Twelve sets of eyes are following me as I move and I have been doing this long enough to know that their ears are listening to every single detail that I say at this very moment because they know that my client’s future depends on their judgments. “I know that I have. Does that make me a murderer? No. Does it make you a murderer? No.”
“So how is it that a voicemail message recorded in the heat of the moment, when a person is upset, and hurt, and enraged make them a murderer?”
I stop walking, fold my arms across my chest and I give the jurors the sternest look that I can muster and then I say, “It can’t”
“According to statistics, nearly one third of women murdered in the United States die at the hands of their husbands, ex-husbands, and even their boyfriends. These are records kept by the FBI and Bureau of Investigation. Now these statistics have been proven to be true in plenty of homicide cases however it’s not true this time.”
I uncross my arms and start walking again. “Look at the evidence. The bloody footprint found at the crime scene was not my client’s. The strand of hair found at the crime scene was neither the deceased victim’s hair nor my client’s hair. So what does that information prove?” I ask. “That it was not my client that committed the crime. The person who Killed Alana Schmitzu on January 1, 2010 is still out there.”
“The only claim that the prosecution has is a voicemail message from a man who’d been betrayed. He was simply venting. Saying things that he did not mean. And because of that one message Mr. Schmitzu has been charged with First degree Felony murder.”
“Where is the proof?”
“The prosecution wants to plant this horrid picture in your mind that Mr. Schmitzu is this coldblooded murderer but they have not provided you with one shred of evidence. They have not provided you with any actual physical proof. What they have provided you with is their version of what happened on January 1, 2010. They argue that my client had a motive, that he was an enraged husband but yet their only proof is a voicemail message that Mr. Schmitzu left on his late wife’s voicemail box weeks before she was found dead on the bedroom floor in their home. At the time that Mr. Schmitzu recorded that message he was upset. Who wouldn’t be? He’d just learned that his wife of fifteen years was having an affair. But a voicemail message in the heat of the moment does not make you a criminal because like I said we have all said things that we didn’t mean when we were upset.”
“Pay attention to the evidence that you’ve been provided with, so that my client, an innocent man, can be set free. Don’t let statistics and a fabricated version of what the prosecution claims is the truth, destroy an innocent man’s life. My client is a doctor, he saves lives, he doesn’t’ take them.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury I ask you to take a good strong look at the evidence and you’ll realize just like I did, that my client is innocent. Nothing further Your Honor” I say before heading back to my seat.
After the judge dismisses us for recess I head to the ladies room. I’m in a tight and I walk there quickly. Once inside I rush into the stall and handle my business. Then I walk over to the sink and check my makeup in the wide mirror behind the six sinks. I turn on the water to wash my hands when Khylie, an attorney that works at the same firm as me approaches the sink beside me.
“I heard that you’re being a little pit-bull in the courtroom today”
I should ignore her because I know her snooty behind really doesn’t like me but I really want to see where she’s going with this conversation. “I have to be, after all it’s the only reason I’ve won every single case”
“I don’t know about this time. You have a tough case, think you’re going to win?”
“Well that’s what I’m hoping for.”
“Good luck, Although I still don’t think that it’s going to help you much”
“Help me with what?”
“Making partner. Even if you win this case plus a million more you’re never going to make partner at Reeves Morris. There is only two spots and eight candidates up for it. Surely you know that no one is going to vote you in. I have a better chance at making partner than you”
I turn off the water and give her a stare down. “What makes you say that? Is it the color of your skin or the fact that you’ve screwed half the men on the board?”
“Maybe if you’d screwed someone a long time ago you’d be partner by now. I don’t know though I don’t really picture any man on the board sleeping with a black woman. Even Horace has a white wife.”
My hand desperately wants to slap her pale white face but I restrain myself. “Has it ever occurred to you that this black woman doesn’t have to sleep with men to get awarded for what I do best? What I’m damn good at. So, you just keep on sleeping with every man in the damn firm and I’ll continue watching them toss you around like the little slut that you are. And you know what else? After they’re doing having their little fun with you, you’re still not going to be a partner at Reeves Morris. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go” I snap giving a look that says helfa’ you better not say another word to me unless you want to pull my pumps out of your mouth, and I march off.
I’ve always hated the moment right before the verdict is read. I always get this nervous rush that settles right in the pit of my stomach, but anyway here it goes.
“I understand that you have a verdict” The judge says to the jury foreman.
“Yes”
The jury foreman, an African American woman in her late ages hands the forms to the court deputy.
“As to count one, murder, we find the defendant not guilty”
I’m elated this is my fifteenth win in three years. I better make partner this year.
****
When I get home from work, Layla is curled up on the sectional, crying. She has her days. Some days she’s in Great Spirit and some days you’d think she’s just buried our mother. I try to be there for her in the best way that I know how and I never fix my mouth to say, “I know exactly what you’re going through” or “I understand” like most of our family members. Because I don’t. Only the people that live with HIV everyday truly know the difficulties of the battle.
