Tricks Of The Trade

by Ben Tyler

This prospective juror looked like a middle-aged redneck wanna-be. He wore a baseball cap backward on his head and a wrinkled T-shirt with a boldly written slogan: I Love My Country. But I Fear My Government. Irritated, Judge Carter demanded that the man show some respect for the court and remove his hat. The man complied, albeit reluctantly.

  Asked if he thought he could render a fair verdict based on the evidence, the man thought for a moment, then delivered a non sequitur. “I think there is a def’nite trend toward sex and violence in Sterling films today,” he said. “This makes me biased against that studio, and so I guess also against anyone associated with that studio.”

  Judge Carter asked if he would not be able to put his displeasure with Sterling aside, give equal weight to all the evidence he would hear, and help deliver a verdict.

  “I rather doubt that, Your Eminence,” he replied. “You see, my ch’ren watch their animated videos practic’ly ev’ry day of their lives…” This response made the entire room erupt with a roar of laughter.

  Judge Carter was not amused and pounded his gavel to demand silence. “Sir, you find the product from Sterling to be offensive, yet you allow your children to watch their videos as a matter of daily routine?”

  “Oh, kids’ll be kids, Yer Holiness, sir. Cain ‘t keep an eye on ’em fer twenty-four hours a day. They ’specially like the lil’ rat in the White House.” The man smiled.

  Again the room exploded in laughter, which made the man disconcerted, but he continued.

  Judge Carter tried to interrupt him again, but he kept talking over Carter’s objections.

  “I’m afraid these movies today aren’t like they were when I was growin’ up. Don’t you agree?” he asked, as if he were a Christian zealot positioning a debate with “Don’t you believe that the Bible was written by God?”

  “Sir,” Judge Carter said.

  “Honestly, where are the old Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon movies?”

  “Sir,” Carter tried to intervene.

  “And even them Doris Day movies, and Marilyn Mon-row, bless her drug-ravaged, stone-cold soul…”

  “Sir!” Judge Carter brought down his gavel and startled the man into silence. “As you know, if you were paying any attention to me earlier, this trial is not about the movies created by Sterling. This is a very serious case. A senior executive with a highly visible position was terminated from his employment at Sterling for allegedly perpetrating the act of sexual harassment on another employee or employees.

  “This case has nothing whatsoever to do with rats in the White House [another chortle from the gallery] or flying carpets or stories about little orphaned girls who become princesses,” Judge Carter admonished. He then reiterated his question about whether or not he could make a determination based on factual evidence and help render a verdict of guilt or innocence of the defendant.

  “Oh, if you put it that way, I s’pose I could try to be fair. But deviant sex is immoral and belongs at home, not in the workplace.”

  Again the gallery thundered with laughter. The brainless man turned bright red, not quite comprehending what it was he said that had brought on such burst of glee.

  “What warped parallel universe have we landed in?” Bart whispered to Rusty. “The scary new attraction at the Sterling theme park. Anita Bryant’s Wild Ride.”

  By the time Fitterman and the attorneys for Sterling had asked a few more questions of this man, he, too, was dismissed.

  And so it went for the next four hours. Every conceivable reason for not wanting to serve on this jury was heard. Motivations were all over the board. From “Gays have an organized agenda to recruit new members, and red-blooded A-mer-e-cans shouldn’t stand fer it no more” to one woman who had filed a sexual-harassment suit years before but had lost the case, which made Bart and Owen’s blood run cold with the obvious possibilities of their own case. But finally, twelve jurors and two alternates were deemed reasonably acceptable to all the lawyers. As it was nearly five o’clock, Judge Carter determined they would begin proceedings at nine the next morning. He adjourned his court until the following day.

  Bart, Rusty, Rod, Jim, Mitch, and Gus Fitterman left the courthouse and walked toward their respective cars. Their already morose feelings took a further nosedive when a man who appeared to be a vagrant walked up to the group. In a jovial voice the man said, “Which of you handsome gents is the lucky Bart Cain?”

