Now and Forever (1978)

by Steel, Danielle

  "Go on." The judge was prodding her. She seemed to have lost the thread of her tale.

  "I'm sorry, your honor. He ... he didn't take me back to my office, and ... well, I know I was crazy to accept the ride. It was just such a pretty day, and he looked like a nice man. I thought ... I never realized ..." Unexpectedly, a small tear glided from one eye and then the other; Jessie's grip on Ian's shoulder became almost unbearable. He reached for her hand and gently held it until she nervously pulled it away.

  "Please go on, Miss ... Miss Burton." He checked the name on the papers on his desk, took a swallow of water, and looked up. Jessie was reminded that this hearing was no more than daily routine to him; he seemed totally separate from the drama that absorbed the rest of them.

  "I ... he took me ... to a hotel."

  "You went with him?" But there was no judgment in the voice; it was only a question.

  "I thought he was taking me back to my office." She sounded strident and angry suddenly. The tears were gone.

  "And when you saw that he hadn't taken you back to your office, why didn't you leave then?"

  "I ... I don't know. I just thought it would ... he only wanted to have a drink, he said, and he wasn't unpleasant, just silly. I thought he was harmless and it would be easier to go along with it--with the drink, I mean--and then ..."

  "Was there a bar in the hotel when you went inside?" She shook her head. "A desk clerk? Did anyone see you go in? Could you have called for help? I don't believe Mr. Clarke held a gun on you, or anything of the sort, did he?"

  She flushed and shook her head reluctantly.

  "Well, did anyone see you?"

  "No." The word was barely audible. "There was no one there. It looked like ... like sort of an apartment hotel."

  "Do you remember where it was?"

  She shook her head again, and Jessica felt Ian stir restlessly in front of her, and when she looked there was anger on his face. At last. He looked alive again, instead of buried under grief and disbelief.

  "Could you tell us the location of the hotel, Miss Burton?"

  Again, the negative shake of the head. "No. I ... I was so upset I ... I just didn't look. But he ... he ..." Suddenly her face was transformed again. The eyes lit up and almost glowed with such hatred and fury that for an instant Jessie almost believed her, and she saw Ian go suddenly very still. "He took my life and threw it away! He ruined it! He ..." She sobbed for a moment, and then took a deep breath as the glitter left her eyes. "As we went inside, he just grabbed me, and dragged me into an elevator and up to a room, and ..." Her silence said it all, as she hung her head in defeat.

  "Do you remember what room?"

  "No." She didn't look up.

  "Would you recognize the room again?"

  "No. I don't think so." No? Why not? Jessie couldn't imagine not remembering a room you'd been raped in. It would be engraved on your mind forever.

  "Would you recognize the hotel?"

  "I'm not sure. I don't think so, though." She still had not looked up, and Jessie doubted her story still further--and then realized what had been happening: if she was doubting the story, then at some point she must have believed it might be true. In that one burst of tears and fury, the woman had convinced them all. Or come damn close to it. Even Jessica. Almost. She turned to look at Ian and saw him watching her, his eyes bright with tears. He knew what was happening too. Jessica reached for his hand again, this time quietly and with strength. She wanted to kiss him, hold him, tell him it would be all right, but now she wasn't so sure. She was sure of only one thing--of how much she hated Margaret Burton.

  Martin Schwartz was looking none too happy either. If the Burton woman claimed not to remember where the hotel was, they had lost the last shred of hope of finding a witness who had seen them there. Ian couldn't place the hotel either. He had been just drunk enough that his memory was blurred, and the address he thought he remembered had turned out to be wrong. It was a warehouse. There were plenty of small sleazy residential hotels in the area, and Martin had sent Ian into dozens of lobbies before the preliminary hearing: Nothing looked familiar. So it was going to remain a case of his word against hers, with no one to corroborate either side. Schwartz was liking the looks of the case less and less. She was a damn unpleasant witness. Erratic, emotional, one moment hard as a rock, the next heart-wringing and tearful. The judge would ship them off to trial for sure, if for no other reason than to avoid dealing with the issue himself.

