A Past That Breathes

by Noel Obiora

  “How is it possible that I have known you all these years, and never known your views on race?” she asked, trying unsuccessfully to smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Somehow we have avoided a discussion on race, in all the time that I have known you.”

  “That is not true.”

  “So, why do I feel like I can’t tell where you stand on racial issues?”

  “You know exactly where I stand on all racial issues because it’s not different from where you would stand on those issues.”

  “I would never in a million years buy what your client’s father told you, and I could not have guessed that you would either.”

  “So, we disagree on how to identify racism and when it occurs.”

  “That is a fundamental disagreement, don’t you think?”

  “No, people who have more experience with it are better at identifying it than others.”

  “So, I should buy your theory because you have more experience identifying it?”

  “No, and neither should I buy Mallam Jackson’s, but I am willing to give it the benefit of the doubt it deserves.”

  “Is it possible that it’s so ridiculous that it doesn’t deserve any benefit of the doubt?” Amy asked.

  It was important that Kenneth realized she was not going to equivocate on racial or religious issues. She would not accede to any claim that he was the expert on race simply by virtue of being African American.

  “Would you believe that five white police officers using wooden clubs would hit a young man fifty times in the middle of a road, just for speeding, for which the law says they should give him a ticket? Would you believe it if you had not watched it on TV?” Kenneth asked, and waited for Amy’s response, but she did not say anything. She was not going to argue the merits of the Rodney King case with him.

  “Would you believe it if someone told you, that despite that video evidence, those officers will be acquitted by twelve well-meaning people in Los Angeles County, not Alabama, not Mississippi, but the City of Angeles itself? Amy, if it had not been filmed, you would not have believed it. But there are very few African Americans who would say they were surprised.”

  “If they were not surprised, why did they riot?” Amy asked pointedly.

  “Because the system had the audacity not only to let that injustice stand, but…and this is just as important…to expect them to embrace it. That’s really what the riots were about—the notion that such racial impunity should be acceptable.”

  Amy sat watching him, not having touched the second drink since she joined him. In this last exchange between them, his demeanor, the passion with which he spoke, the rage in his eyes, the labor of his breathing, and the logic of his reasoning, she saw a glimpse of what might lie ahead in a trial on People v. Jackson, and she did not like it. She could not bear to see him lend believability to the argument that Paul Jackson was as much a victim as Goldie. In their silent interlude, he finished his drink. She went into the kitchen and brought out the jug of margarita and refilled his glass.

  “You are not in the Black Muslim organization, are you?” she asked as she poured his drink. He looked up at her to make eye contact as he answered.

  “I wouldn’t be drinking if I were.”

  “Please spare me,” she said. “Neda was raised a Muslim and still prays. We came to the club right from the bar where we were drinking.”

  He thanked her and drank from what she had poured for him. She sat down again.

  “Kenneth, why did you insist on coming here tonight to tell me you have been retained on this case?”

  “I wanted to let you know in person before you found out officially.”

  “You could have just told me over the phone.”

  “I don’t know. I wanted to convince myself from how you would react to it…”

  “Convince yourself of what? What difference would that make? I can’t tell you what I really feel about your theory of the case because I’m not supposed to get the racial complexity; I can’t tell you what I think of your client because he’s African American; I can’t ask you anything because a lawyer is not supposed to admit anything to an adversary; but you can sit here and tell me that your client is as much a victim in this case as the woman who lost her life, never mind that I am just like her, about the same age, same race, living in the same city, in the prime of our lives. Never mind that she’s six feet under the ground and he’s hiring lawyers to play games in court. Is this the reaction you came for?”

  “I also wanted to reassure you that we can try a murder case and still care about each other.”

  “And why do I need reassuring? Isn’t representing an accused murderer by definition your job as a criminal defense attorney?”

  “Maybe, just maybe I care about you more than you want to know, more than I ever knew.”

  Amy felt this response of his turn something inside her. “Heaven help us,” she thought.

  “Kenneth, we are not in a relationship. If you take the case, we will just take a hiatus from seeing each other or maintain appropriate professional distance until it’s over. After all, we’ve both been in LA three years without seeing each other. What’s another year or so?”

  “Still, the appearance of a relationship may mean that I disclose it to my client.”

  “No! You will not mention my name to that man. No.”

  “I care too much about seeing you to want to keep a distance for the duration of the trial.”

  “And I would be lying if I said I’m not flattered, but what do you expect that to change between us?”

  “Maybe nothing, but I am not willing to give up trying.”

  “For what exactly?”

  “To win you over. I don’t want this case to put me six months behind the eight ball with him.”

  She could not help smiling this time.

  “You are years behind the eight ball with Thomas. I have known him since we were kids.”

  “All the more reason not to delay any further.” He drank his margarita. She sipped. Since she poured herself a second glass and came back to the living room, she had only sipped it.

