"I told you I don't drink."
"Mr. Bourbon, please answer the question."
"What's the question?"
"Have you ever seen this man?" Luke walked over to the defense table and pointed at Thevenot. Perkins, the defense lawyer, stood up and objected. The judge asked the lawyers to approach the bench. Four men in suits leaned over the DeYoung's desk, their arms folded on top of it, and listened to the judge, who spoke softly so the jury couldn't hear him. The lawyers went back to their tables, except for Luke, who returned to the podium in the middle of the courtroom. I stared at his back as he faced Mr. Bourbon on the witness stand.
"I have no more questions for the prospective juror." Luke sat down.
John Perkins, the lawyer from James's firm who represented Thevenot, went to the podium. He faced Mr. Bourbon, who sat on the stand in his sweatshirt with a picture of Superman plastered across the front, the hood hanging down his back, his bald head shiny and slick.
"Mr. Bourbon, do you know Mr. Thevenot, the defendant?"
"I'm not sure. He looks familiar." He glanced at Thevenot then at the judge. "Hard to say, Judge." He looked back at Perkins.
"What would it take for you to know for sure?"
"I don't know. Maybe I seen him somewhere before. Maybe not."
"Let's just say you know Mr. Thevenot." Perkins paused and looked at Thevenot, then back at Bourbon. "What is your opinion of him?"
"Seems okay to me." Bourbon licked his lips and stared at Perkins.
"Do you think he could have shot a man in cold blood?" Perkins put his hands behind his back. He was holding a Fanta orange soda.
"Oh, no. I don't think he could do that. Not a white man, at least." Perkins froze, then looked at the judge who shrugged as if to say, "You asked the question."
"Okay. Do you think he could shoot a black man?"
"You mean a nigger? Sure, Thevenot could shoot a nigger, but I don't think he could shoot a white man." Bourbon licked his lips again.
Luke jumped up. "Your Honor, I move that this juror be dismissed."
"We accept this juror, Your Honor." Perkins looked at Luke then back at the judge.
"You have one more peremptory challenge remaining, Mr. McMath. Do you want to use it now?" Judge DeYoung looked at Luke, then turned his glare towards Perkins as though he wanted to hit him. Everyone knew Perkins wanted as many prejudiced jurors as he could seat. The defense and the prosecution each had twelve peremptory challenges. If Luke used his last one on Mr. Bourbon, the Defense could railroad another six prejudiced jurors onto the panel.
"May I have a few minutes to confer with my team, Judge?"
"I'll call a ten-minute recess." The judge banged his gavel and walked out the private door behind the bench. Luke sat at the prosecution's table with his head bent towards the others, who were in a semicircle.
The Judge returned in precisely ten minutes.
"You decision, Mr. McMath?" The Judge sat in his tall, leather chair and addressed the defense table. Luke stood up behind his table.
"We accept Mr. Bourbon, Your Honor." Luke sat down. There was a collective gasp from the gallery, and the Judge banged his gavel but didn't speak. Everyone shifted around, looking at each other, eyebrows lifted, then we all tried to settle down. Mr. Bourbon went to sit in the jury box with the other five jurors.
One additional juror was selected by the end of the day on Wednesday, a total of seven.
When the judge adjourned at five thirty, Luke turned around and motioned for me to wait a few minutes. The courtroom cleared out, except for the lawyers. Thevenot left with his parents, following them through the door to the hallway. I sat with my purse on my lap, and Luke came through the gate and sat next to me.
"I'm going across the street to Charlie's Cafe with my team." He patted my knee then pulled his hand away as though he was afraid someone would see him being affectionate with me. "We are going to meet for about an hour. Would you wait to have dinner with me?"
"Sure. Are we going out or eating in?" I tilted my head and tried to look at him sideways because he was sitting next to me, and it was hard to look him in the eye.
"I'll bring something from Charlie's." He patted me again then went back to his table.
