by KG MacGregor
“It’s okay. I valeted.”
She pointed him back toward reception and walked briskly down the hall to Jalinda’s office. “Austin Thompson’s picking up his car at valet. Pink shirt, gray jacket. Get down there and find out what he drives.”
Back in her office, she buzzed for Hank.
“What’s up, chief?”
“I want to know everything there is to know about Austin Thompson.” She gave him a quick rundown of her suspicions. “If he’s the same guy that’s been running interference for these players, then he was working for the other side when he poached Donald Lipscomb. I’m filing a complaint to have him disbarred.”
* * *
For the first time since reluctantly taking over the spring production eight years ago, Celia was genuinely thrilled about their selection. Spamalot was the musical version of the Camelot parody, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Its irreverent tone and cultural cachet would appeal more to Harwood’s students than Sondheim or Berlin.
She examined each item on the clothing rack for its potential as a medieval costume. “Nope…nope. Maybe. There ought to be more than this considering how many times we’ve done Shakespeare.”
Michael, who was digging through boxes of fake weaponry, replied, “Maybe that’s the problem. We’ve done so much Shakespeare, the costumes are worn out.”
Given their department head’s obsessive interest in the Bard, that wasn’t likely to change. He staged a Shakespeare festival every summer.
“Whoa! I think I just found Excalibur.” He drew a bulky sword, its wooden blade spray-painted silver. “Whoever plays King Arthur better be tall.”
Celia had assumed Michael would audition for that lead, since it had so many musical numbers. Truth be told however, he’d make a better Lancelot, a character who turned out to be gay.
Today was the first she’d seen Michael since the DA’s office got involved in the rape investigation. She’d heard from Theo they were starting off with interviews of the basketball players. “So how’s Gavin these days? I haven’t heard you talk about him.”
A wistful smile crossed Michael’s face. “He’s doing okay, considering. Coach T told him he might even be the first guard off the bench next year…but then all this business came up with the DA. Who knows what’s going to happen when they find out he’s the one who shared the video?”
It was a relief to hear he wasn’t planning on stonewalling the prosecutor. That was good for the case, but they were probably right to worry. It was hard to think Gavin would last once the others learned he’d ratted out their teammates.
“He’s doing the right thing, Michael. I know it’s hard to accept the fallout now…I have no doubt you’ll both feel better for it in the long run.”
He shrugged. “At least one thing’s easier now. He finally came out to his parents.”
“How’d they take it?”
“Not too bad. His mom cried and his dad went out for a few beers. Pretty much the same way mine did. But he thinks they’ll get over it.” He leaned against a sawhorse, his attention directed toward finding the exact point of equilibrium that would allow the sword to balance on one fingertip. “Straight people don’t get why that’s such a big deal. They have no idea what it’s like to have a secret that could destroy their whole life. Gavin used to worry his folks would cut him off. If he got kicked off the team, there’d be no scholarship to fall back on. It would have been the end of Harwood for him.”
While she was touched by his candor, it occurred to her he might not know she too was gay. Gina had been gone nearly a year before Michael and Hayley entered the performance studies program. “I remember when I came out to my mom. She said, ‘Well for God’s sake, don’t tell anybody.’ She was sure I’d never work in the business again. Looking back, I guess she was right…but that had nothing to do with me being a lesbian.”
Michael lit up with a broad grin. “I had no idea. No wonder I always thought you were so cool.”
His remark reminded her of what Theo had said about Little CeCe. That particular secret would stay in the closet where it belonged.
“It’s kind of how I ended up at Harwood. I was in a relationship with Gina Worley when she was hired to be the women’s basketball coach. We came here as a package deal.”
“That’s so amazing.” His brow wrinkled. “But didn’t she, like…get fired?”
“She did, and now she’s coaching at Garfield College in Ohio. Doing pretty well, in fact. Twenty-four and six last year, so I’m guessing she’ll get another crack at a major program one of these days.”
“So you’re…”
“No, we split up right before she left. I’m actually seeing someone else now. Someone you know, in fact.” She couldn’t suppress her smile. “Theo Constantine, the attorney who took Hayley’s case to court.”
“Oh, my God!” The sword crashed to the floor as he slapped both of his cheeks, clearly hamming it up for dramatic effect. “That woman is so hot. I told Gavin he better not let me talk to her by myself or who knows what might happen. I can’t believe this.”
“No offense, but something tells me you aren’t her type,” she answered, laughing as her face grew warm from what had to be a colorful blush. It felt good to talk with someone about Theo, even in a joking manner. “It just goes to show, we never know when the people we meet will turn out to be important.”
“So true.” He went on to talk about Gavin, the first guy he’d ever dated who was a popular athlete. “The best part was finding out he was a decent human being too. It could have gone either way.”
She nodded, feeling the same about Theo. “Those are the kind of people we need in our lives…people who aren’t afraid to do the right—”
His phone played a brief drum roll with a cymbal, apparently a text notification. “Wow. Gavin says two Atlanta cops just showed up in the weight room and arrested Tanner Watson and Ruben Vargas. I hope that means they got Frazier and Caldwell too.”
