by Maren Foster
“Which direction is he heading and which route is he most likely to take?”
“From the bar, he’s most likely to take FDR Drive to the Thruway. He’ll be headed north from downtown to Old Greenwich.”
“Okay. What’s he driving? Do you know the license plate number?”
“Black Porsche 9-11,” I said. “N8 GR8.”
“Are those New York plates?”
“No, Connecticut.”
“When did he leave the bar?”
“Just now. Maybe three minutes ago.”
“Okay. And what is your name?”
“Andy,” I said, for no reason other than it was the first thing that popped into my head. “I mean Andrea.”
“Last name?”
“Smith.”
“And what is your phone number?”
Shit, I can’t give her my real phone number and I don’t know this one. I rattled off seven random numbers.
“I’ve alerted the patrols in the area.”
“Thank you.”
She hung up.
I went back inside, fought my way through the crowd, and rejoined the group. I danced to take my mind off Nate. A waitress pushed her way toward us with a tray full of shots.
“To Julia!” Candace shouted.
We each grabbed a shot and threw it back. I didn’t feel a burn as it went down. The bass permeated my body and time flowed. I checked my phone. An hour had passed. Nothing yet. Did they catch him? It’s been a while. Maybe he’s already home. I should go home. I passed Julia on my way off the dance floor.
“Heading out soon,” I yelled. “Happy Birthday!”
She pulled me toward her and gave me a hug.
I grabbed my purse from the coat check and requested a car. I waited in front of the club and bummed a cigarette from one of a handful of smokers. My nerves were getting to me. This has to work. I can’t do this any longer. The deep bass permeated the old brick walls of the club.
A small grey car pulled up and I climbed into the back seat and made necessary pleasantries. He hit the road and I nearly fell asleep when my phone began to ring. It was a random 914 number. Nate? I let it go to voicemail. This will be fun. Another call a few minutes later was from the same number.
I asked the driver to turn down the radio and listened to the two voicemails.
“Wyn, you’re not going to believe it. It’s bad. I need you to…” he was cut off.
In the second message I could hear the panic in Nate’s voice; “Wyn, answer your goddamn phone!”
A guttural laugh came from somewhere deep inside me.
“Ma’am. Are you okay?” the driver asked.
“Oh, yes, excellent actually!”
I hit the green call icon next to the 914 number. The phone rang so many times I nearly hung up, but then a woman picked up; “New Rochelle Police Department.”
“Yes. I believe my partner just tried to call me from this number. His name is Nathan Ellis. May I please speak with him?”
“What do you think this is, Ma’am? A hotel?”
“No, I guess not.”
“I will have to see if he can be brought to the phone. Please hold.”
I waited.
“You’ll have to wait until he calls you again,” she said. “It’s shift change so he can’t be brought up now. If I were you I’d keep my phone close at hand and the volume up.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I watched the city retreat in the rear view mirror, thinking that just a couple hours earlier Nate had likely taken this exact same route.
I texted his cell phone a few times for good measure.
1:18 am: “Nate, what happened? I got your messages.”
1:25 am: “Tried calling the # from ur missed calls. Got some useless bitch at the county jail. Best practical joke ever!”
1:32 am: “Getting worried now. Where r you? Whats going on?”
I was so exhausted when the Uber finally dropped me off that I fell asleep on the couch in my damsel-in-distress dress.
The ring of my cell phone woke me up abruptly at half past seven. At first, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was or what was going on, I hardly ever kept my phone on ring. The caller ID showed the 914 number from the night before.
A robotic voice said, “To accept a collect call from ‘Nate’, please press one now. I hit one. “Nate?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Oh my god! Where are you? What happened?”
“I got pulled over on my way home.”
YES! YES! “Shit.”
“Yeah, shit is right. My blood alcohol level was .250”
“What does that mean?” It means you’re fucked and I’m finally going to see you pay!
“It’s about five times the legal limit.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit. It’s an aggravated DWI. Up to a year in prison.”
“Oh my God.”
“I need you to call Simon immediately. Tell him to be at the Westchester County Courthouse Monday morning at ten sharp to represent me at my hearing.”
“Okay.” Hmmmm, how far am I willing to go? To call or not to call?
“Do you know where his number is?”
“No.”
“Are you in the kitchen?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s in the drawer next to the fridge on a post-it note, I think.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to get cut-off soon. Please call Simon right now. I’ll call you again when I can. Love you.”
“Love you too,” I said just before the line was cut.
