The Clinic

by Jonathan Kellerman

  MS. VESPUCCI: I don't know.

  PROF. DEVANE: When you came to me you were very upset.

  MS. VESPUCCI: I know. [Starting to cry] But I . . . now I want to stop it. Okay? Please?

  PROF. DEVANE: Of course. We're out for your best interests. You should remember, though, that a process has been set into motion.

  MR. STORM: I don't believe this! She said end it! What're you going to do, kick me out? Fine, do it, go ahead and fucking do it, I don't give a shit about you or this place or—

  MR. LOCKING: Take it easy, man—

  MR. STORM: No, you take it easy, asshole! This is bullshit, I'm out of here!

  MR. LOCKING: I'm warning you, ma—

  MR. STORM: About what, asshole? You think I give a shit about you and your fucking college? Fuck this place! Fuck you! You, too, Cindy— how could you do this to me? First thing I do when I'm out of here is call your mother and—

  MS. VESPUCCI: Kenny! Please— no— I'm sorry— Kenny, come on, please!

  PROF. STEINBERGER: What about her mother, Mr. Storm?

  MR. STORM: Let her tell you.

  PROF. STEINBERGER: Cindy?

  MR. STORM: What a laugh! This is ancient fucking history!

  MR. LOCKING: Professors, it seems to me that before we go further, this guy's going to have to—

  PROF. STEINBERGER: Is there something else going on between you two that you haven't told us about, Cindy?

  MS. VESPUCCI: [Sobbing] It's my fault.

  MR. STORM: Damn fucking strai—

  MR. LOCKING: Watch your mouth!

  MR. STORM: Fu—

  PROF. STEINBERGER: Please, sir, we'll hear you out. But please let her talk. Okay? Thank you. Cindy?

  MS. VESPUCCI: It's my fault.

  PROF. DEVANE: What is, Cindy?

  MS. VESPUCCI: I— was— I was mad at him . . . maybe partly because of my mom.

  PROF. DEVANE: He did something to your mom?

  MR. STORM: Yeah, right, I'm a rapist. Tell them, Cindy, go on. Come on— what's the matter, cat got your tongue? Bringing me here with that letter, I thought I was being suspended. What total and complete bull—

  MS. VESPUCCI: Stop! Please!

  MR. STORM: Then tell them. Or I will.

  PROF. DEVANE: Tell us what?

  MS. VESPUCCI: It's stupid.

  MR. STORM: That's for sure! Her mom and my dad had a— they were dating. Til my dad shut her mom down because she was too left-wing. Her mom can't hold on to a man, Cindy probably blamed my dad. So when she saw me at the party, she decided to hit on me and get even.

  MS. VESPUCCI: No! That's not true! You came up to me first! I danced with you because you were acting like a gentleman—

  MR. STORM: What a crock! You were wearing that nothing little black—

  PROF. DEVANE: Hold on. When you say left-wing, do you mean politically?

  MR. STORM: What else? Radical feminism. Her mom's a flaming extremist. Hates men, taught Cindy to. She was just setting me up for—

  MS. VESPUCCI: I wasn't, Kenny! You were a gentleman. Not like—

  MR. STORM: Not like my dad? Don't you fucking put him down!

  MS. VESPUCCI: I didn't mean that. I meant the other guys at the—

  MR. STORM: Right.

  MS. VESPUCCI: Kenny—

  MR. STORM: Fuck this!

  PROF. STEINBERGER: Kenny, does your dad approve of your swearing?

  MR. STORM: Okay. I'm sorry. I'm just super-steamed. Because this is totally unfair. My dad and her mom had problems so she set me up. It's—

  MS. VESPUCCI: I didn't! I swear!

  MR. STORM: Right. You just picked me 'cause of my cute face—

  PROF. DEVANE: Let's regain our focus. Whatever the motivation for your initial meeting, Mr. Storm, you did go out with Ms. Vespucci. And she claims you attempted to force her to have sex with you.

