Character Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  ''Oh, I know that,'' she clucked. Suddenly she was facing Kathleen. Her chair had been twirled wrong-side around and placed on a platform that would lift her into the van. Bo was behind her, waiting patiently to turn on the lift motor until they finished their conversation.

  ''So you ready for court?''

  ''I think it will be a great deal of fun.'' She leaned forward and gave Kathleen a pat. ''We're such a fine team, how can they possibly turn us down? I didn't ask for this to happen, after all. There was no warning whatsoever. That bolt of carpeting came out of nowhere. There were no signs indicating a loading zone. I'd been led there by one of their own representatives and told to wait. No one called to alert me that I was about to be torpedoed. I think the judge, or whatever, will be very sympathetic.''

  ''You know what I think?'' Kathleen leaned down and whispered. ''I think you could argue this without me.''

  ''Oh,'' Henrietta giggled, ''you are ridiculous. Of course I need you to do that. You look as if you could be my granddaughter. Who could resist that? A granddaughter fighting for her poor infirmed grandmother. I think it will all work very well. And we're not asking for the moon, you know. That should go over well. Just asking for a proper and moral settlement for all my pain and suffering.''

  ''You think fifty thousand dollars is enough? You've been suffering a lot.'' Kathleen looked over the van, the handsome attendant, Henrietta's perfectly coifed hair and lovely clothes.

  ''I know dear and I'm bearing up as well as can be expected,'' she teased back. ''I'm sure fifty thousand dollars will do something to ease my pain.'' She gave a final tug on the gloves. ''Can I drop you somewhere, Kathleen?''

  ''No, thank you. I've got some paperwork to do, then an appointment at two thirty. Busy day.''

  ''I hope some of it will be fun. Go have a facial dear. It does wonderful things for the psyche.'' She gave a barely-there wave to Bo and he moved further back into the van.

  ''I'll remember that. But today's a little tight.''

  ''Well, whenever. I'll tell you what,'' she called, her voice drowned out when the gears on the van lift kicked in. Henrietta was raised above Kathleen. She looked perplexed when the thing jolted to a sudden stop. Composing herself she spoke again. ''I'll treat you to one with our settlement.''

  ''Gerry would have my head if I knocked off a few dollars of your fee for a facial.''

  ''Don't be ridiculous. That man thinks you walk on water. Besides, this would be a tip for services rendered.''

  Henrietta was pulled into the interior of the van. Bo secured her. She called good-bye and the doors closed. Kathleen waved though she doubted Henrietta saw it. Henrietta was a busy woman, too busy to linger over the niceties. Kathleen didn't have much time either.

  She took care of her paperwork over a burger in a corner shop. By the time she'd indulged in a piece of chocolate banana cream pie it was time to hit the road. Marina del Rey was a new part of the world to her and the last thing she wanted was to be late for her meeting with Michael Crawford.

  Marina del Rey wasn't a bit like Oz. It wasn't green. It wasn't just one color at all but a whole scheme: blue, set off by white and defined by brown. Blue skies over blue water. White sails on the boats dotting the bay, white hulls on those moored to white docks. Tanned bodies lounged on teak decks or rolled along the walk on blades. Marina del Rey was a dazzling little jewel at the end of an offshoot from the main freeway. There were restaurants with names like Charlie Brown, Acapulco, Thank God It's Friday. It was a playground for kids who had to grow up but preferred not to think about the years that were past. It was a place where the happy hour was perpetual and youth extended like a taut rubber-band. Kathleen figured that out when she stopped for the third time to ask directions. Laid out in concentric circles the city was confusing so Kathleen dashed into a small shop she passed more than once. Surrounded by the smallest bikinis she had ever seen and assisted by a curly haired girl in a backless dress, Kathleen was finally pointed in the right direction. Her destination wasn't a house, an apartment or a business, but a slip where a boat was moored and a man was sitting. This man was definitely not Michael Crawford.

  ''Excuse me.'' Kathleen stood beside the boat and called up to him. He sat on a deck chair and looked so oddly out of sync with his surroundings that Kathleen felt as if she belonged.

