“The state doesn’t pay for an appeal on this kind of case,” I say quickly to discourage her.
“It’s better just to come back.” I am not willing to pay for a transcript out of my own pocket and then waste my time by writing a brief. The court of appeals is elected, too.
“We’re better off waiting until the headlines shrink a little.”
“It just makes me so angry!” Rainey says, wiping her eyes.
“They’re all so lazy, and the judge is such a coward
I look around uneasily, hoping there is nobody to re peat this comment. Rainey is in enough trouble as it is.
Why should I care, I think irritably. In a few days, she’ll never have to work again.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell Rainey.
“Sorry it didn’t go better.”
Preoccupied, she nods perfunctorily.
“Thanks, Gideon.”
She’ll be married the next time I see her. Resisting the temptation to hug her, I say, “Sure.”
As I turn to go, she reaches in her purse and pulls out a small box wrapped in Christmas paper. How odd that she should get me a present.
“This is for Sarah,” she says, be fore I can make a fool of myself.
“How nice!” I reply, trying to smile. Amy is coming over on Christmas Day. For the last three years it has been Rainey who has come by.
Before I know it, Rainey reaches up and kisses me on the cheek.
“I won’t see you again before I’m married,” she whispers.
“Be good!”
I nod, and turn away, not trusting myself to speak. I drive back downtown to get back to a case that has begun to seem more promising.
From my office I call Lucy and Roy Cunningham to let them know that I will be driving down to Texarkana late this afternoon to drop in on the parents of Robin Perry. If this case is dismissed, I want them to realize who is responsible
It is Roy who answers the phone, and as I explain to him what is going on, he becomes more communicative than he has been since this case began.
“I figured she was setting him up!” he says in a loud voice.
I tell him that yesterday I filed a motion with the court that is a prerequisite to introducing evidence at the trial of Robin’s sex life. The judge has scheduled the hearing to take place January 3, four days before the trial begins.
“If Robin tells the prosecutor that she doesn’t want to go through with the trial, he’ll ask the judge to dismiss it.”
Roy listens quietly.
“Why wouldn’t she wait to make a decision until the hearing is over to see what the judge does?” he asks, his voice booming. I can’t hear any noise in the background. It must be a slow day.
“She might,” I concede, “but her family surely knows by now that this is a boat that is beginning to spring some real bad leaks. The less people know, the better. Despite the fact that this will be a closed hearing, they can assume correctly that word will get out, and it’ll be all over Fayetteville and the university in no time. This is the kind of scandal that people like to head off as much as possible.
All I want to do is emphasize to them how much better it would be for everyone concerned if Robin drops the case right now.”
“Do you want to speak to Dade? He’s home. I can have him call you,” Roy says, a tone of respect coming into his voice for the first time since the night I took the case in his brother’s living room.
I look at my watch and tell him that I’ll call tomorrow with a report. I’m ready to get on the road. I ask him to keep this within their family and hang up, thinking Roy may yet end up wanting me for his son’s agent.
As I am getting Up to head out the door, Clan comes in, his double chin nearly to the floor. He looks like a child who has had his toys ripped away from him by another kid.
“Heading south, huh?” he says without enthusiasm. I have told him everything that has been going on.
“Yep,” I say, reaching for my briefcase. I shouldn’t need anything, but I want to look the part. He looks so pitiful that I can’t avoid asking, “Did you just get run over by a truck?”
Clan sighs and leans back against my door, prohibiting me from leaving.
“Gina wants me to leave Brenda and move in with her. She’s in love with me.”
God, the holidays! They make everybody weird.
“That would give the legal community a juicy little nut for their Christmas stockings,” I say, not taking him seriously.
“I love her, Gideon,” Clan says miserably.
“She makes me happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
What a screwball Dan’s become!
“She’s a hooker, for God’s sake!” I say for what must be the tenth time.
“You don’t understand,” Clan answers softly, looking down at the argyle socks in which he pads around the office more and more.
“Gina’s a good person. She’s crazy about her little girl. She makes me feel alive in a way that I haven’t for years! It isn’t just the sex; the truth is, I’m so scared of getting AIDS from her I don’t even enjoy it. We just have fun together. Brenda hasn’t cracked a smile since I choked and nearly died on a piece of her meatloaf nearly two years ago.”
I shake my head as I visualize the dismal little duplex Gina calls home.
“Have you thought about going to marriage counseling?”
Clan wipes his eyes.
“The last one we went to admitted she had been divorced three times. Brenda said she wouldn’t pay someone to watch us fight. We can do that for free.”
I laugh despite myself.
“You can’t really be thinking about moving in with her.”
“I won’t,” Clan sighs.
“I don’t have the guts. I’m too middle class. As pathetic a human being as I am, I’m still enough of a snob to care about what other people think.
There goes fat Clan. He lives with a whore dog who nearly cooked her baby. Nan, I couldn’t handle that.”
Poor guy. He seems about to cry.
“I couldn’t either,” I say sympathetically.
“Just hang on until January. Things will seem better then.”
With a blank expression on his face, Clan turns and wanders down the hall, and I follow him out, realizing I have a grudging admiration for him. The difference between me and Clan is that I wouldn’t have the integrity to admit that I had fallen in love with a whore. Clan is pitiful, but at least he is honest about it. I ride the elevator down to the street thinking that the evolution of the species may be more of a short-term proposition than scientists think.
I point the Blazer south on 1-30 to Texarkana, and two and a half hours later, after stopping for gas in Arkadelphia, I exit at a service station just before crossing the Texas line to ask for directions. I walk into the office hugging myself and wishing I had brought my overcoat.
A cold front has moved across the state. An attendant wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap points east on a city map, and five minutes later I am shivering in front of Robin’s parents’ ranch-style home, which occupies two lots, and trying to recall what I know about this family. All I remember is that the husband gives or gave a shitload of money to the Razorback scholarship fund and is a conservative Baptist, a profile that could fit any number of Arkansans.
Though I’ve never seen her, I’d know Mrs. Perry any where. An older, more voluptuous version of the daughter, she comes to the door wearing a red knit outfit that suggests they may have dinner plans. It is almost six o’clock, and two cars, a Buick sedan and a Cherokee, sit in the driveway. If they brush me off, there will be
