by Monica Conti
“Good morning to your Honor, to you good folks on the jury, and to my esteemed colleague, Ms. Brown. I’ll be brief as there is nothing worth arguing here. We come together here today to decide only a matter of law. It pleased the attorney for the plaintiff to try and confuse you...to try and equate the question at hand with civil rights. She will seek to excite emotions into a matter of pure common sense. Two individuals let their personal lives interfere with their professional responsibilities and regrettably they had to be let go. Simple as that.
This action is frivolous. They are wasting your time here, ladies and gentlemen.”
He glared at Chiara and Grace as if to encourage the jury to resent having been yanked from their daily lives.
“Miss Bianchi had a career with the best firm in Atlanta and arguably one of the best in the country. Then she had a melt down, plain and simple. She is not a martyr to the cause of gay rights and civil liberties. Quite bluntly…she failed in her job. That is why she is no longer with her firm. And she comes to you as a liar in her attempt to blame them for her failure.”
He looked steadily into the eyes of the jurors before continuing,
“She was not discriminated against because she is gay. She was never given any ultimatums. She willingly tendered her resignation because she didn’t want to face the reality that she wasn’t living up to the expectations required of a senior partner.
“And as to the co-plaintiff… Miss Bianchi’s paramour… Grace Butrell, she was discovered to be under-qualified. She was employed by Miss Bianchi though other applicants had more impressive résumés. I think we can more or less picture why that happened.”
He paused here to give the jurors a knowing wink.
“Now both of them are angry and bear a grudge against a group of people who did nothing other than offer them bright futures. They have only themselves to blame for their present situation. You will hear from witnesses who will attest to the growing incompetence of both women.”
Clay held up his wristwatch apologetically.
“Y’all have to excuse me. I promised to be brief…but so many facts go to the absurdity of this suit that I got carried away…so I’ll just sum up now. These are two devious, deviant women who are trying to trick y’all into awarding them a multi-million dollar travesty of justice. Once you’ve heard all the evidence I’m sure you’ll award them nothing but the contempt they deserve. Thank you.”
With an arrogant banty rooster air, Clay almost strutted back to his chair. Peter Smith patted him on the back as he sat down while the other two nodded and smiled. There were also smiles on the faces of a couple of the male jurors, as well as on the faces of several people sitting in the gallery.
Chiara, Grace and particularly Tamika showed no visible sign of emotion. They sat elegantly still, with the certainty and confidence one often sees on the faces of the marble lions outside courtrooms.
The judge called an adjournment for lunch and the gavel fell.
After the noon recess, Tamika led off with a series of character witnesses who testified on Chiara and Grace’s behalves respectively. Sheila Haskell was the last of these sworn in.
“Mrs. Haskell, you have worked as a personal secretary to Ms. Bianchi for how long?”
“Since she was made an associate. But I’ve known her since the first day she came on. Over fifteen years now.”
“In all that time were you ever aware of any dissatisfaction being expressed by the partners over her performance?”
“Never”
Tamika carried on in this vein until she was satisfied that Chiara’s competence over many years had been established.
Her witnesses had painted a lovely picture of each woman. The older came off as profoundly accomplished with a nearly flawless case record and the younger as filled with all the eager potential imaginable.
Clay wanted the little praise party Tamika was throwing to end quickly and be forgotten so he declined any cross examination of these friendlies. First impressions were usually important but in court it was what went last that echoed in the jury room. He would have that last word.
Tamika brought on some heavy artillery. The disgruntled former employees she had dug out from years past to paint a picture of the firm that was anything but pleasant. One was a black para-legal named Edna Rice. The second was Juanita Rodriguez, a Hispanic secretary. From each, Tamika elicited that they felt their dismissal had been discriminatory.
Clay had followed with the same single question for each.
“Mrs. Rodriguez can you swear to this court that your work attendance was perfect?”
“What do you mean perfect?” she asked.
“Is there something wrong with your English? I mean did you ever not show up for work?”
“A few days but that was because...”
“That will be all, thanks.” Clay cut her off, “Let the record show that her attendance at work left something to be desired.”
Tamika let it pass. She doubted a ploy like that would be enough to discredit the two women’s testimony.
“I think we have heard enough for one day.” The judge declared, “Adjourned until tomorrow morning. Nine sharp.”
The night stretched out for Tamika as she lay quietly in her apartment. The full moon shone through her bedroom window and a breeze was moving the curtains. She couldn’t sleep because her mind was racing. Tomorrow she would call Chiara and Grace to the stand. She wanted her questions and their answers to come off just right. How this was going to turn out would depend in large part on the impression they made.
She wanted to make a difference in this world. She thought this case might just be one that would bring a change in the social system, change that was long overdue.
Her mentor, Amanda Devereux at Brown University, had told her before she’d left school back in the day,
“You have got the worst case of galloping T.B. I’ve ever known, girl child.”