  "All right, Miss Burton," the judge said, fingering a pencil and gazing at the opposite wall, "what happened in that room you don't remember?" His tone was dry and uninterested.

  "What happened?"

  "What did Mr. Clarke do after he dragged you into that room? You did say he dragged you?"

  She nodded.

  "And he wasn't using a weapon?" She shook her head, and finally looked up at her audience.

  "No. Only ... only his hand. He slapped me several times and told me he'd kill me if I didn't do what he wanted."

  "And what was that?"

  "I ... he ... he forced me to ... to have ... oral copulation with him ... to do ... to, well ... to do it to him." My, how painful you make it sound ... Jessica wanted to slap her again.

  "And you did?"

  "I did."

  "And then? Did he ... did Mr. Clarke have an orgasm?"

  She nodded.

  "Please answer the question."

  "Yes."

  "And then?"

  "Then he sodomized me." She said it in a dull, flat voice, and Jessie could feel Ian flinch. She herself felt increasingly uncomfortable. She had anticipated drama, not this slow, drawn-out recital. Christ, how humiliating it all was. How dry and ugly and awful. The words, the acts, the thoughts, all so old and dreary.

  "Did he climax again?"

  "I ... I don't know." She had the grace to blush.

  "Did you?" Her eyes flew open then and Houghton and the young district attorney watched tensely.

  "I? But how could I? He ... I ... he raped me."

  "Some women enjoy that, Miss Burton, in spite of themselves. Did you?"

  "Of course not!"

  "You did not climax, then?" Jessica was beginning to enjoy the other woman's discomfiture.

  "No, of course not! No!" She almost shouted it, looking hot and angry and nervous.

  "All right. And then what?" The judge looked terribly bored and unimpressed by Miss Burton's indignation.

  "Then he raped me again."

  "How?"

  "He ... he just raped, me. You know ... the usual way this time." Jessica almost wanted to laugh. A "usual rape"!

  "Did he hurt you?"

  "Yes, of course he did."

  "Very much?"

  But she was looking down again, distant and pensive and sad. It was at those moments that one should feel sorry for her. And for a tiny flash of a second, Jessica wondered about her own reactions. At any other time, the story she was hearing would have touched her. Maybe even very much. But now ... how could she let it touch her? She didn't believe the woman. But what did the judge think? There had been no answer to his last question.

  "Miss Burton, I asked if Mr. Clarke hurt you very much."

  "Yes. Very much. I ... he ... he didn't care about me. He just ... he just ..." The tears flowed slowly down her face and it was as though she were talking about someone else, not Ian, not a total stranger who had raped her. Why would he care about her if he were raping her? "He didn't care if I got pregnant, or ... or anything. He just ... just left." And now the tears turned to anger again. "I know this type, they play with poor girls like me! Girls with no money, no fancy family, and then they ... they do what he did ... they leave ..." Her voice sank back to a whisper then as she looked blindly into her lap. "He left, and went back to her."

  "Who?" The judge looked confused, and Miss Burton looked up again, with a slightly dazed look on her face. "Who did he go back to?"

  "His wife." She said it very plainly, but without
looking at Jessica.

  "Miss Burton, did you know Mr. Clarke from somewhere, from before this? Had you ever been romantically involved with him before?" So the judge had also picked up on that--a faint suggestion that Ian was not a stranger after all.

  "No. Never."

  "Then how did you know about his wife?"

  "He looked married. And anyway, he told me."

  "I see. And he just left you at the hotel afterward?" She nodded again. "What did you do then? Call the police? Go to a doctor? Call a cab?"

  "No. I walked for a while. I felt confused. And then I went home and washed up. I felt awful" Now she was believable again.

  "Did you see a doctor?"

  "After I called the police."

  "And when did you do that? It wasn't immediately, was it?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "I was scared. I had to think about it."

  "And you're sure of your story, now, Miss Burton? This is the whole truth? The story you originally told the police was a little different from this, wasn't it?"