*
I stopped by my dad's house on my way home. James's car was in the driveway. I walked up the steps onto the front porch where they sat in rockers facing the street. I kissed Daddy on the top of his head and James on the cheek, and I sat on the swing.
"What are you guys talking about?" I noticed that James had a beer, and Daddy was drinking something that looked like lemonade. He was under doctor's orders not to drink alcohol because he had cirrhosis and had almost died. He was back on his feet after years of recovery and hadn't worked as a CPA since I was fifteen.
"Just shooting the breeze." James took a long swig of beer.
"Oh. I was wondering whether you've heard whether the investigators have turned up anything related to what happened to me." I pushed myself gently on the swing and looked directly at James.
"How would I know that?" His voice sounded gruff.
"Because you're my brother, and you're a lawyer, and you see Reggie Borders every day, and you should want to find out who did such horrible things to me." I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"Borders told me you refused to give the investigators any leads." He stood up to leave.
"What kind of leads would I have?" I got off the swing and faced him. Daddy was between us sitting in his rocker. "My head was in a pillowcase. My hands were tied behind my back. I don't know if it was a man, woman, or beast; I'm not sure whether I was beaten with a bat, a fist, or a shovel."
"Well, if you can't help the investigators, how do you expect them to find the guys?" He squeezed his empty can until it caved in at the center, then he bent it in half. The sound of crushed aluminum pierced the air and made me angry.
"Surely they found fingerprints or hair samples or something." I took a step in front of Daddy's chair, so I could be closer to James.
"Why don't you talk to Borders yourself?" He turned and walked towards the door to the house. "It's not my case. Maybe you should get a lawyer." He slammed the door when he went through it.
"You'd think my brother would be more sympathetic about what happened to me." I sat back on the swing and looked at Daddy.
"James has a lot on his mind." Daddy looked straight ahead and rocked hard in his chair. "Give him a break."
"What kinds of things does James have on his mind?" I raised my voice. I felt angry and confused.
"You'll have to ask him." Daddy kept rocking, and I knew our conversation was going nowhere, so I walked down the front steps and never said goodbye.
*
I went to the store and bought some candles, a nice bottle of red wine, and canapés. When I got home, I inserted a tape of classical music in my stereo and set the candles out: two on the island, one on the coffee table, and one on the piano. I turned on two lamps and waited to light the candles just before seven o'clock.
I'd gotten a couple of Sam Massey's sons to move the upright Steinway my dad had bought me when I was six from his house to my apartment. I sat at the keyboard for the first time since the beating on October 30 and played Fur Elise, my dad's favorite. Then I played my own favorite, The Emperor's Concerto by Beethoven, sometimes referred to as, Emperor, that I had played for my recital the end of my freshman year at Centenary College.
I felt tears stream down my cheeks as I leaned into the piano and played the riffs, then the opening cords. I could almost hear the violins in the background as I played forte for the first half of the piece, then softened to mezzo forte, then back to forte, almost banging the keys as though they made me angry. After the first half, I started to slip into pianissimo. The quieter the music sounded, the more I cried. I was playing so softly that I barely touched the keys. My eyes were closed, and I thought about the previous night.
/> *
Luke had spooned me in my bed. He'd worn gym shorts and a T-shirt, and I’d slept like a baby for the first time in months. He slipped out of bed early, and I turned over and snuggled in the warmth he left on the sheets, inhaling his scent, so masculine, so Luke. I could hear him in the kitchen, then in the bathroom, and I continued to savor the incredible feeling of peace and serenity. I tried to remember how long it had been since I'd awakened without first thinking of the beating and expecting the villain to be standing over my bed with a pillowcase and a rope.
Luke came back into the bedroom in his suit slacks and dress shirt. I smelled coffee and opened my eyes to see him standing next to the bed with two steaming mugs. He sat on the side of the bed and put one cup on the bedside table. I stretched and sat up.
"I showered and dressed. I was afraid if I didn't, I'd crawl back into bed with you." He ran his hand through my tangled hair.
"Hmm. Is that coffee?" I yawned.
"Yep."
