Other people

by Sol Stein

  "Let me outline the problems I see," he said. "I will have a hard time convincing the District Attorney to press the case, even to the point of taking it before the Grand Jury."

  "Why?"

  "Because there is no external corroborating evidence. So many rape accusations come to nothing because rape is almost impossible to prove."

  "Like love. Have you ever been in love?"

  Koch, Koch, don't flirt with dangerous questions. "Go on," I said, "I didn't mean to interrupt."

  Thomassy continued. "If you have property and someone takes it from you, if you can prove the property was yours, that you no longer have it, and that the accused now has it, and you say — even if there are no witnesses — that you did not give him permission to take it, then there is an easy basis for a juror agreeing."

  "I see the problem with rape."

  "I cannot take this case before a Grand Jury. I have to convince a district attorney to do so. And the prosecutor knows that if he gets the Grand Jury to see that there is sufficient evidence that a crime may have been committed, he will then have to face the choosing of twelve citizens who will decide. The prosecutor will want women on the jury because they share the fear of rape and they may be svmpathetic to Francine. But the defense counsel will want men, many of whom will have a touch or more of coercion in their past. The prosecutor will give in on men who have a daughter Francine's age. The defense counsel will try for the older, conservative male — preferably without daughters — who will automatically react adversely to the fact that Francine is physically attractive, and therefore tempting, that she does not wear a brassiere, which is a provocation, that she is not married yet at twenty-seven and the jury will get the idea she's been around. Under the new law, the defendant's lawyer can't cross-examine her about her sex life without risking a contempt citation, but so what? Her life style will be apparent, and that's enough to condemn her in a lot of eyes. For me, the most difficult aspect is that I will have to do whatever I can from backstage, as it were. It is the prosecutor and the defense counsel who will be adversaries in the arena, the people versus the defendant. As her lawyer I have no role except to shore up the reluctant prosecution as best I can. You see the problems?"

  I nodded.

  "I see the game plan as follows," Thomassy continued. "A minority of men," he looked at me, "are attracted to smart, even aggressively smart women."

  "An equal combatant on the field of life."

  Thomassy liked that. "However," he said, "the chance of getting more than one or two such men on the jury is poor. On the contrary, there will be some men — the defense counsel will fight like hell to get them on — who are working class, or middle class with a working-class orientation. Men who feel safe with women who are in every respect, and not just in bed, beneath them."

  "Yes," I said, "but such men are not psychopathic rapists. This Kos-lak man is a clear type. He must defend his ego by forcing a superior-seeming woman. It is as old as the world. If I put my penis in the queen, she is no longer my queen but an equal. I have raised myself by putting her down."

  "If I were prosecuting the case myself — and I wish to hell that were possible instead of relying on whatever jerk is going to be assigned this — I'd have to try to make the jury feel repulsed by Koslak's act."

  "The fact is," I said, "that they will be intrigued by it. As we are,"

  Thomassy had not expected that. "Come," I said, "in the privacy of our conversation, we have to be precise. Koslak's penis has been where yours and mine would like to go. It has to intrigue us that this strong-arm idiot made his way, while we are inhibited by all the things we think make us civilized. Including affection."

  He was silent, so I offered to refresh his drink. He shrugged it off.

  Finally he said, "I have a reputation for liking difficult cases."

  "One does not like to play chess against checker players. You see the conflict? One wants strong opponents, and one wants to win against them, so that we will think of ourselves as even stronger."

  "Do you usually win, Dr. Koch?"

  "At chess?"

  "With patients."

  "I am in the curing business. There is nothing to win."

  "Do you always cure?"

  "No, one always hopes."

  "I don't like to depend on hope."

  "Do you always win, Mr. Thomassy?"

  I noted that he did not answer me. Then I said, "May I give you a word of hope then? Let us reflect a moment on Francine's psychology. We have no proof that she did or did not want relations with this Koslak man. Why would she want to have intercourse with a man like that?"

  "She wouldn't."

  "Ah, but some intelligent, educated, strong women at every time have sought out the gamekeeper. They are fed up by our civilities, our circumlocutions, our gentleness even."

  "I don't think that's true of Francine," he said.

  "Ah," I said, "that is the point. If we can prove somehow convincingly that this particular individual, Francine Widmer by name, would not want to have sex with such an individual as Koslak, and if he admits to having sex with her, then you have proven rape."

  "The world I function in demands hard evidence."

  "If you don't think psychological fact is hard evidence, you have come to the wrong place."

  "I'm listening. Go on."

  "Can she, on the witness stand, be asked questions that make it evident she would not have interest in a brute like Koslak?"

  "I don't know how much of that a judge would allow."

  "The judge cannot have a Polaroid photo of the act."

  Thomassy laughed. "Wouldn't help. It would have to show her resisting."

  "She says she did. For a while."

  "She says, that's the problem. Her word against his."

  "Surely she would make the better witness."

  "It depends on whether his lawyer is better than the prosecutor."

  "Not the facts of the case?"

  "Not usually. And in this matter, there are pitifully few objectively verifiable facts."

  It seemed time for me to say what I had planned to. "Mr. Thomassy, you have an option not to pursue the matter any further."

