She opened the door and Sylvia tumbled in as if she'd been leaning against it. The girl was soaked. The air-conditioning was set on high. Lucy almost made some comment about her catching her death, but it sounded like something a mother would say. She closed the door.
Sylvia said, 'I'm sorry it's so late.'
'Don't worry about it. I was up.'
She stopped in the center of the room. 'I'm sorry about before.'
'That's okay.'
'No, it's just…' Sylvia looked around. She wrapped her arms around her body. 'Do you want a towel or something?' 'No.' 'Can I get you something to drink?' 'I'm okay.' Lucy gestured for Sylvia to have a seat. Sylvia collapsed on the Ikea couch. Lucy hated Ikea and their graphics-only instruction manuals, seemingly designed by NASA engineers. Lucy sat next to her and waited.
'How did you find out I wrote that journal?' Sylvia asked.
'Its not important.'
'I sent it anonymously.'
'I know.'
'And you said they would be confidential.'
'I know. I'm sorry about that.'
Sylvia wiped her nose and looked off. Her hair was still dripping.
'I even lied to you,' Sylvia said.
'How’s that?'
'About what I wrote. When I visited your office the other day. Do you remember?' 'Yes.' 'Do you remember what I said my paper was about?' Lucy thought for a second. 'Your first time.' Sylvia smiled but there was nothing behind it. 'I guess, in a sick way, that was true.' Lucy thought about that too. Then she said, 'I'm not sure I follow, Sylvia.'
Sylvia did not say anything for a long time. Lucy remembered that Lonnie said he would help get her to talk. But he was supposed to wait until the morning.
'Did Lonnie visit you tonight?'
'Lonnie Berger? From class?'
'Yes.'
'No. Why would Lonnie visit me?'
'It's not important. So you just came here on your own?'
Sylvia swallowed and looked unsure of herself. 'Was I wrong to?'
'No, not at all. I'm glad you're here.'
'I'm really scared,' Sylvia said.
Lucy nodded, tried to appear reassuring, encouraging. Forcing this issue would only backfire. So she waited. She waited for a full two minutes before breaking.
'There's no reason to be scared,' Lucy said.
'What do you think I should do?'
'Tell me everything, okay?'
'I have. I mean, the majority of it.'
Lucy wondered how to play this. 'Who is P?'
Sylvia frowned. 'What?'
'In your journal. You talk about a boy named P. Who is P?'
'What are you talking about?'
Lucy stopped. Tried again.
'Tell me exactly why you’re here, Sylvia.'
But now Sylvia was being cagey. 'Why did you come to my room today?'
'Because I wanted to talk about your journal.'
'Then why are you asking me about a guy named P? I didn't call anyone P. I said straight out that it was…' The words stuck in her throat. She closed her eyes and whispered, '… my father.'
The dam broke. The tears came down like the rain, in sheets.
Lucy closed her eyes. The incest story. The one that had struck her and Lonnie with such horror. Damn. Lonnie had gotten it wrong. Sylvia hadn't written the journal about that night in the woods.
'Your father molested you when you were twelve,' Lucy said.
Sylvia’s face was in her hands. Her sobs sounded as if they were being ripped out of her chest. Her entire body quaked as she nodded her head. Lucy looked at this poor girl, so anxious to please, and pictured the father. She reached out her hand and put it on Sylvia’s. Then she moved closer and put her arms around the girl. Sylvia leaned into her chest and cried. Lucy shushed her and rocked her and held her.
Chapter 18
I hadn't slept. Neither had Muse. I managed a quick electric shave. I smelled so bad I debated asking Horace Foley if I could borrow his cologne.
'Get me that paperwork,' I told Muse.
'As soon as I can.'
When the judge called us to order, I called a-gasp-surprise witness. 'The People call Gerald Flynn.' Flynn had been the 'nice' boy who'd invited Chamique Johnson to the party. He looked the part, too, what with his too-smooth skin, nicely parted blond locks, wide blue eyes that seemed to gaze at everything with naivete. Because there was a chance I would end my side of the case at any time, the defense had made sure Flynn was waiting. He was, after all, supposed to be their key witness.
Flynn had steadfastly backed his fraternity brothers. But it was one thing to lie to the police and even in depositions. It was another to do it during 'the show.' I looked back at Muse. She sat in the last row and tried to keep a straight face. The results were mixed. Muse would not be my first choice as a poker buddy.
I asked him to say his name for the record.
'Gerald Flynn.'
'But you go by Jerry, isn't that correct?'
Yes. 'Fine, let's start from the beginning, shall we? When did you first meet the defendant, Ms. Chamique Johnson?'
Chamique had come today. She was sitting near the center in the second to last row with Horace Foley. Interesting spot to sit. Like she didn't want to commit. I had heard some screaming in the corridors earlier in the morning. The Jenrette and Marantz families were not pleased with the last-minute snafu in their Chamique retraction. They had tried to nail it down, but it hadn't worked out. So we were starting late. Still they were ready. Their court faces, concerned, serious, engaged, were back in place.
It was a temporary delay, they figured. Just a few more hours.
'When she came to the fraternity house on October twelfth,' he replied. 'You remember the date?' 'Yes.' I made a face like, My, my isn’t that interesting, even though it wasn't.
Sure, he would know the date. This was a part of his life now too.
'Why was Ms. Johnson at your fraternity house?'
'She was hired as an exotic dancer.'
'Did you hire her?'
'No. Well, I mean, the whole fraternity did. But I wasn't the one who made the booking or anything.'
'I see. So she came to your fraternity house and performed an exotic dance?'
'Yes.'
'And you watched this dance?'
'I did.'
'What did you think of it?'
Mort Pubin was up. 'Objection!'
The judge was already scowling in my direction. 'Mr. Copeland?'
'According to Ms. Johnson, Mr. Flynn here invited her to the party where the rape took place. I am trying to understand why he would do that.'
'So ask him that,' Pubin said.
'Your Honor, may I please do this in my own way?'
Judge Pierce said, 'Try to rephrase.'
I turned back to Flynn. 'Did you think Ms. Johnson was a good exotic dancer?' I asked.
'I guess.'
'Yes or no?'
'Not great. But yeah, I thought she was pretty good.'
'Did you think she was attractive?'
'Yeah, I mean, I guess so.'
'Yes or no?'