I got up and went to the kitchen. I found the old yellow post-it in the back of the drawer buried under a handful of loyalty cards, an assortment of rubber bands, and a few warranty cards. I held the post-it in one hand and my cell phone in the other. I examined Nate’s nearly illegible handwriting. His future was in my hands. Should I play fair? He certainly hadn’t. What if I don’t call? What if no one shows up tomorrow? He’d have to represent himself. But then he’d know something was up. He’d wonder whether I’d made the call at all. I can’t let him know yet. I figured not calling Simon wouldn’t change things for Nate too much at this point. He’d find a lawyer, it would, however, reveal my intentions. I decided to call Simon. I wanted things to appear as normal as possible for now.
I dialed the number and was put through to Simon Katz, a college frat brother of Nate’s who happened to be a criminal lawyer out of New York City. Nate had mentioned before that Simon was expensive: the best defense money could buy. He told me that he wasn’t available on such short notice, even for Nate, but promised to send one of his very capable colleagues.
A Facebook notification popped up on my phone; “You’ve been tagged in a photo”. Then another. Then another. Julia.
I clicked on one of the icons and it took me to a list of five photos from the night before. I accepted. In the top of my feed was a picture of her and Adam from the night before kissing in front of the banner with a caption that read, “Thanks to everyone who came out and made my Carn(iv)al 27th birthday party unforgettable! #JuliasCarn(iv)al27th @JWeber1”. A long list of guests had been tagged. It had been posted in the early hours of the morning and already had over a thousand ‘likes’.
It was only Saturday and Nate’s arraignment wasn’t until Monday morning. I needed a distraction, so I went to yoga, but none of the regulars were there. I texted Jenna. She reminded me that she and her husband had the weekend to themselves and were in the Catskills. What to do all by myself in this boring suburb? I wanted to text Adam but didn’t want there to be any evidence that I’d reached out to him the same day Nate was arrested. Too soon. I thought. I have to play the grieving wife to perfection right now. I missed Ali and Vi and thought about home. I realized that I hadn’t heard from Ali since she’d stayed over so I texted her again and then called Vi.
“Freddie,” Vi said as she picked up.
“Hey.”
“How are you?”
> “Fine. How are you?”
“Good.”
“How’s Ali?”
“I think she’s fine. Why?”
“Have you seen her lately?”
“Yeah, I saw her on Saturday. What’s going on?”
“Did she say anything about me? About her trip?”
“Nope. Nothing. She and Soren came over to help me do a little painting in the new place before I finish moving all my stuff in. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. She just hasn’t been responding to my texts. She’s probably just busy and we did just see each other.”
“Probably. How are you?”
“I’m okay. A bit lonely lately, but I think I’ll go stop by Adam and Julia’s for some company.”
“Look, I’ve gotta run right now, but call anytime you want to talk.”
“Okay, I will.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I walked the dirt path that connected our yards and poked around hoping to catch a glimpse of Adam, alone. He wasn’t there. Julia saw me and motioned aggressively for me to come in.
Julia was dressed in yoga pants and a tight long sleeve shirt. She looked like she had been working out but it was hard to tell because she had make-up on and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun that still looked perfectly styled.
“Hi,” I said.
“Oh my God, you look so good considering,” she said. “It was on the local news this morning. Did you see it?”
“No. I’ve been trying not to watch.”
“It was in the local paper today too.”
She picked up the paper which was already open to the short article about Nate’s arrest. She handed it to me.
“I’d rather not, thanks.”
“Okay, sorry.” She was clearly offended that I didn’t want to gossip about it.
Adam let himself in from the garage. “Hey you two. What’s up?”
I watched Julia make an espresso, add a couple heaping teaspoons full of fake sweetener, and then down it in one large gulp.
“Are you okay?” I asked her. “You look really tired.” Her eyes were red around the edges with dark circles underneath, which was uncharacteristic. She also looked even thinner than usual, if that was possible.
“I’m fine, thanks. Just a little thirsty.” She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and walked out of the room.
“Is she okay?” I asked Adam. “She doesn’t look healthy.”
“I think she’s fine,” he said, “maybe just a little hung over.”
I nodded.
The Breakdown
Monday, February 19, 2018
White Plains, N.Y.
I woke up just before my alarm on Monday morning. The sun had just crested the horizon. I showered and put on one of the more casual business suits left over from my working days. The taught fabric inhibited movement in a way that felt utterly stifling. Have business suits always been so uncomfortable?
