by Ellie Rowe
“Little lamb!” Mama calls and rushes over with the rest of the family. “We have heard your pretty man talk. S’cuse us for listening, sir,” she gives him a wink and Roger grins.
“No trouble at all.”
“We hear all that he will do to that nasty Western man, tchu!” She spits and the rest of the family follows suit. “I am so happy for you! May we all receive such justice in this world!”
The family cheers, and Papa and the boys grab Roger’s hands to pull him up, shaking his hand and giving him big slaps on the back. Mama has my hand in hers, and is patting it soothingly, overjoyed.
I burst into laughter watching Roger surrounded by all these burly men, taking it in stride. He catches my eye and the way he looks at me makes me want to pull him into the pantry for some much-needed alone time.
“Listen, listen, everyone!” Mama calls to the restaurant. “Desserts all around!”
“Mama!” Papa whines, but she shushes him. He waves her off, and she beams, turning to the restaurant again.
“Angelo, you bring the baklava, the fresh batch, everyone, eat!” Mama dances off to the kitchen with Angelo, and I feel Roger’s hand slide into mine. I bring it to my lips and kiss his knuckles tenderly.
“Thank you.”
Thirty-Four
Roger
If I have to hear Blake Western’s lawyers shout “objection!” one more time, I’m going to punch someone in the nose.
That said, I feel good about this court case as the day begins. Gerald enlisted Nidi Prasad, an up-and-coming lawyer in his firm, to handle the case. She’s tiny but no-nonsense, graduated Harvard Law top of her class. She grilled me in preparation for my testimony, and it wasn’t fun even though I know she’s on my side. I have every confidence in her.
So far, that confidence is paying off. She’s been great at going after witnesses. She’s been like a ninja when it comes to fending off challenges and objections from Western’s people. And there’s been a lot of those.
There have been a string of witnesses. Though Western’s guilt seems evident from their testimony, it hasn’t all been smooth sailing.
Dennis, from my construction team, went on the stand, testifying about what he found in the apartments after his people tore them apart. Unfortunately, Western’s lawyers managed to get some of Dennis’ testimony thrown out for being ‘speculative’. He gave me an apologetic shrug on his way out of the courtroom, but I gave him a reassuring thumbs up. He went above and beyond. The, sometimes frustrating, machinations of the law aren’t his fault.
Nidi also called in some paparazzi, including Weasel. It was hard to tell how far their testimonies moved the needle on the case. Nidi told me that, if nothing else, it showed the kind of trash Blake trafficked with. Hopefully, that would reflect badly on his character and set him up to look bad as evidence mounted up.
We spared Natalie from the witness stand. It was discussed, obviously. She and I even argued a little over it. She wanted to get up there and tear Blake apart, which was why Nidi was against her testifying. She feared Natalie’s anger would actually increase sympathy for Western.
I opposed Natalie testifying because I wanted to spare her the pain. We knew I would testify for sure. We knew how ugly that testimony will get. There was no reason to put Natalie through the same if we didn’t have to.
Eventually, Natalie relented. She insisted on being in court throughout the whole trial though.
My testimony went well, for the most part. Nidi had coached me, not only on how to handle her examination, but also how to navigate everything Western’s lawyers were likely to throw at me during their cross-examination.
In short, they threw my entire life in my face. It sucked, especially since Natalie was sitting there in the courtroom, listening to it all. It’s one thing to know your lover knows the general happenings of your illicit past. It’s another to have it spelled out in big bold letters for her.
Western’s lawyers seemed to take glee in asking me about every woman I’d ever slept with or ever been rumored to have slept with. They seemed to really enjoy going into the details of Tabitha and Eddie’s betrayal. They were trying to establish, basically, that I’m a lowlife loser, despite my money and fame.
They almost had me convinced.
They even drilled into the nasty business with Jared Barron and 755. Trying to paint me as erratic, maybe even going through some sort of mental breakdown. They claim I was only trying to distract people from my ‘erratic behavior’ with this lawsuit.