  "I don't know what I told them then. I was confused. But this is the truth now."

  "You're under oath now, Miss Burton, so I hope this is the truth."

  "It is." She nodded expressionlessly, her eyes dead.

  "There's nothing you want to change?"

  "No."

  "And you're certain that this was not a misunderstanding, an afternoon fling that went sour?" And then suddenly the hatred blazed up in her eyes again, and she squeezed them tightly shut.

  "He ruined my life." She hissed the words into the silent room.

  "All right, Miss Burton. Thank you. Mr. Schwartz, any questions?"

  "Only a few, Your Honor. And I'll be quick. Miss Burton, has anything similar ever happened to you before?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, have you ever been raped, even in fun, as a sort of game, by a lover, a boyfriend, a husband?"

  "Of course not." She looked incensed.

  "Have you ever been married?"

  "No."

  "Engaged?"

  "No." Again there was no hesitation.

  "No broken engagements?"

  "No."

  "Any serious, broken-off loves?"

  "None."

  "A boyfriend now?"

  "No."

  "Thank you, Miss Burton. What about romantic interludes? Have you ever picked up a stranger before?"

  "No."

  "Then you agree that you picked up Mr. Clarke?"

  "No! I ... he offered me a ride, and ..."

  "And you accepted, even though you didn't know him. Does that seem wise to you, in a city like San Francisco?" His tone was politely concerned, and Margaret Burton looked angry and confused.

  "No, I ... it ... no, I've never picked anyone up before. And I just thought that ... he looked like he was okay."

  "What do you mean by okay, Miss Burton? He was drunk, wasn't he?"

  "A little tiddly maybe, but not bombed. And he looked, well ... like a nice guy."

  "You mean rich? Or fancy? Or what? Like a Harvard grad?"

  "I don't know. He just looked clean-cut."

  "And handsome? Do you think he's handsome?"

  "I don't know." She was looking at her lap.

  "Did you think he'd get involved with you, maybe? Fall in love? That's a fair assumption. You're a nice-looking woman, why not? A hot summer day, a good-looking guy, a lonely woman ... how old are you, Miss Burton?"

  "Thirty-one." But she'd fumbled.

  "You told the police thirty. Isn't it more like thirty-eight? Isn't it just possible that--"

  "Objection!" The district attorney was on her feet, her face furious, and the judge nodded.

  "Sustained. Mr. Schwartz, this is not a trial, and you might as well save the pressure tactics for later. Miss Burton, you don't have to answer that. Are you almost through, Mr Schwartz?"

  "Almost, Your Honor. Miss Burton, what were you wearing on the day of your encounter with Mr. Clarke?"

  "What was I wearing?" She looked nervous and confused. He had been pelting her with difficult questions. "I ... I don't know ... I ..."

  "Was it something like what you have on now? A suit? Or something lighter, more revealing? Something sexy, maybe?" The prosecuting attorney was frowning fiercely again, and Jessica was beginning to enjoy the situation. She liked Martin's style. Even Ian looked intrigued, almost pleased.

  "I ... I don't know. I guess I must have worn a summer dress."

  "Like what? Something low-cut?"

  "No. I don't wear things like that."

  "Are you sure, Miss Burton? Mr. Clarke says you were wearing a very short, low-cut pink dress, with a hat--were you wearing that same hat? It's a very nice hat." Suddenly she was torn between the compliment and the implication.

  "I don't wear pink."

  "But the hat is pink, isn't it?"

  "It's more a kind of neutral color, more like beige." But there was a pinkish cast to it. That was obvious to all.

  "I see. And what about the dress? Did that have a kind of beige cast to it too?"

  "I don't know."

  "All right. Do you go to Enrico's often?"

  "No, I've been just a couple of times. But I've walked by it."

  "Had you seen Mr. Clarke there before?"

  "No. I don't remember seeing him." She was regaining her composure. These questions were easy.

  "Why did you tell him you were a topless waitress on Broadway?"