* * *
“Thanks, Shane. I appreciate you taking my call.” Theo disconnected and dialed Celia back. “Okay, here’s what I know. All four are being charged with both rape and sexual battery…which I happen to think is a shitty idea, since it gives the jury an avenue to compromise. Sexual battery is just a misdemeanor, twelve months max. I’d much rather see them go all in on the rape charge, but they’re worried they might not get a conviction at all with so many Harwood fans in the jury pool.”
“What’s that other one…the shield law?”
“The Rape Shield Law. It’s against Ruben Vargas for publishing the identity of a rape victim in the video. Kind of a stretch but I like it. I think they’re using it for leverage.” She suspected the preliminary investigation had shown Vargas was also the one who supplied Hayley with the drugged drink. “He’s the youngest and he’s facing the stiffest charges. Shane might offer to drop the shield charges if he agrees to testify against the others. That happens—they all confess. Everybody gets five or six years in the state prison instead of twenty, but at least they do serious time.”
All that said, the announcement of an indictment was hardly a reason for a victory lap. Harwood University had shirked its duty to Hayley Burkhart and faced zero consequences. The next woman assaulted on campus had no reason to think they’d support her.
“Oh, by the way, I had a visit today from the asshole who poached my case. You won’t believe this—I think it’s possible he’s the same guy who threatened one of the women who called me after I went on TV. She was raped by a football player last year before Christmas…said this attorney showed up out of nowhere and told her she’d get sued for defamation if she went public. Just like Hayley said happened to her. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same guy.”
“Any way you can find out?” Celia asked.
Jalinda had arrived downstairs too late to see what he was driving, but Hank was checking with his DMV sources to see if Thompson owned a Porsche. “We’re working on it. What are you doing?”
“I’m here in wardrobe with Michael trying to pull together stuff we’ll need for our show. April will be here before we know it.”
“Maybe I should rephrase. What are you doing tonight? I can’t think of a single reason not to kick off our weekend on a Wednesday. You want me to swing by and pick you up?”
“Sure. Just call me when you’re in front of Forbes Hall.”
Over the past couple of weeks, Celia had accumulated several changes of clothes at her apartment, enough that she could last for several days without going home. Living together couldn’t be far behind, but Theo didn’t want to push the issue, since Celia had always been firm about going back to her place on Monday. Some people just needed time alone.
“Hey, chief.” It was Hank, who’d begun shaving on a regular basis after a couple of dates with Raynelle Willis, Harwood’s sexual assault specialist. “Just got a call from Bobby Hill, my contact over at the campus PD. He said the DA came by last Friday and picked up Hayley Burkhart’s rape kit.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Bobby thinks they might have been holding it somewhere else ’cause it damn sure wasn’t in their evidence cooler. Interesting they held onto it though, like just in case it got subpoenaed.”
“Right…they had to hold onto it somewhere because they couldn’t risk an obstruction of justice charge on a criminal case. But no way would they have produced it for us in a civil trial if we’d been allowed to go through discovery. ‘Unable to locate at this time, Your Honor. Our filing system, blah blah.’ I wonder how many more rape kits go missing.”
“Probably all the ones involving athletes,” he scoffed. “Looks to me like Harwood’s cutting their losses with these guys.”
It made sense. Once they settled the wrongful death suit, there was nothing to be gained by sticking with four men who’d obviously carried out a brutal assault on an unconscious woman. They could go back to polishing their trophy.
Chapter Nineteen
“Welcome back, Theo. Nice tan.” Kendra held out her ebony forearm to compare.
“Someone better tie me to my desk today. I’m ready to go back to St. John’s.”
Theo generally chaired the Monday morning meetings with her senior staff. But after a week in the Caribbean with Celia, she had almost no idea where things stood in the office. With hopes of handing the task off to Kendra, she’d arrived a couple of minutes late for the meeting and found Kendra in her usual second chair, forcing her to the head of the table.
With help from Gloria and Jalinda, she’d spent the second half of the summer laying the groundwork for the case against Mercy Hospital Group, which had yet to be filed. Class actions were time-consuming and required an enormous amount of work, all of it unpaid unless they won a settlement.
Sprinkled among that work were several pro bono cases—restraining orders and divorce filings for women too poor to afford an attorney. Her only major media moment was a press conference in LA on behalf of an A-list actor’s wife to announce he’d violated the “forsaking all others” clause of his prenup and was on the hook for an enormous divorce settlement.
With vacation behind her, she was ready to throw herself back into her work. “Good morning, all you social justice warriors—and I mean that in the best possible way. I hope your week was as good as mine.”
Her jovial greeting brought an end to the side conversations, and all eyes turned toward the head of the table. Two partners, ten associates, Gloria, and at the far end, Sandy the accountant, who was there to keep them from spending money they didn’t have.
“Kendra, how about starting us off with your good news?”