  “Can I ask you one more question about the case?” Kenneth asked.

  “What?” Amy said.

  “If you are only attorney for the preliminary hearing and pretrial, and there is another senior attorney on the case for trial, is there really a conflict to worry about? I could have a professor I know take the case for the preliminary hearing and pretrial stage.”

  This sounded like a plea to Amy. He did not want to give up his client, she thought, and it must be a significant revenue for his office knowing how much private attorneys charge for murder trials. There were obviously aspects of the case she could not discuss with him. “It would be a scandal before it became a scandal,” she told him.

  After a while when neither said anything else, he slowly got up to leave.

  Amy stood up also and took her glass and his into the kitchen. Standing over the kitchen sink, she wanted to tell him that she did not want to stop seeing him for six months to a year either. She unbent herself and went to get his jacket from the room. As she passed the living room, she noticed he was back at the mantle examining the same picture he had picked up when he arrived.

  “What is your fascination with that picture?” she asked when she brought his jacket back. He replaced the picture and turned to her.

  “You know that cliché, you look like someone I have known all my life?”

  “I’m glad you know it’s a cliché,” she said, grinning.

  He put his jacket on and hugged her. She squeezed him for a brief moment and affectionately ran her hands up and down his back and sides, then gently pushed away from him. As Kenneth walked to the door, she stood by the mantle. He was at the door when she spoke.

  “Did you pick up yo
ur keys?” she asked.

  “I never dropped them,” Kenneth said, patting his pockets to search for his keys. He glanced at the love seat. There was nothing there; so he turned to Amy, who could not stop grinning. She held up his keys.

  “You lifted them from my jacket?”

  “They were in your pants’ pocket.”

  “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked.

  “From one of your clients,” she laughed.

  He walked back to her.

  “Why would they teach you?” he asked as he drew nearer her. She shrugged and wondered how far he was going to go and if she would let him. Her heart felt full with anticipation as Kenneth reached for her waist with both hands.

  “Is this supposed to make me give you back your keys?” she asked through a mild shortness of breath. Kenneth gently pulled her to his body and embraced her, burying his face in her hair. Now he could tell from the softness of their contact that there was nothing between Amy and her designer T-shirt.

  “I don’t want the keys back,” he said.

  “Oh, what do you want then?” she asked, leaning back to peer at his face while pressed against his body, his hands on her back and her palms resting lightly against his chest as if she were preparing to push him away.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked out of breath.

  She shook her head slowly, smiling.

  He kissed her. Standing on her toes, she pressed herself against him. They remained in that position for a while swaying gently back and forth and sideways, before she pushed him away.

  “Stop,” she whispered, and he stepped back but still held on to her. “We’ve both had a bit to drink,” she said.

  “I’m sorry —” he started to say, but she put her hand over his mouth.

  “There’s a movie theatre down the street. Why don’t you take me to a movie instead, and we’ll maybe give the drink some time to wear off before you drive.”

  He smiled and nodded, letting go of her. Suddenly, he seemed shy to her, which made her step forward and put her arms around his neck, and he embraced her as well.

  21

  Super Bowl XXIX

  Kenneth was meeting his dinner posse at Cassandra’s house for a Super Bowl party, but considering Cassandra’s indifference to whether the San Diego Chargers or the San Francisco 49ers won the game, it was just another gathering for the usual couples. He had called Cassandra on leaving the First African Methodist Episcopal Church to say he would like to come early, and arrived carrying beer and bags of ice that Cassandra had asked him to pick up from the store.

  “Where’s Sam?”

  “In the garage. Don’t go there and get him unnecessarily excited to play.”

  Kenneth gestured a surrender. Cassandra had trays arranged on her dining table with unopened bags of different types of chips and covered bowls of several dips. Anthony and Mary would bring the ribs for the barbecue. Pizza and Chinese food were scheduled for delivery shortly before the game started. She opened one of the bags of chips, gave Kenneth a beer, and sat with him by the dining table at the window overlooking the front of the house.

  “What happened to you on Friday night? You stood us up.”

  Kenneth put the can of beer to his mouth, barely concealing the smile the question formed on his lips and looked out the window.

  “I had to meet Amy.”

  “Amy? Am I supposed to know her?”

  “The deputy district attorney I went to college with.”

  “On Friday night? This is serious now.”

  Kenneth drank more beer.

  “And you were right. She’s on the Jackson case, but only for pretrial matters.”

  “You know you’ve certainly crossed the line where you have to disclose it to your client.”

  “It’s not what it sounds like.”

  “What does it sound like, Kenneth? You’re seeing the deputy district attorney assigned to your client’s case, socially.”

  “I have not filed a substitution of counsel yet.”

  “Do you still want me on this case with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then schedule an appointment to see Paul next week. You are making a full disclosure to him, if there is even a chance of me getting on this case.”

