Trial by Fire

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “If you’ll let me go forward and fight for what’s rightfully yours,” he said, cutting his eyes to her, “and not let your husband pressure you into an unfair settlement, you can buy whatever you want.”

  “Nah,” she said, shaking her head, “all this fighting over money is wearing me out. It just isn’t worth it, Sam. Besides, I earn a decent income. I can manage on my own without taking anything from Brad. The house isn’t much, but it’s almost paid for, and if my car breaks down, I’ll just get it repaired.”

  “I’m not talking about alimony,” Sam said, pulling the car onto Stella’s cobblestone driveway and killing the engine. “You’re not eligible for alimony due to your income, but some of those savings accounts that have disappeared represent money you earned and saved. Do you want to let him cheat you like that?”

  “Yeah,” she said, smiling at him and then quickly falling serious. “Let him have it. Who knows? Maybe he’s earned it. From the way he tells it, I’ve made his life a living hell for the past six or seven years, so—”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Sam said. “Not only that, it’s foolish. If you don’t fight for it, the court may not even award you the house, Stella. And what happens if you get sick? What if you can’t work? What about retirement? Can you live comfortably on your county pension?”

  “Hey,” Stella told him, reaching over and clasping his hand, “it isn’t that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do, it’s just that money doesn’t matter to me. If I live in a house, fine. If I have to live in an apartment, that’s fine too. Besides, I probably won’t even live to reach retirement, so why worry about it now?”

  They both fell silent. Outside the night air was heavy with moisture. Crickets were chirping around White Rock Lake, only a short distance from where Stella lived. Her house was hidden in a thick batch of elm trees, making it totally private, if not somewhat isolated. An older ramshackle structure that she and her husband had never taken the time to repair, the house had been built in the early 1900s, and then remodeled about thirty years ago. At one time the structure had been a twelve-stall horse stable, belonging to the sprawling mansion that looked down on them from the hill above. Now it contained a living room, two small bedrooms, a study, and a fairly well-appointed kitchen that Stella never found the time to use.

  Seeing a light flash through the windshield, she sat forward. “Look, it’s lightning. Guess it’s going to rain. No wonder it’s so sticky and humid. It reminds me of Houston when it gets like this.”

  “I think you should slow down,” Sam said, turning to look at her. “You drive yourself too hard. Stress can cause the body to malfunction. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. You’re a young woman, but that doesn’t preclude you from developing heart disease, cancer, even a stroke.”

  Stella had dozens of unanswered questions about his wife, their marriage, her untimely death, but she was reluctant to ask. Their religious backgrounds were very different as well, as Sam was Jewish and Stella had been raised a Catholic.

  Watching as another bolt of lightning zipped across the sky, Stella wondered if Sam knew how vulnerable she was right now. Her career had never been more promising but the pending divorce had left her feeling lonely and dejected. Her husband’s leaving her for another woman had affected her more than anyone would ever know. During the frenetic pace of the Pelham trial, she had been unable to give the problem much thought, but now that the case was over, she knew she had to come to terms with it.

  Was this why so many women slept with their divorce attorneys? she asked herself—to convince themselves they could do it, go back out in the world and find another man, recreate a new life?

  “Let’s go inside,” Stella said. “It’s going to start pouring any minute.”

  Oh,” he said, “it’s late and I’m sure you’re exhausted. Maybe another night would be better.”

  Stella felt her spirits plummet. Sam was a handsome, successful man and probably had his pick of beautiful women. Dallas was full of them, she reminded herself. Dallas women,knew how to dress, how to fix their hair and makeup, how to giggle and beam at just the right moment, making the man they were with feel as if he was the most important person in the world. Stella, though, was not a Dallas girl either by birth or disposition. In the area of feminine wiles she was clearly outclassed.

  Why would Sam want someone like her? For all she knew, seeing her scar on television had repulsed him, and she was putting him in an awkward position by coming on to him. “Okay,” she said, her hand on the door handle, “then I guess I’ll talk to you sometime next week. Thanks for dinner. I really appreciate you taking me out tonight.”

