by A. K. Rose
“I’m glad you get it,” Rachel said, bending to place a soft kiss on Cassie’s cheek, the comfort of their relationship continuing to grow as days went by. “And I’m so glad you walked into that bar that night. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
“Me too,” Cassie agreed, leaning into the embrace from behind. “Now, about this party. We don’t have much time and I want to start packing this weekend. What do you think? Social media invitation and call it good? This weekend, BYOB, and we’ll grill?”
“I love it, sure.” Rachel said, returning to the kitchen to tend to her soup.
“Hey . . .”
“Yeah?”
“We’re about to go on a crazy journey together and there’s no one I’d rather go on it with. I love you.” Cassie said. She knew they were about to embark on quite an endeavor—moving, quitting her job, starting a non-profit, and planning a wedding, all in a short period of time. She was confident and excited, but knew that the process of several doors closing and opening at the same time could create the potential for a windstorm. She’d do everything in her power to make sure Rachel always knew how she felt about her; she’d do everything she could to make all the changes happen as smoothly as possible.
“I love you too. Come on, dinner’s ready. And don’t eat too much. I have specific after-dinner plans with you.”
# # #
Rick’s guest room was indeed nicely-appointed: a king-sized canopy bed with a variety of pillows, soft textiles in bright colors, a flat-screen TV, and an en suite bathroom made it quite a nice getaway, if one actually wanted to get away. Jessica very much did not want to get away, but realized she had no choice. Rick was right; she needed to hide from whomever was blackmailing her and felt relatively safe behind the security gate that blocked his house from the road.
Jess sat in a brown club chair next to the bed and held the flip phone Rick’s housekeeper had bought her. She was trying her level best to remember Lana’s phone number, but failing miserably. Rick had taken her iPhone and left it in his desk drawer at the office. It was so easy to use a phone’s GPS to track the location of a person that he didn’t want to run any risks, and after texting Brightside a few times to throw him off, put the phone in the drawer and drove Jess to his house. The situation was so unusual that she hadn’t even thought to copy Lana’s number down before leaving. So, she called the person whose number she knew by heart first, her mother. She dialed and waited, only to receive voicemail.
“Mom, it’s me. I can’t tell you where I am, but I’m completely safe and I’ll be here for a few days. I didn’t go to the coffee shop tonight. Don’t worry, I’m okay. I’ll try again tomorrow. I love you.”
Jess found herself blinking back tears as she finished her message, the emotion of the last two days finally catching up with her. She had conquered her tendency to over-blink in uncomfortable situations over the past few months, and now, was overcome with discomfort. Add in unwelcomed tears and she couldn’t stop blinking until it hit her: The Crickets had a website. As the band’s manager, Lana’s number would be on the site. She just needed a way to access the internet. The flip phone certainly wasn’t the answer, but the flat screen TV might be. She could have asked Rick for a spare laptop or tablet, but felt she was imposing enough already. Okay, good, Jess said to herself as she examined the remote—it was a Smart TV. She could find the website that way.
It took a few moments to figure out how to access the internet, and then even longer to tap in the band’s URL one letter at a time with the arrows on the remote, but she eventually got to The Crickets’ website. A little navigation—again with those frustrating arrow keys on the remote—and she’d found Lana’s number. She only hoped it was her cell number. Looking up and down between the phone and the TV, Jess entered the number and then pressed the “call” button and waited. It rang once, twice, three times, and just when she was about to give up, an answer.
“Hello?” the voice said, slightly confused tone evident immediately.
“Lana,” Jess replied, relief washing over her entire being. Finally, she could talk to the one person she needed the most.
“Oh my God, are you okay? Where are you?!”
“I’m okay,” Jess started, “I can’t tell you where I am. But, I’m okay. Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course, what?”
“Go get one of those Trac phones at the drugstore, and call me here later.” Jess knew Lana could use her caller ID to get the number, and wasn’t about to verbalize it.
