by Sol Stein
"I don't think so."
"Look," I said, "it was just the first time."
Then I heard her voice in the background saying purposely loud enough for me to hear, "Who is it, George?"
What else could I do but hang up?
Home, I went through charades of conversation with my parents, what did you do today? I didn't pay attention to what I did today, what did you do today?
"You seem distraught, dear."
You bet your ass I'm distraught. I'm going to steal your gun and keep it loaded on a table facing my door, and if Koslak or the super gets through the door, I'm going to shoot them where the guy said I should kick them.
"How is Mr. Thomassy doing with your case?"
"I'm going to fire him," I said.
My father's face adjusted itself to a totally unexpected piece of news. "We should discuss this," he said.
Now father, under the same set of circumstances in your pied-a-terre — you do have one, don't you? — would you have been flaccid with me, you wouldn't find incest an inhibition, it'd be an encouragement, after all, you've had all these years to get used to the idea, haven't you?
"I think we should discuss this," he repeated.
"By all means."
"Do you find him unsatisfactory in the way he is handling the case?"
No, idiot, I find him unsatisfactory in the way he is handling me.
"I don't want to pursue the case."
"What caused your change of heart?"
Father, you could choose your expressions better.
"It is pointless to force the District Attorney to prosecute a case the government doesn't want to prosecute."
"That's why you have Thomassy."
I don't have Thomassy. One strike and he went fishing with what's-her-name.
"You'd be appalled at the methods he uses."
"I wouldn't be appalled. I just prefer that others use them."
Fastidious. Say, would you mind rubbing out a few people for me over the weekend? Usual rate? Father, would you please go to sleep so I can find the gun I need. Please?
"You don't seem inclined to talk this evening. Don't do anything precipitous. We'll talk about it again. I'm going up to bed."
I sat at the desk in my room, writing the letter.
Dear Mr. Thomassy, I appreciate everything you've tried to do to me, I mean everything you've tried to do for me, but I see no point in pursuing the matter. Koslak is an admitted danger, but I've got good news I forgot to tell you in the rush of things. My boss is due for reassignment momentarily, Paris probably, and I don't see how I could resist the opportunity. Please send me your bill for services rendered, insofar as they were rendered, or were attempted to be rendered. I am letting you go. Yours sincerely, Francine Widmer.
In the morning I put that letter in a book on the top shelf where I used to hide things from the cleaning woman. The letter I sent was shorter.
Dear George, I can see that by pursuing this case I could turn myself into an injustice collector. If the government doesn't want to deal with rape on its own initiative, I don't want to be the one to force it to. It's not just the expense. It could make me one-tracked, single-minded, a crank. As to Harry Koslak, don't worry. I'll be moving out of the apartment. The landlord will have to find me. Please send me your bill, which I'll pay promptly. With best wishes, Francine.
I kept a carbon of the letter, which I reread the next morning. It seemed too quick and cold. Thomassy had gone out of his way for me. I needed to pick up the phone.
"This is Francine Widmer," I told his secretary. "Did he get my letter?"
"Not yesterday."
"I only mailed it yesterday."
"There was nothing this morning."
"Well, maybe that's good. Can I talk to him, please?"
"He had a first-thing appointment with Mr. Cunham this morning. About your case, in fact."
"Oh God."
"What's the matter?"
"There's been a development."
"If it's important, I could try to reach him at Mr. Cunham's office, though he dislikes being disturbed during outside appointments. Shall I–I see it's after ten. He's probably in with Mr. Cunham already. Shall I try just in case? I'll put you on hold."
When she came back on she said, "He's already in with him. I could leave a message with Mr. Cunham's secretary."
Tell him he's fired.
"Is Mr. Cunham's office in the county courthouse in White Plains?"
"Miss Widmer?"
"Yes."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"You're not me."
Twenty-two
Thomassy
Like some doctors and dentists, Cunham measures his worth by the number of people wasting life in his outer office, and so I was surprised to find the waiting room empty. His secretary buzzed him, and I was on my way in. Second surprise. He got up from behind his desk to pump my hand as if I was really welcome.
Gary Cunham was big, easily six-six, played right guard for Army, still had a handsome baby face when he became the youngest bird colonel judge advocate in Vietnam. They say he tried cases wholesale, sent kids to the stockade on punk evidence, got a taste for power, which, as anyone who has had both can testify, tastes better than money. Baby Face Cunham, nearly bald now, was the most famous D.A. Westchester ever had, all ready for lift-off into big league politics. His ruddy cheeks inflated and deflated like a fish when he talked. I wondered what Cunham looked like when he was getting laid. His wife must be blind. Maybe she only lets him in from behind so she can look at the pillow instead.
"You look well, George," Cunham said.
That's his standard opener. Everybody likes to be told they look well.
"I'll try one of your cigars." I pointed to the box on his desk.
He nodded. I took one.
"Didn't know you smoked cigars, George."
"Only defensively." I gestured at the haze of blue-grey smoke.
He sat back down into his brown leather high-backed chair. West Point is good for the spine. Gary looked as straight-backed sitting as standing.
"What brings you here?"