Tamika was baffled at the time.
“What in the world does that mean, Miss Lady?” she asked laughing slightly.
“It means you’ve got the worst case of ‘true-believerism’ I’ve ever come across in my whole life, Tamika. I hope it doesn’t get you in too deep one of these days.”
Tamika smiled to herself as she remembered those words. She was both comforted and worried by them now with her arguments moving into the final phase. She always wanted to be the winner but this was more important than some personal injury case. This one could become cited precedent. In a court case just as in a boxing match, there was no such thing as second-place. It stakes were always winner take all. Tamika pounded her pillow, took a long, deep breath and tried to sleep.
Across town, Chiara and Grace were also restlessly trying to find sleep that night. Both of them pretended for a time that they were sleeping, but eventually they realized they were both wide awake so they sat up in bed to talk a bit. But their discussion ended with Grace asking the only question that mattered.
“Do you think we’re going to win,” she asked Chiara quietly and with a look of worry on her lovely face.
“Yes, I do, Grace,” Chiara told her, trying hard not to betray the doubts she was having.
Chiara reached across and softly took Grace in her arms, holding her tight and caressing her long blonde hair until she fell asleep.
She was anything but convinced that they would win the case. The Clay’s cocksure manner made her think he had some surprises in store. When his turn came he would be parading witnesses to contradict the positive testimony that Tamika had elicited from Sheila and the others. There would be no shortage of brown nosers from to firm willing to run Grace and her down in court. And of course there were the men within the firm she had refused to sleep with. They too would be eager a chance to bash her.
And there might be some outsiders. She knew she had made some enemies in her career, mostly because she’d beaten some of Atlanta’s best in the courtroom a time or two. They didn’t like to be beaten by anyone,
but especially not by a woman. She knew they would be more than willing to jump on the bandwagon to take her down.
They would keep them coming and it would be hard to listen to. And who knew what they might try to claim about Grace. What if this didn’t go as planned? What if Grace lost faith in her or if the relationship fell apart?
She asked herself these questions but had no answers that night. She prayed for a speedy conclusion so that the two of them could put this chapter of their lives behind them.
Near dawn, mostly from sheer exhaustion, she fell asleep. Court would reconvene in a few hours.
As Chiara was being sworn in Adam Clay nudged Peter Smith happily. They had not been sure Tamika would give them a crack at her client.
The initial questions were predictable with Chiara’s accomplishments being enumerated and her unblemished record explored. Then Tamika attacked the circumstances that had led to her resignation and the details of her last confrontation with Smith. She was leading up to a planned disclosure.
“Remembering that you are under oath…do you swear that Peter Smith made those threats?”
“I do swear that he did.”
“Is there anyway you can verify this for the jury?”
“Yes. I recorded our meeting.”
Clay sprung to his feet. “Objection! No recording was mentioned during disclosure. I demand it be suppressed.”
Tamika was before the Judge by then.
“Your Honor, shouldn’t you listen to it before you rule on this?”
“The court will remain seated while the issue is decided in chamber.” Judge Milton grated.
They were barely behind closed doors when the Judge wheeled on Tamika.
“Just what are you trying to pull, Miss Brown?”
Tamika shrugged and pressed play. Clay complained hotly but Cyrus Milton waved him still. He was already sitting to listen. The tape played out. He shook his head and let loose a grudging chuckle.
“That sure sounds like Pete…or rather it sounds like your client on there, councilor.” Judge Milton couldn’t resist a jab at Clay.
“That’s immaterial, Your Honor. It is inadmissible!” Clay was strident.
“Relax. Luckily for you that is correct. Sorry, Miss Brown, they won’t be allowed to hear this.”
Tamika knew it would be useless to argue. But she had managed to plant a seed. The jury out there knew that they were missing something that Adam Clay had not wanted them to hear. It might help.
On their way back to the courtroom Judge Milton stopped Tamika briefly.
“This will be your only warning. No more tricks.”
Tamika cut Chiara a quick look when she returned indicating that the tape was out. Chiara would have been surprised if it had been otherwise but she realized what had been gained by their ploy.
Just to drive home the facts Tamika lead her back over her version of what had happened and then rested.
“That’s all I have to ask of the witness at this time.”
Clay was up before Tamika could even regain her seat.
“So all we really have is the plaintiff’s word on what she claims was said.” He was addressing the jury as he neared the stand and was shaking his head doubtfully when he shifted to Chiara,
“Miss Bianchi…hmmm…that’s some kind of a foreign name isn’t it? Is it Eye-talian?”
“It is also an American name. Just perhaps not as common as Clay.” Chiara answered.
There was a short burst of laughter at the pun. Even Clay had to smile at the deft riposte.
“Much has been made of the length of time you were with the good firm you are now seeking to discredit. Why is it that you chose to deceive your friends and associates for fif-teen-long-years?” it was drawn out in an exaggerated drawl for effect.
