nothing I can do except to head back in the other direction.
“Mrs. Perry, I’m Gideon Page, Dade Cunningham’s lawyer,” I begin, as gently as I can.
“I’d like to visit just a very few minutes with you and your husband. I’m sorry to be disturbing you, but it’s important that we talk be fore the hearing.”
There is no effort to conceal the shock that is apparent on her carefully made-up face. It is as if Dade himself had appeared on their doorstep. I look past her to see if I can get a glimpse of Robin, but she is nowhere to be seen. I do not want her to be present for this conversation, if it takes place. They will feel too protective of her if she is sitting there.
“Just a moment,” Mrs. Perry says frostily through the screen door in an accent even more Southern than her daughter’s. She turns and is gone. I feel as though I am a representative of the Mormons, a long way from Utah. At least she didn’t slam the door in my face.
A full three minutes later a tall, athletic-looking man in his early forties opens the door and the screen and says, “Come in.” He does not offer to shake hands, and not wanting to wear out my welcome in the first five seconds, I don’t extend mine. Gerald Perry leads me into a living room, which even to my unobservant eye comes together in an elegant, understated way. Whoever decorated it had a flair for color. Royal blues, golds, and muted reds give the room a regal holiday look. Holly, mistletoe, and a creche crowd together on a mantle above a hearth in which a fire is roaring. A twelve-foot Christmas tree winking with lights, colored balls, and ribbons and surrounded by presents stands in a far corner. Gerald Perry points to the least comfortable-looking chair in the room.
As if I were a child whose baseball had crashed into his picture window, I perch on the edge and wait for him to give me a lecture about dropping in without calling beforehand.
Less formally dressed than his wife, he is wearing a white shirt, no tie, and pleated slacks. This may be about as relaxed as they ever get.
“What do you want?” he asks, sitting down by his wife on an enormous beige sofa.
I look into their faces and realize they must despise me. If I am to succeed here, I must somehow humanize the cause I represent.
“I have a daughter Robin’s age at Fayetteville. Whether you can imagine it or not, I am truly sorry for what I’m putting you through” I tell myself I see the flicker of a response in the father’s eyes, but it is Mrs. Perry who answers.
“If our feelings made any difference to you,” she says, “you wouldn’t have taken the case.”
Though her words come out soft as honeysuckle, her expression is eerie in its sudden ferocity.
“My job is to represent Dade Cunningham, but the last thing I want to do in this case is embarrass you or your daughter,” I say, hoping sincerity counts for something with this couple.
Goaded by his wife’s anger, Mr. Perry says, in a wounded tone, “How can you possibly even imply that Robin isn’t telling the truth? You have no idea what it is costing her to go through this.”
The male is the one I have to approach. He seems more hurt than actively hostile. On the other hand, his wife seems, in her home at least, like a time bomb. I say, “As presumptuous as this may sound, I think I do. Whatever happens, she will bear scars that will never heal, and so will you, and so will Dade Cunningham.”
“I hope your client rots in hell after he dies in prison,” Mrs. Perry says quietly, her feet flat on the carpet as her blue eyes bore into me.
Her fury is making me nervous. I know I must not anger this woman any more than necessary, or she will explode.
“I don’t think I could put my own daughter,” I say, feeling the weight of my words, “through a trial like this one is going to be, Mrs. Perry.”
She answers as I have hoped.
“She’s done it once!” she says, her jaw firm with determination.
“The second time won’t be any worse.”
“It’s going to be much worse,” I reply quickly.
“I don’t have any choice but to try to bring out in court the relationship with her history professor. Right now, it’s just a rumor among a few sorority girls in Fayetteville. If this goes any further, it will be discussed in every house in the state.”
Mrs. Perry’s face flushes crimson.
“He seduced her. I grant you that he isn’t any higher on the human scale than your client. But let me tell you something about my daughter, Mr. Page. She’s not afraid of anything.”
“People underestimate Robin,” Gerald Perry adds, feeling he needs to support his wife.
“They assume that because she’s beautiful she doesn’t have a backbone.
They find out real quick they’re wrong.”
The only way to endure this chair is to sit up straight, and I’m not capable of it. I lean forward with my hands on my knees.
“I know she’ll make an excellent witness,” I say, focusing on Gerald Perry.
“I heard her testify at the university disciplinary hearing. But Joe Hofstra will be fighting for his job. You can bet that he’s going to tell an entirely different story than Robin does about their relationship.”
For the first time Mrs. Perry seems uneasy. Her eyes begin to flutter.
“Robin has told us everything,” she counters.
“You can imagine what kind of picture he will paint of your daughter, Mrs. Perry,” I say, deciding I have to meet her head on.
“He’ll say that Robin started showing up in his office, and though he tried to keep it on a professor student basis, she wouldn’t leave him alone. You can bet the farm that he’ll say and do whatever is necessary to keep it from appearing that he sexually harassed her. Has he contacted you or your daughter?”
“That’s none of your business,” she says, her face reddening.
Mr. Perry is listening. He begins to press the bridge of his broad nose as if what I am saying is finally getting through. He may not be smarter than his wife, but he isn’t slobbering like an attack dog either. If Robin had innerited his looks, we probably wouldn’t be here now.
“The press would write about this anyway if Robin doesn’t go through with it,” he says, but his voice is tentative.
“Reporters won’t know the reason unless Robin tells them,” I say, my eyes on Mrs. Perry’s face.
“Hofstra certainly isn’t going to respond to questions, and they won’t report any gossip for fear of a libel suit.” Blanche Perry seems about to burst, and I speak as fast as I can. I want her husband to hear me even if she doesn’t.
“Assume this goes to trial, and the judge allows evidence of your daughter’s affair with her professor. If we were in a more liberal state, perhaps the prosecutor could get away with characterizing both Dade and Hofstra as rapists who differ only in degree, but even in a best-case scenario for you, what people will remember here twenty years later is your daughter was carrying on with her professor, and somehow got raped by a black football player as a consequence. I know how cruel and unfair that is, but you have to think about the future.”
Gerald Perry is so quiet that I know he has to be thinking about what I have said, but as soon as I have finished, Blanche Perry explodes.
“Get out of my house!” she shouts.
“What gall you have coming here and telling us what people will think in twenty years. I wouldn’t let my daughter give in to somebody like you in a million years.
That nigger you represent is scum, and you’re even worse. My daughter has held up her head, and she’s not about to start hiding now. Now get out!”
Her face is terrible, her features twisted by hatred and rage. I scramble to my feet and head for the door, afraid she might actually try to attack me. I manage to keep my mouth shut, conscious that Gerald is not echoing his wife’s sentiments. I resent the hell out of his wife’s behavior but it won’t do any good to say anything now. As I reach the foyer, I see Robin, who has appeared, obviously in response to her mother’s outburst. Dressed to go out in dark slacks and a white frilly blouse, she has a frightened look on her face. I have no idea whether or not she has been listening the entire time. If her mother can lose it this badly, perhaps on crossexamination Robin will, too. I go through the two doors as quickly as possible, hoping to avoid any further confrontation, and don’t look