  “Wait, Stella,” he said, scooting across the seat and quickly embracing her. He pulled back and captured her face in his hands, staring down into her eyes before he pressed his lips to hers.

  Stella responded immediately, kissing him back and lacing her fingers in his hair. Before she knew it, Sam’s hands were everywhere—flitting over her breasts, her buttocks, working their way between her legs. Stella found herself lodged next to the passenger door, partially reclining in an uncomfortable position. “Let’s go inside,” she whispered.

  “I can’t wait,” he said, bending down to kiss her neck. “I want you, Stella. God, you don’t know how much. I thought you were involved with Growman—”

  Rain was splashing against the windshield and as soon as a bolt of lightning appeared, a loud clap of thunder immediately followed. Stella looked up at the roof of the car as Sam pulled her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt, and then fumbled with the snap on her bra. He was too eager, too aggressive. She had expected a shy and tentative lover. Since the fire, she had never let a man other than Brad see her body, let alone make love to her. For Sam, jumping into bed was probably a routine event, she told herself, but for her it was fraught with danger.

  She felt his hand inside her panty hose, his fingers stroking her in the most erotic and sensual way. The contact was electrifying and she jumped, never expecting it to feel this way. Sam’s fingers were surprisingly soft and padded, and despite her apprehension Stella found her body responding. She leaned back in the seat and sighed with pleasure, embarrassed at the wetness she felt between her legs.

  “Wait,” she said, pushing Sam away. “We can’t do this here. I’m going to break my neck.” Seeing the small storage shack she had christened the carriage house, after the actual carriage houses that so many of the older homes around the lake had once possessed, Stella had a brainstorm. “Come on,” she said. “I know a great place for us to go. It’s a lot better than the house. It’ll be an adventure.”

  Before Sam could protest, Stella had darted out of the passenger door and was standing outside the car, motioning for Sam to get out and follow her. As soon as he opened the car door, she took off in the direction of the carriage house about a hundred yards away, laughing as she ran through the rain.

  Once they were inside the shack, both of them completely drenched, Stella stepped back in a corner and started peeling off her clothes. She had selected the carriage house for a specific reason—there was no electricity and thus no way for Sam to see the scars on her inner thigh or the white patches on her back and buttocks where the surgeons had removed the skin grafts.

  “Where are you?” Sam said, fumbling around in the dark.

  “Over here,” Stella said, trying to make it like a game. “You have to find me, but first you have to get rid of those wet clothes. I can’t afford to have my attorney catch a cold.”

  Sam started unbuttoning his shirt. The room was illuminated by a flash of lightning, and she saw him bypassing the rest of the buttons and yanking the shirt over his head. She heard the zing of his zipper, the rustle of his pants as he stepped out of them and then kicked them aside. His shadow moved toward her, and when he passed through a beam of light from one of the windows, Stella saw he was still wearing his jockey shorts. “Everything,” she said, giggling. “Take it all off, Sam. Those are the rules o
f the game.”

  “Oh,” he said, shoving his jockey shorts down around his ankles and kicking them aside.

  Finally he was there, his naked body pressed against her. Stella felt the same jolt of exhilaration she had felt in the car. She inhaled his aftershave, then buried her nose in his chest hair. “I don’t know what it is,” she said, “but when you touch me, my body goes wild. Is that what they call chemistry?”

  “You go wild,” he said, thrusting his pelvis forward so Stella could feel his erection. “You’re driving me crazy. If I don’t make love to you, Stella, I’m going to have to go home and stand in a cold shower until the sun comes up.” He suddenly became still, dropping his hands to his side. “Don’t let me rush you, though,” he said. “If you’re uncertain about this, just say the word and we’ll stop right now.”