  His hair was cut short only to be slicked down as if to stretch it back to some fetching length. His glasses were big, black and broken. Tape held the nose piece together. His shirt was blue and short sleeved. His shorts were plaid and too big but not fashionably so. His socks were white, his shoes black, his skin pure as the driven snow and his voice deep like that of a radio announcer.

  ''Are you Kathleen Cotter?''

  ''Yes, I am. I'm looking for Michael Crawford.''

  The man nodded and put down his book, a hard bound anthology of MAD cartoons. He picked his way over the deck as gingerly as if the thing had been set adrift in a roiling sea. Kathleen looked away when he disappeared below.

  She took a few steps down the dock, stopped and just stood. The whole world moved up and down as if the ocean were sighing in its sleep. Toward the horizon she saw the curve of the breakwater that helped shelter the harbor. Sailboats floated out to sea. A perfect day for it. The slips were quiet, only intermittent sounds broke into the songs of the gulls that flew over head. Under their wings the water glistened and stretched large and Kathleen Cotter was overwhelmed. Life could be so beautiful.

  ''Hi.''

  Twirling, she squinted toward the sound of the greeting but the sun was in her eyes, shining behind the man on the deck of this more than respectably sized boat. There was no doubt it was Michael Crawford, but he was only identifiable by his silhouette. Still tall. Still lean. Still well turned out. His hair ruffled as the breeze picked up strands and the sun shined through them. Smiling, Kathleen moved so that she could really see him. When she did, she saw that he was reaching for her. She took his hands without a second thought. They were warm and strong. They felt wonderful in hers.

  ''You'll have to give a little jump now,'' he instructed, nodding toward the deck then looking at back her. His eyes went up and down. He gave up. ''Not going to work. Hold on. It'll be tough in that skirt. Would you rather sit on the grass?''

  She glanced at the boat. Polished, well kept, inviting. Painted black and gold and white it told her more about Michael Crawford than the pristine office where she'd initially met him. She wanted to go on deck, poke about and see what else she could find. Instead, she said:

  ''I suppose it would be better on the grass.''

  ''I could lift you. It's nice up here,'' he coaxed.

  ''I have no doubt,'' she answered and wondered if her voice had been too soft for him to hear or her blush too faint for him to take notice. He stayed where he was, giving her a chance to change her mind. He changed his first and jumped down onto the dock. It rocked gently, he stood his ground as if shaky was where he felt comfortable. Michael's guest came out of the galley. Kathleen reluctantly changed her focus.

  ''Michael, I have everything.''

  The MAD man was back.

  ''Thanks, pass it on down.'' Michael reached up and, with one hand, took a canvass bag the other man held with both hands. ''Come on down Harold. Ms. Cotter isn't quite dressed to climb up on deck.''

  ''Okay.'' The man with the glasses climbed gingerly over the side and gave a last little jump. He ended up sitting at Kathleen's feet despite all his precautions. ''Hi. Harold Douglas.''

  ''Nice to meet you.''

  They shook hands. She helped him up and they both followed Michael to a grass strip. Today he wore shorts. Kathleen had never quite appreciated the statement shorts made. Only a very secure man could walk with such confidence in well worn pants, slit up the sides for running, frayed at the hem. Shorts he obviously loved. His legs were long and strong. He wore a T-shirt that touted the virtues of a bar in the Baja. Another place she'd never been.

  Folding himself onto the grass strip,
he pushed his black rimmed dark glasses up his nose though they seemed well settled without the effort. A neon orange tube of fabric was attached to both ends of the glasses and looped around the back of his head. Here he was a happy man.

  ''I didn't know if you would have eaten, but I figured everybody likes to munch while they're talking. I've got beer, soda, cold chicken and pretzels. Oh, some Twinkies.'' He held up the plastic wrapped lemon yellow cakes with the three distinctive cream filling tattoos on the bottom.

  Kathleen laughed, ''It's a feast.'' She sat beside him. Close but not too close, legs politely tucked beneath her. She wished the skirt on her dress was full. ''I'll take a beer and the pretzels.''

  ''No Twinkies?'' He twirled one to entice her. He grinned when she shook her head. ''That's what I like, a woman with self control. Harold?''

