A Meeting In The Ladies' Room

by Anita Doreen Diggs

  Joe sighed. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was in love and she wasn’t. Because she used him as a plaything for her own amusement, and I didn’t see how any good could come of the whole affair.”

  “So, you argued with Victor when he said he was going to Annabelle’s apartment on the night before she died because you were afraid for him. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Keith sighed. “One last question. If you knew that Victor and Annabelle were having a sexual relationship, why did you become so angry on this particular night?”

  Joe looked up at the ceiling as he answered in a dry monotone. “Victor told me a few weeks before the murder that Annabelle had grown bored with the whole thing and wouldn’t see him anymore. I believed him until one of our friends saw him coming out of Victoria’s Secret on Madison Avenue with a bunch of packages. I asked him about it and he stuck to his story but I knew he was lying. That night when she called and he told me they were meeting at her apartment, I was shocked. I mean, screwing a man’s wife in a hotel is one thing but it is stupid to meet in a married man’s home and I told him so. Victor told me to mind my own business and things got heated.”

  “Did you and Victor talk about what happened that night at Annabelle’s apartment?”

  “No. Even after she got killed, we never talked about her again.”

  “Thanks. I have no further questions.”

  My mind was reeling. What did all this mean, and why was Keith preening and smirking at me like the case was over?

  The next morning, I gasped when Ruth Champ stood up and said, “The state calls Victor Bell.” The story of my obsession was about to unfold.

  My hands started to shake and I had to lean on Keith’s shoulder to keep from fainting. After Victor was sworn in, Champ began her questioning.

  “Mr. Bell, what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a sales representative for Bingham & Stone Publishers.”

  “Will you please tell the court what your duties are?”

  “Basically, I’m one of a team of people who travel to bookstores across the country and try to get the stores to order as many of Bingham’s titles as possible.”

  “Do you know Jacqueline Blue?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you friends?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I consider Jackie a friend.”

  Champ shouted, “You’re a very kind man, Mr. Bell. It takes a man with a very good heart to tolerate what you’ve had to put up with over the past year and still call the woman a friend.”

  Keith leapt to his feet so fast, my head almost dropped to the bench. “Objection, your honor!”

  The judge frowned. “Objection sustained. The jury will disregard Ms. Champ’s last remarks.”

  Champ apologized.

  “Do you have a line of questioning for this witness or not, Ms. Champ?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Then ask your questions.”

  Champ turned back to Victor.

  “Were you ever romantically involved with Miss Blue?”

  “No.”

  Tell me this, were you ever interested in dating Miss Blue?”

  “No.”

  “Did she ever express an interest in dating you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would it be fair to say that Miss Blue has pursued you relentlessly via e-mail in an effort to become your girlfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “At some point, did you ask her to stop contacting you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “We work in the same industry. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  “Did Miss Blue send you a suggestive e-mail shortly before the murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell us about it.”

  “It wasn’t like the others, where she just talked on and on about her life. This one was bold. She indicated that she wanted me to make love to her.”

  Oh, the humiliation! I put my head down on my arms and wept right there at the defense table until Keith’s insistent whispering that I pull myself together made me sit up straight.

  “Did you accept her invitation, Mr. Bell?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I figured that if I had sex with her, she would bug me even more, but her invitation really irked me so my reply to her e-mail was kind of mean. I’m sorry about it now. Jackie is really a nice person.”

  Champ walked purposefully over to the prosecution table and picked up three pieces of paper which the judge allowed her to admit into evidence. She then addressed the jury. “Allow me to read Exhibit #1, an e-mail from Jacqueline Blue to Victor Bell:

  Hi, Handsome,

  Sorry you missed the Black Pack meeting last night. I was looking forward to seeing you. Suppose we both skip next Friday’s gathering and get together alone at my place. I’ll wear something sheer and pour Dom Perignon into real crystal glasses while we . . . er . . . talk.”

  There was a flurry of activity in the courtroom and a few giggles. I stared at my hands.

  She continued. “And now, Exhibit #2, Victor Bell’s reply:

  Dear Jackie:

  I have my hands full with my new girlfriend and career. Thank you for the offer but I’m not looking for THAT.

  If you have any business-related requests, I will help you if I can.”

  There was a gasp from somewhere in the back of the room. Was it my mother?

  Champ held another paper high above her head for a moment so that everyone could see it. “This is Jacqueline Blue’s answer to Mr. Bell’s refusal:

  Victor:

  I have never been kicked in the stomach by a steel-toed boot, but it can’t possibly hurt more than your last message.

  She handed all three papers over to the clerk and turned back to Victor.

  “Mr. Bell, do you have a steady girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Would it be fair for me to say that you lied to Miss Blue about having one to avoid having sex with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ever tell her that stalking someone who is clearly not interested in that attention is against the law?”