  “Yes,” Stella whispered against his chest, her breath coming faster. “Yes, yes, yes.” She could feel the heat emerging from his body, the tautness of his thighs. Rubbing her hands over his back, she felt the solid ridge of muscle stretched between his shoulders. Her hands drifted down to his buttocks. “Good ass,” she said, kneading the solid flesh with her hands. She had never realized that this portion of a man’s anatomy could be so sexually stimulating. Sam’s buttocks were perfectly formed, not flat like Brad’s, but full and shapely.

  “Quit stealing my lines,” he said, seizing Stella with both hands cupped under her buttocks and lifting her off her feet. Then he walked around with Stella hanging on his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist, searching for a place for them to make love. When he didn’t find anything but the concrete floor and a bunch of cardboard boxes, he backed her up against the wall and held her in place with his body.

  Sam kissed her passionately, his hands gently caressing her breasts. Stella moaned in pleasure. She felt so strange, so removed from reality. In the dark carriage house, the wind rattling the rafters and rain pelting the windows, she felt as if she were living out an erotic fantasy.

  “Now,” she panted. “Please, Sam, I want you.”

  Sam plunged inside her and Stella’s head went back and her body bowed. The feeling was so exquisite that she was certain she was going to sink to the floor in a heap. She felt boneless, unstructured, somehow liquid and weightless. How long they made love, she wasn’t certain, but it seemed so quick, so intense, so natural and spontaneous. Stella felt the muscles inside her contracting, and she cried out in pleasure. Only a few moments later, Sam stiffened and moaned, then his body trembled and shook.

  Once it was over, he kissed her tenderly on the lips and then promptly swept her up in his arms. “This was just a practice session,” he told her, carrying her through the rain to the house. “Wait until I get you in a bed.”

  Stella was digging into her purse for her keys. They were standing on opposite sides of Sam’s car, both of them naked, their clothes left on the floor of the carriage house. “Forget it,” Sam said, his arms wrapped around his chest. “You can stay with me tonight. We have a guest room. You need a ride to the office in the morning, anyway.

  Your car’s still there from the other day. We can’t stand out here in the rain like this, Stella.”

  She opened the passenger car door to use the light as she searched her purse for her keys. “I’m certain I put them in here before I went to the airport today,” she said, feeling frustrated and foolish. Turning her purse upside down on the seat, she finally found her keys, then raced back to the porch to unlock the door.

  “Did you listen to the radio today?” Sam said, looking up at the sky. “I hope there isn’t a tornado brewing out there. I saw a bunch of black clouds just now that look awful menacing.”

  Once she had unlocked the door, Stella stepped inside the dark entryway. Sam hit the light switch, and she instantly froze. “Turn it off, Sam,” she said. “Please, I don’t like the light. It’s more romantic in the dark.”

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll trip and fall?”

  Stella clamped her legs shut, hiding the scar on her inner thigh, her arms crisscrossed over her chest. Then she braced herself against the wall, not wanting him to see the white patches on her back. “Will you check the circuit breaker?” she asked him, thinking she could run upstairs and get her robe while he was gone. “I’m afraid the lights will go out after you leave from the storm.”

  “Sure,” Sam said. Then he gave her a curious look. “If the lights are on now, Stella, checking the circuit breaker will accomplish nothing.” He started walking toward her when she darted around the corner into the living room. Sam thought she was playing with him again and immediately went after her, flipping on all the light switches along the walls. He finally found Stella sitting in a chair in a corner, an afghan tossed over her. “I want to see you in the light,” he said. “You’re beautiful, Stella. Don’t deny me this pleasure.”

  Stella just stared at him without speaking. Sam dropped down on his knees in front of her chair and tugged on the edge of the afghan. “If you don’t take this away,” he said, smiling at her, I’m going to stick my head under there.” Don’t,” Stella barked, holding tight to the afghan. A moment later, her face softened. “Tonight was great, Sam. I mean it, but—”

  “But what?” he said. “I don’t take things like this lightly, Stella, if that’s what you’re thinking. You have to remember where I’m coming from, that I lost my wife. I haven’t been with a woman in at least a year now. I care about you. This wasn’t some quickie roll in the hay.”