“Okay, I’m going right now. You’re okay? Really? I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m okay, really. Call me back when you can. I love you.” Jess hated to be so abrupt with Lana, but realized as soon as she called she had exposed herself. What if Brightside had tapped her phone? She had no idea if he had, but didn’t want to say anything incriminating just in case. Crap, this is so complicated, she thought, realizing she was in way deeper than even she imagined. Laying back on the plush bed, red hair a mess and mascara staining her cheeks from those earlier tears, Jess let out an audible sigh. How was she going to make it alone in this room for two days? All she wanted was a big hug from Lana and reassurance it was going to be okay. All she wanted was asking too much.
While she waited for Lana to call back, she realized where she could find a little comfort. Cassie.
Cassie had no idea about any of this drama. Cassie would be a calm, rational person with whom to talk about it. She would know what to do, she always did. Jess didn’t think Brightside would be following Cassie—aside from Sunday night at the bar, they had barely spent any time together recently. She knew it was a risk, but desperately needed to talk to her best friend.
“Hello?” the voice answered, confusion once again immediately apparent. This pre-paid phone was throwing people off, and Jess knew she was lucky that it was even being answered at all.
“Hey, it’s me,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Hi! How has your week been? I figured you were busy being in love this week after that performance the other night. That was something!”
“I’m . . . oh, Cass, I’m in a bit of a weird situation. But first, how are you?”
“I’m good, we’re just finishing up dinner. Rach made soup and we’re going to find a movie to stream. I didn’t recognize this number, but I’ve been planning a lot of things for the non-profit, so I have been answering all my calls lately. So, tell me, what’s this weird situation and why are you calling me from a strange number?” Cassie dropped her bowl into the sink and mouthed “Sorry” to Rachel as she walked from the kitchen to the couch to talk with her friend. She’d abruptly ended their nice dinner by taking the call, but was glad she did. Jessica didn’t sound right.
“I don’t even know where to start . . .”
“Okay, start at the beginning then. What’s wrong?”
“Alright. This is the last week of the case, and I was so excited about that. I’m ready to get back in the office and out of the courtroom—I found out from watching this trial that being a hotshot litigator isn’t really something I want to do.”
“Okay, makes sense . . .” Cassie said as she sank into the couch where she’d spent so much time healing her body and her mind over the last few months. She was still going to PT twice a week, but her previously broken leg was becoming less and less of an inconvenience as time marched on.
“So, on Monday, I was flying high. Valentine’s was perfect, and Lana and I had a great night together after we left the bar. I was a little late to work Monday—nothing major—but as I was pulling out my tablet, there was a note taped to it. I thought it was probably a love note, so I left it alone, and didn’t look at it until lunch. I wanted to enjoy it privately.”
“That Lana, she is a heartbreaker!”
“It wasn’t from Lana. Cass, it was a blackmail note.”
“It was what?!”
“It was a blackmail note, threatening to ‘out’ me if I didn’t help the plaintiffs
in the appeal, which I only assume is coming—the verdict isn’t even out yet.” Jess returned to that club chair again, and had resumed her familiar hunched over, free hand in her hair position that was so common when she was upset.
“Wait, hang on. You’re being blackmailed?”
“I guess so, yeah. The note said if I didn’t cooperate, he would post a video of Lana singing to me on Valentine’s to YouTube and then send it to everyone I know.”
“So? Do you care if anyone sees that? It was a sweet moment.”
“At first I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t really ready to be ‘out.’ I didn’t want my mom finding out about Lana from a news story or some viral video. I didn’t want the partners at the firm finding out that way either. I didn’t want my story told by some creep.”
“Okay, I get that. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Well, it’s been a crazy couple of days and I didn’t want to drag you into this. But I needed to talk to you tonight. I’m someplace safe, and I’m staying here until the verdict is out, which could be tomorrow, but probably not until Friday.”
