“Who paid for the room?”
Binkie objects, and Judge Franklin tells me to move on.
“That’s not what is at issue here” he says, giving me a hard look.
I could make an argument, but not wanting to piss him off, I don’t.
“Why did you end the relationship in August?”
Robin’s eyes are as red as the material of her dress.
“I felt guilty,” she says, her voice now thin and reedy like an old woman’s.
“I met his wife and children at his office.
Before I went home that weekend, I told him we had to stop. He knew it, too, and agreed we shouldn’t see each other again.”
Until she came back for the fall semester, I think, certain my cynicism is justified.
“So either you or Lauren is lying about whether you said you were still involved with your professor in October, is that correct?”
“I’m telling the truth!” Robin insists.
“Tell me, Ms. Perry,” I say, unconcerned what her answer will be, “did you care about the truth of the statements that were being told to Professor Hofstra’s wife on the six occasions you slept with him?”
Binkie is on his feet objecting.
“Your Honor, there is no evidence of any statements. Counsel is assuming facts not in evidence. I doubt if he was going home and telling his wife, “Honey, I had some really great sex with a student today.”
” “Sustained,” Judge Franklin rules, smirking at me.
Though I violate the law school rule that a lawyer is supposed to end crossexamination with some kind of admission, if possible, I pass the witness to Binkie. I have made my point. If you’re having an illicit affair, it is a little hard to stand up and brag about what an honest person you are, whether you’ve told any outright lies or not.
Walking even slower than usual, Binkie comes over to the podium and has Robin reinforce her testimony that she broke off the relationship with Hofstra during the summer, but he stays away from the details of the affair except its time frame.
“Did you go home or remain at the university the end of the second semester summer school in August?”
Robin, who is no longer crying, says, “My algebra exam was over August eleventh, and I didn’t return to school until almost two weeks later for the fall term.”
Binkie, slouching against the podium, asks, “Did you have any contact with Dr. Hofstra during this period?”
“None at all,” Robin responds.
“Did you have any contact of any kind with Dr. Hofstra after you returned to school for the fall term?”
“No, I didn’t!” Robin says even more vehemently.
I let her step down, certain she hasn’t killed us. Beside me, Dade is wideeyed at Robin’s testimony. It is clear she didn’t give a speech in communications class about what she had done during summer vacation.
“I call Joe Hofstra,” I say, feeling my stomach tighten with anticipation.
Sporting a beard he didn’t have when I went to his office almost two weeks ago, and wearing a black suit and black wingtip shoes, he looks as if he has dressed for his own funeral. I don’t waste any time trying to bury him.
“How many times did you have intercourse with Robin Perry?”
He looks helplessly at Binkie, and puts his hand to his mouth. For a moment I think he will be sick right on the witness stand.
“Six, six, I think,” he stammers.
“Who, Dr. Hofstra, in your opinion, initiated the relationship between you and Robin?” I ask, realizing I will enjoy making this guy sweat.
Hofstra hesitates, knowing this is an important question. His career as well as a sexual harassment suit may hang in the balance.
“She began dropping by my office a couple of times a week,” he says carefully.
“She was smart and an excellent student, and I enjoyed talking to her. After my class ended the first semester of summer school, I called her. She agreed to see me, and I began getting a room for us at the Ozark Motel.”
“Did you ever go to her apartment that summer?”
Hofstra looks pained but says, “I went there three or four times.”
This is news to me, but it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Lauren didn’t know everything. If Hofstra weren’t such a sleaze, I might feel sorry for him. In addition to his miserable expression, his voice exudes the right tone of contrition, the perfect note of guilt. He is letter perfect in his role as erring husband and teacher. I realize his wife will probably forgive him and nothing will happen to him. For all I know, some of his male colleagues may be secretly envious when this case is all over.
“While you were there, did you ever see Robin’s roommate Lauren Denney?”
“She came in once while I was at the apartment,” Hofstra admits.
“I think Robin thought she was gone for the weekend. I got up and left.”
Grudgingly, I realize that Binkie has done a great job of wood shedding this guy. It couldn’t have been easy.
“Who ended the affair, in your opinion?”
Hofstra tugs at his collar.
“It was a mutual decision.”
This is a departure from the party line, but if he wants to save his marriage, he had to say it.
“Do you recall what was said by each of you to end your relationship?”
Hofstra winces.
“We both acknowledged we felt guilty because of my family. We agreed that we would think about it over the break after summer school. That was the last time we spoke. I haven’t seen or talked to her until today.”
This last comment seems false. Either she is protecting him, or he is protecting her. Even if he is telling the truth, one of them would have wanted more closure than that. I glance over at Judge Franklin to see how much of this he is buying. His expression, detached but alert, tells me nothing.
“You’re asking the court to believe,” I say, pre tending incredulity, “that neither of you said a word to the other after you agreed to go home and think about it for almost two weeks?”
He shifts uncomfortably in the witness chair.
“There was nothing left to say.”
I make a show of wrinkling my nose at this answer but decide to let it go. Franklin surely has gotten the point by now that I think his answer stinks.
“Dr. Hofstra, did Robin tell you at any time during the summer that she was in love with you or that she loved you or words to that effect?”
Hofstra swallows hard.
“Yes.”
“And you, sir, did you tell Robin that you loved her or words to that effect?”
Hofstra studies his hands but says in an audible voice, “Yes.”
I stand by the lectern, feigning more amazement. I know what I’d be saying on closing argument to a jury:
Ladies and gentlemen, can you really believe that after a gloriously exciting summer of twice a week office visits, sneaking off to a motel on six separate occasions and a mutual declaration of love, these two just ended it and never even said another word to each other?
“Your witness,” I tell Binkie.
Binkie, to my surprise, declines to question Hofstra, who sighs audibly as he leaves the witness box. I say more dramatically than I intend, “I call Lauren Denney.”
Lauren, who practically swaggered out of the restaurant when I met her less than two weeks ago, seems considerably less sure of herself today and walks almost on tiptoe to the witness box. Rehearsing her story earlier
