by Willow, Jo
Now I know how a sideshow attraction feels. It’s bordering on ridiculous and if I didn’t understand the reasoning behind it, I think I would’ve called them all crazy and thrown them out of my house. But they weren’t, so I didn’t.
I was wearing an oversized gray t-shirt, one of Anton’s if I wasn’t mistaken, and a pair of average gray sweatpants. My walking cast was gone, or rather, hadn’t been replaced, and I for one, was glad. In it’s place sat a solid back cane, one like you’d buy in your average corner drug store. Absolutely nothing about me screamed “spoiled rich kid”, or “famous fashion designer”.
They’d planted me in my favorite over-sized armchair with a pillow to my back, and another under my injured foot which was propped up on the matching ottoman. My cane was leaning against the chair arm at my side. On the side table, sat three prescription bottles and a picture of water with a simple water glass and a box of tissues.
Was I comfortable? Yes. Did I have everything I needed? Absolutely. Including an interesting show to watch.
Anton was pacing the floor with his phone glued to his ear, and every now and then he’d glance at me as if he were waiting for me to attempt a prison break. When I smiled at him in acceptance with an innocent expression, he’d either grin and wink, or narrow his eyes in suspicion. I guess it depended on who he was talking to and what they were talking about. He was currently working on his sixth phone call since we got home.
Sean was in the kitchen fixing all of my favorite foods. I think he expected the 82nd Airborne to drop in for lunch.
Ayla was in the office working on the books for the business and trying to determine if we were behind in preparations for the Spring show.
My sister sat on the sofa looking round, aggravated, and ready to swing for her spouse, who was patting her hand and trying to get her to drink a glass of milk. He’d read somewhere that milk was good for the baby and he was intent upon her drinking at least six glasses a day. I knew my sister. Dorothy was two ticks away from giving the wealthy Mr. Deacon Sloan a cold milk enema.
That would have been the show to watch, as far as value for the entertainment dollar went, if it wasn’t for Pierce and Chase. Austin was in the lobby of my building, watching for the arrival of the Detectives that were set to question me this morning. Not that I was supposed to know that, because I wasn’t. Chase told me that, and added that they wouldn’t be alone. They’d be accompanied by two police officers in case they decided to arrest me and take me in for more extensive questioning. Anton had almost popped his clogs. The only thing that had even remotely calmed him down, was the plan that Chase had put in place to save my ass.
This is where it gets good. I swear by all that’s holy that if I hadn’t been living it, I never would have believed that shit like this actually happens. Seriously folks. Some asshole ex-Boxer-has-been, abuses and then stalks my best friend, assaults me in the doorway of my own home, and then drugs and handcuffs me to a bed. He then proceeds to threaten all kinds of shit. After all of that, I’m the one facing potential prosecution because I may have caused him permanent physical damage when I...well, you know. Where’s the justice in this? Huh?
My confidence and trust in the justice system was being sorely tested here people. If I did get arrested and by some strange act of karma this thing went to trial, where in the hell would they ever find a jury of my peers? What peers? You mean to tell me that somewhere out there, there were twelve more cynical, sarcastic, well dressed, man munchers? I’m not saying it would be impossible, I’m saying I’d grow old in jail while they took their time looking. I’ve spent time in a jury pool folks. The room was filled with two-hundred people that were too stupid to figure a way out of jury duty. Put my future in the hands of a group like that? No fucking way. Thanks, but no thanks.
So, with motivation and a strong will to survive, I agreed to follow Chase’s instructions to the letter. I’d play the perfect just released brain trauma patient. I’d let the Sloans and my army of lawyers - none of whom I’d laid eyes on before today - be my mouthpieces. I’d sit in my department store off the shelf clothing, my various body parts propped and proving that I still suffered physical distress. I was not allowed to wear makeup, the ugly yellow and purple bruises were still visible and startling. I looked tiny and defenseless in the huge leather chair and that was the idea. We’d tried the sofa, the recliner, and the loveseat. I looked too comfortable in all of them. Oddly, I was most comfortable in the chair I was perched in, but perceptions were everything and I trusted those around me.