  Bart identified himself. “Great!” said the vagrant as he handed him an envelope. “See ya!”

  Bart opened the hand-delivered package and found it contained a subpoena. “I’m being charged with defamation of character. Shari’s filing a personal lawsuit against me. Jeez! How’d she work that out so fast?” Bart said, stunned at the turn of events.

  Fitterman took the document from Bart’s hands and quickly perused it. “She suspects what you have up your sleeves and got the wheels rolling. Don’t worry. This is going nowhere. She can’t know the full extent of our evidence. This is moot, I assure you. I’ll take it up with Judge Carter first thing tomorrow.”

  “You said this was going to be nasty,” Bart addressed Fitterman. “I just didn’t think of all the other repercussions.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  June gloom and the so-called marine layer of clouds and fog seeped from the ocean, all the way into Hollywood and over the hills into Burbank and the Valley. When Bart and Owen arrived in court for the first day of testimony, their early euphoria at the prospect of retaliation against Shari and Sterling for the crimes against them had withered. They were as dismal as Mary Tyler Moore’s numerous failed sitcoms and episodics after her classic seventies show.

  Bart Cain was the first witness called by the defense. Seated in the spotlight, he looked down from the witness stand and saw Shari’s imperious face. Sterling’s chief counsel, Richard Ward, asked him to explain the details of Owen Stone’s sexual harassment of him.

  “The only harassment I’ve ever received at Sterling is from Shari Draper,” Bart declared.

  There ensued a lot of coughing and hurumphing from Ward as well as those at the plaintiff’s table and the jury box.

  “Objection!” after sustained “objection” came from Fitterman, who accused Ward of badgering the witness by asking such questions as “Mr. Cain, do you mean to sit before this court and refute your previous testimony?”

  “I have never testified before,” Bart reminded Mr. Ward.

  “Is that right?” Ward asked in sarcastic mock surprise. At this point, Ward brought out an audiocassette tape. “Your Honor, I’d like to offer this tape as Exhibit A. The evidence will prove beyond any doubt that the witness is perjuring himself.”

  Judge Carter accepted the plastic cassette box from Ward and examined it for a moment. It was neatly shrink-wrapped. A title had been professionally printed on the inside of the transparent casing:

  BART CAIN/SHARI DRAPER

  INTERVIEW

  FEBRUARY 9

  “Very nicely presented,” Judge Carter said suspiciously. “Why the ‘just-off-the-Virgin Megastore-shelf’ look?”

  “Er, a proper exhibition for the court,” Ward said, sounding somewhat unsure.

  Carter returned the tape box to Ward. “Just get on with it. Did you bring a tape player?”

  “Indeed, Your Honor.” Ward returned to Bart and threatened, “Listen carefully to this tape, sir. You will tell the court, under oath, whether this is or is not a conversation you had with Shari Draper in which you accuse Mr. Lucas of sexual harassment.”

  Ward had a moment of trouble peeling off the tightly wrapped cellophane in which the cassette box was packaged. Finally, he inserted the cassette into the machine and pressed the PLAY button. A few minutes of the tape was played for the judge and jury to hear.

  “Well, he was standing there with his shirt unbuttoned, the president of marketing…his hairy chest…For a moment he just leaned against the doorframe. ‘Why don’t you blow it off, Bart?’ he said. He asked me if I’d eaten anythi
ng.”

  “Dinner?”

  “I said I’d grab something at Wienerschnitzel. Then he put his hands in his pockets and started moving them around, like he was feeling for his change or something…said he always made it a practice at all the studios where he’d worked before to have a special employee that he found attractive…and since I was so cute…he said he didn’t want to hurt me or create an unpleasant working environment. That’s when he asked how much I liked my job and what did I think of him as a man. And what I’d be willing to do to stay on as head writer…told me he wanted a blow job every now and again…he’d make me happy in return.”

  Ward stopped the machine in mid-conversation, intending to save the best for later. Smugly, he approached the witness box.

  “I ask you, Mr. Cain. Did you or did you not have this conversation with Ms. Draper.”