  MR. STORM: Bul— no way. No . . . blanking way! Sure I asked her. Why not? We'd already been out a bunch of times. But I didn't touch her without permission— right, Cindy? So I asked her if she wanted to do it. Is that a crime, now?

  PROF. DEVANE: Shoving her out of the car when she turned you down is, sir.

  MR. STORM: Yeah, except I didn't shove her. She freaked and got out herself, fell down. Actually, I tried to stop her— that's the only time I grabbed her arm.

  PROF. DEVANE: That's not what she says— correct, Ms. Vespucci?

  MS. VESPUCCI: Just forget it.

  PROF. DEVANE: Cindy, I really don't—

  MS. VESPUCCI: Please.

  PROF. DEVANE: Let's talk about that purse, Cindy. Can we agree that it got thrown?

  MR. STORM: Hell, no! After she got out, I gave it to her because it was hers and—

  PROF. DEVANE: So you threw it at her.

  MR. STORM: Not at her, to her. What did I need a purse for? Jesus. She refused to catch it so it fell into the street.

  MS. VESPUCCI: But then I told you I did want to get back in and you just drove away!

  MR. STORM: I didn't hear you.

  MS. VESPUCCI: You weren't that far away!

  MR. STORM: Read my lips, Cindy: I did not hear you. I'd already asked you ten times and you refused so I split. This is rank, Cindy. You set me up and you know it and now your mom's going to know it.

  PROF. DEVANE: There's no call for threats—

  MR. STORM: What do you think this is? Fuck this place—

  MS. VESPUCCI: I'm sorry, I'm sorry— I'm sorry, Professor Devane, but I want to stop this. Now! Please!

  PROF. STEINBERGER: Perhaps—

  PROF. DEVANE: Cindy, right now you're under a lot of stress and pressure. This isn't the right time to make important decisions.

  MS. VESPUCCI: I don't care, I want to stop this! I'm leaving. [Exits]

  MR. STORM: [Laughs] What now?

  PROF. DEVANE: Is there something more you want to say for yourself, sir?

  MR. STORM: Not for myself. For you— to you: Fuck you, lady! And you, too, clown— don't like it, man? Come on outside and get it on.

  MR. LOCKING: You have no idea who you're dealing—

  MR. STORM: Then come on out, brain-boy. Come on— hah, bullshit walks— fuck you, fuck this college and this bullshit left-wing garbage. I'm phoning my dad, he's in real estate, knows lots of lawyers. He's going to have your asses for breakfast. [Exits]

  A note by the University lawyers indicated that Kenneth Storm Sr., an alumnus and member of the Chancellor's Associates, had indeed contacted an attorney, Pierre Bateman, who, four weeks later, drafted a letter of complaint to the University demanding immediate dissolution of the conduct committee, a written apology, and one hundred thousand dollars for Kenneth Storm Jr. The young man had dropped out of the University and applied for transfer to the College of the Palms, in Redlands. The University lawyers noted that his first-quarter grade point average had been 1.7 and that he'd been on academic probation. His second-quarter marks were no better and he was on the verge of flunking out. Nevertheless, it was deemed advisable to settle and a deal was worked out: The Storm family agreed to drop the matter in return for payment of Kenneth Jr.'s tuition for three and a half years at the College of the Palms.

  Additionally, it was recommended that the committee be dissolved.

  Bad feelings in both cases, but the rage level of the second nearly scorched the paper.

  Kenneth Storm Jr. had a bad temper, even taking into account his being hauled up during an especially hard time in his college career.

  Had the deal failed to appease him?

  Paz and Fellows had never known about the committee. I assumed Milo had at least skimmed the transcripts, but he still preferred Philip Seacrest as prime suspect.

  Because of the money and the way Seacrest twanged his antennae.

  But Storm had obviously hated Hope.

  A nineteen-year-old carrying a grudge that far?

  Bicycle tracks on the sidewalk.

  Students rode bikes to campus.

  I wrote down K. Storm Jr. an
d turned to the third transcript, dated one week after the Vespucci-Storm debacle and three weeks before Kenneth Storm's lawyer wrote the letter that killed the committee.

