by N. M. Silber
“Just fun? No spicy hot sexual chemistry?”
“I don’t think he’s interested in me.”
“It’s probably like when I didn’t think that Braden was interested in me.”
“Uh no.” She laughed. “No offense, but you’re one of those people who’s so smart that you’re oblivious, like professors who walk into walls. I, on the other hand, am very good at reading the signals that guys put out. Cam and I get along great, and I’m happy to have him as a friend, but that’s probably all that it will be, at the moment at least.”
“That’s so surprising.”
“Not really. I think he’s attracted to you. In fact, I think that he always has been. Maybe he just didn’t realize how much back when you were in college.” We steered around a group of pigeons surrounding a pretzel like they were having a meeting about it, and narrowly avoided a dog walker accompanied by the entire AKC Kennel Club.
“But he knows that Braden and I are together.”
“That doesn’t mean he can control how he feels. I’m sure he’ll work through it eventually, though, so I wouldn’t worry about it.” We finally arrived at our building and took the elevator to our floor. Cam was there waiting in our office.
“We brought you breakfast,” I said, dropping a blueberry muffin on his desk.
“Thanks!” he smiled at me brightly. “So, did Braden come visit you last night?” he asked nonchalantly. Now that Jess had been planting ideas in my head again I was watching his reactions. He and Braden had just made up after eight years on tension. I wanted to make sure that the truce lasted.
“Yep. We watched NOVA .We’re both PBS addicts.”
“Such a wild and crazy couple,” Jess teased. And she knew how wild and crazy we could be.
“Braden was always into that stuff. He’s a closet intellectual. He probably should have been an academic.” He had a little stack of files on his desk that he was going through – a baby public defender pile. I remembered those days.
“Me too,” I said. “Oh well, too late now.”
“You could still do something different,” Jess chimed in. “Maybe you could work for some kind of historical group or museum. They need lawyers, don’t they?” She started digging through the newly arrived grown-up public defender pile of files next to her desk that looked like if it fell it could crush a village.
“I’m fine doing this for now. At least I feel like I’m helping people and occasionally I even get a client who’s innocent. I told you about Ms. Murphy didn’t I?”
“Gabrielle Ginsberg, champion of falsely accused sexually frustrated women.”
“I should put that on my business card.” A pile of files arrived for me too. So nice that nobody wanted me to feel left out. The one I needed was, of course, on the bottom of the pile.
We worked on preparing our cases that morning and Jess took Cam with her to watch parole violation hearings that afternoon. I carved out a couple of hours to contact my handwriting expert, Steve Flynn, a former FBI special agent, and work on the problem of how to get the samples. Steve told me that even if the author of the note had been trying to disguise his or her handwriting there would still be similarities. The sample was small, though, so he might not be able to come up with a definite match. I told him that I just needed something to point me in the right direction.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I sat down at the computer and starting looking at everything and anything I could find about Cole Stephenson. There were the usual press release type things and publicity shots of him at various community events. Finally, though, my search brought up a weird link to a message board called “The Political Gossip Rag.”
I saw that it was a site for people who traded gossip about politicians like others did about celebrities. Cole was only small potatoes politically, so he didn’t have the amount of commentary that better known politicians had generated, but some of his proclivities had made him interesting enough to discuss. There were all kinds of rumors about him. One type of rumor kept reappearing, that he was in to kink. There was nothing first-hand though. Everyone had “heard” the story from someone else so it didn’t seem very reliable — but then, I guess that was pretty much what “gossip” was. If you could believe it, though, he liked to be dominated by women and treated like a bad little boy.
Then I got to a thread that was particularly interesting. It said that rumor had it he regularly attended underground sex parties in the Philadelphia area thrown by someone named Fanny Hill. I decided to try to find out more.
There was some mention of the parties on websites for people in the area into alternative lifestyles. Even though they were underground, they were considered “open” parties in that you didn’t have to be a member of a club or anything. You just had to pay a fee and have someone who the party organizer, presumably Ms. Hill, knew vouch for you. Everyone wore masks so it was anonymous and there were rumors that some of the guests were “professionals.” The parties seemed to be loosely associated with a place called Gili’s Cabaret. I made a note of it and figured that we may have to check it out.
It occurred to me, if you were a politician into kink you couldn’t exactly just stroll into a fetish club. If you wanted to get kinky with a bunch of other people it would have to be at a private party. So, if there was any truth to the kink rumors, it would make sense that Cole might be attending these little get-togethers. An idea was forming in my head. It was kind of nutty, but then so was I.
Jess and Cam got back a little while later and I shared what I had learned with them.
“Are those parties even real?” Jess asked dubiously. “I always suspected it was some kind of urban legend.”
“They’re real,” Cam answered. “I have a cousin who’s attended them.” I glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Not Braden,” he said quickly and smiled. “Derek. He’s kind of the black sheep of the family.” I recalled Braden’s comment that I should never meet his cousin Derek.
“Do you think he could vouch for you?” I asked.
“Uh, well, I’m sure that whoever runs them knows him, and he probably could,” Cam replied hesitantly. “Even if I got in, though, how would I get Cole to give me a handwriting sample?”