  Keith objected and the judge sustained, so Victor couldn’t answer that question.

  “How did you feel when Miss Blue compared your refusal to being kicked by a steel-toed boot?”

  Victor shrugged. “I figured she’d be mad at me for a couple of months and then e-mail me again.”

  “In other words, she was obsessive and relentless. Correct?”

  Victor sighed. “Yes.”

  “Thank you—no further questions.”

  I begged Keith not to cross-examine Victor but he just shrugged me off and sauntered up to the witness stand.

  “Good morning, Mr. Bell.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Williams.”

  “Can we drop the formality just a little? I’d like you to call me Keith and I’ll call you Victor. Would that be all right with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, Victor. Did I hear you say a moment ago that you do not have a steady girlfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “In other words, after Annabelle Murray was murdered, you were too grief-stricken to take on another lover?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you freely admit that at the time of her death, you and Annabelle Murray were lovers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you aware that Annabelle Murray was a married woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it didn’t bother you?”

  Victor shrugged. “I didn’t know her husband.”

  “How long did this adulterous affair last?”

  “Six years.”

  “During that time, did you ever tell Jacqueline Blue that you were sleeping with her boss?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It wasn’t any of her business.”


  “Fair enough. Let’s talk about the Black Pack. Will you please tell the court what that group is about?”

  “It isn’t really an official group or anything. It’s just a bunch of us in publishing who get together for dinner and drinks on Friday nights when we don’t have to work late. I missed a lot of the gatherings because I’m on the road a lot.”

  “A bunch of Black people, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “About seven or eight, I guess.”

  “The number is eight, Victor. Eight Black people. Why don’t you tell us why the Black Pack came into existence?”

  Victor hemmed and hawed. “I don’t . . . uh . . . uh . . . I can’t remember.”

  Keith stroked his chin. “Are there any secretaries or mailroom workers in the Black Pack?”

  “No.”

  “Assistant editors, trainees, interns, receptionists, or support staff of any kind?”

  “No.”

  “So, would it be fair to say that the eight of you comprise the total number of Black managers working in New York’s book publishing industry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was Ms. Blue a member of that group?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did the eight of you create programs designed to get more Blacks into New York book publishing?”

  “No. It was just like . . . a social group.”

  Keith pounced. “A social group? Then you didn’t talk about book publishing or the people in it at all. Is that your testimony, Victor?”

  “No, we talked about everything.”

  “Were white publishing professionals ever invited to these social gatherings?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Stop lying, Victor.”

  Champ said, “Objection! That is not a question.”

  “Sustained,” droned Judge Veronsky.

  “Isn’t it true that the weekly Black Pack meetings were a place for its eight African-American members to air their grievances against the white publishing establishment?”

  I cringed at this last question and felt sorry for my colleagues who were going to pay a stiff price for it.

  Victor hung his head. “Yes.”

  “Isn’t it true that you talked about the Black Pack meetings with Mrs. Murray?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll bet you two had a good laugh at the expense of your seven friends, didn’t you, Victor?”

  “Objection!”

  “Sustained.”

  Keith’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Isn’t it true that you snuck around with a white married woman and had sex with her during the week, not caring about the harm you were doing to her white husband and little child, and then met with the Black Pack on Friday nights to speak out against white people?”

  There was a roar in the courtroom and Judge Veronsky banged the gavel until it seemed her hand was about to fall off.

  Champ was screaming her objections, the courtroom was buzzing like ten hives of bees. The judge agreed with Champ and Victor didn’t have to answer the last question, but it didn’t matter. Keith had made his point that Victor couldn’t be trusted.

  “Did you come into contact with Miss Blue at these Black Pack meetings during the time period when you were getting lots of e-mails from her at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she mention these e-mails that you refused to answer when she ran into you at these weekly meetings?”

  “No. She acted the same as all the other women who attended. Strictly professional.”

  Keith clapped his hands. “Good! I’m glad to hear that my client is capable of controlling her emotions, even when she seems to want something very badly!”

  Keith made a great show of walking up and down in front of the witness stand, throwing his arms out as though he were confused and seeking answers from the audience.

  “Victor, did there come a time when you did, in fact, accept an invitation to Miss Blue’s home?”

  “Yes.”

  Victor was loosening his tie and wiping sweat from his forehead with his hands. Keith gave him a handkerchief without comment.

  “Please tell the court how and why you came to be in Ms. Blue’s apartment.”

  “Objection!” shouted Champ.

  Judge Veronsky looked sternly at Keith over her glasses. “Is there a point to this line of questioning?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. If the court will just bear with me a moment longer, my point will become crystal clear.”