  “We might not be subbed in by then.”

  “Still, you’ve agreed to take the case. Let him know all he needs to make an informed decision on whether to even pay you.”

  “She’s only on the case for the preliminary hearing and pretrial disposition.”

  “I can understand you falling for this woman. I really can. You seem to have a history that in your idealistic mind think that this is meant to be. But I can’t understand you not aggressively pursuing this case, or not realizing that if she cares about you as much as you think she may, she would want this case for you. So, it strikes me that this is neither about the case nor about her. This is your insecurity about not having tried a murder case before giving you cold feet.”

  “It is not just that…with this case my life won’t be the same again. I will spend every minute of the next six months or however long it will take breathing this.”

  Anthony and Mary arrived next with the barbecue grill in the back of a pick-up truck, which Kenneth helped Anthony unload and set up in the courtyard. Tiffany and Jed, and a neighbor who usually walked his dog when Cassandra walked Sam, and two non-academic staff members from her school completed the party guest list. The all-California Super Bowl affair had a decidedly northern bias that was over as a competitive event three minutes after it started. Thus, most of the men spent their time around the barbecue, where a smaller television had been moved in the unlikely event that the San Diego team performed another miracle like they did the weekend Goldie was killed. No one was talking about the game during the commercial breaks, but those outside went inside to watch the half-time commercial advertisements on the bigger television, to get more snacks, or in search of interesting subjects or gossip for discussion.

  “Ken, did you tell a feminist law professor that a woman was spoken for?”

  Tiffany asked when Kenneth, Anthony, and Jed came to the dining table at half-time.

  “Spoken for, by another woman? I hope…” Anthony said.

  Others laughed. Cassandra would not let Kenneth answer the question, as she changed the subject immediately.

  “Ken took that case of the nightclub owner accused of murder, but now he is not so sure about representing him,” Cassandra said.

  “Wait! The club where you are not a regular, but everyone knows your name?” Anthony asked.

  “Good for you, Ken. So, why are you changing your mind?” Jed asked.

  “Are you smitten by some kitten and can’t think straight?” Tiffany asked.

  “Seriously, Tiff?” Cassandra asked, and Tiffany laughed.

  “You should stick that on a T-shirt and sell it like Forrest Gump,” Anthony said.

  Anthony, Jed, and Kenneth took their drinks and snacks out to the courtyard again, and there Anthony asked Kenneth why he didn’t bring the gal Cassandra and Tiffany were talking about to the gathering.

  “Is she too good for our humble crowd?” Anthony asked.

  “This is a humble crowd like the San Diego Chargers are a Super Bowl team,” Jed said.

  Shortly after the second half resumed, Kenneth excused himself and left.

  22

  Confessions

  On Saturday morning, following her evening with Kenneth, a messenger delivered an itinerary to Amy. It was from Alana. An executive jet was waiting in a hangar at Burbank Airport to take her to Oakland, and a car was waiting downstairs to take her to the airport. There was still no number to reach Alana, thus Amy could not protest the itinerary. Besides, it was not unusual for Amy to fly home on a whim, and she desperately wanted to see her mot
her. Alana knew all this, Amy concluded, and complied.

  At Oakland International Airport, Alana was waiting at the hangar. As soon as Amy got in her mother’s waiting car, she let Alana know exactly how she felt for having no way to contact her after hearing of the divorce.

  “That is not what I heard,” Alana said calmly.

  “What do you mean, that is not what you heard? I’ve been calling everywhere for you and no one knew where to find you. No one could tell me how you were doing. I was worried sick.”

  “I decided to go to the last place I thought your father might possibly look and get off-grid.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “Thomas’s place in Napa.”

  “I’m not going there, Mom.”

  “Of course you’re not. He knows you spent last night with some Black guy you knew in college.”

  Amy fell back in her seat, stirring inside to scream, but trying to regain her composure.

  “You are my mother, Alana. How could you believe that?”

  “I’m asking you if I should believe it.”

  The limousine was speeding toward the freeway to San Francisco as Amy and Alana sparred.

  “You obviously have time for unfounded gossip, so this thing Edward told me about you and Dad must not be true.”

  “I’m afraid it is.”

  Amy sat looking at Alana, then out the window and straight ahead through the windshield, unsure what to think or say. Alana also did not speak. They were almost on the Bay Bridge when Amy suddenly started speaking about Kenneth. She explained that he had not spent the night, but he had been at her place where they both had a bit to drink and decided to go to a movie, before he left.

  “What was he doing at your house at that hour?”

  “I was supposed to meet him somewhere, but I wasn’t feeling well after Edward told me about you and Dad. So I invited him over.”

  “Invitations like that, at that hour on a weekend, change the boundaries of relationships.”

  “Mom, I spent more weekend nights than I can remember sitting around my living room in college with that man and Elaine, and sometimes just him. Nothing changed.”