The Westchester County Courthouse was an imposing, 1970s brutalist concrete high-rise in downtown White Plains, less than a half hour drive from the house. As I drove, I thought about the lines that a caring, concerned wife would be expected to deliver. I was worried sick about you! I can’t even believe this happened! You’ll be home soon, don’t worry. Anticipating that a tear or two might be appropriate at some point, I had applied a liberal amount of make-up before I left the house, knowing that tears resulting in a ruined face are always the most effective.
I parked a few blocks from the courthouse and walked. I could feel my nerves increase as I approached the building. Will he be let out on bail before he’s DNA tested? Will he know that I called 9-1-1 on him? Despite all of my planning, this was uncharted territory, and I still wasn’t sure how it would end, or if I’d ever be satisfied.
The security line was long and I fidgeted with my car keys while I waited. After security, there was a long hallway lined with courtrooms on either side. The judge’s name and the cases they were hearing were listed outside each room. I searched each one for Ellis, finally finding his name listed eighth in a 10am to 2pm slot. Jeez, it’s going to be a long day. I found an empty bench at the back of the small courtroom and settled in. I’d brought Vi’s diary to keep me busy, but my attention was immediately drawn to a middle aged couple sitting together in the front row. They looked absolutely ordinary and I wondered why they were here. Is their son or daughter in trouble? There were a few well-dressed men and women sitting in the gallery, ranging in age from about thirty to sixty. I figured that these were the lawyers who would be representing the accused. I wondered if Simon’s associate was among them. I had never met Simon. All I knew about him was that he had handled some legal issues for Nate in the past. At some point after we moved in together, Nate had shown me the post-it with Simon’s number on it and emphasized at least two or three times that if anything bad ever happened to either of us we should call Simon immediately.
Just as I picked up Vi’s diary and began to read I was startled by the aggressive rap of the gavel against the large wooden podium that stretched from one end of the courtroom to the other. A clerk announced, “All rise for the Honorable Judge William Murphy.”
I put the diary down and stood. The clerk bellowed, “I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. Court is now in session.”
The first defendant was accused of aggravated battery while on probation. The judge read out the charges. There was little dispute about what seemed to be the facts and the man’s lawyer argued primarily that his client was young, misguided, and extremely remorseful, which his demeanor mostly supported. He was given a stern lecture, time served, and treatment in an anger management program. A few other cases were relatively straight forward and seemingly easily resolved.
It was late morning when a young guy, 19, who was accused of his fourth DWI in three years was called. This time he had crashed into another car, badly injuring a young woman in the passenger seat of the other vehicle. I felt bad for his lawyer because there wasn’t much he could do or say. It made me wonder, given the improbable odds of getting pulled over while drunk, how many more times had Nate driven around wasted and not been caught or ruined someone’s life. The judge read out a statement from the young woman who had been injured in the crash about the three surgeries and the months of intensive rehab she would need to regain the use of her right arm. So much of life is just about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, the fault lay with the young man, but his lawyer began to describe an abusive home, a life full of expectations derailed by The Great Recession, and a series of near misses that left him grasping for a hand up, to no avail. There wasn’t a dry eye or much sympathy for a drunk driver left in the room when Nate’s case was called.
“Case number 91564. Westchester County versus Nathan Patrick Ellis,” announced the Bailiff. A smartly dressed man seated a few rows in front of me jumped to his feet.
“Counsel requests a moment to confer with his client,” he said.
Nate was escorted out in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs and was seated at a long desk that faced the judge.
“Granted, Mr. Simms,” the judge replied.
The young lawyer walked over and took a seat at the desk beside Nate. They whispered back and forth. Their exchange lasted a few minutes before Nate’s lawyer turned his attention to the judge and nodded.
“Mr. Simms. While this is your client’s first DWI in the State of New York, it is Aggravated DWI and it says in his file that he has prior DUIs in Connecticut. That is a very concerning pattern of behavior if you ask me.”
That’s it! Nate had mentioned those when we first met but I wasn’t entirely sure whether the State of New York would have access to his record from Connecticut. This just keeps getting better.
“Understood, Your Honor.”
“Did your cl
ient consent to a Blood Alcohol Concentration test in the field?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And what was your client’s BAC level when tested?”
“According to the police records, it was .25, your Honor.”
“Is your client planning to contest that result?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Your client is aware that in the State of New York, a second offense within ten years is a Class E Felony, punishable by up to four years in prison.”