Yeah, because spending hours in a courtroom to save not only my honor but also the honor of the woman I love is such a great escape.
But, like I said, Nidi had me well-coached. By the time I stepped off the witness stand, I felt I’d stymied Western’s lawyers pretty well, even Bud Newhouse, Western’s main attack dog in the court.
Newhouse is six feet tall, but overweight and balding. He dresses in cheap suits and has a bad combover. He looks like a schlub, but it’s clearly all an act. The intent is to make the judge and jury underestimate him. That way, every win throughout the court battle seemed like a monumental victory for his side. You kind of had to admire the subterfuge.
Finally, Nidi calls Blake Western to the stand. To say that he strides up to the witness box smugly wouldn’t give you the full picture. The guy manages to seem both cocky and victimized simultaneously. I’m almost impressed.
Natalie sits behind me, in the audience. I hear her hiss quietly as Western takes the stand.
The bailiff swears him in, and Nidi starts questioning him. After a few initial inquiries, Nidi asks, “Mr. Western, you seem very at ease, considering the gravity of this lawsuit. Any particular reason?”
“Oh,” he says, fiddling nonchalantly with his tie, “because we’re still in America, I believe.” He looks at the flag next to the judge’s bench. “Yep, and in America, Miss Prasad, we have this thing called the First Amendment, which guarantees freedom of the press.”
“And you believe that also gives you the freedom to ruin people’s lives?”
“People ruin their own lives. The First Amendment just gives me the freedom to tell other people about it.”
“I see,” Nidi says, as she grabs a folder from our prosecution table. She takes out several photographs. “Your honor, these are the photographs previously admitted as evidence ‘A’.” She puts the photos under a small camera and blow-ups of them get projected on a TV screen near the front of the courtroom. “Mr. Western, do you recognize these photos from earlier in the trial?”
“I do.”
“What are they?”
“Photos of my old apartment, torn apart by your client for some reason.”
“Not just any reason,” Nidi points out. She projects a new image, a close-up of the inside of a wall. There are circles drawn on parts of the exposed studs. “Can you tell me what these circled objects on the photo are?”
“Cameras,” Western says, cool as a cucumber.
“Cameras you installed to spy on your ex-wife, isn’t that right?”
“Objection!” calls Newhouse, not even bothering to lean forward in his chair. “Speculative.”
“Sustained,” the judge agrees.
Nidi changes tactics. “Why did you install these cameras?”
“It was my place. I have a right to install whatever I want to protect my then-wife, and protect our property. In case we’re ever broken into, or, God forbid, she’s assaulted at home, we’d have video of the creep who did it.”
Behind me, I hear Natalie’s nails scrape the wooden bench she’s sitting on, enraged by the thought that Western ever did anything to protect her.
“And yet,” Nidi goes on, “you used those cameras to take illicit photographs of your ex-wife and my client, then published them without consent in your papers, isn’t that right?”
“With all due respect, Miss Prasad,” Western answers, “Most of what I publish comes from third parties.”
“Third parties?”
<
br /> “Sure. Guys like Weasel, who you had here earlier. Or just private citizens with cell phones. Like the video on my website of my ex-wife slapping your client at a street corner.”
Nidi takes a step toward him. “Except, with regard to the pictures we’re discussing today, isn’t it true they came from these cameras?”
Western pretends to think a moment. “Y’know, I can’t remember,” he says.
“You can’t remember?”
“We publish a lot of photos; I don’t always know where they come from.”
“So, what you’re saying,” Nidi says, stepping toward him again, “is that you’re a sloppy publisher?”
“Objection, Your Honor!” Newhouse calls.
“Sustained,” the judge agrees, again.
Nidi goes through a series of the photos of Natalie and I in bed together. Fortunately, even though they’re blown up on screen, all the offending bits are blacked out and our faces blurred. Alongside the pictures, she posts images of the camera that must have been used to achieve each angle.