  Only Devane and Casey Locking sat in judgment, now. Had Professor Steinberger lost her taste for inquisition?

  As I read, it became clear that this was the most serious of the three complaints.

  A sophomore psychology major named Tessa Ann Bowlby accused a graduate student in theater arts named Reed Muscadine of date rape. The two of them agreed on several initial points: They'd met in the student union during lunch and had gone out on a single date that night, viewing the movie Speed at the Village Theater, followed by dinner at Pinocchio, an Italian restaurant in Westwood Village. Then, they'd returned to Muscadine's apartment in the Mid-Wilshire District to drink wine and listen to music. Heavy petting and partial disrobing commenced. Here their stories diverged: Bowlby claimed she wanted things to go no further but Muscadine got on top of her and entered her by force. Muscadine said intercourse had been consensual.

  MS. BOWLBY: [Crying, shaking] I . . .

  PROF. DEVANE: What, dear?

  MS. BOWLBY: [Hugs self, shakes head]

  PROF. DEVANE: Do you have any further comment, Mr. Muscadine?

  MR. MUSCADINE: Just that this is rather Kafkaesque.

  PROF. DEVANE: In what way, sir?

  MR. MUSCADINE: In the sense of being cast under suspicion with no justification and no warning. Tessa, if what happened somehow hurt you, I'm truly sorry. But you're dealing with your feelings the wrong way. You may have changed your mind, now, but what happened then was clearly what we both wanted— you never indicated otherwise.

  MS. BOWLBY: I asked you to stop!

  MR. MUSCADINE: No, you really didn't, Tessa.

  MS. BOWLBY: I asked you! I asked you!

  MR. MUSCADINE: We've already been back and forth on this, Tessa. You feel you objected, I know I heard nothing that was even close to objection. If I had, obviously, I would have stopped.

  PROF. DEVANE: Why is it obvious?

  MR. MUSCADINE: Because I don't force women to be with me. Apart from being repugnant, it's unnecessary.

  PROF. DEVANE: Why's that?

  MR. MUSCADINE: Because I'm able to get women without forcing them.

  PROF. DEVANE: Get women?

  MR. MUSCADINE: Pardon the clumsy usage, I'm a little shaken up by all this. Women and I relate well. I'm able to obtain companionship without the use of coercion. That's why this whole thing is—

  MR. LOCKING: You're a theater arts major, right?

  MR. MUSCADINE: Yes.

  MR. LOCKING: What speciality?

  MR. MUSCADINE: Acting.

  MR. LOCKING: So you're pretty good at disguising your feelings.

  MR. MUSCADINE: What's that supposed to mean?

  MR. LOCKING: What does it mean to you?

  MR. MUSCADINE: You know, I came in here determined to be calm and rational, but I'm finding it a bit difficult with things getting this personal.

  PROF. DEVANE: This is a personal issue.

  MR. MUSCADINE: I know, but I already told you—

  MR. LOCKING: Do you have a temper-control problem?

  MR. MUSCADINE: No. Never. Why?

  MR. LOCKING: You sound angry.

  MR. MUSCADINE: [Laughs] No, I'm fine— maybe a little baffled.

  MR. LOCKING: By what?

  MR. MUSCADINE: This process. Being here. Am I a little angry? Sure. Wouldn't you be? And that's really all I have to say.

  PROF. DEVANE: The intercourse. Did it proceed to climax?

  MR. MUSCADINE: It did for me. And I thought you enjoyed it, too, Tessa.

  MS. BOWLBY: [Crying]

  MR. MUSCADINE: Obviously, I was wrong.

  PROF. DEVANE: Did you wear a condom, sir?

  MR. MUSCADINE: No. It was kind of— the whole thing was spontaneous. Impetuous. We really hit it off— or at least I thought we had. Nothing was planned, it just happened.

  PROF. DEVANE: Have you ever been tested for HIV?

  MR. MUSCADINE: No. But I'm sure I'm—

  PROF. DEVANE: Would you be willing to be tested?