"Coffee in bed. You could spoil me."
"I hope so." He kissed me on the forehead, took a sip of his coffee, then handed the other mug to me. He'd stroked my cheek, kissed my forehead again, and left for the courthouse. I sat up in the bed, drank my coffee, and tried to keep feeling that feeling.
*
My mind returned to the present, and I finished playing Emperor and left my fingers on the keys, my head bent, tears falling freely on the tops of my hands. When I opened my eyes, Luke was standing with his hands on the back of the piano, tears streaming down his cheeks. We stared at each other through what looked like raindrops.
"You didn't give me time to light the candles," I whispered, lifted my hands off the keyboard, and put them in my lap, as though I'd just completed a performance.
"Don't need them. You light up the room." He leaned on the back of the piano.
"How long have you been here?" I felt vulnerable and didn't like being out of control.
"Long enough to hear your soul sing through this piano." He smiled at me, and I blushed.
"I was thinking about us. About last night." I felt the heat rise from my chest to my neck, and my cheeks began to burn.
"I love it when you blush." He stared at me with a huge smile across his face, the dimple in his cheek sunk in so deep I wanted to put my finger in it to see if it ended somewhere. "And I loved sleeping with you."
"Me, too. I slept like a baby." I took a deep breath and considered whether I should complete my sentence. "And I didn't wake up feeling afraid."
"I'm glad." He didn't move, nor did I. We were both afraid to break the spell. There was a special aura around us, like angels singing softly and a cool breeze blowing rose scents through the air. I wanted to ask him about his day. I wanted to tell him about my visit with Daddy. I wanted to get up and light the candles, and open the wine and set the table, but I sat there and basked in whatever I was feeling that I didn't want to go away.
*
Day four of jury selection was productive, and everyone was hopeful there would be a full jury by Friday afternoon.
A beautiful black woman, about Tootsie's age, sat in the witness chair wearing a black, silk dress with a red blazer and three-inch red heels. Her hair was cut in a bob just below her ears, and I was sure it was a wig because it was smooth and an auburn color. She crossed her legs and let her red shoe bob up and down while she waited for Luke to begin questioning her.
"Good morning, Mrs. Jones." Luke placed his legal pad on the podium and leaned forward, one hand on either edge.
"Good morning." Mrs. Jones smiled and looked directly at Luke. He asked her the basic questions, then asked about her occupation, and she said she worked in the lunchroom at Jean Ville High School.
"How long have you worked there?" Luke's shoulders lifted, and I recognized it as a sign that a light went on in his brain.
"Twenty-four years." She nodded as though she were agreeing with herself.
"Do you recognize Mr. Thevenot?"
"Yes, sir. He was a student at the high school some years back. He looks much older now." She looked at Thevenot and grinned.
"Have you ever had a conversation with Mr. Thevenot?" Luke walked to the side of the podium and stood between it and the jury box. All seven of the jurors had their eyes glued to Mrs. Jones.
"No sir, I never spoke to him, not once." She shook her head to emphasize "No."
"Thank you, Mrs. Jones." Luke picked up his pad and returned to his table.
I noticed Thevenot and Perkins had their heads together. Perkins walked to the podium. He had a plastic bottle of Dr. Pepper in one hand and put it on the platform. Judge DeYoung frowned at Perkins and eyed the soda. Perkins removed it from the rostrum and held it behind his back in both hands.
"Mrs. Jones," Perkins's back was to the gallery, but I could tell he was feeling cocky by the swagger he used when he strolled to the jury box and leaned against it with one hip stuck out. "Has Mr. Thevenot ever spoken to you?"
"Oh, yes, sir. A number of times." Mrs. Jones uncrossed her legs and put both her spike heels on the platform in front of her.
"What did he say?" Perkins took a couple of steps towards the witness box, and DeYoung glared at him as though there was an imaginary line Perkins might cross.
"He said lots of things when he come through the line to get his food." She leaned forward and put both her hands on the railing in front of her.