She quizzes Western on them one by one, asking him if he thinks the photo came from that camera. Western keeps trying to sidestep, saying “maybe”, “hard to tell” and bullshit like that.
Finally, Newhouse stands up and objects to the entire line of questioning. “Mr. Western is a publisher, not a forensic specialist or a geometry teacher! Is counsel also going to start asking him to weigh in on the angle and trajectory of the bullet that killed JFK?”
“I agree, Miss Prasad,” the judge says lazily. “The witness is not here to corroborate the angle of every single photo. I think you need to move on with your questioning.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Nidi still got some ammunition. I hope. Nevertheless, she turns to me as she sets the photos back into her briefcase. As she takes a sip of water, I can see the tightness in her jaw. She’s nervous.
I steal a quick glance at Natalie. Her eyes are locked on Nidi, too. She must see the same thing I do. Her own muscles tense.
My focus goes back to Western, who’s now checking out his fucking manicure while waiting for Nidi to resume questioning.
Like I said, I came in here feeling good about things. But, this son-of-a-bitch is certainly making us work for it.
Thirty-Five
Natalie
Oh God, this is not looking good.
Blake sits there, in his stupid three-piece suit, looking smug as hell. I bought it for him as a goddamn wedding present, back when I was blissfully unaware he had his heart set on ruining my life.
I know he wore it on purpose. He wants to terrorize me. I feel claustrophobic, seeing the tides turning against us. What if he wins? I’ll never go back to him — I can’t!
But, if he takes Roger down, countersues for defamation or some shit, where will we be? I guess my Queens apartment isn’t so bad. Roger could move in and we would make it work, right?
Until Blake chooses to terrorize us again.
Blake’s eyes scan the crowd until he locks on mine. I know what he’s thinking without hearing a word. You’ve lost. You’re mine. I narrow my eyes at him and make a point of turning away.
It’s like divorce court all over again. I put my head down and focus on my breathing, even though it feels like the world is crashing around me. Then I look up at Roger and a flutter of hope stirs in my chest. He looks pissed, sure, but not deterred.
That’s right. This isn’t the same. I have Roger.
Maybe I’ll look back at this and punch myself for being an idiot, but I trust him. I do. And if there’s ever a time to have a little faith on Roger Zane, this is it.
I offer him a small smile, but he’s too busy whispering to his team. That’s good, right? They must be planning their attack. The judge looks disgruntled, annoyed at having to wait. Hurry up, Roger!
The last thing we want to do is piss off a judge. Who knows if this guy happens to be a secret buddy of Blake’s? I put such thoughts out of mind. No sense worrying about make-believe problems when there are very real problems to face. Finally, Roger’s team parts and the attorney approaches the bench to address Blake directly.
Blake still looks cool as a cucumber. It makes my blood boil, so I grip the sides of my skirt to keep my hands from shaking in fury. Roger better have a damn good case ready.
“Mr. Western, we are now aware you felt it necessary to set up cameras in your own home, or well, what used to be your home before you lost it to Ms. Ashcroft in the court of law. That must have steamed you a lot, huh?”
They’re building a motive. Blake’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t give. He shrugs. “Hey, you win some, you lose some, right?” The attorney smiles.
“Right, of course. So, while it’s perfectly acceptable to set up cameras in your own home, for security purposes… can you justify, Mr. Western, setting up cameras in an apartment building you do not own?” Blake adjusts his collar.
“An apartment, I should add, Ms. Ashcroft moved into after she left the suite of rooms you used to own.” The attorney presents the photos to the jury; large, blown-up photos of the shithole bugged for all its worth.
After holding them up to the jury, she walks them to the judge. I damn near jump out of my seat to see them. I’m thunderstruck. When? How?
“This is preposterous! No one should have had access to that building except for the landlord, this evidence won’t stand—” Blake begins, but Roger’s attorney holds up a hand.