  “I had a conversation.”

  “Yes or no, Mr. Cain. It’s a simple question.”

  “This conversation?”

  “What other conversation are we discussing?”

  “My answer would be no.”

  “Oh, come on, Mr. Cain. You’re an intelligent man. Do you deny that the male voice heard on this recording is yours.”

  “No.”

  “Do you deny that the female voice on the recording is Ms. Draper’s?”

  “No.”

  “Then how in the name of Pinocchio, if I may use a Hollywood reference, can you sit there and mock this court by lying—under oath—and insist this is not your conversation? Your nose is growing.”

  “Objection! Harassment!”

  “Sustained.”

  “I’m not lying!” Bart said. “With all due respect to the court, I haven’t a clue where that tape came from or when it was made. But I assure you, that specific conversation never took place.” Bart looked up at Judge Carter.

  “I wonder what else you ‘don’t recall,’ Ward asked in his powerful, intimidating tone. “Do you recall what year you graduated college?”

  Bart stalled for a moment. “I didn’t graduate,” he said softly.

  “Oh?” Ward pretended to be surprised. “How can that be? I have a copy of your application for employment at Sterling, along with your résumé.” He removed the documents from a file, first handing them to Judge Carter to examine before passing them to Bart. “Would you please read for the court your academic achievements?”

  Bart again stalled as he silently reviewed the material. Then, in a small voice, “Education. B.S. Journalism, California Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo, 1996.”

  “Please speak up and read that statement again,” Ward demanded.

  Bart repeated in a louder voice what appeared on his old résumé.

  “Quite frankly, Cal Poly has no record of your matriculating in their journalism program. For that matter, they have no record of your attending their fine school, Mr. Cain. Perhaps their dog ate your transcripts?”

  Members of the jury laughed.

  Bart appeared defeated. He looked over at Rusty and Owen with a look that said, I blew it. I’m a liar. I blew the case. I’m so sorry.

  “Why did you blatantly lie on your employment application? Didn’t you read the fine print at the bottom just below your signature—this is your signature, isn’t it, Mr. Cain?—in which it states that you affirm all answers given are true and correct and that you may be subject to legal action if they are found to be inaccurate?”

  “I put that on my application because I was embarrassed. I only received my AA degree from Los Angeles Junior College. It’s not exactly Ivy League.”

  “Embarrassed, Mr. Cain? Embarrassed the way you were when Mr. Lucas harassed you in your office? Embarrassed as you must be right now, lying again about not speaking to Ms. Draper about Mr. Lucas’s provocations?”

  “Objection,” Fitterman shouted.

  “Establishing character, Your Honor,” Ward declared.

  Shari sat behind the table, reclining, her arms folded across her chest. She looked straight at Bart with a derisive smile frozen on her face.

  “Answer the question, Mr. Cain,” Judge Carter said.

  “Mr. Lucas never harassed me; that’s a fact” Bart stated adamantly. “That tape is a forgery or something.”

  “Oh, give us all a break, Mr. Cain!” Ward bellowed. “We all have ears. We all heard your voice whining to Ms. Draper about harassment. You’ve lied before, and you’re lying now. Am I not correct?”

  “You are not correct, sir!” Bart turned to Judge Carter. “Your Honor, I, too, recorded meetings between Shari Draper and myself.”

  Shari suddenly sat up and flashed an angry look first at Bart, then to her attorneys.

  “Do you have audio proof?” Judge Carter asked in a compassionate tone.

  “My attorney, Mr. Fitterman, has three tapes, Your Honor.”

  Judge Carter looked at the helium-filled Gus Fitterman. “Do you have evidence to refute opposing counsel’s?”

  Fitterman nodded. “Indeed I do, Your Honor. May I approach the bench?”

  “Objection!” shouted Richard Ward a split second before the entire contingent of Sterling lawyers chimed in, in unison. They all deferred to Ward, who argued that they had not been notified of this evidence and would therefore require time to evaluate the authenticity of the recording.

