by KG MacGregor
Celia said testily, “We’re proposing a comprehensive overhaul.”
“I’ll be surprised if the trustees sign off on it. That would be like admitting they have a problem and they’re all too stubborn to do that. I used to think Earl Gupton was a decent guy, somebody who’d put the interests of the students and faculty first. But his management style…when push comes to shove, he’s just a puppet.”
“How’s the New York strip, Lewis?” Theo asked, eager to change the subject.
“Juicy. And it’s got a good rub. Salt and pepper—that’s it.”
“Theo said the same thing today,” Celia went on, not taking advantage of the out. “That the senate wouldn’t have any teeth. I think we will. There’s talk of implementing an orientation seminar on sexual consent so everyone’s on the same page about what constitutes assault. And we have to improve the police response, and of course counseling services for victims.”
By her frequent glances toward Theo, it was clear Celia was talking to her. And saying in a calm, rational way all the things she’d refused to talk about while they were packing up her office. The irony was that Theo didn’t have to push back—Gloria was doing it for her.
“Here’s what I think.” Gloria waved her serrated knife as she talked. “Gupton, Tuttle, that police chief, Egan…somebody needs to make an example of them. Right now that’s us. Nobody else is coming after them. If they get away with what they’ve done, there’s no disincentive not to try it again.”
“What’s going on with the criminal case?” Lewis asked.
Theo had spoken with Shane Satterfield the day before. “Unless they get a continuance, they’re proceeding to trial two weeks from Monday. The DA offered all of them a plea for five years and got no takers.”
“You didn’t tell me this,” Celia said.
“I was going to.” If she’d shown any interest in talking about it. Lowering her voice as she leaned forward, she added, “Right now the four of them are sticking to their story that Hayley consented, but Shane’s considering sweetening the offer for one of them to roll on the others.”
“Not Ruben Vargas, I hope. He’s the one who started it by giving Hayley a drink that knocked her out.”
“Apparently that was part of a hazing ritual for freshmen. Shane says Vargas didn’t take part in the actual rape, but if they choose to go to trial and a jury finds them guilty, they all could get fifteen years.”
Lewis leaned in as well, understanding that Theo was sharing sensitive information. “If the DA’s office knows that level of detail about the assault already, they probably have enough evidence to convict all four of them without making any deals.”
“That’s what I told him,” Theo said. “But if he makes a deal with Vargas in state court, there’s no guarantee the feds won’t jump all over it once the trial’s over. Drug-facilitated rape gets you twenty years. Nobody’s going to walk, not with that video out there.”
Celia had stopped eating. By her sullen expression, she was none too pleased at Gloria’s pessimism about the faculty senate’s lofty goals. Clearly she’d hoped for an ally. “No matter what else happens, it’ll be a happy day when the bars close behind those bastards.”
* * *
Celia keyed in the elevator code to access the building’s upper floors and leaned into Theo as they started up. Her shoulders and thighs were sore from carrying heavy boxes to and from the car. A hot shower before bed would feel great.
“Welcome home, Dr. Perone. Does it feel different this time?” Theo pulled her into a hug and planted a kiss on her forehead.
She wouldn’t feel completely at home until Monday when her furniture was delivered, but there was closure in knowing she wouldn’t be returning to her townhouse. She’d already found a tenant through an executive rental agency.
“Does what feel different? Me coming home to your penthouse or your hands on my butt?”
“Definitely the latter. In case I forgot to tell you, I absolutely love you in this dress…almost as much as I love you out of it.”
“How about we trade back rubs when I pull it off? I probably won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow.”
“I’ll trade anything you want. I appreciate you saying yes to dinner tonight. I know you were tired. Gloria and Lewis are special friends of mine—I hope they’ll be your friends too. It was nice they asked us to celebrate their anniversary.”
Celia caught herself before saying they could return the favor. She had no idea what day Theo would mark as their anniversary—the day they first made love, the day they moved in…or maybe the “someday” when they got married. It wasn’t something they’d talked about.
She had her key out already and opened the door to what was now her home. “I appreciate you too, sweetheart. Don’t think I didn’t notice when you tried to change the subject during dinner.”
“Oh, that. I figured one steaming pile of discord was enough for one day. I was surprised when you didn’t let it go.”
Truth be told, she was hoping if she said the right thing, Gloria or Lewis would take her side, seeing the wisdom in letting the university clean up its own mess. “I was surprised by Gloria. I really thought she’d be in favor of letting the faculty take care of it internally.”
“I don’t think she was against it.” She beat the same drum as before. “But even if you implement all of the recommendations, these women who’ve been victimized don’t get their justice.”
“You keep saying that. I don’t think what you’re doing gets them justice either. It’s not as if their rapists are going to be arrested. The best they can hope for is a payday from Harwood. You punish the school without punishing the perpetrators. At least Hayley’s rapists are going to trial.” Celia heard the aggravation in her voice and checked her temper before their discussion escalated to another fight. “Neither you nor the faculty can force the university to get rid of the people responsible for this. The most we can hope for is reform. I just happen to think the best chance for that is from the senate, not from outside pressure.”
“Fair enough.”