  "I never told him that." Now she was angry again, and Martin nodded, looking almost preoccupied.

  "All right, thank you, Miss Burton. Thank you, Your Honor."

  The judge looked questioningly at the assistant district attorney, who shook her head. She had nothing to add. He indicated that Margaret Burton could step down, then spoke the words Jessica had dreaded. "Mr. Clarke, please take the stand."

  Ian and Margaret Burton passed inches from each other, their faces without expression. Only moments before, she had said that he had ruined her life, yet now she looked right through him. Jessica felt more confused than ever by the woman.

  The oath was administered, and the judge looked over his glasses at Ian.

  "Mr. Clarke, would you please give us your account of what happened?" The judge looked excessively bored as Ian launched into his version of that day's events. The lunch, the drinks, picking her up, the seductive way she was dressed, her story about being a topless waitress, the drive to Market Street to an address she had given him but which he could no longer remember. And finally her invitation to her room, where they had had a drink and made love.

  "Whose room was it?"

  "I don't know. I assumed it was hers. But it was kind of empty. I don't know. I'd had a lot to drink at lunch, and I wasn't thinking very clearly."

  "But clearly enough to go upstairs with Miss Burton?"

  Ian flushed. He felt like an errant schoolboy called to the principal's office ... Ian, did you look up Maggie's dress? Tsk, tsk, tsk! But it wasn't like that at all. The stakes were too high for this to be child's play.

  "My wife was away, and had been for three weeks." Jessie's heart was pounding again. Was it supposed to be her fault, then? Was that the implication? Was that what he thought, what he wanted her to feel? She was responsible for his feelings of inadequacy?

  "And what happened after it was all over?"

  "I left."

  "Just like that? Did you intend to sec Miss Burton again?" Ian shook his head.

  "No. I didn't intend to see her again. I felt guilty as hell for what had already happened." Martin was frowning at his answer and Jessie cringed. The judge had picked up on it too.

  "Guilty?"

  "I mean, because of my wife. I don't usually do that sort of thing."

  "What sort of thing, Mr. Clarke? Rape?"

  "No, for God's sake, I didn't rape her!" He had bellowed his denial and small beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead. "I mean, I felt guilty for c
heating on my wife."

  "But you did force Miss Burton upstairs at the hotel?"

  "I did not. She took me upstairs. It was her room, not mine. She invited me up."

  "What for?"

  "A drink. And probably for exactly what she got."

  "Then why do you suppose she claims you raped her?"

  "I don't know." Ian looked blank and exhausted, and the judge shook his head and looked around the room.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, neither do I. The purpose of this hearing is to determine if there was a misunderstanding afoot, if the problem is one that can be simply resolved here and now, to determine in effect if a rape did take place, and if the case merits further judicial attention. It is my job to decide to dismiss the action or send it on to a higher court to be tried. In order for me to make the decision to dismiss the action, I have to feel quite certain that this was clearly not a rape.

  "In the event that I am unable to decide, that the matter is not clear, then I have no choice but to send it on to a higher court, and possibly to a jury, to decide. And it would appear that this is no simple matter before us now. The stories of the two parties are widely divergent. Miss Burton says rape, Mr. Clarke says not. There is no evidence in either direction. So I am afraid this matter will have to be handled by a higher court, and presumably given a jury trial. We cannot simply dismiss the matter. Serious allegations have been made. I move that the matter be referred to Superior Court, and that Mr. Clarke be arraigned in Superior Court two weeks from today, in the court of Judge Simon Warberg. Court is dismissed." And without further ado, he got up and walked out of the room. Jessica and Ian rose and looked at each other in confusion as Martin shuffled papers for a moment. Margaret Burton was whisked away by Inspector Houghton.

  "Now what?" Jessica spoke to Ian in a whisper.

  "You heard the man, Jess--we go to trial."

  "Yeah." She looked for a last moment at the retreating back of the Burton woman, fresh hatred filling her soul for this woman who was inexplicably destroying their lives. She knew no more now than she had three hours ago. Why?