The Armenian massacres. I would have loved to say it out loud. He wasn't waiting for an answer.
"What's this business about a clipping, George?"
"Oh that's nothing important, Gary."
"What can I do for you?"
"I assume you were briefed?"
"Sure, sure," he said, trying to minimize the process. I'd have bet he spent some sweaty minutes over whatever Lefkowitz said to him.
"You know the girl's father? Ned Widmer?"
"Met him. Republican dinners, that sort of thing."
"I'd like to see that case get before the Grand Jury. I'd appreciate it real well if it could happen fast. That maniac is still a threat to her."
"Alleged maniac," said Gunham, making a laugh.
"This county is not exactly known for deliberate speed," I said.
"Except on the thruway."
"Gary, if this were attempted murder one, you wouldn't make jokes. It's rape one, and the attempt succeeded. And there was a second attempt by the same party."
"Alleged rape," he said. "No witnesses. No objectively verifiables. Where'd you get that expression rape one anyway?"
"It was premeditated."
"That's got to be proven. In fact, the act itself has to be proven."
"Gary, I think I can teach whoever you assign to take this before the jury how to convince somebody Koslak didn't effect his entrance to the woman's apartment to borrow a cup of sugar."
"Oh? You're going to prove he had enough sugar at home?"
I mustered zero pitch in my voice. "I think the man's wife would make a very interesting witness."
"Now George, you know the man's wife can't be called."
"Says who? If Koslak had admitted to his wife that he raped Widmer that'd be privileged, but do you think he has? If Koslak alluded to it with a third party present, even if the
third party was real friendly, the privilege is gone. Mrs. Koslak wasn't an accomplice, was she? She can't take the fifth amendment, can she? What she can do is get her ass on the witness stand and tell us, under oath, whether she had sugar in the house or not when her husband wandered downstairs for a cupful. If she had, and I'll bet you she had, then his empty cup did not lead to Widmer enticing him but his going down there on a needless errand because he had something else in mind, follow?"
"You've done a lot of homework, George. Do you know what this case could cost the county?"
"About your annual salary?"
"I don't make that much, George."
"I'm not the IRS. I live in this county."
"Are you implying—"
"Nothing," I cut him off. "You wouldn't think twice about the expense if it were murder one."
"Rape isn't murder."
The Armenian women, wailing, killed themselves rather than let their living bodies be used. "Gary," I said, "I'm sure you knew this once, but let me remind you. Under Saxon law, rape was more serious than murder. A man with property needed a son. Once the blood line ran out, his property would revert to the crown. In desperation, a husband would order a manservant to rape his wife to beget an heir. Rape could become an act against the crown. It was only when the Normans took over the judicial system that rape became a kind of property crime. All right, let's think of it that way, a form of armed robbery. You give the robber or you get it. Like that better, Gary? I can't see you turning away from a juicy armed robbery because of the cost."
"George, you're going to an awful lot of trouble lecturing me. Why are you pushing this case?"
"My client…" I stopped when I saw the expression on his face. "If you're insinuating something, Gary, spill it."
"You're not a virgin, George. You've had a lot of ass in this county over the years. Don't ask us to pay for this one."
"Okay," I said, taking the clipping out of my wallet. "No gloves."
I put it on the desk in front of him.
He looked at it for about two seconds, and said, "So what? Some college paper, who cares?"
"You do. You wouldn't have seen me unless you did."
"What'd you pay to get the clipping?"
"Two hundred dollars."
"You can buy a lot of ass for two hundred."
I stood up. "Gary, I have never paid for ass in my life. And if I did, it wouldn't be relevant. This was my client's money."
"You didn't have to show it to Lefkowitz."
"If I hadn't, I might not have gotten to see you quickly. He's not going to broadcast it unless you give him cause."
"You've put me in a very awkward posture, George. Now I've got two potential blackmailers on my hands. I'll have to coddle him as well as you. Why don't you sit down?"
I sat and said, "You've been privy to more plea bargaining than any other lawyer in this county. You're too smart to need a lecture from me. The state's got something on you and you plead guilty to something less than you might get in court. Isn't that blackmail? No, it's the essence of our system, if I remember your Lincoln's Birthday speech correctly. Our justice system would be swamped if it wasn't for plea bargaining. Well, Gary, I'm suggesting you bargain. Put the case in front of the Grand Jury. If they don't move it, you've lost nothing. And you've gained a lot."
"The Gannett papers wouldn't print rubbish like that!"
"It's local news."
"My son's in Buffalo. That clip's from a student newspaper."
"You're local news. You and anything about you or your family. You think I couldn't get one reporter on one Gannett paper to be tempted to get behind something a little bit bigger than the last accident on Route 9A?"
"You're a bastard, George."
"I'm a good lawyer. Good for my clients. You know any clients who want to lose?"
"Sometime, somewhere along the line, George, you're going to make a big mistake. I'll be waiting for it."
"I'll work on that assumption."
"You know I've got a lot of friends in a lot of places."
"Don't try getting affidavits from all of them. I'll tell you something, Gary. I've got one friend who's worth all of yours rolled in one because he's one hundred percent dependable."