  “I know that,” she said, tears trickling down her face. “I just don’t feel well right now.”

  “Don’t cry,” he said, reaching out to stroke the tears away. “Why are you crying? Is it something I said?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “It was a difficult day. I’m overtired, I guess. I sometimes get emotional when I don’t get enough rest.”

  Sam pushed himself to his feet and leaned back down to kiss her on the forehead. “I understand, Stella,” he told her. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

  Stella gazed at his naked body with longing, wishing things didn’t have to be this way, that she could take him to her bedroom and make love to him again. Instead, she had to concoct lies and cower in shame. She didn’t have the courage to let him see her body. If he saw the scars on her back and thigh, he might never be able to make love to her again, and she couldn’t face that kind of rejection. “You don’t have to give me a ride tomorrow,” she told him. “Larry Kominsky’s picking me up. I’ve already arranged it. He drives right by here on his way to work.”

  “Will you call me tomorrow, then?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Stella said, smiling at him. “If you want, I’ll call you every ten minutes. You’re a fabulous lover, Sam, better than I ever dreamed you would be.”

  Her remark brought a smile to his face. He turned and walked out of the room. A few moments later, she heard the door close behind him.

  chapter

  FOUR

  Early the next morning, Holly stopped at Janet Hernandez’s desk. “Get Ben Growman in Dallas on the line,” she said. “If he’s in a meeting, tell them to interrupt him.”

  “What’s going on?” Janet asked, seeing the excited look on Holly’s face.

  Holly ignored her and entered her office. Once she was situated behind her desk, she took several deep breaths and waited until she saw the light illuminated on the phone.

  “Mr. Growman’s on line two,” Janet said from the doorway.

  “Shut the door,” Holly barked. For a long time she just stared at the flashing light, imagining Growman’s impatience. She wanted him to wait, to know that she was a busy, important person. Finally, she picked up the phone and said, “It’s been a long time, Ben. How are you doing these days?”

  “I’ve been better,” he said, bristling at the sound of her voice. “What can I do for you, Holly?”

  “We have a problem,” she said, keeping her voice so low he had to strain to hear her. “It’s not a
small problem, Ben. It’s a major problem, one that could cause you and the agency a great deal of embarrassment. One of your employees is in serious trouble. I didn’t have to call you, you know. I’m doing this out of professional courtesy. I hope you appreciate it.”

  “Spit it out, Holly,” he said, sighing. “I don’t have time to play games. Who are you referring to and what have they done? Did one of my people come down to Houston and get arrested for drunk driving?”

  “You wish,” she said. “Try Stella Cataloni, the woman you just endorsed on national television. She’s about to be charged with murder.”

  Stella was in her office conferring with Melinda Richardson. The attorney had just been assigned a new robbery and homicide case and autopsy photos were spread all over Stella’s desk. She held one of them under her reading lamp in order to see it better. “Is this the only wound?” she asked, indicating a small round entrance hole surrounded by scorched flesh in the center of the man’s forehead.

  “Yes,” said Richardson, a thirty-year-old blonde with green eyes and a round, friendly face. “According to the M.E.‘s report, that’s the only bullet wound. The victim died instantly.”

  “I think you have more than a robbery here,” Stella said, setting the photo back down on her desk. “The victim is Asian, right? This was an assassination, probably related to drug trafficking. They could be using the market as a front to deal drugs.”

  “No way,” the woman said. “They took all the money in the cash drawer, even some of the store’s inventory, and the store owner was an older man, Stella. It had to be a robbery.”

  “That may just be a cover,” Stella said. “First, it’s a contact wound. You can tell because of the scorch marks around the wound. Second, have you ever seen a robber in action? One of these days you should set aside some time and look at the film footage the FBI has on file of various bank robberies. These people get enormously excited when they pull off a heist. Many of them are strung out on drugs, of course, so that explains a portion of it, but others simply get turned on by the danger, the thought that they might get caught.”