by Cee Smith
“I know how this is going to sound, but please spare me your judgment. She was waitressing at Citizens…” I looked up to see if she was giving me “judging eyes” yet. When her face was blank, still absorbing my words, I continued, “yeah and I gave her my card.”
“You gave her your card? So that’s the kind of guy you are? Tell me, do you travel all over Vegas flashing your card? That makes you sound…sleazy. Still no judgment here.” She raised both hands and swiftly shook her head.
“Sure feels like judgment to me, but yeah, how was I to know she was crazy? I was with her for a while, but we weren’t really together, together.”
“So you were using her—”
“I didn’t use her—”
I shifted my body higher up on the headboard, aware of the physical space I created between me and Blaire. This conversation made me feel more exposed than I’d ever felt. I had no problem sharing information about myself or baring my body to Blaire, but talking about Lara left me unsettled. It could have been the legal case that was actually getting to me, but this was exactly why I didn’t want Blaire involved. I had never felt as vulnerable in my life as I had since the day Lara and I broke up.
“Ah, ah, take it easy. I didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, she was clearly using you, too. Your relationship was mutually beneficial. There, how does that sound?”
“Sounds like I’m less of a fucking scum-bucket.”
“Anyway, so when did she change, because the woman who got me fired is not the girl you brought home from Citizens. I don’t even have to know her to know that much.”
“I would take her places and buy her things, you know, so she would fit in and feel comfortable when I took her out, but then more and more, she would start making plans and expecting me to pay for things. Now, I have no problem spending money, but it’s different when people start expecting it of you. When we went out, she tried harder to be seen, becoming overly flirty with people I didn’t even know.”
“Money is an aphrodisiac to some people.”
“I didn’t blame her, but there was never a guarantee with us. It wasn’t permanent, and I never led her to believe it was, but once my father died…”
“You didn’t want to pretend anymore?”
“Something like that.”
Truth was, the last time I saw my father, we had spoken on this very same subject. He lectured me on the responsibilities that came with being a Trevaunt. Apparently, I was reaching an age where my “playboy ways” were going to become more of an embarrassment than something to be applauded for. My father and I were close. Close enough that I laughed him off, unfazed by his concern for my image and the kind of precedence I was setting by parading around with women who looked at me like I was a blank check. I told him I had it under control, and that was that. If I had known that would have been the last time I would see him, I wouldn’t have laughed him off so easily.
Chapter Two
Blaire
I hated that Joel shut me out, hated that I was forced to take matters into my own hands and do some investigative work of my own. Getting answers from him was like pulling teeth, and seeing as how he didn’t want me involved in his legal case, I had to be sneaky when it came to research.
Reluctantly, Joel set off to work that morning to take care of some things he let fall by the wayside ever since he essentially took me hostage. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful for the place to stay, especially because I didn’t know what Lara was capable of, but would I have been happier to not have her know my address or, better yet, not know about my involvement with Joel? Absolutely. Now, I had to do what was needed for both of our sakes—to help Joel with his case and to help me get back to my job and home.
After eating breakfast in his actual kitchen, rather than bed, I returned back upstairs to retrieve my laptop. Lucky for me, Henderson didn’t ask me to leave my laptop at the office when he asked me to leave, so I still had all of the information I had gathered before I left. I just wasn’t sure how helpful it would be now that I was off the case.
I pulled the curtains open, flooding the room with a light that seemed to remind me that it’d been days since I’d been outside. Not that I was the super-outdoorsy type, but my skin felt parched for a hit of vitamin D. Though Joel’s bedroom was beautiful—a room fit for a king, really—I decided to grab my laptop and head outside.
At 9 a.m. it was already eighty degrees, and I felt every degree as I lugged my laptop bag to the nearest cabana with a wood dining table large enough to seat six. The white gauzy fabric swaying in the breeze made the picturesque site look like something you’d see in the Mediterranean, not in the middle of the desert. It was beautiful and quite feminine, not exactly something I’d expect from Joel, but it seemed he was full of surprises.
When everything was up and running, I immediately went through my old files, the same ones that sent up a red flag when I initially looked at the case. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time, but there was always something that seemed off about the case, and now that I was no longer working, I wasn’t obligated to overlook those little things that had niggled at me.
As much as I hated looking at the photos of her face, I found that looking at her now didn’t nearly affect me as when I didn’t know that the supposed person who did that to her was Joel. I knew someone did that to her face, but the fact that she tried to pin it on Joel was disturbing. Now that I knew what she was capable of, I found it harder to believe she wasn’t setting Joel up. For whatever reason, I wasn’t sure. It could have been because he broke up with her. It sounded like she was becoming comfortable with the lifestyle he afforded her, and by cutting her off, she would be back to living the lifestyle of waitress/college student—something I’m sure she hoped never to go back to. I could see why that might cause her to lash out.
I felt deceitful being in Joel’s house, using his internet, and looking at pictures that were being used as proof that he was the one who made her look like that, but he needed my help, whether he planned on asking for it or not.
