“Just the week before she told me she was!” Lauren says, wideeyed and innocent as a lamb.
“We had just finished practice, and were walking across campus, and I asked her if she was still seeing him. She didn’t say any thing, but she nodded her head like this.” Lauren moves her head quickly up and down, and then stares into my face to see what kind of effect she has made.
“She said he was trying to break it off, but she had gotten in so deep that she’d do anything to keep him.”
Do anything, huh? It sounds plausible, but because of Sarah’s skepticism, I find I am doubting her. Why? If people were disqualified from testifying in court because of character flaws, there would be no judicial system.
“What did you say?”
“I told her that she’d just end up getting him and her both in all kinds of trouble.”
St. Lauren. It’s a bit of a stretch.
“Why did y’all have a falling out?” I ask.
“Because she’s a hypocrite!” Lauren exclaims.
“I was sympathetic until she started acting like such a martyr.
Robin knows exactly what kind of impression she makes when she walks into a room. Lots of guys love an ice queen like her. They want to be the one to melt her. I can’t prove this, but I think she had liked Dade back in the spring. She never would admit it, and gave out all that crap about helping him in communications. I could understand her liking him, but he’s black and that’s just not worth it up here.”
The jukebox starts up with “The Great Pretender” by The Platters, but she doesn’t seem to be holding much back.
“Who else did she tell about the affair with her teacher?”
“I have no idea,” Lauren says breezily.
“I haven’t told but a couple of girls about it.”
A couple of dozen probably. Honesty mixed in with lies is an irresistible combination, but her story is for the jury to decide.
“Would you be willing to testify at the trial and at a hearing before then if I need you?” If I’m going to be able to get this information into evidence, according to the rape shield statute, I’ll have to file a motion with the court and ask for a hearing.
Lauren stares at the bright red lipstick she has left on the lip of her cinnamon-colored coffee cup.
“Do I have to?” she asks.
“I’d hate to hurt Robin.”
Yeah, right. I resist the temptation to laugh in this girl’s face. Lauren would run over her with a truck if she had the opportunity.
“I’ll have subpoenas issued for you, and that way you won’t have any choice about coming. You’ll have to come back early from Christmas vacation. Is that okay?”
“Cool,” she says, the fingers of her right hand beginning to tap out the beat of the song though I can’t imagine she has ever heard it.
I take out my card and slide it across the Formica top.
“What’s the woat thing Robin knows about you?” I ask, wondering what ax is being grinded here.
“That I can be a real bitch sometimes,” Lauren says, smiling sweetly at me.
I just barely resist saying that I have heard that. We talk for a few more minutes, and then she leaves, but not before I get an address and phone number at her home in El Dorado. I watch her walk out. The other guys don’t even look up. With friends like Lauren, who needs enemies?
At ten o’clock the next morning I watch as a student comes out of Dr. Joseph Hofstra’s office and heads for his door. I want to surprise the guy and watch his immediate reaction. My guess is that he might like to avoid Dade’s trial almost as much as Dade. If Robin is still involved emotionally with him, she might not want to go forward with the trial if he is going to be dragged into it.
The door to his office is open, and I introduce myself to a dark-haired man who looks around the eyes like a young Warren Beatty. He is around thirty, dressed in blue denim pants and a blue workshirt. I can see how the coeds could keep his office hours busy. He squints as if he ought to know who I am but can’t place me. He puts down a book whose title I can’t make out, and asks, his voice droll, “Are you one of my students?”
He probably thinks I’m a book salesman. From the hundreds lining the walls I’d say he doesn’t need any more. I say bluntly, “I represent Dade Cunningham in the rape trial that is coming up in a couple of weeks. I under stand Robin was one of your students last summer.”
I have to give the guy credit. For an instant only I think I see him react, but, in fact, I can’t be sure. He pushes his chair back from his desk and says blandly, “Yes, I had Robin in summer school. I was shocked to hear she had been assaulted, but I don’t see the relevance to my class.”
I look behind his head and see he was awarded his Ph.D. from the University of Michigan only three years ago. He must feel he has come down in the world, but a guy has to start somewhere.
“Let me get to the point. I just talked to a friend of Robin’s who said you had a sexual relationship with Robin this summer. Do you deny it?”
With as much dignity as he can muster under the circumstances, Hofstra stands up, and in a hoarse voice says, “I think you better leave my office immediately.”
I pretend he hasn’t moved a muscle.
“Dr. Hofstra, if you will answer a couple of questions right now, it will be a lot easier on you than if I have to embarrass you at the trial. I’d appreciate it if you’d talk to me.”
“Whatever you’ve heard is purely gossip,” he blurts.
“Now, leave my office before I call security.”
“If you get a lawyer,” I say, dropping my card on his desk, “ask him to call me, please.”
His brown eyes beginning to bulge, he loses his composure.
“Get out!” he screams, his voice betraying his panic.
On his desk I can see a picture of what must be his family. Two girls. His wife is pretty, a blonde just like Robin. I stand and walk out, not feeling so good. How much nicer it would be to be a book salesman.
After checking out of the Ozark and stopping by Barton’s office (only to find that he is in Colorado skiing), I head the Blazer east for home, wondering how this latest turn of events will play out. Hofstra may be my best weapon to keep this case from going to trial. Right about now, I imagine he’s calling his lawyer or is on the phone to Robin. Outside of Fayetteville, the solitude gets to me, and I turn on the radio.
“The Little Drummer Boy.” In less than a week it will be Christmas. Not a favorite holiday since Rosa’s death. I nudge the heater up a bit. It is cold up here in the mountains. This morning there was so much frost on the grass in front of the motel it looked as if it had snowed. Though it has been the mildest fall I can remember in central Arkansas, it will be a frigid January for some people up here. I will file a motion for a hearing, and then in two or three days, after they’ve had a chance to stew, I will drive south to Texarkana to visit Robin and her parents. With a chance that it will turn messy beyond their wildest dreams, they may not want to see this case go to court after all.
15
December 21 the shortest day of the year, I realize, looking at the calendar behind Judge Blake’s head. He doesn’t look sympathetic. For Rainey’s sake, I hope it isn’t the year’s shortest hearing.
“Ms. McCorkle,” I say, “would you tell the court about Ms. Alvarez’s ability to live more independently?”
Rainey smiles at Delores, who is sitting next to me and proceeds to testify about my client’s management of routine household skills. It is nothing short of bizarre to be calling as a witness the woman I would have married, but Rainey acts as though we have perfected a dog and pony show that we’ve been taking on the road for years. She turns to Judge Blake and tells him that Delores is a better shopper than she is.
“Your Honor, I went to Megamarket with Ms. Alvarez, and she not only picked out the food but did comparison shopping by using a pocket calculator and then cooked a full dinner on my stove. I have no doubt she can live very well independently.”