  He was without response, so I said, "I do not have that option. She is a patient of mine. She was before the event, she continues — I hope she continues — after the event. My role with her will be very difficult if she is to spend her emotions in rage that justice could not be had. Both of us are dependent on you."

  It was at that moment that the telephone rang. Service should answer, but they did not. It rang again and again, and so I excused myself, and went into my study to find that it was service calling.

  Thomassy rose from his chair when he saw the color of my face.

  "Service took a call from Francine Widmer."

  "Saying?"

  "She had to cancel. But she didn't have an appointment this evening."

  "She knew we had."

  "She said she was having a repeat of her problem. She said she needed au secours urgently. Help."

  "She's gone back to her apartment."

  "And what's-his-name is after her again."

  Thomassy went for the phone. He flipped through his wallet for a card of numbers, dialed. To me he said, "Get me her address." As I looked, I could hear him identify himself and say there was a crime in progress. He spelled Francine Widmer. I gave him the address from my records. He was like a man on fire when he hung up. "I'm driving up there now. Will you come?"

  "Yes," I said.

  When I was in Thomassy's car, racing like a maniac eighty miles an hour up the West Side Highway, I said only one thing to him. "You didn't tell the police it was a rape."

  "You're damn right," he said.

  Fourteen

  Koslak

  I wasn't gonna let Jason get too familiar with Mary and me. That bathtub scene was okay once, I mean watching Jason giving head and Mary going off like July Fourth was an experience, but I felt a bit like queer afterwards,
you know what I mean, three persons, two of us being men? I don't want Jason getting familiar with Mary when I'm at the station because if I caught him at it without my permission I'd have to do something about him, wouldn't I?

  I figured the best way to get Jason's mind off the bathtub party — I almost said bathtub party, isn't that funny? — I reminded him about Widmer. Jason, he wasn't too sure, but I invented a whole ton of stuff about how being a queen bee made her an expert in all kinds of things Jason might like to try, and I guaranteed him she'd appreciate the way he gave head.

  Jason was no pushover, "You sure you made it with her?" he asked.

  "Would I lie to you?" I said to him.

  "She wasn't any trouble, was she?"

  "All women are a bit of trouble," I said.

  "Mary wasn't."

  "Oh Mary can be trouble sometimes."

  I really wanted to get his mind off my turf. From all the hours rapping at the station I've gotten pretty good at talking up a hard on, and Jason finally says okay, he'll join me the next time I have a go at Widmer.

  I explained there was one problem, she hadn't been home for a few days, but I'd let him know when.

  When came right away. It was only a couple of minutes later when I see lights in her window, I go racing downstairs to Jason's place and say, "Come on, man, now."

  Fifteen

  Francine

  Of course I had no intention of staying the night. The minute I came in the door I knew I could not go on living there while Koslak was still on the loose. All I wanted to do was to stuff a few things I needed into a canvas duffel and get the hell out of there fast. I was jumpy about Thomassy's meeting with Dr. Koch that evening, and I thought I'd just keep myself busy after work by driving up to the apartment, getting what I wanted real quick, and scramming. I planned to drive up to Mom and Dad's. By the time I got there, the meeting with Dr. Koch would be over. I had asked each of them to call me afterwards, and I hoped at least one of them would.

  The doorbell ring had the same effect on me as sticking a hairpin in an electric outlet. I'd done it once at the age of three and still remembered. Who could it be?

  At first I wasn't going to answer at all.

  It rang again. Then a voice said, "It's the super."

  At the door I said, "I didn't call you."

  "There's a leak in the ceiling in the apartment below. I have to shut your kitchen water off."

  He'd been in the apartment several times for various things and had never given me any trouble. I had to let him in, didn't I?

  I slipped the safety chain, unbolted the deadlock, and opened the door. At least with him there, I'd be safe from Koslak. I noticed he wasn't wearing his prosthetic arm. He went right into the kitchen, carrying a big plumber's wrench in his good hand, and I went into the bedroom to finish putting my extra underthings, pajamas, and et ceteras into the duffel I had gotten down from the closet. I was almost finished. I figured I could tell him I was going out and just go. He could lock up on his own if I left him the key to the deadlock. On second thought, that wouldn't be a good idea. It never occurred to me to go into the kitchen to watch him turning off the water under the sink. I find it embarrassing to watch any repairman because I don't like people staring at me while I'm working.

  Then I heard the super in the living room. He must have finished.

  He was already at the door, about to open it, and I said, "Did the water do a lot of damage?" and he said, "Not too bad." Then I asked him when he would be able to turn the water back on because I was going away and he couldn't get into the apartment if the deadbolt was on. I didn't want to hang around.

  "You've got water now," he said. "I found the problem."

  It didn't sound right to me.

  "You sure?"

  "Sure."

  "Well, thank you," I said, and watched him unbolt the door. He opened it, but instead of going out, well, he let Koslak in. Koslak quickly locked the door behind him, and they both just stood there, staring at me.

  I said, "I was just getting ready to leave." They mustn't see how terrified I am.

  I went to the bedroom, zipped up the duffel, and came back out to the living room. They were still in front of the door.