“Good. I’m assuming you’re not cooperating with the blackmailer? You know that’s a bad idea.”
“No, I’m not,” Jess said, sighing again. “I decided to call my mom and tell her everything. She was great.”
“She was?”
“She was. She just wants me to be happy, and I was . . . I am happy with Lana. I’m unhappy with my current predicament, but I hope it’s only temporary. I told one of the partners and he assured me the firm doesn’t care about what I do in my personal life, so that’s good too.”
“So, you went from zero to one hundred in the span of a day? You’re officially ‘out,’ just like that. Talk about ripping the Band-Aid off. Are you okay? You’ve done something incredibly brave, you know that?” Cassie had a square coaster from the end table in her free hand and was spinning it in half-circles as she spoke. This news was unsettling, and she didn’t know how she’d react if the roles were reversed. After all, it had taken her all of her adult life to come to terms with who she was. It was difficult beyond compare, and she’d been able to do it on her own terms.
“It’s been a whirlwind, that’s for sure. I don’t feel brave. I just want a rewind button on my life. I just want everything back to how it was on Sunday.”
“Of course you do, sweetie. This is completely crazy—it’s like the plot of a bad lawyer drama, not real life. But you did the right thing, telling your mom, telling the partners. If you take away the leverage, you win. You have no reason to hide—which is easy for me to say since I hid for years—but you really don’t. You’ve done nothing wrong. You met someone; you fell in love. That’s all that matters in the end.” Cassie had no idea where she was getting her calm demeanor in the moment, and she once again realized that her previously very straight best friend had fallen for a woman mere months after she’d professed her love for her. It wasn’t lost on her, but she wasn’t unhappy that Jess had found Lana. She was worried for her friend’s safety in the moment, though. “I assume you’re going to the police soon? I hope?”
“Yep. We’re waiting until the verdict comes out and then going to the police—the partner doesn’t want to spin a cycle before we know what the jury decides. I’m safe for now, and I’ll be in court until the end.”
“Okay, good. You just take care of yourself and try not to worry. I don’t want to know where you are, but will you call me tomorrow so I know you’re still okay?”
“I will, of course,” Jessica promised, feeling better already. Cassie always made things better for her.
“Okay, try and get some rest. Take a sleeping pill if you have to. And, I love you. You’re still and always will be my best friend. I just want you safe and happy, too. I’m so sorry you’re going through this, but I’m glad you found Lana. I can tell she makes you happy.”
“She does,” Jess admitted. “And I will. I’m waiting on her to call me back from a Trac phone and then I’m going to try and sleep. I love you, too . . . Bye, Cass.”
TWENTY-ONE
She sat completely still in the seat she’d occupied for almost seven weeks, wondering. Was he there?
Was he watching her? Was he even a ‘he’?
The courtroom hadn’t changed over the duration of Jessica Taylor’s first “real” case, but she certainly had. She’d walked into that overly-bright, sparsely-appointed room in the downtown courthouse completely unaware of how her life was going to change by participating as the lead researcher in a controversial class-action suit. When the case started, she had no idea she’d fall head-over-heels in love with a bass-playing social worker; no idea she’d end up the center of a blackmail scheme; no idea she’d come out of the closet she didn’t even know she was in, all before the end of the trial. The New Year had certainly provided a long list of surprises.
Jess had always believed the superstition that bad things happen in threes, and she sat in her chair behind the lead counsel’s table wondering what the third thing was going to be. She’d been threatened, she’d been forced to tell her family and employer about her love life, and now what? What could the third thing possibly be? She only hoped the theory of threes would be wrong in this instance.
“All rise,” the bailiff bellowed from his post in the corner of the room, his bald head shiny from the glare of the fluorescent lights beating down on it.
“Please be seated,” Judge Hightower ordered as she reached her bench, and then continued, “I’ve been informed that the jury has reached a decision in this case. Ms. Foreman, are you prepared to read your verdict?”
