by Monica Conti
“I have enough money to get us by, more than enough. And I am going to retain another lawyer to fight for us. Tamika Jones is a civil rights expert who is way outside their circle of influence.”
Grace moved over onto her lap, kissing away the lines that were spoiling Chiara’s usually smooth brow.
Chiara loosened up a bit and allowed herself to be comforted by the touch, enjoying the feeling of soft fingers running through her long dark hair.
They snuggled in the big blue leather. It was a bond, an unspoken mutual determination to fight against the injustice that was being hurled at them. They were destined to remain together and nothing was going to come between them.
Later that night, Chiara carefully slipped out of bed. She had too much on her mind to sleep but didn’t want to wake Grace.
Chiara considered making an appointment with Tamika Brown for the following afternoon but was thinking it might be better to just show up. They had never met though Chiara had caught the woman in action one afternoon in Fulton County Superior Court some years back.
Brown had taken a company to task over a discrimination case filed by a young black woman. She had held their feet to the fire. That company no longer existed except as a name on some worthless stock certificates. They would go kicking and screaming but verdicts like Ms. Brown had won were a sure sign that the days of the white guard and their carte blanche were ending. Yes she would go in person.
With that settled she was able to ease back in alongside Grace and drift off.
The down at the heels building off Boulevard in the Old Fourth Ward had once been a hotel. Its upper two stories were only leased out for storage now. What had once been the lobby had become office space shared by the local Legal Aid services and Tamika Brown. The desks, chairs and benches scattered around the unpartitioned space were a motley collection, all second hand. A high molded ceiling and cracked marble floor were the last remnants of the hotel’s once genteel glory.
Attorney Brown had bought the building after receiving one of the few sizable settlements of her career. She allowed Legal Aid to operate there as well. It was a gift from her but also a tax write-off. Tamika enjoyed the semi-privacy of what had been the manager’s office. It was “semi” because with no intercom the door was left open so she and her secretary, Alice, could shout through it over the neighboring din.
All the noise was generated by the Legal Aid activity. Most every day the two pro bono lawyers and their handful of volunteer assistants struggled to sort out the problems of dozens of troubled souls. Before switching to injury litigation Tamika had cut her legal teeth working for civil rights in just such environments. The organized chaos didn’t really bother her but Alice was a different story.
“Y’all win a big settlement, girlfriend, y’all best move us outta here. I needs fo’ walls and some peace and quiet to work in!”
Tamika had promised but no such case was likely anytime soon. Her practice was simply too small to handle class action suits effectively and she still had too much self-respect to snake around outside hospital waiting rooms. Though it might come to that soon. Her bank account badly needed a shot in the arm. She had just finished on the phone with a county filing clerk when Alice poked her head in.
“There’s a white lady out here wants to see y’all an’ she wearin’ monay wid a capital M.”
“What do mean by wearing money?”
“I mean she wearin’ mo’ on her back than y’all paid me this year.” Alice answered archly.
“Well don’t let her get away then.” Tamika laughed.
The woman came through the door and Tamika saw that Alice’s assessment had been right on. This one looked like she would be more at home strolling around Phipps Plaza. Dulce and Gabbana threads were seldom seen around the Old Fourth Ward. She introduced herself and Tamika returned the favor over their handshake.
“Just dust off a chair and sit down.”
“Thank you.”
“Hmmm….Chiara Bianchi? Your name is ringing a bell…” she snapped her fingers, “Got it now! The Shay business.”
Chiara waved it off with a deprecating smile. Realizing who Chiara was caused Tamika’s eyes to narrow in speculation.
“Well you may as well tell me why you’re here. I know it’s not to hire me into your fancy firm.”
“I’m no longer with that fancy firm, Ms. Brown.”
“Look, just call me Tamika. Ok…so why are you here?”
“I do want to hire you. But to represent me and a friend.”
“Uh huh…So you suing or being sued?”
“Suing…my former firm.”
Tamika let out a low whistle and then a short laugh. The phrase ‘former firm’ was very telling. The lady wanted to launch a vendetta.
“You want little ol’ me to go in against one of the best connected firms in the whole state? Did you walk in here with blinders on? Alice out there and yours truly are the only players in my act, baby doll.”
“Oh, I have checked you out completely. I think you are just who we need...for very specific reasons.” Chiara stated calmly.
“Such as?”
“Considering the limited resources at your disposal you have an admirable record. I caught your ‘act’ as you call it once. You were good. You know how to connect with jurors…and you are an African-American woman.”
“And just what plus is my race for you?”
“One of the things I will have going for me against the good ol’ boys and their connections will be that any jury selected is probably going to be an ethnic mix of men and women.”
“Oh yes, I see now. Just why did they dump you? According to the paper you were a star over there.”
“I resigned. They fired my friend…actually my lover. They got their balls in an uproar over the fact that she and I have a lesbian relationship.”
Tamika burst out laughing.
“Is it me being coerced into giving up a fifteen year career or my sexuality that you find so funny?”
“No…none of that. Please excuse me.” Tamika’s face turned sober, “It was just your choice of words. Look…Miss Bianchi… I really don’t think I am your best choice for this.”