“Mr. Western, were you aware my client, Mr. Zane, had bought the building, giving him rightful access to the apartment in which this evidence was found?”
Blake fidgets with his collar again.
“These cameras were placed unlawfully under the guise of a false ‘fumigation’ to keep Ms. Aschroft from entering her home while the hardware was installed.”
I could kill him. All that moldy food! I nibbled that pint of ice cream for days to make up for all those lost groceries!
“My client would also like to present further evidence acquired just recently at a restaurant where Ms. Ashcroft was working. Mr. Western, you admitted to entering the restaurant, but swore your discussion with Ms. Ashcroft was friendly, correct?”
“That’s correct,” Blake says tightly, but his eyes are growing wide. What else does Roger have up his sleeve? I turn in my seat to see if any of the cousins are marching down the aisle. Blake’s team would destroy them, the poor guys. Oh, I hope Roger hasn’t brought them in!
“If you’ll indulge me,” Roger’s attorney has a tape recorder. Didn’t know they still made those. She clicks the play button, and I hear Blake’s voice in addition to… my own. It’s a recording of our conversation at the Greek restaurant!
What do you have to gain, going against me, baby? I’ll find you. I’ll always find you. And I’m not gonna stop until you realize what a terrible fucking idea it was to leave me. I’m not gonna stop until you take me back. Click.
The attorney presents the recorder to the bench and the crowd erupts in titters. The judge slams his gavel down, ordering silence. Blake’s face has turned an unfortunate shade of purple and he’s jerking at his collar like mad.
“You have no right!” Blake shouts, and the judge silences him, threatening to have him disposed if he can’t contain himself.
Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit! The judge demands to hear the entire conversation once the crowd is wrangled to silence.
I hate the sound of his voice. I hate hearing how it made my own voice shake. But, this time, I don’t mind so much. This time, those same horrible words will damn him in a court of law.
No jury can ignore this. Between the photos and the tape, this case is open and shut. The attorney continues to present his case, as Blake stews in miserable silence. Christ, if only my divorce had been so cut-and-dry!
The judge finally orders a recess while the jury adjourns to determine a verdict. Blake is gonna be guilty as shit. As soon as he’s out of the courtroom, the press descends like locusts, and cam
eras are snapping in his face for a change.
I spot Roger on his way out, and rush down the aisle to grab his arm. He feels my fingers curl against his coat sleeve and turns, grinning. He immediately takes my arm and whisks me away from the crowd.
Glancing over his shoulder to be sure there aren’t any straggling reporters, he pulls me into a courthouse bathroom, and I lock the door behind us for good measure. I’m shaking, I’m so giddy and relieved. Roger gently takes my hands and pulls me into a tight hug.
I breathe in his smell and beg myself not to cry on his beautiful suit. How many of these does he have? Damn! His team was wonderful out there. I pull away and stare at him, my mouth agape in pure awe.
“How… Roger, how?”
“I bought the building after I found the first round of cameras at your old place. I just had this feeling… and I couldn’t stand the thought of you being prey to something like that. Not again.”
“And the restaurant? I mean you came in after Blake. I don’t understand. How?” Roger gets sheepish and looks down at his shoes. He bites his lip.
“Ah, that. Well, I sort of hired a team of guys to hunt through Queens until they found where you worked.” He grimaces and rubs the back of his neck before being brave enough to make eye contact with me.
“Jeez, you like me that much, huh?” I laugh and Roger breathes a sigh of relief. He has a right to think I’d be pissed about that. But, lucky for him, I can’t be bothered. I’m too fucking delighted.
“Something like that, yeah. So, once we found the spot, we bugged every table in the joint and waited. I knew that fucker would show up eventually to throw his weight around. Didn’t know how nasty it was gonna get.”
Roger’s face turns into a snarl and I know he’s thinking about that recording.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing his face. “That’s in the past now.”
Roger’s anger rolls off him in waves as he looks at me. This man. This amazing, ridiculous man went through all this for me.