“You wouldn’t. Jess would. He likes to be treated like a naughty boy. So, maybe she could treat him like one.” I outlined my plan for them.
“Oh no! No, no, no, uh uh, nope, forget it,” Jess said.
“Oh come on! What’s the big deal?” All I wanted was that she dress up like a dominatrix and spank a lecherous politician into writing down why he was a naughty boy. Was that really so much to ask?
“That can’t possibly be a serious question.”
“Nobody will know who you are.”
“Oh! Well why didn’t you say so? I have no problem attending an underground sex party and getting kinky with a perverted stranger to get a writing sample… just as long as nobody knows who I am.”
“You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?”
“Is this really worth it, Gabrielle?” She gave me an exasperated look but I knew that I was wearing her down.
“If it is him, I’ll tell him that I have evidence against him and if he wants to maintain his political aspirations he had better never bother me or Braden again. If it isn’t him, he’ll never be the wiser, and I won’t have to risk falsely accusing a public figure.”
“How am I going to get in? I don’t have a kinky cousin.”
“I think you’re allowed to bring your spouse,” Cam said.
“I can’t be the one to do it. Cole knows my voice. Are you going to help me or not, Jess?” I gave her my best pleading look — the one I reserved for those rare times when I actually got a client who was sympathetic if not actually innocent.
“Oh! Okay.” She sighed. “Why not? I’ve never been to an underground sex party before.”
“Thank you! I owe you! And thank you too, Cameron. I owe you both.”
“Oh, no need to thank me Gab. Since I ran
into you again my life is no longer boring.” He smiled. “What are you going to tell Braden, though?”
“I don’t want to lie to him. Supposedly the parties are held twice a month. He has a legal training for Pennsylvania law enforcement personnel out in Pittsburgh next weekend. He’ll be away from Friday morning to Sunday morning and there’s a fifty/fifty shot that there’ll be a party then. I’ll just be a little ambiguous about what I’m doing and where I’m going. I need you to have a man-to-man with Derek, Cam. We need details. Lots and lots of details.”
“Okay. Sounds like a plan,” Cam said.
“Go team,” Jess said dryly.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS OF PHILADELPHIA COUNTY
PENNSYLVANIA
Commonwealth v. Whitley
“Your Honor, Mr. Whitley is pleading guilty to indecent exposure,” Braden informed Judge Channing. My client stood next to me looking very contrite. I tried not to stand too close to him. He was looking at me in a way that made me distinctly uncomfortable. Inner-Gabrielle sighed. I loved my job sometimes. And I really didn’t mean that.
“You understand the charge, Mr. Whitley, and that you have a right to trial?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And you wish to waive that right and enter a plea of guilty?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mr. Whitley answered solemnly. He really was a rather dignified-looking guy. He was even wearing a suit. Looks could be deceiving though.
“Mr. Pierce, please give me the facts of the case.” I tried not to cringe.
“Your Honor, in the early morning hours of May third in the County of Philadelphia, Mr. Todd Whitley drove his automobile through the drive-through lane of a Burger King Restaurant on Broad Street where one LaTanya Wilson was working the late shift. Mr. Whitley placed an order and pulled up to the window. When Ms. Wilson leaned out to collect his money, she saw that he was holding his genitals in his hand and he reportedly asked her, and I quote, ‘Hey baby, do you want to hold my whopper?’ unquote. He then drove off and Ms. Wilson noted his license plate number and contacted the authorities.”
“Mr. Whitley,” Judge Channing said in a reproving voice. “Couldn’t you come up with something more original than that?” Judge Channing looked like he had a bad case of indigestion. “Don’t answer that! Ms. Ginsberg?” he asked, sounding both bored and disgusted.
“Mr. Whitley has no criminal record. He’s a college student studying hospitality management.” Stupid frat boy. I was careful not to mention that he was an upstanding citizen. “He regrets his actions.” Yeah right. Ew.
“Mr. Todd Whitley, you’ve indicated that you understand the charge and you wish to plead guilty. There’s an agreement with the DA’s office?”
“A year probation and sex offender classes, fines and costs,” Braden answered.
“The court accepts the plea and Mr. Whitley is hereby sentenced to a year’s probation, sex offender classes, a one thousand dollar fine and court costs.” The judge banged his gavel. “Court adjourned.” He got up and left without a backward glance. My client smiled a creepy smile at me and reached out to shake my hand. He had to be kidding. I gave him a friendly pat on the arm and wished him luck. Then I went over to my table to pack up my things. That was the last case for the day.
“Hey baby…” Braden smiled.
“Don’t say it!” I warned. He laughed and handed me the order. “Let’s leave early,” I suggested. “I just want to get out of here and go scrub myself off.”
“Sounds good to me. Want to bring your stuff over to my place?” he invited.
“Sure. By the way, we’re sharing a room at my parent’s place too, and I have to admit that I have the same Freudian issues about them hearing us, so I’m really going to try to be quiet tonight.”
“That’s okay. I’m kind of in a quieter mood anyway.” He leaned down and kissed me gently and I smiled up at him. Suddenly, I had the urge to tell him nice things about how I felt.