  “Overruled—the witness may answer the question.”

  And so Victor told the story of the Black Pack party and how I approached him to spend the night with me. I could feel the pain in Mama’s eyes drilling into the back of my head.

  “Did you go to Ms. Blue’s apartment that night intending to have sexual intercourse with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “To be nice.”

  Keith threw his hands in the air. “What? It has been your testimony here today that Jacqueline Blue had been making unwanted advances for close to a year. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you decided to be nice and have sex with her? Did you expect her to leave you alone after that night?”

  Victor hesitated. “No . . . I . . . uh . . . it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I didn’t really think it through.”

  “Was there another reason besides being nice enough to have sex that you accepted Miss Blue’s invitation that night?”

  “No.”

  “Did you question her about the homicide investigation?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Let me rephrase the question,” Keith said calmly. “Isn’t it true that the real reason you went to Ms. Blue’s apartment after the Black Pack party was because you wanted to find out how close the police were to finding Mrs. Murray’s killer?”

  “Objection!” yelled Champ.

  The judge hesitated and then ruled in Keith’s favor. “Answer the question, Mr. Bell.”

  Victor’s body seemed to fold in on itself like a big helium balloon that has been punctured with a letter opener. “Yes.”

  I prayed fervently that Keith would drop this line of questioning. There was no need for Mama to hear that Victor had vomited after climbing into bed with me.

  “Did you have sexual intercourse with Jacqueline Blue that night?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Victor sighed. “We went into her bedroom and got undressed. We climbed into her bed. There was a picture on her nightstand. I knocked it over accidentally. When I picked it up, I saw that it was Annabelle. I got upset and had to leave Jackie’s house.”

  Keith was a real showman. He yelled, sneered, laughed sarcastically, occasionally slipped into the cadence of a Baptist preacher, waved his arms about, and paced the courtroom like he owned it.

  “Did you get the information that you wanted from Jackie?”

  “No. She played it real cagey and wouldn’t open up about the investigation. It sort of pissed me off.”

  “Were you in love with Annabelle Murray?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she ever tell you that she loved you?”

  “Once, a long time ago.”

  At that point, Judge Veronsky became ill and court was adjourned for the day. Unfortunately, it was a Friday afternoon, which meant that Victor’s testimony was not over. He’d have to get back on the witness stand first thing Monday morning.

  37

  A BROKEN HEART

  I couldn’t stand Paul during the next few days. He seemed angry, hostile, and brittle. I knew that Victor’s revelations were bothering him but he didn’t want to talk.

  Mama wasn’t much better—several times I caught her staring at me as though I was a stranger. We were in her kitchen trying to talk about anything except the trial. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer.

  “What is your problem?” I snapped.

  She w
as washing collard greens in the kitchen sink. It seemed like she had been waiting for my question. “What was you doin’ sendin’ computer mail to some man who didn’t want to take you out? Huh? Where did you learn how to act like that? You sure as hell didn’t get it from me.”

  “I was just lonely, Mama. That is still no reason to tiptoe around here acting like I’m a serial killer.”

  She wiped her hands on her apron and turned the water off. “Serial killers are sick people. You supposed to have good sense.”

  “And you’re supposed to stand by me, no matter what,” I cried.

  Mama went ballistic. Stomped her foot and beat the kitchen counter with her fist. “What I been doin’ these last six months? I ain’t been standin’ by you?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer.

  “I been walkin’ the floor at nights, duckin’ questions from everybody on this block, includin’ Elvira, and watchin’ all your dirty laundry get spread out all on the TV. Married men and all! It’s almost August and I still don’t know whether you goin’ to jail or not. And you know what else?”

  I didn’t want to hear any more so I said nothing.

  “There’s a whole lot more goin’ on that you ain’t tole me. I can smell it an’ it don’t smell good at all.”

  The stench in her nose was blackmail, the secret book that Elaine was managing, which Keith didn’t even know about, and the way I had coaxed Pam Silberstein and Alyssa Kraft into my web of deceit.

  “Mama, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say nothin’ ’cuz it’ll prob’ly be a lie.”

  That stung.

  “What was I supposed to do, Mama? If I played fair, you’d be making trips to an upstate prison for the next twenty-five years.”

  She gazed at me like I was trash. “That’s where you’re wrong. I ain’t visitin’ nobody in no prison at no time.”

  Mama was just upset. I didn’t believe her for a minute.

  “What would you have done in my place, Mama?”

  “I woulda told Annabelle to stick that Moms Mabley book where the sun don’t shine, that’s what. You’re in this mess ’cuz you was goin’ along with a plan that you knew was wrong an’ you did it just to get a promotion.”

  “That’s not true,” I protested wearily.