Lately she’s been depressed and she’s also lost some weight. When she told me that she’d been diagnosed with the disease it broke my heart. It breaks my heart when I see her the way she is right now as well.
My sister is gorgeous; she’s a few shades lighter than me, an inch or two shorter, with shoulder length hair. She has a banging body, that’s to die for. You wouldn’t know the factors of her health by just looking at her. She looks perfectly healthy. That’s the number one reason I make sure that I always use protection. You can’t judge a person’s health status by simply looking at them. You never know what a person has. Most people are not going to tell you their health status and most people don’t even know that they have it, because most people don’t get tested. But if a man thinks for one second that he’s going to get these goodies without showing me the results of his HIV screening first he has another thing coming.
I wish it were something I could do. Something I could say. But nothing I do seems to help. So I just listen. After I set my purse on the coffee table I sit down on the sofa, and pull Layla’s legs over my thighs. “Layla what’s wrong?”
“I heard Noah crying in my sleep last night. I just keep hearing him screaming every time I close my eyes. He’s helpless. And he’s hoping that I can save him. I can’t and the nightmare never seems to end. I feel like the disease is winning. It’s just chipping me away.” She sobs.
“Layla the disease can only win if you let it”
She wipes her eyes with a Kleenex. “I’m tired of taking these pills every day. I’m tired of people treating me like I’m abnormal because I’m HIV positive. Like when I go visit friends and I use a glass, and they think that I don’t see them tossing it in the trash when I’m done. It’s driving me crazy.” She says and sits up. “Sometimes I feel like the whole world is pushing down o
n me. That this abundant load I’m carrying is to heavy and it’s pulling me down. That’s the way people make me feel.”
Crazy how your life can change within the blink of an eye isn’t it? All it takes is one bad decision; one stupid careless choice and your life can change forever. For the longest time I blamed my brother. If it weren’t for him being locked up in the state penitentiary Layla wouldn’t be in this mess. That’s how she met Philippe. She’d gone to visit my brother one day and came back home with a secret admirer. My brother shouldn’t have ever allowed it to happen. The next thing I know she’s going to the state pen every weekend to see this jailbird that she hardly knew anything about. “I’m in love with him” she confided to me shortly after they’d met” I tried to warn her. “Layla you don’t know anything about that man. You don’t know what he’s done while he’s been locked up” I said. “Hell he’s been locked up for ten years” Of course she got upset with me and didn’t care to talk to me for a while. By the time we’d started communicating again the two of them had already moved in together.
It wasn’t until she learned that she was about to be a mother for the first time that she found out she’d been infected. She left Philippe shortly after but leaving him wasn’t going to change the fact of her diagnosis. My nephew Noah was born HIV positive. He died in his sleep at eighteen months old. In my heart I feel that if Noah would have been born a healthy baby and hadn’t died Layla would be in a much better place than she is right now. The baby would have at least given her a reason to want to live.
“People like that are just ignorant”
“Our parents treat me that way”
“I know and I think that it’s because mom and dad just haven’t been educated on HIV, that’s all. That’s with most people. Most people base their perception about the disease on hearsay, including mom and dad.”
“Life is just so hard for me now, ya’ know? If mom and dad treats me like I’m abnormal how can I expect the rest of the world not to?”
“Eventually everyone will come around. Even mom and dad”
“You have no idea what it feels like. You have no idea what I go through.” She said. “I went from being perfectly healthy, having a wonderful job, and a supportive family to feeling completely alone. The last time I visited mom and dad I felt like a prisoner. They bleached everything that I touched and mom even got mad at me for washing the dishes. What if you cut your finger, and we get it? She shouted at me. It’s like going to bed and waking up to the realization that someone has put a big cloud over your life.”
“Awwww Layla. I’m so sorry that they treated you like that. But you have to be strong. You have to. And you have to pray. That’s the only way that you’ll get through this. People will come around. Trust me”
“That’s easier said than done.” She sniffs. “People are so cruel and it could be years before people accept me. This disease could very well have eaten me alive by then.”
“Layla I think that you should really consider visiting the support group your doctor recommended”
“Why? There is nothing that no one can say to me that will change the way people treat me. Talking to someone is not going to change anything. It’s like I’m being haunted. Why didn’t God just take my life too?”
“God hasn’t taken your life for a reason. Because your life is a testimony and you can help others. I agree that a support group can’t change the way people treat you. Some people are cruel and that’s just the way they are. But the support group could help you learn how to cope with those type of people. Another plus about the support group is it will be beneficial for you to interact with other people living with HIV. Because they know and understand the different challenges you face every day.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Give me a hug” I say, and squeeze her. When she hugs me back I realize how much weight she’s lost and my heart aches for her. Pulling back, I suggest, “Let’s get out of this house”
“I don’t feel like going out”
“Come on, let’s go get our feet done. Let’s go grab an ice cream. Let’s do some things that you once loved to do”
“ I just want to stay right here” She says. “Maybe another day”
“Okay, well, whenever you want to get out and have some fun you just let me know”
“I will”
“I love you sis”
“I love you too” She says and curls back up on the sofa.