The attorney smiled triumphantly. “Most of you already know. Friday night we heard from BoRegards’ attorneys on the wage theft case. They’ve run up the white flag.”
Philip butted in, “They couldn’t afford to wait this out any longer. Their stock’s been in free-fall since the day we filed our case. Investors crunched the numbers and speculated a jury award might go as high as eighty million.”
Kendra added, “So we held the line at thirty-one million and they’ve accepted it.”
The announcement brought a hearty round of applause. The firm’s share was one-third plus expenses—a hefty payday.
“We’re not home free until the contracts are signed and the check clears,” Theo reminded. “But because of Kendra’s leadership on this case, we’ve been negotiating from strength. The document analysis, those weeks on the road doing depositions all over Florida, Georgia and the Carolinas…they’re about to pay off for thousands of workers.”
“Eighty-six percent of whom are women,” Gloria added.
“Well done, everyone. What else do we have this week?”
Sabrina was working with Hank to investigate the case of a Georgia state trooper who’d asked a young woman for oral sex in exchange for letting her out of a stop sign violation. They needed supporting evidence of past behavior with other women to make a case, since the courts were usually deferential to law enforcement officers.
“Next up, we’ll be finalizing preparations to file the Mercy Hospital Group case,” Theo said.
Such an announcement of progress on a major filing usually stirred excitement in their meetings. Today however, it was clear her team was exhausted from the BoRegards case and looking forward to a break.
“The good news is that Gloria and the paralegal department have done an excellent job on the initial data gathering, so we won’t be looping anyone else in for several weeks. Unless your name is Philip, that is. That should give you all a little beach time when you wrap up BoRegards.”
As her staff filed out, she was met at the door by Penny. “I just added an appointment to your schedule for this afternoon. A young woman, Jordan Cooke. She said you asked her to call when she got back from Europe.”
It took a moment to place the name. She was a Harwood student, a woman who reportedly had been assaulted by a date after he put something in her drink.
Theo debated having Penny call back and cancel. For all intents and purposes, the Burkhart case was over. At least as far as Constantine and Associates was concerned—the case against the players was set for trial in six weeks unless they agreed to a plea.
On the other hand, Ms. Cooke had expressed an eagerness to talk and had kept in regular contact during her trip through Europe. She might appreciate knowing they’d made a diligent effort to force Harwood University to take claims of sexual assault more seriously. Theo could do her the courtesy of a brief meeting.
* * *
Celia mindlessly climbed the stairs to her office as she read the letter from her department head for the third time. With only ten days before the start of fall semester, Andrew had changed her course assignments. Instead of Intro to Theater and Performance Overview, which she’d prepped over the summer, she’d been reassigned to Advanced On-Camera Acting and a senior seminar in performance theory. A pair of dream classes—exactly the sort of assignments she’d hoped for when she made full professor. Though getting them at the last minute meant starting the semester behind the eight ball.
After dropping her briefcase on her desk, she carried the letter back downstairs to her boss’s office. “Not that I’m complaining, Andrew, but this is quite a surprise.”
A Shakespearean actor originally from London, Andrew Barker had singlehandedly founded Harwood University’s performance studies department twenty-two years ago. Celia thought him a capable administrator, though his scholarly contributions to the field left something to be desired. That was typical of faculty who came from a performance background as opposed to a PhD program.
“I thought you’d be pleased,” he said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. His girth called to mind the character Falstaff.
“Oh, I am. I just don’t understand why this is happening so late. The On-Camera Acting class has always been Paul’s, and the senior seminar was Eric’s.”
“What has always been
need not always be.” His years in the Deep South had done little to diminish his proper British accent. “I’ve grown increasingly concerned that senior faculty have lost touch with the fundamentals of our discipline. We all could benefit from the occasional foray into the introductory lecture hall. How else do we learn to appreciate the point at which our students begin?”
Celia had made that argument also, but only to herself as she’d longed for the opportunity to teach upperclassmen. It was unheard of within the department to protest against the fortunes of one’s peers. Full professors had earned their rank, and with it, the privilege of working with the most advanced students. But now she too held that rank.
“The syllabi have already been submitted,” he continued. “You’re free of course to make minor adjustments to accommodate your personal interests. However, bear in mind the students who signed up for these courses over the summer have certain expectations and may already have purchased materials on the reading list.”
“Thank you, Andrew. I appreciate this opportunity more than I can say.”
“Yes, well…let’s hope your colleagues are as appreciative of theirs.” His worried look suggested that wouldn’t be the case at all.
As she reached her office, Eric Butler stormed out of his. His eyes blazed with anger, and he carried a letter like hers.
It was a remarkable end to a most memorable summer, one in which she’d even thought she might be fired. Not only had her promotion gone through, she’d received a spring production budget well beyond her request. And now to get two of the most coveted course assignments on the fall schedule. Someone at Harwood wanted her to be happy, and she had a feeling it wasn’t Andrew. What she didn’t understand was why.