“I deceived no one.” She knew Clay was trying to rile her but denial was calm.
“You want us to believe you weren’t hiding your deviant desires toward members of your own sex?”
“I was never asked about my sexual preference.”
“Were you open about it?” he persisted.
“I was foolish enough fear the prejudice I might encounter.”
“Your Honor, please direct the witness to answer yes or no only.”
“The answer is no then.” Chiara volunteered it before the Judge could admonish her.
“Isn’t it true that you hid the fact of your perversion because you knew it was un-natural…because you were ashamed of your secret aberration?”
Tamika objected that Clay’s language was presumptive and inflammatory. She was sustained but the Judge’s reproof was mild,
“Limit your self, Mr Clay.”
Chiara decided to ignore the earlier warning to limit her answers and directed herself to the jury.
“Like most of you might be…I was afraid of losing something I had worked hard for. I was wrong to be afraid.” Clay and the Judge tried to cut her off but she continued over them, “I finally decided that the pursuit of personal happiness was just as important as a career. We all have a right to a full life.” She finished.
Clay saw that she had established a bit of common ground with the jurors. Instead complaining that her little speech had been out of order, he shifted the focus.
“No good American will disagree on that. But maybe you can enlighten us here. Us Christian folk don’t know much about the sort of happiness your kind pursue. We understand what goes on between a man and a woman…the joys of sharing a bed in wedlock.” He turned to leer suggestively at the jury, “Maybe you can describe for us just exactly what goes on between gays?”
Tamika was on her feet to object but Clay had already raised a hand.
“I retract the question. These good people don’t deserve to have their minds stained by any such sordid images. That’s all I want with this…this witness, your Honor.” His voice dripped with disdain indicating that he would have preferred to have called her something other than “this witness’.
Cyrus Milton banged his gavel.
“Court will recess for lunch and resume at 1 P.M.”
In the restaurant Chiara banished any discussion of the trial.
“I don’t want to hear a single word about it.” She declared.
Instead she and Grace regaled Tamika with the details of their stay in Savannah. They extracted a promise that she would accompany them on their next trip there.
“I’ll have to bring a male chaperone to protect me from you conniving dykes!” Tamika joked.
“You may invite anyone you like.” Chiara assured her.
Chiara was relieved when Grace excused herself to visit the powder room.
“I know I said you would call the shots but when we go back in there no way Grace goes on the stand.”
“She could lend a very innocent note.” Tamika argued.
“I managed to keep my cool but he could explode her. She looks sweet but she has a temper. Hell, she even threw something at me the other night. No. Besides I’m not going to let that slimeball drag her through the mud with his filthy innuendos.”
“Ok,” Tamika acquiesced, “but without the tape it will be chancy. He is going to trot out a slew of derogatory witnesses. I will challenge and try to discredit them but in the end we will be holding our breath.”
“I knew I was rolling the dice when I started this.”
“You sure they have nothing concrete in the way of dirt?”
“Have they dug up one of Grace’s old boyfriends to bash her…or one of my past lovers? Maybe…but so what. You saw how the creep works. Real or no, he will invent a gutter to drag us through with his dirty little insinuations.”
Grace interrupted them with her return.
“What’s for desert?” she asked and the two conspirators broke up laughing at her care free pose.
Tamika stood to announce that she would call no further witnesses. She sat back down across from the opposition primed for the next round of battle but what happened surprised her.
“So ordered.” The Judge declared with no hesitation.
Grace had not been called up and Clay was disappointed that he would not get to trash the little blonde angel. Her very appearance had been working against them but he was not worried. He had decided to let time work on the jurors. A whole weekend away from the testimony they’d heard would help haze out the positives Tamika had presented. On Monday he would march one accusatory voice after another past them.
Tamika saw through the move right away and had to appreciate the cleverness of it.
“You see what he’s up to? He may be a rat bastard but he’s a smart rat bastard!” She grumbled to Chiara.
“Never mind. Que sera sera.” Chiara answered fatalistically.
Enduring two full days with their fate flapping in the wind was maddening but there was nothing to be done about it. Clay would sling his mud and Tamika would do her best to erase it. Then twelve relative strangers would decide who they believed. It was that simple.
Oddly it was Grace who came up with one diversion after another that Saturday morning. Chiara had assumed it would be up to her to maintain the calm but the girl was surprising her. At around mid-afternoon Grace was actually even napping. For her part Chiara was forced to seek relaxation in the hot tub with a good stiff Bourbon Old Fashion. She was just toweling off when her cell played its tune.
“Hello.”
“Jack Shay here. I think I can help you.”
Chiara hesitated before replying. She had placed the Shay affair in the round file of her memory. She had hoped to never hear from the man again but his cryptic offer couldn’t be ignored. She was brusque,
“Help me how, Mr. Shay?”