“I’m glad you’re coming home with me and I really do want you to meet my parents. They’re pretty cool even if the rest of my family isn’t.”
Braden pulled me into a hug and we stood like that for a couple of minutes until I heard an “ahem” come from the direction of the bench. We both pulled back quickly and nervously looked up. Judge Channing had obviously left his glasses behind in his quest to be out of there. I was surprised to see that there seemed to be a kinder than usual, almost amused look in his eyes.
“Err, if I didn’t say it before. Have a nice weekend you two.”
“Thanks Your Honor,” I said with a smile.
“Yes, thank you Your Honor and you too,” Braden added.
“And try not to bring too many crazy cases into my courtroom next week,” he added, but he couldn’t quite match his usual level of gruffness. As he turned I saw something that may actually have been a smile.
* * *
At six that evening our train pulled into Penn Station and we got a cab to my parent’s place on the Upper East Side. Being back in New York always filled me with energy. I loved the noise, the smells, the lights, and the people. New York just always made me feel so alive. We pulled up outside the three-story Brownstone townhouse in the east seventies and my parents were waiting out on the stoop with their arms around each other. Ben and Judy Ginsberg were such a nice couple. Braden and I got out of the cab and grabbed our bags. My father came over to help us and we schlepped our stuff onto the sidewalk as my mom paid the cabbie. Mom and dad pulled me into a ginormous hug and buried me with love. Then they stepped back and looked over at Braden with big bright smiles.
“Braden, this is my mom, Judy, and this is my dad Ben. Mom, Dad, this is Braden.”
“Hello,” my parents said at the same time.
I could see that they weren’t completely sure what to do with the six foot three beautiful blonde gentile that their daughter had brought home, but that whatever it was, they wanted to do it right.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Braden said, sounding very charming but also a tiny bit nervous.
My dad went over and shook Braden’s hand warmly.
“The pleasure’s all ours! Gabby’s never brought anyone home to meet us before. You must be special to her.” My dad was such a nice guy, which explained why he was willing to marry into my mom’s wacky family.
My mom came over and took both of Braden’s hands in hers. “Wow, you’re very handsome, and a lawyer! That’s nice! Please come in; let’s get you off the street.” We went up the steps and into the front parlor. “Have a seat; make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something? Wine, beer, juice? We have good juice! Fresh squeezed.” I had a feeling she would have grown the oranges herself for him if she could have. I wandered in behind everyone else and found a seat on my own.
“Oh, I’m fine, thanks,” Braden answered politely. Apparently nobody cared if I wanted juice.
“So, did you guys make reservations for us somewhere?” I asked.
“We decided that we should do Shabbos dinner here and we invited the family,” my dad said.
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Gabby, sweetie,” my mom said consolingly. “It’s best to get it over with quickly, trust me.”
“Honey, I met them on my first date with your mother.” He looked at Braden. “I married her anyway.” I saw Braden try not to laugh. “It’s okay! You can laugh. We laugh a lot here. It keeps us sane and being sane is what separates us from the rest of Judy’s family.”
“Who’s coming here? I demand that you tell me!”
“Uncle Ira, Aunt Ruthie and Rachel,” my mom answered.
“Okay fine.”
“And Bubbe of course.”
“Oh great!” I threw my hands up in the air, got up and started pacing.
“You told Braden about Bubbe, right, Gab?” my dad asked, smiling nervously.
“I told him that she’s blunt.”
“Blunt?” My mother
seemed to consider that. “That was very tactful, honey.” She turned to Braden. “Braden, darling, my mother’s got a dirty mind and a mouth like a sailor. She’s also got no tact whatsoever. Just ignore her.” She gave him a sweet smile.
“Seriously, just ignore Rose,” my dad seconded. “The night that I met her, she shook my hand and asked me how many women I had schtupped. I’ll be happy to translate any Yiddish that you don’t understand, by the way.” He hesitated. “You can probably figure that one out though.”
“Uh yeah,” Braden said with a laugh. For some reason he looked delighted. I think he was having fun!
“Well. Let’s get your stuff up to your room. You’re staying together right?” Dad asked.
“That’s okay?” Braden asked.
“Oh sure! We don’t care!”
“Thanks Dad,” I said dryly.
“Well, I mean we care but we figure Gabby can make her own choices, and we’d rather see her sleeping with you than a bunch of cats.” He turned and headed up the stairs, with us following in his wake. We went down the hall to my room. It hadn’t changed much over the years. The queen-sized bed covered with soft pillows, the overflowing bookshelves and comfy reading chair, the framed black and white photos of Dorothy Parker and Woody Allen hanging on the wall. It was all still there.
“I’ll let you two get settled. Come down whenever you’re ready.”
“Okay Dad.” I turned to Braden. “We’ll go out for dinner tomorrow.”
“I’m happy to eat in. This is your Sabbath dinner, right?”
“Yeah, but we’re not super religious. We light candles and break bread and drink wine but we’re not going to cart you off to a synagogue or anything.”
“I think it’s interesting! I’ve had dinner on Friday nights with Adam’s family before.”
“You have? Well, that’s great. But I should warn you, we’re more like The Addams family.”