The pictures were just as bad as I remembered, and out there in the light of day, every purple and blue splotch on her face seemed to be amplified as if a spotlight were beaming down to point out what so clearly was evident. Her bottom lip was split on the left side. Above her left eyebrow was a cut about an inch long but without any bruising. It almost looked like a superficial cut, a little longer and deeper than a paper cut. Her cheek looked the worst. It was puffed out, capped off with a large purple bruise that arched with the curve of her cheekbone and along her eye socket, making the eye slightly swollen.
All in all, she definitely didn’t look like the pencil-skirt, sky-high-heel-wearing uppity bitch that needed a tour guide to the restroom a couple weeks ago. The girl in the picture was broken, with downturned lips and cheeks awash in freshly spilled tears. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her usually perfect black bob looked like it’d been used as a Brillo pad on an especially rough pan.
There was something about the pictures that enraptured me. It wasn’t that she looked so broken and disheveled. There was something else there. I twisted my head this way and that, shuffling between the images to see if it was more noticeable in one specific photo. I didn’t know how long I sat there with the sun beaming overhead and sweat beginning to collect on my upper lip and in the creases of my clothes, but the images were getting harder and harder to look at. A fly landed on my keyboard and when I moved to swipe it, the little arrow hovered over the left side of Lara’s face. That was all it took to make me see what I’d been missing the whole time.
The left side of her face.
Every hit.
Every scratch.
Every bruise.
It was easy to overlook when I didn’t know “EJ” well enough to say he was a lefty or a righty, but I knew him now, and he was without a doubt a righty. Yet whoever had hit her was definitely left-handed because it would be unlikely for a right-handed person to only swing with their non-domi
nant hand. But this was hardly enough to win a case, so I continued my hunt for evidence. Anything to work in our favor.
I skimmed over the reported events again, as told by Lara. In the police report, she said she went back to pick up her things on the 15th. If she didn’t know about his dad’s house, she would’ve had to pick up her belongings at his condo. Wouldn’t they have cameras or a doorman there? Basically, proof that she didn’t leave his condo with a battered face?
The files sitting on my computer only said so much, so I moved to Google, hoping I could find something new. A search on her name gave her last known address—the same address she listed with the police, but it looked like someone else was living there at the same time. A roommate. Maybe they could testify as to her character. The box Lara sent to my home and the defacement of my door proved what Joel and I already knew about her. I didn’t know what compelled me to hold onto such damning evidence more—my desire to hold onto my dream job or my respect for Joel’s wishes to stay out of the case.
Her Facebook page was littered with selfies and shit I expected to see from someone like her: quotes from women like Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor—women she “looked up to.” She was such a cliché. The only thing I found useful was her relationship status, which was currently listed as “taken”—something I hadn’t quite expected, considering she not only just got out of a relationship with Joel, but was working through a legal case with him. Maybe she’d been seeing someone at the same time as Joel.
I scrolled down, as far back as her first posting, to see what her life looked like before Joel. I clicked on a picture she was tagged in. She looked very girl-next-door. In fact, she could have been any of the girls I grew up with. Nondescript and unmemorable. Brassy brown hair hung limply around her shoulders with overgrown bangs that swept her eyelashes. Her makeup looked like she was trying too hard, with thick eyeliner that stretched clear up to her eyebrows, a high-sheen lip gloss that looked like she’d been chomping on chicken wings prior to taking the picture, and clothes that were typical college wear for a Vegas girl—a spaghetti-strapped shirt with a built-in bra, dark jean shorts, and flip-flops. There was nothing fashionable or high-class about that girl.
There wasn’t anything particularly telling about what she was up to or the people she hung around with, who she was supposedly dating, or anything aside from random babblings.
Opening up my notes, I began writing down my findings. Every word typed encouraged me that there was more to this story. After another hour of looking through compiled lists: items she supposedly obtained from Joel’s house, the police report that I had read so many times I had almost every line memorized, and the doctor’s report—I realized I wasn’t going to get any more from these files. I had an ace up my sleeve though.
“Are you calling to gloat, because I have to say I’ve been fucking overworked carrying your load, so I’m as grumpy as a prostitute with a broken vagina.”
“There’s a visual I wouldn’t mind scrubbing from my mind. Thanks for that.”
How Kerri could get away with talking like that at work, I still didn’t understand. When I first started working there, I’d heard rumors that she’d slept with Henderson, but somehow I couldn’t picture that. He seemed way too uptight for her. Although it would explain how much she gets away with.
“Anytime, honey. So tell me, you’re just now calling because you’ve finally come up for air.”
“What have I told you about living vicariously through me? We’ve got to find someone for you. That’s not why I’m calling. I’m actually calling about the case.” I knew no one could hear me, but that didn’t stop me from whispering the words, as if someone near Kerri’s desk would overhear our conversation. Believe me, it wouldn’t be the first time Kerri was overheard discussing her admiration for someone else’s sex life or her lack of one. Except, I didn’t want anyone knowing about this meeting. I’m sure I would be breaking all kinds of ethics and morals, never mind office policy. I was sure just discussing the case could get me officially fired. But, if there was a chance I would lose my job anyway, I would’ve felt better knowing I did everything I could to help Joel win.