"Who?"
"Me." I'd hardly taken two puffs on the cigar, I put it down on his ashtray. "You might save that for the next guy who's in here."
"Are you leaving?"
"Soon as I hear that you're assigning this case. Well?"
I could see him swallow. He didn't say a word. Just nodded.
"Thanks," I said.
I turned my back and walked from the room. I figured he'd be thinking how soon he could get his hooks into me.
Outside, his secretary said, "Oh Mr. Thomassy, there's a message from your office."
"Never mind the message," said Francine, coming through the outer door. "I want to talk to you."
She stopped ten feet away. Cunham's secretary stared at the arena between us. Then the inner door opened and six-foot-six was standing there, obviously expecting me to be gone. Then he saw Francine.
"Is that the girl, George?" he asked. "I'd like to meet her."
As they were shaking hands I said, "Girls of twenty-seven are called women today, Gary."
Twenty-three
Francine
Phrases out of 1940s movies. We laugh at all those women who used to say, "I want a tall man" or "I want a guy that's handsome." What difference does it make how tall a man is? A man can be too short, a midget whose size would be in the forefront of your mind, you'd be making too much of it. Well, what about the man who's just a bit on the short side, say five feet two, if he were intelligent, attractive, a go-getter, and sensitive? At the same time, do you want somebody seven feet tall, you couldn't help feeling you were always looking up, that compared to other men, he was standing on something, an elongation of mankind, a freak? You see, it gets it down to something in between. You want a man to be not too short and not too tall because you don't want to be concerned about his tallness.
Yet when I saw Gary Cunham looming up there, I have to admit I was impressed by his tallness. What good is common sense if you react that way?
"I am the rapee," I said, shaking his hand.
I caught a reproving glance from Thomassy.
Cunham was one of those men who extend a finger or two along your wrist when they shake your hand. Nobody ever got their face slapped for it. Does it feel good?
"You'd be a temptation to anybody," he said. Then he added, "That's a compliment."
"I don't mind compliments," I said. "I don't want my apartment or my body trespassed on."
"I thought young people made light of body contact between strangers," he said.
"Well," I said, taking Thomassy and Cunham as a joint audience, "why don't we take rape off the books. For people under thirty. And over twelve."
"Rape is a serious crime, of course," said Cunham, his height shrinking with every syllable. "It is also — as I'm sure your counsel has explained — the most amorphous of all crimes, the most difficult to pin down with substantiated evidence."
Thomassy unchecked his tongue. "Well, we've solved all that for the future, Gary. Miss Widmer and I have patented a miniaturized version of the cameras in banks that start clicking when a robbery's in progress. It's smaller than a Minox, and you wear it around your neck on a chain. When rape is threatened, a touch of the hand over the heart starts its silent clicking, recording the attacker and the attack. When it's over, you rush to the hospital, get swabbed, and rush to a film lab and get it developed. Open and shut cases. Very little for us lawyers to do except indict and convict."
Cunham laughed. "A great invention, George. What do we do in the meantime?"
"We indict by the usual procedures, which I'm glad you've agreed to do. If the Grand Jury is unresponsive, I guess Miss Widmer'll just have to wear the camera next time the assailant comes around — he's been twice — and record the action."
"So
unds like entrapment."
"Where there's a will, there's a way," said Thomassy. "Come, Miss Widmer, Mr. Cunham runs a busy office."
"I'm very glad to have met you. Miss Widmer. I trust we'll be seeing you again."
And again the bastard shook my hand, his fingers extended along my wrist. A bit less sophisticated and he'd have tickled my palm.
Outside on the street, I turned on Thomassy and said, "What that friend of yours wants is easy cases."
"Right."
"What he wants is the rape of a forty-year-old Roman Catholic lady who goes to church every day and who was examined by a Roman Catholic physician the day before who would testify that she had her hymen intact. It makes me furious. Don't try to pacify me. What I would have liked to do in there is pull a gun on your friend and make him open his fly and pull his thing out."
"Using force."
"You're damn right. The only way you can identify with someone who gets raped is to feel it happening to you."
"Not true. Look, do you want to win or do you want to prove something?"
"Both," I said, "both, damn it!"
"I've watched plenty of professional civil liberties lawyers at work, and I'll tell you something. They're so intent on proving something they sometimes forget their clients want to win. I'm not a politician and I'm not a preacher. You wanted Cunham to take your case to the Grand Jury and I think he's going to. What more do you want?"
"You," I said.
I had wanted to fire him. The moment I saw him, I knew I had been racked with jealousy because I loved him.
After a moment, I said, "We've got two cars in the parking lot. Why don't we leave mine there. Drive me up to your place. Please?"
"You going to be merciful to the fellow who disappointed you?"
"You disappointed yourself. George, I'm grateful for what you did with Cunham, but this hasn't got anything to do with that."
"All I did was supply Cunham with a piece of information that will eventually show up on your bill for two hundred dollars."
"Please don't rob me of my idealistic youth all at once," I said. "Moreover, I'm not as naive as you think. I just wish our… relationship didn't threaten you."