"Like what?" Perkins looked at the judge, who gave him the evil eye.
"He'd say, 'Give me some of that, nigga,' or 'Don't touch my food, mammy.' Or 'Why they let a nigga-woman like you serve me?' Stuff like that." She glared at Thevenot while she spoke.
"How did that make you feel?" Perkins saw DeYoung's evil-eye and stepped back a few feet.
"I just prayed for his soul. That's how it made me feel. Like praying for his soul." She sat back in her chair abruptly and folded her arms across her chest, like she was done.
"The defense rejects this witness, your honor." Perkins backed up to the podium, holding his Dr. Pepper behind his back with both hands.
"Are you sure, Mr. Perkins? This will be your final peremptory." DeYoung looked down and wrote something on a pad.
"I thought that was number eleven, Your Honor." Perkins turned around and lifted his shoulders. His law partner turned pages on his legal pad.
"We'll recess for ten minutes to give you time to recount." The judge banged his gavel and left through the back door. When he returned, the defense decided to accept Mrs. Jones, and she sat with the other seven jurors. By the end of Thursday, there were eleven jurors, several should have been rejected, but the attorneys each had one peremptory challenge which they were saving for the extreme person who might sneak onto the jury.
Judge DeYoung reiterated that the attorneys needed to choose one more juror and two alternate jurors the next day, then he adjourned. It was six o'clock.
*
Luke got to my apartment at seven thirty. I'd had time to light the candles, open the bottle of red wine, and marinate the steaks. The potatoes were in the oven and the salad made. I sat at the piano to play. When he walked in, I was playing My Girl. He grinned at me, put his briefcase on the bar, took his coat off, hung it on the back of a bar stool, and came to sit next to me on the piano bench. I finished the piece and took my hands off the keys.
"You're coming back." He said it softly and took one of my hands in his.
"I hope so." I squeezed his hand and turned towards him. "Want a drink? You deserve one. Long, hard day."
"Yes. Jury selection is always hard, but I can't remember it ever being this difficult." He kissed me on the cheek, stood, and pulled me up.
"You've never selected a jury in Toussaint Parish. It's a foreign country." I faced him and noticed how tired he looked.
"You mean like a euphemism?" He laughed and the bottom of his eyes lifted, making them look like a bird's wings.
"That was hilarious!"
"A mixture of baked potatoes and scented candles." I took a sip of wine and smiled at him over my glass.
"You're too much." He pushed the cassette tape into the stereo, and we sat on the sofa for a while and enjoyed our wine.
"You want to grill the steaks or do you want me to cook them on the stove?"
"I'll grill." He got up and walked out on the deck to light the coals. I took the steaks out of the marinade and put them on a platter, then put the bread in the oven with the potatoes. After dinner, we cleaned up and finished the bottle of wine.
"Can I sleep with you again?" He stood at the sink with a dishtowel in his hands.
"Can you keep your hands off me again?" I was wiping off the countertops and turned to look at him.
"Do you want me to?" He looked hopeful.
"I'm still not ready, Luke. I'm sorry." I felt like something was wrong with me. Why didn't I want this gorgeous, smart, devoted guy to kiss me and make love to me?
"Will you ever be? Ready, I mean?" He stood a few feet away from me and didn't attempt to get closer.
"I don't know." I could tell the energy in the room had changed. He was asking me to commit, something I wasn't ready to do.
"After almost a year and you still don't know?" Lines deepened on his forehead, and his eyes squinted.
"I don't know what to say, Luke." I looked at my hands that were shaking. "I was raped."
"I know. I'm sorry. Sorrier than you can know. I'm not asking you to have sex with me. I'm asking you for a commitment, a future together." He hugged me for a long time.
"Luke, I'm sorry. I can't. Not yet." I looked at him through a film of tears. He walked out of the kitchen, and I heard him in the bathroom, then in the study where he kept his clothes. I turned off the lights in the living area, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and put on long pajama pants and a big T-shirt. I got in bed and waited, wondering whether he'd come.
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