“Of course you are. Ooh, that makes me think of role-playing. Ever done it? Probably haven’t. You want to do lunch? I can swing by.”
“Yeah, he actually lives up at The Ridges. Do you want to meet me over at the country club? One o’clock?”
“Yep. Catch you later.”
“Oh, and bring your laptop.”
“Gotcha. See you in a bit, honey.”
***
I should have known when I invited Kerri to meet me for lunch that she would stand out in a place like a country club. For it being lunchtime in the middle of the week at an exclusive club, there were quite a few people sitting at the tables nearby. People who I was sure registered just how out of place Kerri was in a place like that.
The maître d’ showed her to the table I was already sitting at. The table was in the back of the room, overlooking the eighth hole and a small pond with a water fountain sprouting from the center of the water. Kerri spotted me, waving exuberantly. She smacked the man leading her to the table to let him know she could find her way. He looked down at his arm as if she’d burned a hole through his blazer before turning around to storm off in the opposite direction. She bounded down the aisle, wearing a lime green blouse and navy capris, carrying a leopard print laptop case. The only thing that seemed to fit in were her black Jimmy Choos and matching black sunglasses and those glossy black curls that always reminded me of a 40s pinup girl.
“I see you’ve been getting some sun,” she said as she lifted her sunglasses to get a better look. Her eyebrows lifted approvingly, and she pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.
“Actually, today was my first day getting outside.”
“Your skin looks warm, but then again you’ve got that ‘fucking’ glow.”
I looked around to make sure no one else overheard her. “Let’s try not to get kicked out of this place. I told Joel we were meeting for lunch here, and I’m pretty sure he had to call ahead to get us a pass to eat here. Also, I think it goes without saying that we should leave his name out of our conversation. He does live here, after all.”
“Yes, Mother. Any other rules you need to address before the waiter comes and I’m left to my own devices?”
“Behave.”
Her hands rose to bump the curled ends of her hair while she gave me a wink. I wasn’t sure if she meant to reassure me, but it had the opposite effect. I was almost more nervous. Kerri was a bull in a china shop, which was hard to achieve in a place like Vegas, where people lost their inhibitions like gamblers lost money.
After the waiter returned to take our order, I waited until he was out of earshot to get right down to business.
“He’s not telling me anything. So, I’m on my own. Anything you have for me would be helpful. I could use a handout at this point. I’m desperate.”
“Well, I came armed,” she said, patting her laptop bag, propped up by the leg of her chair. “I don’t know what you specifically need, but I’ll help you with whatever I can.”
She pulled her laptop out, setting it on the vacant space of the table. All of our screens were fitted with privacy filters, so I wasn’t worried about the people who sat facing her computer—they wouldn’t be able to see any more than a black screen.
“When all of this is over, I owe you a drink.”
“And I’ll be collecting,” she said just as the waiter came back with our plates—a dainty salad with an ahi tuna sandwich for me and a halibut filet in miso broth for Kerri. As I took the first bite of my sandwich, I reminded myself not to get too comfortable there—I wasn’t staying. This is only temporary.
“Did he tell you they set a date for the trial?”
“What? Already?” I questioned around a mouth full of food.
“Yeah, so whatever magic trick you’re trying to pull off, you better be quick.”
<
br /> “When is it?” I asked, trying extra hard not to choke from shock and from the frisée that raked its way down my throat.
“The 21st.”
“But that’s only nine days away. Who’s the judge?”
“Sorenson.”
“I don’t know him.”
“She’s kind of a hard-ass. I’d say you have your work cut out for you.”
Although I trusted Kerri, I didn’t want to give her too much information or point out that I’d poked holes in Lara’s story.
“Do we have a current address for Lara? The one I have is from the report, and from what it looks like, someone else was living there with her. You’ve seen her; she doesn’t look like someone who is rooming with some college kid. I can’t imagine she could find anyone who would want to share a space with her, let alone an apartment.”
With a few keystrokes, Kerri started reading off a street address that didn’t sound familiar. I typed the address in my phone and continued prying information from my friend.
“Did you know she had a boyfriend? I saw on Facebook she’s seeing someone.”
“Yeah, they’re getting his deposition on Friday. Apparently he’s the reason that Lara broke up with Joel. He’s the one who took her to the hospital.”
“He said he broke up with her. Whatever. Where was he when all of this was going on?”
“Beats me. I’m sure Henderson will ask though. Your boyfriend’s lawyer got the case to be seen behind closed doors. I told you that, right?” she asked as she cut another piece of her fish off and brought the fork to her fire-red lips.
“Jury?”
“No.”
“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
“Well, whatever it is, he’ll have a verdict much quicker. Without press there, he won’t be hit as hard either.”
“I’ve got to figure this out for him.”
“You know he does have a lawyer, right? One of the best in the city, actually. It’s not like he’s working with some public defender.”