In the moments that followed, time seemed to stop. Jess sat, breathing in and out, not because she wanted to, but simply because her body’s nervous system overrode her brain. If her brain had been in charge, she’s surely have stopped breathing by now.
Her firm, Anderson, Smith and Smith had delivered a structured, well-planned defense of its client. Rick Anderson was a skilled defense attorney; he’d built his career and reputation on his ability to win hard cases. Her gut said the verdict was going to swing in her firm’s favor, but her heart wished it wouldn’t. Even before the blackmail, she’d had serious cognitive dissonance about this case. She’d felt the client had abused its monopoly on a specialized drug that helped a very small slice of the population have a better quality of life. O’Ryan argued that it raised its prices simply because it produced a specialized drug, and it didn’t have the volume of patients required to cover the research and development costs it had put into creating and distributing the immune-boosting medication. The pharmaceutical industry was built on volume, and this particular drug didn’t have a lot of volume. It wasn’t blood pressure medication. It wasn’t an acid reflux pill. It was specific to people with compromised immune systems—like children with HIV—and that slice of the population was very small. It was simply a matter of supply and demand, Rick had argued over and over in court.
Unfortunately, whoever Mr. Brightside was didn’t see it that way. He’d turned up out of the blue in Jess’s life and thrown it into a complete tailspin, and she only assumed he was angry because she stood him up when he beckoned her to Black Dog Coffee. She didn’t think like a blackmailer, but it didn’t take much thought to draw that conclusion. She wondered what he’d do next, especially if he didn’t like the outcome of the trial. Rick had promised to keep her safe—and he had—but now in the seconds before the verdict was read, Jessica wondered if she’d ever feel safe again. If she’d ever be able to live her life without feeling watched; if she could even stay in Austin. It was unsettling. In fact, she hadn’t eaten in two days since she’d gone into hiding. Her nerves had completely obliterated her appetite.
Jess counseled herself that this was the end of it. After the jury foreman—or in this case, forewoman—read the verdict, it would be over. She’d go to the police and tell them everything, she’d get her life back and put this week from hell in the rearview mirror. She’d go back to the research
library and stay out of court in the future. Maybe she and Lana would take a vacation someplace far, far away.
“We have,” the meek woman’s voice uttered, her finger finding its way to the center her tortoise shell glasses to push them higher on the bridge of her nose.
“What say you?” Judge Hightower questioned firmly.
“In the matter of the Ballinger class versus O’Ryan Labs, our judgment is for the . . .”
Just as she was about to verbalize the jury’s decision, the woman stopped momentarily—for dramatic effect it seemed. Had she watched too many courtroom dramas? Too much reality TV where they draw out the important information over a commercial break? Jess didn’t know, but she could barely stand it anymore. Just say it, she thought, desperate for this case to finally be over.
“ . . . defendant.”
“NOOOOO!” a man’s voice interjected, the outburst from the back row of the courtroom causing heads to turn and the judge to repeatedly bang her gavel on its accompanying wooden block.
“NOOOO! Sammy!” The voice continued frantically, two bailiffs sprinting to the back of the room on instinct. They hadn’t had an outburst from the gallery in a while, but it wasn’t out of the question in big cases. “I promised I’d get justice for Sammy . . . justice for Sammy . . .” came the repeated sobs, and it was evident immediately that Mr. Brightside had been revealed. Dressed in a full business suit, he fit right in amongst the other people in the room, and yet he was completely different. He had been on a mission—an individually-created mission, but a mission nonetheless—and his mission had failed. He knew this case would go to an appeal; he reminded himself repeatedly it would—that was why he wanted Jessica Taylor’s help, after all—but when the verdict was read, when he heard the words “not guilty” said aloud in reference to the pharmaceutical that he believed had killed his only son, he couldn’t contain himself. He couldn’t sit calmly. He couldn’t keep the words inside his brain.