  “I, too, object, Your Honor,” Fitterman exploded. “I object to Mr. Ward not providing his piece of evidence for me and my client to study.”

  “Both of you sit down,” Judge Carter said. “Bailiff, allow the court to hear both tapes.”

  The first cassette played for the jury was the rest of the one presented earlier by Richard Ward.

  Bart’s voice could be distinctly heard saying, “Shari. This is the most difficult situation I’ve ever been in. I don’t know what to do, so I’m coming to you for advice. Owen Lucas has been hitting on me.”

  “What do you mean, ‘hitting on you’?” Shari asked.

  “He came to my office a couple of times when I was working late. His shirt was unbuttoned. He stood next to my desk with his fly unzipped and asked me to give him oral sex.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. It happens every night.”

  “And have you gone along with him?”

  “I’ve had no choice. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t do what he asks.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’ve had to spend every weekend for the past two months at his house having sex.”

  When the tape ran out, it didn’t end with any sort of heart-to-heart from Shari, any promise to look into the matter or to file a grievance with human resources. It was clear to Bart that this was simply a “best of the best” compilation tape.

  Judge Carter ordered the bailiff to remove that tape and insert the one from Owen and Bart’s attorney. It was quite a different conversation that the court heard. All the same words were there, but they were prompted and rearranged.

  “How many times do I have to explain this to you, moron? Try it again.” It was Shari’s voice.

  “Okay. Ah. Shari? Ah, this is the most difficult situation I’ve ever been in. Ah, I don’t know what to do, and since you’re the only one I can trust, I’m coming to you for help and advice.”

  “Go on. Owen Lucas…hitting on you…”

  “Right. Owen Lucas has been hitting on me.”

  “Don’t just leave it at that, you simpleton. Tell me, what do you mean by ‘hitting on you’?”

  “Er, when I’m working, he comes into my office…”

  “No! When you’re working late at night…”

  “Right. Late at night he comes to my office when I’m working late. His shirt is unbuttoned.”

  “What else?”

  “Oh. Well, he stands next to my desk.”

  “His pants! His pants! What about his pants, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Ah, they’re unzipped. His fly, I mean.”

  “Now is where you say he wants you to g
ive him a blow job.”

  “That’s kind of vulgar, isn’t it?” Bart was heard questioning Shari. “That’s not what I would say. Nobody would believe those words came from me.”

  “You’re such a little pussy! Just say he stands with his fly unzipped and he asks for oral sex. Can you say ‘oral sex,’ or is that too offensive to you?”

  “No. ‘Oral sex’ is good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very good.”

  “No, stupid. I mean, does it happen every night? You’re supposed to say it does.”

  “It happens every night.”

  Shari had slumped down in her chair; her arms folded in a display of loathing for the peon publicist who had the audacity to tape their meetings.

  The tape continued. “And have you gone along with him?” Shari’s voice asked.

  “I’ve had no choice. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t do what he asks.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I got to spend every weekend for the past two months at his house having sex.”

  “‘Got to spend every weekend…! ‘Got to’…” Pu-leese! That’s stretching it too far. Anybody who heard you say that would think you were enjoying yourself.”

  “Nobody’s going to hear about this,” Bart interjected. “You said we were just practicing because Owen was threatening to fire you and you might someday need my help.”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Ward screamed.

  “Grounds?”

  “This is detrimental to my client!”

  “It’s evidence, you quack! Sit down.” Carter hammered his gavel.

  The tape continued. “Don’t worry your little ass,” Shari’s voice continued. “You won’t ever have to say these things in court. Owen’ll be long gone and won’t make a peep.”

  “You can’t be serious about being afraid of Owen. He’s the first human being to ever occupy that office,” Bart said. “As a matter of fact, I wish he would proposition me. But he’s such a doll, I’d probably have to take a number and wait in line for about twenty years.”

  At that Shari exploded. “You fags are all the same! You think he’s so great. Let me tell you, he’s aiming to can my butt, and he’ll can yours, too! In an instant!”