My legal team looked formidable. After an extensive conversation with my father, who was still in Greece with my mother and highly pissed that no one had called them before now, it was agreed that Deacon would handle my legal representation. The Sloans were here and on top of the situation. Besides, for some strange reason that was still shrouded in mystery, the Sloans had attorneys that were more intimately acquainted with criminal law.
That’s how I came to be surrounded by no less than four legal eagles with six more on speed dial. I was assured that other than giving my name, my job was to sit back, look pitiful, and say nothing other than, “I don’t recall”. I practiced the line in my head and I was pretty sure I had it down.
Three men in well tailored suits and designer ties, all with briefcases that cost four figures if they cost a dime, sat having coffee with a woman that had more sharp angles than a TV evangelist. It was impossible to determine her age, but she was old enough to have a law degree from what I imagined was the best law school in the country. Her winter white suit was spotless and flawless, her ice blue blouse matched her ice blue eyes and her perfectly coiffed blonde hair was pulled back in a low french twist, not a strand out of place. It wouldn’t dare. If I was correct, the men were terrified of her and that alone earned her my respect.
There is something interesting to note at this point. The lady lawyer, whose name happened to be Juliet, knew Pierce. More than once he placed his hand on her shoulder and she smiled up at him warmly. They were on a first name basis and appeared quite comfortable with one another. I made a mental note to ask Teddy Bear about it later.
I was still smiling like the village idiot when Chase’s phone rang twenty minutes later. Our surprise group of inquisitors were on their way up and just as Chase had suspected, there were two detectives and two police officers.
I almost felt sorry for them. There were four of them. I had my own detective, three Sloans, one homosexual chef, a nervous accountant, a pissed-off, milk-sipping sister, and four lawyers that probably made more in an hour than those guys made in a day. It wasn’t fair, but neither was the situation I was in. I don’t want to seem like I’m above the law, because I’m not. But damn it, Tony Manconi isn’t either and where’s the justice that should be raining down on his ass? Huh? They can’t find him so I’m the one taking the heat? I think not. Just as my lawyers.
Anton answered the doorbell. He was polite, but frosty. He offered them coffee and when they declined, he led them to me. The look on their faces was priceless. They knew the jig was up when they saw the roomful of faces and the four well-heeled people gathered around me like an offensive line around a quarterback. I sat looking pitiful, damaged, and broken. Anton winked at me over their shoulders and I almost lost it.
Deacon introduced himself, the other Sloans, and the lawyers present. Sean, my sister, and Ayla were left out of the introductions and they seemed fine with that. Chase had gone into the office so that his part in this would remain under the radar. The police officers smiled at one another and stepped back towards the door. They knew I wasn’t going anywhere, even if the detectives hadn’t quite gotten that far in their assessment yet.
Both men who were there to question me, were attractive. I’d say they were both just under six feet. One had dark brown hair, his eyes were the color of chocolate. His gaze was piercing and I’d have bet an original creation that he was good at his job. I was ready to confess to burying Hoffa at Yankee Stadium and I w
asn’t even born when all of that went down.
His name was John Pastorelli and it took me less than two seconds to know exactly why he’d been assigned to this case. He obviously shared ethnicity with Marconi and by the look on his face, I could tell I’d get very little sympathy from him, no matter what I said. The thought was disturbing for a lot of reasons.
His partner’s name was Shane Ormand and he was a blonde haired, blue eyed cutie. Younger than his partner by at least a few years, he looked star-struck and out of his element. This was more pronounced when he was introduced to the Sloans. Their reputations for something, be it business or their highly publicized social lives, had impressed the hell out of the young Detective Ormand. Him I liked.
They both took the seats offered and turned their focus to me. Just my luck, it was Pastorelli that was to be my interrogator.