Instead of answering Chiara switched on the little pocket recorder. She watched as Tamika listened to the replay of the exchange with Peter Smith. At the end of it she nodded.
“That is incriminating but did he agree to a recorded conversation? If not you know they’ll move to suppress.”
“Probably so but it could be played for the judge in chambers which might help. Look, I want your help and not to be rude but it seems as though you could use some cash flow here.” Chiara gave the office a slow once over to punctuate her point.
A third voice intruded.
“Lady, I ain’t never seen no rude money. Y’all best he’p this nice lady out now, girlfriend.” It was Alice hanging in the doorway. Her curiosity had demanded some eavesdropping.
“Get the hell back on out there and close that door!” Tamika scolded. Alice made a face but obeyed.
“You should listen to her. I don’t expect you to gamble on this. I’m willing to pay a guaranteed retainer.”
“You’re mixed up if you think my work on civil rights also puts me out there for gay rights. I don’t know anything about…I mean I never…” Tamika stammered, “It’s not my zip code…I don’t roll that way.”
It was Chiara’s turn to laugh. “Hey don’t sweat it, baby doll,” she mocked, “it’s not contagious.”
Tamika was so used to the shabby confines of the office that its appearance had lost any importance. But she had to admit that it was probably a turn off for any but the poorest and most desperate client.
“What amount did you have in mind as a retainer?” she asked.
Chiara opened her purse and extracted two neatly banded packets of crisp green hundreds. She laid them on the desk and tapped the cash with a perfectly manicured finger.
“Two grand to seal the deal and eight
more before you face the jury.”
Tamika knew Alice would be out there with her ear to the door. If she didn’t pick up the money she’d be dead before she ever heard the end of it. Hell, it was not as if she didn’t want the money. It was that she was not at all sure she could beat the system on such a case. In Georgia they didn’t wave rainbow banners…they waved Confederate flags. And she hated losing.
“It might be hard for you as an attorney to follow my lead…”
“No. You’d be the boss on this.” Chiara promised.
Chiara waited through a long silent pause and was finally able to smile when Tamika reached for the green.
“Ok. Let’s see if we can’t put a squeeze on those roaring balls you mentioned.”
They both laughed together this time.
At 111 West Peachtree Peter Smith had called a war council. This time in the same conference room Chiara and Grace had used. In addition to the partners Adam Clay was present. He was the ace litigator they had chosen to bring in from Barnes, Lee and Stuart.
When Clay had first heard what was up he’d almost pissed himself laughing. So Chiara Bianchi was a rug muncher. He’d suspected as much. Clay had made a play for her way back when. He’d spotted her at a party and asked her to dance. The damn woman had a body on her and he’d gotten a little free with his hands. The prissy wop bitch had given him the “Now, now. Be a good boy” bit. A lot of women said that sort of thing without really meaning it. So he’d grabbed another handful and gotten slapped hard for it with the whole room watching. If it hadn’t been for all the eyes on them he’d have given her one back. Nailing her dyke ass in a courtroom would offer him the perfect chance for a long overdue payback.
“The suit was filed this morning by some downtown injury lawyer.” Smith was saying, “A black woman by the name of Tamika Brown. Civil rights background. Get someone to review her court history.”
“Sounds like a nobody to me…” Brooks started but Smith cut him off.
“Don’t make me tell any of you again…do not take this lightly. Ten years ago we could probably have had it tossed out as frivolous but times have changed. Even if we do get a friendly judge, you can bet that Butrell girl will show up looking all blonde and angelic and Chiara will try and make us look like shitbird angel bashers.”
“Yes times have changed, Peter, but you needn’t worry. I will take this seriously. You just get me any dirt at all and by the time I’m done nobody in that courtroom will be seeing an angel. They’ll be seeing two skanky lesbos. And if that isn’t enough to raise a stink I’ll turn the pair of them into un-American commie skank lesbos!”
The men shared a general laugh at the vision that inspired.
“I was assured that the case will go to Cyrus Milton. It’s not a fix but he is an old school conservative Judge. Best I could do.” Weinstein said.
“Has that investigator come up with anything we can use yet?” Brooks queried.
“He says he has located a couple of love interests from the girl’s college years. He’s looking for more. And there was some woman living with Bianchi for awhile but she is out of the picture now. As soon as he gets all the names and addresses I’ll get subpoenas delivered.”
No one had anything else. On the way to the door Smith had his arm around Clay’s shoulder.
“We need you to bring your A game to court, Adam.”
“Relax hoss. I don’t even have a B game.”
Peter Smith was satisfied. He liked arrogant lawyers. They tried harder than the humble ones because they couldn’t stand having to eat their own words.
The docket was crowded and the discovery process would be lengthy. It would take a few months for pretrial to start. In the meantime, Chiara felt she and Grace should not just wait and worry. They needed to keep busy
They worked very hard to maintain a surface calm but inside they were anything but blasé about what was happening. Then small things began occurring that added tension to the situation. They started receiving ‘hang-up’ phone calls and one afternoon at the Piggly Wiggly, Grace was sure someone was following her. Paranoia began to grow.