  Michael's eyes were on the skinny fellow who appeared to analyze the grass for signs of something distasteful before sinking to his knees, and leaned back to rest upon the heels of his very hard shoes. His hands were on his skinny knees and his skinny knees were held closer together than a virgin on her first date.

  ''What is it you have again?''

  ''Chicken, soda, Twinkies, pretzels,'' Michael said patiently. Harold shook his head. He shuddered.

  ''No thank you.''

  Michael took him at his word and served himself. He decided on a beer and a piece of chicken then crossed his legs. The floor was open for discussion.

  ''I've been trying to get hold of Lionel's previous supervisor but it's been tough tying him down.'' He shrugged. ''Sorry about that.''

  ''That's all right.'' Kathleen nibbled on a pretzel then took a sip of beer. It had never tasted quite as marvelous as it did on this August afternoon. Even her disappointment was easier to swallow.

  ''But I brought you the next best thing. Harold was a friend of Lionel's, and I thought he might be able to help you.'' Michael used the chicken leg like a baton. The floor belonged to Harold.

  ''Correction, Mr. Crawford. I wasn't a friend. I never would have presumed upon my relationship with Lionel by assuming anything as intimate as a friendship. I was his admirer. I was grateful to be his student. I was working on being worthy of his friendship but fate, did indeed, step in and remove that particular prospect from my agenda. Much, I might add, to my distress.''

  Harold's fingers were incredibly long and bony. He tapped his knees with them. He bit his nails. There was a subdural twitch that seemed to grip Harold Douglas, yet his body remained rigid, his voice remained calm. He never cracked a smile. Sincere and serious, approaching his topic as though presenting his credentials to the queen, Harold Douglas had no time for social graces. He seemed in no hurry to leave, only in a hurry to prove he had reason to be sitting on the grass on a beautiful day.

  ''How long had you known Lionel, Mr. Douglas?'' Kathleen asked.

  ''I'd worked along side Lionel for four years, Miss Cotter. They were the best four years of my life.'' He glanced down, lifting his fingertips ever so slightly as if to hold up history for her approval. ''I have no delusions, Miss Cotter. I know that people like me are considered throw-aways. Nerds. Society has little use for the less than stylish, the less than self confident, the less than beautiful. We are a reviled subset of our culture when we are in our formative years and ignored when we have passed through them.''

  Harold took a breath, keeping his eyes on her. He almost began again but changed his mind. Quicker than lightening, he reached into his back pocket, withdrew a huge white handkerchief and sneezed a sneeze of incredible proportions. Even Michael took notice as he had noticed everything that had happened until then. Kathleen was not unaware of his intense, though seemingly casual, interest in Harold and in her.

  ''Forgive me.'' Harold honked once more, put the handkerchief away and resumed his speech. ''I apologize. I've drifted from the subject. I only wanted to paint the background so you could see why I thought so highly of Lionel Booker.''

  He stopped and blinked at Kathleen.

  ''And why was that, Mr. Douglas?'' she prodded.

  ''What?''

  ''Why did you think so highly of Mr. Booker?'' Kathleen said clearly. Beside her Michael uncrossed his legs, reclining on one elbow to watch the proceedings. Kathleen looked at him, mentally tripped when she focused on his legs then looked back at Harold trying not to make any comparisons between the two men - or think to which she was more suited.

  ''Lionel Booker managed to break the mold, of course,'' Harold answered with dignity. ''He had crossed over. A man completely aware of his status as a second class citizen, yet somehow he rose above the discrimination afforded men like us. Lionel had style. He had heart. He had confidence. Lionel Booker knew exactly what life was about.''

  ''And what was that, Mr. Douglas. Can you tell me without any uncertainty?''

  Kathleen set aside her beer. It toppled in the lush grass. She reached for it at the same time Michael did. Their hands touched. She expected a blissful moment of hormonal eruptions to blind her during the contact. It didn't. She saw him very clearly.

  ''Thanks.''

  ''Hate to waste a good brew,'' Michael said. Harold Douglas watched the exchange with not a small bit of awe. Kathleen resumed her questioning.

  ''Did you know a lot about Lionel's life outside the office, Mr. Douglas?''