“Ms. Lincoln, I want you to relax. We’re not here to frighten or disturb you. We understand that you were released from the hospital just this morning. I trust you’re feeling better?”
It was at that moment I became aware of a code that had not been discussed. Juliet’s hand was now resting on my shoulder in a false show of affection. She gently squeezed and I took that to mean I could answer the question. Time to test the water.
“I still have moments Detective, but I feel better in my own home with my family and friends around me, yes.”
He nodded as if sympathetic, and leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped between. His head was turned towards me, his attention never wavering. His partner was ogling Deacon as if he were considering asking him for a job.
“Ms. Lincoln, I assume you know why we’re here, since you obviously knew we were coming.”
The sarcasm did not escape me, and if he thought I’d be embarrassed by his dig, he was sadly mistaken. I was just about to open my mouth and tell him as much, when I felt Juliet tap once on my shoulder. I closed my mouth and smiled.
My mouthpiece began flexing her muscles.
“Detective, we’re here because our client plans on pressing charges against Mr. Anthony Marconi for Assault and Unlawful Restraint. We respected her right to privacy and recovery while she was in the hospital, and encouraged her to act quickly once she was discharged. Since Mr. Marconi is supposedly wanted for questioning for another case involving Arson and Reckless Endangerment, but strangely has not yet been apprehended, we figured that we had time to add our charges to the pile that seems to be accumulating at a rapid rate.”
It took everything I had to keep my jaw from dropping to my chest. Another part of me wanted to smirk all cocky like and say, “Yeah. What SHE said.”
Detective Pastorelli was not a happy camper if his body language revealed anything at all. He was now sitting upright, his spine ramrod straight. Those chocolate lasers were now focused on Juliet. The expression on his face spoke volumes. He’d underestimated her and he was calculating how much that mistake was going to cost him.
“Ms. Foster, I can assure you that we’re doing everything within our power to find Mr. Marconi. He’s not surfaced since his unfortunate encounter with Ms. Lincoln.”
His eyes fell back to me and I reached for my glass of water, giving myself a moment to regroup. I said nothing because he’d asked me nothing. I put the glass back down, my eyes never leaving his. Something my father said came floating into my mind on the current of discord that flowed unrestrained throughout the room. When I told my parents that I was going into business for myself, they encouraged me. Especially my father. He had one piece of advice and it’s proven to be my salvation on more than one occasion. He said to me, “Melody, when you find yourself in intense negotiations about anything, remember one thing. State your position and say nothing else. He who speaks first, loses. Every time, without exception.”
So that’s how I came to sit there, meeting his eyes defiantly, saying nothing. I could feel Deacon’s smile and Anton’s approval. Evidently they were aware of my father’s theory as well.
The stalemate lasted several long minutes, neither of us uncomfortable with the silence. The difference was, I was in my own home and he’d either have to give in and start questioning me, or leave. He came to me uninvited and that’s the price to be paid for intrusion. The pressure was entirely on him, even if he thought the opposite was true.
Finally, it was Ormand, not Pastorelli that broke the stalemate. In a move that almost seemed choreographed, he suddenly looked at me with his big blue puppy dog eyes, a cheesy grin on his face, and asked the million dollar question as if he were asking me for my autograph.
He leaned forward, his eyes on mine.
“Did you really bite the guy’s dick off?”
I felt Juliet’s solid squeeze on my shoulder, but I had a better idea. It was better because it was honest.
“I honestly don’t know.”
Both detectives leaned away from me as if I were a bad smell. Pastorelli picked that moment to decide he’d had enough of dancing around the subject. Lucky for him, I had too.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s not like we’re asking you if you took the trash out. That might not be memorable. But biting off a guy’s private part? How the hell do you not remember doing something like that?”
I saw Anton clench his hands into fists at the Detective’s tone of voice. I looked at my fiance and gave him a genuine smile. He watched me for a few moments and fave a slight nod. He’d stay out of it...for now.
I returned my gaze to Pastorelli.