  "Excuse me," I said. The super was about to step aside when Koslak put his hand on the super's good arm.

  "You know why we're here," Koslak said to me.

  "I'm late for an appointment," I said.

  "We won't keep you too long," Koslak said with that tight grin.

  We. Both of them. Oh no.

  "It's a doctor's appointment," I said.

  "Oh, you sick?" asks Koslak.

  I didn't answer. He said, "Is it catching?"

  If I said I have the clap, would that put them off? I could feel the constriction in my throat.

  "Please," I said to the super, "the doctor charges fifty dollars whether or not I show up."

  The super looked at Koslak. Koslak said, "What kind of doctor charges fifty dollars, a shrink?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, that's easy. If you get laid enough, you won't need a shrink."

  The super laughs at this.

  "Please let me call him."

  The super looks at Koslak again.

  "No calls." Then to the super, "Don't want to spoil the party, right?"

  The super looks uncomfortable. Is it possible he didn't know Koslak intended to force me? I appealed to him. "Please?"

  Koslak's worrying about the super, I can see that. He said, "Everybody stay calm. Just give me the number, I'll call."

  I tell him Koch's number. Koslak goes to the kitchen phone. The super remains at the door.

  Koslak yells from the kitchen, "Give me that number again, doll."

  I repeat the number slowly, trying to control the tremor in my voice.

  "Where are you going?" he snaps at me.

  "I need a glass of water." My throat is tightening.

  I run a glass of water from the tap. I swallow once or twice. I just cannot drink it all. It's as if my throat had narrowed to the closing point. Think fast.

  "Tell the doctor…" I said.

  "I know what to tell him," Koslak snapped.

  He dialed, then put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Shit," he said, "it's an answering service."

  "Tell them to give Dr. Koch a message."

  Koslak said, "This is a message for Dr. Koch." Then to me, "What message?"

  "Tell them it's Francine Widmer. Have to cancel. I'm having a repeat of my problem. I—"

  "Hold it?" Koslak shouted. "I can't remember everything."

  "Let me tell them."

  "No!"

  "Tell them to tell Dr. Koch I need au secours urgently."

  "What the fuck's that?"

  "My medicine."

  "You don't have any?"

  I shake my head.

  "Say it again."

  I repeated it. Koslak said to the service, "This is some damn medicine she needs. Osekure." Then to me. "They want me to spell it."

  "A-U-S-E-C-O-U-R-S."

  He repeated each letter after me, then hung up.

  "She got it. Now you're going to get it. There's a little medicine old Jason here and I need."

  Koslak pointed to the bedroom.

  Think. Will Koch understand my message. Even if he does, will he know what to do? Maybe Thomassy'll know what to do. If they get the message. In time. Anything to delay. This is a new experience for the super, he's looking hesitant. Take a chance.

  I took several steps in the direction of the super. Not too close. "Please," I said to him, "don't make me do anything I don't want to."

  Koslak's shout cut across the room. "This is my show!" he bellowed. I threw my arm across my face because I could see the slap coming as he rushed at me. The flat of his hand hit my arm, which only made him more angry as he grabbed my other arm, twisted it hard behind my back just like the last time. Stay on your feet.

  He pushed and pulled me by my arm, twisting to get me to my kn
ees. I must try to scratch, get some skin under my fingernails. I must try to get at least one hair. I must try to tear some clothes. I must not douche afterwards. The hell with proof, I didn't want to let it happen!

  That's when I started screaming. I screamed and screamed and screamed, as he twisted me down to the carpet.

  I remember his slapping me across the face once or twice to stop me, but it was I who stopped myself, exhausted. He had let me go.

  I lay there looking up at both of them.

  "That did you a lotta good, didn't it?" said Koslak. "Nobody heard."

  Somebody must have heard.

  I listened. If anyone had heard, no one was doing anything about it. Nobody wants to get involved.

  "What if somebody comes?" I heard Jason whisper.

  Koslak didn't bother whispering. "We heard the screaming, too, didn't we? We came to investigate, to see what we could do, right? It's our word against hers, and there're two of us."

  I said to Koslak, "Can I stand up? I want to talk."

  "I came here to fuck, not talk."

  "I want to talk to you about that," I said.

  "I'm gonna ram it so hard you'll feel it come outa the top of your head. What have you got to say about that?"

  I started to get up. My arms hurt. My face hurt. "I want to talk about what turns you on."

  Koslak turned to the super. "Knocking her on her ass is what turns me on."

  "Do you ever look at those magazines?" I said.

  "What magazines?"

  The super, the quiet one, said, "Skin."

  "Is that what you mean?" said Koslak.

  I nodded.

  "So what?"

  "You want to see my skin?" I said.

  The super was looking very unhappy. Koslak gave him a pat on the ass, saying, "This is going to be all right, man."

  "If you like to see skin…" I said. I opened one button of my blouse.

  "Listen," said Koslak. "Who the fuck you think you're kidding? Take your clothes off before I rip them off."

  I opened another button. How long could I keep this going?

  "Come on!" Koslak yelled, coming toward me.

  "Okay," I said, "okay," and opened my blouse all the way. The super is looking. Koslak is looking.