  ''Lionel's life was perfect, Miss Cotter.'' Harold paused, sad for a moment. Removing his glasses he breathed on them. Lacking an appropriate cloth with which to finish the job he put his glasses back on, looking at the world through a slowly disappearing fog.

  Uneasily, Kathleen watched. She chanced a glance at Michael Crawford but behind his dark glasses it was impossible to tell what he felt. When Kathleen finally saw Harold's eyes again they were trained at some point beyond her and swam with tears.

  ''There was no reason for Lionel to take his own life. I don't know what happened in that bathroom. I don't know that there was anything in the world that would have caused him to harm himself . Lionel was a very spiritual man, you must understand.'' Harold shared this with both of them equally but finally settled on Kathleen. ''He believed in nature in its purest form. That's why he held no animosity toward his first wife. He said it was all part of the journey. We would have lunch and he would share his journey with me.''

  ''You mean he was sort of a born again Christian?'' Michael asked. He reclined now propped up on his elbow, one knee up and one leg extended.

  Harold shook his head, ''No, not really like that. His journey was one of personal growth. He was the only man I ever knew who thought deeply about himself and his environment and continued to try and literally carve a place for himself that was self satisfying while being responsible to the world at large. He felt guilty about Louise. He felt he married her without giving thought to how they fit together in the universe, and that's why they didn't make it. Do you understand?''

  Kathleen was all sympathy. ''I think so. Like when people marry too young and find out that there's no place for the captain of the football team and the head cheerleader in the real world.''

  ''Exactly,'' Harold pushed his glasses up, smiling quite a lovely smile. ''That's exactly how Lionel felt, and that's why he took responsibility for Louise. He believed he had done her a disservice.'' He was excited now, warming to his subject. ''You see, Lionel believed everything was tied to nature. It was Louise's nature to desire material things. It was natural for her to be upset when she realized that Lionel had never valued the things money could buy. Her nature was unchangeable. His was at least refinable, if that makes sense.''

  Harold knelt up, tired of leaning on the hard heels of his shoes.

  ''Lionel was gentle, spiritual, kind, and respectful of all things and people that inhabited his world even if they sought to take advantage of him. He took pride in his job because he believed that he was using his God given talents to the best of his ability. He was taking care of his first wife and his second by honoring the commitment he made to Tysco. In short, Lionel
Booker was a very proud man and I say he had every reason to be.''

  ''And no reason to kill himself?''

  Harold looked at Michael, surprised to hear him speak and looking almost peeved that his soliloquy had not been allowed a moment of respectful silence. When he spoke of Lionel his stature had seemed to grow, his shoulders had become broad with pride that he knew such a person. But Lionel was gone. Harold shrunk back, sitting on his heels once more.

  ''No. No reason. He was upset about something that had happened at work. I might even go so far as to describe his behavior as distressed. He didn't confide in me except to say that life is full of disappointments and sometimes you just have to do what you can when you run into them.''

  ''And you didn't take that to mean that he was resigned to solving his problem by taking his own life?'' Kathleen questioned him now.

  ''No.'' Harold shook his head slowly, thinking hard about his answer because he knew it was important. ''I didn't. In fact, I don't believe it was Lionel's problem. The way he spoke, it was more like he was angry at other people. I don't think Lionel made a mistake. I think someone else did and he was taking it upon himself. At least that's the impression I had. He wasn't depressed. If anything he was energized.''

  ''Did he say how he was going to do this or who else might be involved?'' Michael was sitting up again, offering Kathleen the chicken. She shook her head.

  ''I'm sorry,'' he looked Kathleen's way. ''We weren't intimate in that way. I admired him. I don't think he knew how much. We ate lunch together, said good-morning and good-night, but I wasn't privy to all of Lionel's most private thoughts. Without Lionel opening the door, I would never have burdened him with mine.''

  ''He must have been a very special man.'' Kathleen's voice was another note in the summer sounds. She waited for a car to pass through the parking lot behind them then leaned forward and put her hand on Harold's. ''I hate to ask this, Mr. Douglas, but I have to. If you weren't the best of friends, how do you know that Lionel might not have turned to drugs and killed himself?''