My feet are killing me. I kick off my stilettos and head into my bedroom. I feel so sorry for my sister. I wish I could do more. When she’s like this I feel so helpless.
****
I’m running on the treadmill when my mobile vibrates. It’s Harold. I’ve been dying to hear his voice all day long. We’ve talked every night since we met at church and for the most part, he’s definitely someone I could get use too.
I turn off the treadmill and answer. “ Hello” I say in my sexy voice.
“Hey beautiful” He says. “This is Harold, are you busy?”
I grab the bottle water from the beverage console and head towards my bedroom.
“Actually I’m just finishing up my run on the treadmill.”
“Funny, I’ve just finished my daily jog” He chuckles.
“Maybe you should have called me earlier and we could have jogged together.”
“I assumed you’d be at work.”
“I took off a little after 2 o’clock today”
“How was work?”
“Work was work” I sigh. “Busy with the usual in and out of court all day. I’m exhausted.”
“That’s sounds exhausting”
“Very”
“Probably not a good day for me to ask you out, huh?”
Anytime is a good time, I’ve praying you call me all day “Getting out and having some fun is exactly what I need”
“I was thinking the Navy Pier”
“I like that idea.”
“So should I pick you up are would you rather just meet me there?”
“Since it’s our first date. I think I’ll drive. Get to know you a little better. Make sure that you’re not crazy” I joke.
Harold laughs. “I can respect that”
“Four o’clock sound okay”
“Four o’clock is perfect. I’ll see you there”
“Can’t wait beautiful”
****
It’s unbelievable how nervous I am. I guess it’s because I really won’t this date to actually lead to something more. God I hope it doesn’t turn out to be a waste of time just like all the others. I’m not a single woman in my twenties anymore. I’m a single woman in my mid-thirties and I don’t have the time or energy to waste on a date that’s not going to end up amounting to anything.
Of course I’m late; I pull into the parking space fifteen minutes after four. I’m supposed to be here by now. We agreed to meet at the Ferris wheel. I hope he doesn’t think that I’m going to get on that thing because I forgot to mention my phobia of roller coasters and Ferris Wheels.
He’s probably assuming that I’ve stood him up. But then again I’m sure he knows that women are never on time.
I take one quick glance in my rearview mirror, touch up my lipstick, and get out. I’m wearing something comfortable, a peach colored sundress that stops right above my knee and a straw hat. I hope that I’m not overdressed.
What if this is the first date with the man that I’m going to marry? What if Harold is the perfect man for me? Wouldn’t that be wonderful? My girlfriends would definitely think so. Especially Lena, who’s going to want to hear every single detail about this date.
I’m looking for a tall man with a baldhead and an incredible smile. I don’t see him. I hope he didn’t leave. I would call him but my phone is not getting any reception right now. Finally I spot him walking towards me. Lord this man is fine.
“You look even more beautiful that I remember” He says.
I could just eat this man alive. He’s
wearing an orange Polo shirt and a pair of Khaki shorts. His Sunglasses are pushed over his head and he’s smiling. “Thanks” I say.
“For a second I thought you’d stood me up”
“I wouldn’t do something like that. I would’ve at least called you”
“Well since we’re right here let’s hop on.” “No-o-oo, I don’t do Ferris Wheels”
“Come on, it’s a first time for everything and besides it’ll be fun.”
I can’t believe I let him talk me into this. We’re on the Ferris wheel. And I am scared as hell. Harold is rocking us back and forth in this seat, he says it’s the only way to escape the phobia but little does he know my phobia is damn near convincing me that we’re going to tilt over. I don’t won’t him to think that I’m overly uptight, so I’m pretending that I’m not bothered, even though I am. I’ll be glad when this thing stops.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks when we get off.
“It was okay”
“You gotta’ admit that you’re kinda’ glad you did it”
He’s actually right, now that it’s over I am kinda’ glad that I did it. “Yeh, I am but I won’t ever be doing it again.” I say. “It’s a beautiful day isn’t’ it? Not too cold. Not too hot. Temperature is perfect.”
“Yeh it’s the perfect day to be out here” Harold takes me by the hand and we sit down on a bench. “I bet you’ve never met a guy in church before” He smiles.
“You’re definitely right; I can’t say that I have”
“So Stacy, Tell me, what’s your story? I don’t have to worry about someone pulling a gun out on me because we’re on this date do I?” Harold jokes.
“As long as I don’t have to worry about another woman doing the same thing to me” I joke back.
He’s staring at me. “I think that I’m going to enjoy your company” He tells me.
That’s a good sign “I think that I could get use to your company too” I say.
“I want to know more about you, I know that you’re a lawyer, a very attractive lawyer at that, but that’s about all I know. Tell me more. I want to know what you like in a man and what you don’t like. What your favorite foods are, your passion. What you like to do for fun.”
Unfaithful Ties Page 13