Michelle thought of what it must be like to be Jada at that moment, and the pain she felt for her was almost unbearable. She wished she could get up on the stand and tell people, tell that judge, what she had seen and what she knew about how Jada supported them, monitored them, and loved them day in and day out over the last seven years that she’d known Jada.

  Jada must be dying, Michelle thought, but Michelle felt as if a part of her were dying, too. I’d rather be bacon burned in the pan than face this, Michelle thought. At least bacon can wiggle and spit and curl up.

  Although she’d seen plenty of trial scenes on television and in the movies, she had never before been in a courtroom. The thought of being in one with Frank, the thought of being on the stand, harried and hounded until she talked herself into some terrible corner, until she admitted the truth about what she knew, about what she had found, made her sick enough that she nearly had to leave the room. But she forced herself to focus on what was happening in front of her. She and Jada had gone into the same booth in the ladies’ room and she’d just silently held her friend while she trembled. She might be needed again.

  It amazed Michelle that people weren’t telling the truth. That Mrs. Jackson could lie like a rug, that the miserable adulteress on the stand was talking about how the children loved her. Tears rose in Michelle’s eyes, though the bruised one hurt when she cried. This wasn’t a trial, they’d said at the break. It was a pendente lite hearing, but that must have been Latin for crucifixion. Even when Jada won—and she better win—Michelle knew her friend would always carry the pain of this. Michelle tried to focus on what was going on next. Angie was up and cross-examining Tonya.

  “So, Mrs. Green, you say you have been a child care provider for a long time.”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Asked and answered. The witness has already testified she’s been doing this for more than ten years.”

  “Oh yes,” the woman said.

  Michelle thought that the judge didn’t like Angie. Was that possible? Did it matter?

  “Do you have any training in child development or child care?” Angie asked.

  “Objection, Your Honor. Let’s remember Mrs. Green is not on trial here. What’s the relevance?”

  “The relevance,” Angie said, “is to judge her competence and comparative experience.”

  “Overruled. She will be providing child care to Mrs. Jackson’s children.”

  Michelle thought it was bad to have an objection overruled, but she wasn’t sure. “New York State requires child care providers to be licensed. Do you have a license?” Angie asked next.

  “Oh yes,” Tonya Green smiled. “I got it right here in my bag. And I also got a insurance policy in case anything might happen to the children, Lord protect them.”

  Angie seemed flustered. Tonya took out papers and waved them. “Bailiff, let me see those,” Sneed commanded, and they were brought to him.

  “Your Honor, could I have a glass of water, please?” Tonya asked. The judge nodded and the bailiff brought it over. Angie waited while Tonya took a drink, then regained her composure.

  “So how many children have you taken care of in the last ten years?”

  “Oh, quite a few.”

  “Please give me their names.”

  There was a pause.

  “Your Honor, in the interest of time, I think we could provide such a list later,” the creep lawyer said. Michelle bet Tonya had never baby-sat anyone.

  “Fine. Continue, counselor,” the judge told Angie. Michelle hoped that she had something good set up to nail Tonya with.

  Even Michelle, from rows back, could see that Angie was surprised by the fact that the list wasn’t needed then and that Judge Sneed let questioning continue. So was Michelle.

  “So would you not think that children snatched from their home in the middle of the night, missing their mother, might be silent for a few days? Could that not be homesickness? Or trauma, based on your experience?”

  “Oh, homesick kids, they always cry for they mama. These kids never did that.”

  Michelle watched as the gross woman in the witness box shifted in the chair and continued to fan herself with a folded piece of paper. It wasn’t hot in the courtroom, at least not to
Michelle, sitting on a middle bench in her coat and sunglasses. Good, she thought, let her feel she’s on the hot seat. Michelle wanted Angie to burn Tonya at the stake. “Do you know the name of the children’s pediatrician?” Angie asked. Tonya shook her head. “Well, what would you do in case of illness?”

  “Take them to the hospital,” Tonya said. “Or call 911.” She said it as if she was proud of the answer, but Michelle couldn’t believe how stupid it was. She used to call her pediatrician twice a week. She hoped the judge knew.

  “What are their favorite television programs?”

  “Oh, they watch television all the time,” Tonya said with a big smile of relief.

  “You allow them to watch TV all the time?”

  Tonya’s smile faded. “No. No, I don’t. Not at all.”

  “So what programs do you allow? Which are their favorites?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Mrs. Green, you are being paid for your services. Yet you don’t know the children’s doctor, or their TV preferences. Exactly what are your services, then?” Angie didn’t give the woman a chance to answer. “Isn’t it true that on the night of November fifth, November eighth, and other nights Clinton Jackson left your home at three A.M.?”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Mrs. Green that was only a short time ago. And you don’t remember? Just like you don’t know their doctor, or their favorite television. There seems to be a lot you don’t remember or know.”

  The big woman shifted in her chair, drank more of her water, then moved forward to the railing. “Oh, now I remember about Mr. Jackson. He came over to talk about the children. One time I think it was because Kevon woke up cryin’. And the other time, maybe it was to get the book that one of them needed for school.”

  “And he arrived at eleven-thirty and didn’t leave until three A.M.? Before you answer, I’d like to point out we can provide a witness for this, Mrs. Green,” Angie said in a warning voice.