  MR. MUSCADINE: Why?

  PROF. DEVANE: For Tessa's peace of mind. And yours.

  MR. MUSCADINE: Oh, c'mon—

  PROF. DEVANE: You relate well to women. You've gotten many, many women.

  MR. MUSCADINE: That's not the point.

  PROF. DEVANE: What is, sir?

  MR. MUSCADINE: It's intrusive.

  PROF. DEVANE: So is rape.

  MR. MUSCADINE: I never raped anyone.

  PROF. DEVANE: Then why all of the anxiety about a simple blood test?

  MR. MUSCADINE: I— I'd have to think about it.

  PROF. DEVANE: Is there some fundamental problem with it,

  sir?

  MR. MUSCADINE: No, but . . .

  PROF. DEVANE: But what, sir?

  MR. MUSCADINE: I don't know.

  PROF. DEVANE: These are the facts: You had unprotected sex with a woman who claims you raped her. The very least you can do is to—

  MR. MUSCADINE: It just seems kind of . . . drastic. Have sex and prove yourself healthy? I've slept with lots of other women and it never came up.

  PROF. DEVANE: That's the point, sir. In effect, Ms. Bowlby has now slept with every one of those other women. The precise details of what occurred that night may never be proven, but it's obvious that Ms. Bowlby is experiencing some real trauma.

  MR. MUSCADINE: Not because of me.

  MS. BOWLBY: You raped me!

  MR. MUSCADINE: Tessa, I didn't. I'm sorry. You've twisted this—

  MS. BOWLBY: Stop! Please! [Cries]

  MR. MUSCADINE: Tessa, if there was some way to undo it, believe me, I would. We didn't need to make love, we could have just—

  PROF. DEVANE: Please stop, sir. Thank you. Are you all right, Tessa? Casey, get her a fresh tissue . . . thanks. As I was saying, Mr. Muscadine, the precise details may never be known because there were no witnesses. But Ms. Bowlby is clearly traumatized and she's entitled to some kind of closure. Given your sexual history, she'd feel a lot better if you were tested and shown to be HIV-negative. And so would this committee.

  MR. MUSCADINE: Is that true, Tessa? Tessa?

  MS. BOWLBY: You just said you sleep around!

  MR. MUSCADINE: Wow. From Kafka to Dracula— give up my body fluids. Okay, I have nothing to hide— do I have to pay for it?

  PROF. DEVANE: The testing can be done at Student Health with no charge. I've got an authorization form, right here, that will release all results.

  MR. MUSCADINE: Oh, boy— okay, fine, I've got nothing to hide— but she should get tested, as well.

  MS. BOWLBY: I already did. Right after. So far I'm negative.

  MR. MUSCADINE: You'll stay negative. At least from me— listen, Tessa, I'm really sorry this whole thing has gotten to you, but I— forget it. Sure, fine. I'll get tested, tomorrow. How's that? If that's all I have to do.

  PROF. DEVANE: You should also give some serious thought to the issue of rape.

  MR. MUSCADINE: I don't need to.

  PROF. DEVANE: Sometimes we're not aware of—

  MR. MUSCADINE: I'm telling you— okay, fine. I'll think about it. Now can I go?

  PROF. DEVANE: Sign these release forms, go to Student Health, and get tested within twenty-four hours.

  MR. MUSCADINE: Fine, fine. What an experience— thank God I'm an actor.

  PROF. DEVANE: Why's that, sir?

  MR. MUSCADINE: To an actor, everything's material. Maybe I can put this to use someday.

  PROF. DEVANE: I trust not, sir. As we told you at the outset, everything that goes on here is confidential.

  MR. MUSCADINE: Oh . . . yes, sure. It had better be. For my sake, too.

  PROF. DEVANE: What I'm saying is you're enjoined against using it. That's part of the agreement.

  MR. MUSCADINE: I didn't mean use it directly. I meant subconsciously. Never mind . . . bye, Tessa. Let's kee
p our distance from each other. Let's stay a planet away from each other.