“Outside agitation’s just going to make it worse.”
For the next twenty minutes, they readied for bed, the subject apparently closed. Though Theo made small talk, there was no mistaking an undercurrent of polite civility as she too tried to avoid confrontation.
Celia tossed her robe aside and climbed into bed nude as usual. When Theo joined her, she expected little more than a perfunctory goodnight kiss. Instead Theo drew back the blanket, straddled her back and began kneading her shoulders.
“You don’t have to do that, Theo. I’m too tired to return the favor.”
“It’s okay. You worked harder than I did today. Besides, one of us lifts weights three times a week. That way, she doesn’t get as sore when she has to do a little physical labor.” She delivered her chide with a kiss on the shoulder.
“Kick me when I’m down.”
“Come on, does this feel like kicking?”
Far from it. If her neck and shoulders could purr, they would. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a grouch today about your case. I know it’s important to you. I’ll try to be more supportive.”
Theo expressed her gratitude by expanding the massage area to the muscles along her spine.
“Can I just say one more thing?” Celia asked at the risk of breaking their truce. “I’ve realized over the past few days how much of my anger had to do not only with Hayley being my student, but with me having so much in common with her. Her being an actress, trusting people around her…and then getting drugged and violated. It made the case personal to me. That’s why I was willing to put myself out there. I was fighting for both of us. What happened to these other women upsets me…but I don’t feel the same sense of personal resentment now that Hayley’s case is pretty much over. At least not enough to put my career on the line again. Can you understand where I’m coming from?”
“I can.” The massage continued in silence for several very l
ong seconds. “And since we’re being totally honest about our feelings, I should tell you I’m disappointed you feel that way. It’s on me to get past that and I will. I love you…and nothing about work is going to come between us—ever.”
The words, though delivered in a calm and loving manner, were devastating. There was nothing Celia could imagine that would be worse than knowing she’d disappointed the woman she loved.
Theo finally stopped her massage and rolled over to her side of the bed on her back. “It’s my own fault, Celia. I project onto others what I want them to feel, and I know it isn’t fair. When you first came to me, there wasn’t even a tiny part of my legal brain that thought we had a case. But I was so taken by your compassion, your outrage…you made me want to put on armor and go to war. That woman you were when you first came into my office? I have to be that woman every day.”
Celia slid her hand beneath the covers and clasped Theo’s hand, her heart breaking with sorrow and bursting with joy. One of those feelings triggered her tears—either the shame of not being the person Theo wanted her to be…or relief at knowing Theo loved her anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Three
With her headphones in place so no one who happened by her office could hear what she was watching, Celia followed the live streaming feed from the morning news program. This was the third such interview of the morning, an anchorwoman speaking via satellite to Theo in her downtown office.
Theo had filed her case against Harwood the day before. Once again at the entrance gate, she’d held a press conference alleging the university had created a hostile learning environment for female students, that it had been negligent in its enforcement of laws against sexual assault, and that threats of SLAPP suits alleging defamation had produced a chilling effect on the free speech rights of victims and on the reporting of such crimes.
“What’s different this time?” the anchorwoman asked.
“The suit we filed last summer involving a video that showed Harwood basketball players sexually assaulting an unconscious woman was a wrongful death case. Their victim suffered mental distress, not only from the rape…” Theo appeared to appreciate the chance to recount Hayley’s heartbreaking story, but she moved quickly to the merits of the new lawsuit. “As we were investigating that case, we came upon a disturbing pattern of treatment of Harwood’s female students who reported being sexually assaulted. As with Ms. Burkhart, their charges were pushed aside. We’re not talking just one or two cases here, Sandra.”
Theo went on to cite publicly available statistics, concluding with the fact that no male student at Harwood had been criminally charged with rape on campus over the past six years. The period coincided with Earl Gupton and Norman Tuttle assuming their respective leadership roles.
To Celia, it was the strongest argument yet for Gupton and Tuttle to be fired.
She barely heard the knock as the door opened simultaneously. Kay Crylak, her forehead wrinkled in a deep frown, entered and closed the door as Celia closed her laptop and removed the headphones.
“Hey, what’s up? Is everything okay?”
“It’s okay right now, but it probably won’t be by the end of the day.” Kay was dressed in a black and orange track suit with the Harwood softball emblem on the chest, as though she’d come directly from the playing field. She took a chair and tugged a business card from her wallet. “Remember when I showed you this? It’s that attorney I’m supposed to call if one of my gals gets into trouble with the cops.”
She recalled during their lunch over the summer Kay had told her the campus police intervened when one of her players stole a bicycle. “Is one of your girls in trouble again?”
“What? No, I’m talking about me.” She got up and started pacing, her shoes squeaking on the marble floor each time she turned. “That case they filed yesterday…all those girls who said they were raped and the school didn’t do anything about it. I called Theo Constantine’s office and made an appointment for one thirty this afternoon. I’m gonna tell her about the AD’s special arrangement with the cops…how this lawyer, this Austin Thompson, Esquire”—her voice dripped with sarcasm at his title—“is all buddy-buddy with the cops and makes everything magically disappear.”