“He drugged my glass of water, first of all. I woke up spread eagle, and handcuffed to a bed. That’s pretty traumatic if it’s never happened to you. If you’re not married, I don’t recommend it as a fun dating idea. It didn’t do much for me.”
“So you’re telling us you were on a date?”
“Certainly not. I’m engaged to Mr. Sloan. Mr. Marconi knew that as well. I told him that almost immediately.”
I hadn’t realized it, but I’d slipped into answering their questions without even looking at Juliet or the others. Her hand was still on my shoulder however, and if she squeezed again, I’d stop. Just to make certain everyone knew my intention, I looked up at her and spoke loud enough for Pastorelli and Ormand to hear.
“Juliet, if I shouldn’t answer a question, please let me know.”
She patted my shoulder and replied just as loud.
“Oh I will Melody. No worries there.”
I turned back to Pastorelli and he was scowling. Ormand looked like he was playing a part in a stage play. He kept looking at everyone around him, like he didn’t know who to be more impressed with.
Pastorelli continued, only now he was taking notes.
“So you say you weren’t on a date. But you met him in a bar and you left together. Is that correct?”
“We left because a group of men walked in and began flirting with me. We thought it wise to leave before trouble started.”
“You got into a car with Mr. Marconi...”
“Only because I didn’t see a cab readily available and I didn’t know the area. It seemed rougher than what I was accustomed to. Tony had been the perfect gentleman and I was trying not to pass judgement too soon.”
“So when he pulled up to the Box House, where he was living at the time, how did he persuade you to go inside with him?”
Juliet broke in and in a firm voice said, “Don’t answer that Melody. It doesn’t matter. You weren’t on a date and you could’ve gone inside to wait for a cab. Going inside a place of residence, whether it’s permanent or temporary, is not permission to drug or restrain someone.”
Her eyes were on Pastorelli and her voice was as icy as her eyes. She was reminding him who the victim was. Yes I fought back and it might have been perceived as vicious, but he started it. Not me.
Pastorelli looked at his shoes and then back at me.
“You say that you ‘don’t know’ (he actually made quotation marks in the air with his fingers) if you assaulted Mr. Marcon
i in a very personal way. Is your memory impaired due to your injury Ms. Lincoln?”
“I have no clue, Detective Pastorelli. Know what I do know?”
The strangest thing happened when I asked him that question. You could almost feel the collective holding of breath. It was like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room by a giant. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, waiting for me to screw this up.
I’m not sure why Juliet didn’t squeeze my shoulder with the grip of a drowning man, but she didn’t. I think her strategy at this point, involved pulling my ass out of the fire that I was determined to jump into from the frying pan.
I leaned forward towards Pastorelli and gave him the same glare he was giving me.
“What I know is this. Whatever I did to defend myself? It was bad enough to put me in the hospital with head trauma, but not bad enough to warrant him even going to an emergency room somewhere to have it checked out. So you can sit there and look at me like I’m not worthy to wipe your shoes on, but you’re a ‘facts’ man. Looking at the facts Detective, who really came out worse in the encounter, him or me? Huh?”
He said nothing, but he did swallow hard, giving me courage to continue with my parting shot.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. You can show yourself out Detective. If you have any other questions, contact my attorney and we’ll come to you. Or better yet, why don’t you find the guy with the supposed missing dick and ask him. Have a nice day.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes, refusing to waste another second on this bullshit. Stick me with a fork, I was done.
Several hours, warnings, hugs, and promises later, I was finally alone with Anton. In our place. Alone. For the first time. There are probably multitudes of adjectives I could use to describe what that was like. I’m going with nerve wracking.
The entire time we had company, he was attentive and sweet. He stayed close by, getting me things I needed and guessing at things I didn’t. He was the perfect fiance. I kind of expected that, because everyone was waiting for him to lose it. Once I got discharged, I knew all bets would be off. As surly as he’d been with the nurses and doctors, I thought for sure my time was coming and coming quickly.