Then one night, when they were coming home from a dinner party with friends in Ansley Park, Chiara noticed that a car followed them all the way back to their house on E. Paces Ferry.
She’d watched closely and became certain the same headlights were behind them all the way. Not wanting to upset Grace unnecessarily, she invented a sudden thirst for making an unplanned stop just to see if she was being paranoid or if they were truly being followed. Sure enough as she pulled into the Speedy Shop to buy a Coke the car slid to a stop across the way. When she got out of the car to go inside she gave a look in that general direction. It was a dark blue Mercedes with tinted windows. She couldn’t see who was driving but she knew that this had something to do with the case.
She didn’t mention the matter to Grace. Instead, she just quietly drove them home, popping the Coke can and sipping the sweet carbonated confection as though nothing were wrong.
Grace had been caught up in her own thoughts anyway. She’d had a difficult conversation on the phone with her Momma the night before. It was over her decision to move in with Chiara. Mrs. Butrell couldn’t understand why Grace would have moved in with her boss, an older woman, and she certainly wouldn’t have understood the full truth if Grace tried to explain it.
Though she had never been entirely upfront with her parents about her personal life, Grace had also never been outright deceitful. At this juncture though, she felt it necessary to keep this huge development in her life private. And she was worried about what her family was going to think when they saw this lawsuit business going public and when they realized she didn’t have a job. Questions would come and Grace wasn’t sure how she would answer them. She had been putting on a brave face for Chiara but she was feeling insecure and more than a little afraid of what the future might hold.
At home and undressing for bed, both women were caught up in their own thoughts. Grace decided to have a hot shower and Chiara took the chance to make a quick phone call to Tamika to tell her about them being tailed after the party. As she picked up the phone to call Tamika, she heard an odd clicking noise. She was quite familiar with the sound, having heard it many times on tapes being played during depositions. Tapes surreptitiously gotten from wire-tapping.
She returned the phone to its cradle, grabbed her cell-phone and walked out back to make her call. She knew that the cell wouldn’t be tapped.
“Tamika?”
“Chiara…what’s going on? It’s late, girl.”
“I’m sorry. I just thought you might want to know that we’re being tailed and I also just discovered our phone has been tapped.”
“Hmm. Why doesn’t that surprise me, Miss C? Those old boys are scared. We both knew they’d be trying to find dirt on you. They have been at the county clerk’s office going over my past cases as well.”
“Yes, you and I knew it would happen but I’m worried for Grace.”
Tamika chuckled, “It’s a good sign, Chiara. It means we’ve got ‘em on the defensive. At least we know what’s what. Why not take Grace away for a week or two to relax? This is going to be a long, drawn-out thing, honey, so you might as well get some R&R now.”
“Yes. Tamika. I think that’s a good idea. Sorry for the late call. You’re a gem.”
“No problem, sweetie. I’m right here in your corner. Don’t you worry now. Good night.”
Chiara clicked off and went inside to find Grace had already fallen asleep in their big four poster bed. She quietly slipped under the covers and spooned in behind her to hold the girl closer. Grace let out a small sigh in response.
Chiara made plans for a surprise trip to Tybee Island, where she owned a beautiful little house on the beach. The island was only a few minutes drive from Savannah, and she adored the place. She felt that, as Tamika suggested, it would be the perfect place for a get away while they waited for the trial date.
The long
wait had already begun to take its toll on both women. Chiara tried to fill the days with diversions but the delay had them tied up in knots. They both wanted the whole thing settled for better or worse so that they could get on with living.
Lately, at night usually, they fought over silly domestic things. They had screamed at one another over things as stupid as whether the laundry had been picked up or whose turn it was to go and get something for dinner.
That very night, as they were both standing in the kitchen trying to figure out dinner, Chiara suddenly exploded in anger. Her buried tension bubbled up in domestic disgust,
“God, you’re so thoughtless, Grace. You could have done some shopping. All you ever think about is yourself. Why can you not just take care of something as simple as dinner, huh? There’s nothing here in the fridge except some three-day old pizza and there’s nothing to drink, God damnit.”
Chiara was not on edge alone. Her outburst made Grace explode back. In answer she picked up a miniature butter-churn that was on the counter top and threw it at Chiara’s head, barely missing her.
“What the hell?”
Chiara was furious and as she turned to throw a plate in response, Grace dodged away and ran down the hall screaming. The plate shattered against the wall as Grace yelled, “God damn you, Chiara. Don’t take this out on me!”
Chiara followed her into the bedroom. Her outstretched hands moved toward the girl’s slender throat as if she might choke her. Her flashing dark eyes penetrated Grace and the girl quaked slightly in fear. Chiara stopped in mid-stride, suddenly realizing that she was aroused by their argument or perhaps aroused by Grace’s fear.
“Get on the bed, Grace and don’t mess about.”
Grace was too scared to respond with anything other than acquiescence. She too was becoming aroused by the violence that had erupted between them. Beneath the violence, a strong chord of desire was playing in her mind. As she sat on the edge of the bed Chiara pushed Grace backward, hard, with no concern over whether the girl liked it or wanted it.