Celia was stunned by the about-face. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d castigated her over her involvement with Hayley’s case. “You can’t be serious. You’re talking career suicide. It won’t matter if you’re right. Harwood will find a way to get rid of you. You know it as well as I do.”
Whirling around, Kay threw her hands up in the air. “If that happens, I’ll live with it. I was looking for a job when I found this one. What I can’t live with anymore is being part of this conspiracy. Going along to get along. It’s time I stood up to ’em like you.”
“Except I’m not involved in this case, Kay. What I did for Hayley Burkhart was because she was my student.”
“But I’m involved in this one. Do you know I have my own Wikipedia page? Says I’m the women’s softball coach at Harwood. Born in Ocala, played college ball at Florida State. Here’s my record, blah blah blah. One of these days, somebody’s gonna go in there and add a paragraph about all the coaches implicated in this mess. I’m deciding right now what I want it to say—that I came forward and told the truth.”
* * *
Theo pressed her phone to her ear as a car squealed around the corner in the parking deck attached to the US District Court. “Don’t worry about this, Jordan. It’s just a routine suppression hearing…a gag order. For some reason, it annoys them when I go on TV and tell the world what terrible people they are. I’ll put out a memo tonight and let everyone know where we stand.”
She’d expected Harwood’s quick response this go-around, since they probably intended to recycle their legal arguments from the first case. Furthermore, she wasn’t surprised to find James Somers waiting in chambers to argue the university’s case.
“You’re persistent, Theo. I’ll give you that,” he said curtly. He wasn’t amused this time—he was annoyed. “Though one would think you’d get eventually tired of tilting at windmills.”
“Not so much. I do a lot of cardio,” she deadpanned. Despite the outcome of the Burkhart case, her courtroom confidence was soaring, since after all, she’d beaten Somers on their last outing—the motion to dismiss the wrongful death case.
The case had been assigned to The Honorable Leon Diggs, an African-American federal judge in his late fifties with a reputation for being difficult to read. Theo had once appeared in his court and found herself frustrated that she couldn’t determine if her strategy was effective.
Without looking up from his desk, Judge Diggs flatly read the motion to suppress aloud and called on Somers to state his case.
“Thank you, Your Honor. Before we get to that, I’d like to begin by pointing out that those responsible for the atrocious behaviors upon which this case is based are individuals who are currently facing criminal charges in district court. The civil aspects of this case were settled confidentially after the plaintiff fired Ms. Constantine as his attorney when it became evident to him she was representing her own vindictive, publicity-seeking biases, and not his legal interests. That she would refile this case is evidence of more grandstanding on her part.”
Diggs looked over his glasses at Theo. “Is he correct, counselor?”
“I’m not sure, Your Honor. To which criminal and civil cases does Mr. Somers refer?”
Her question forced Somers to recite the details of Hayley’s case for the court reporter’s transcript. Without intending to, he supplied a fresh summary that bolstered her current claim.
“And how is it you know, Mr. Somers, why the plaintiff fired Ms. Constantine?”
“I served as lead attorney in the settlement negotiations, Your Honor.”
“But you just said those terms were confidential. You understand you can’t claim that and use the plaintiff’s position in this court to strengthen your case?” His question was obvio
usly rhetorical, as he turned to Theo without waiting for a reply. “What say you, Ms. Constantine? Are you attempting to get a second bite at the apple in the federal courts?”
“No, Your Honor, not at all. Neither the victim in that case nor her surviving family members are plaintiffs in this complaint. It is quite possible however that we will introduce the horrific circumstances of that particular crime—the atrocious crime to which Mr. Somers just referred—and the egregious coverup as evidence of a pattern of disregard of the wellbeing of Harwood University’s female rape victims leading us to allege a hostile learning environment.”
“Satisfied, Mr. Somers? I believe I am.”
It was tough to imagine Somers getting embarrassed, so the reddening of his ears was likely a sign he was agitated. He traced his notes with his finger as if struggling to find his place. “The defense also questions whether the federal court is the appropriate venue for this case. All of the actions cited by the plaintiffs are alleged to have taken place in the state of Georgia. As such, concerns regarding equal protection might best be addressed via interpretation of the state constitution.”
Theo didn’t wait to be called on. “Diversity of citizenship, Your Honor. Six of our plaintiffs hold driver’s licenses from other states. The federal court is the proper venue for interstate litigation.”
“You are correct, counselor.” He looked to Somers and drolly asked, “Your suppression motion…I assume that’s why we’re here. Do you plan to address that today?”
It was hard to rein in her optimism at the way Diggs was dressing down Somers with nearly every remark. He usually wasn’t so overt in his distaste for counsel. Clearly, Somers had pushed a button by coming in unprepared.
“Your Honor, plaintiff’s counsel called a press conference yesterday to announce these inflammatory charges.” He then rattled off a log of all the TV, radio and other news interview shows she’d given since the story broke, and cited case law about how extrajudicial statements to the media could materially prejudice a potential trial. The words were familiar, and when he listed the sports talk shows, the reason became clear—in his haste to prepare, he’d lifted the argument verbatim from the suppression motion for the Burkhart case.