Deadlock

“So what did you find out, Joan?”

“Joan?”

“Of Arc.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m in a funny mood. What church was it?”

“Methodist. Down the street from me.”

“So? Did you get saved or what?”

“I just listened. I listened to the singing. I listened to the words of the songs.”

“Hymns. They’re called hymns.”

“I know that. And I listened to the sermon. I don’t know, I just felt like doing that.”

“Please,” Anne said, “don’t go crazy on me. You’re my best friend.”

“Then why can’t I talk about this?”

“Finish your drink,” Anne said. “This calls for a rich dinner and gooey dessert. Wanna?”

Cosmo thought about it, then smiled. “You drive.”

At least they laughed out on the street, where Anne had parked her red Audi. It was martini laughter, light and funny, and it got them off of all that heavy stuff they’d been talking about. Anne was almost teary eyed with Cosmo’s imitation of Rosie O’Donnell when her laughter stopped cold.

Standing right next to her car was the homeless guy. The one who had looked at her on her balcony.

His dirty beard and face were unmistakable. And he was looking at her again, like he’d been expecting her.

“What?” Cosmo said. Then she turned and saw the guy, too.

“You got some spray?” Cosmo whispered.

Anne reached into her purse and put her fingers around the little canister of mace. Cosmo said, “Let’s go back inside, then come out again.”

The homeless man said, “You work for him, don’t you? You work for Senator Levering.”

His voice was remarkably clear. Not the guttural sound one associated with denizens of the street.

Anne stood as if cemented.

“You do, don’t you?” the man repeated. He took a step forward.

“Stay there,” Anne ordered. She brought the mace out. Maybe he’d see it. She felt no hesitation about spraying him in the face.

“You still have time,” the man said.

“What’s he talking about?” Cosmo said.

“How do I know?” Anne said.

“How does he know you?”

Good question. He took another step. Anne sized him up. He could be taken down. Easy. But how did he know her?

“Listen to me,” the man said. “It’s not too late.” He took two steps now.

“Back off,” Anne said.

The man did not stop. He walked slowly but steadily toward her. His face, dirty as it was, was pleading with her.

“Do you hear me?” the man said. “It’s not too late!”

“I said back off.” Anne held the mace ready, and with her other arm reached out for Cosmo.

“Let’s go,” Cosmo said.

But Anne was mesmerized, like a bird in front of a snake. She felt her hands trembling.

“Not too late!” the man said, and charged.

The next few seconds were like a slow-motion dance with death. Later, Anne would think that the face of the man was more horrifying to her than anything she had ever seen in any nightmare or horror movie. But it wasn’t because the face was grotesque – in fact, it was a reasonably pleasant face. No, it was what she saw in his eyes that terrified her. They burned with such intense focus, looking into her, as if he knew her better than she knew herself.

In those few seconds, though, she had no time to reflect, only to react. She pressed on the nozzle.

Nothing happened.

The man was now so close she could smell him. She heard Cosmo scream.

She depressed the nozzle once more, and this time an acrid hiss of mace spray shot out. The jolt hit the man full in the face.

He screamed. His hands shot to his eyes. He gouged at them wildly. He dropped to his knees and screamed again.

Anne grabbed Cosmo’s arm and pulled her around the man crying on the sidewalk. By the time they drove away in Anne’s car, a small crowd had gathered around the homeless man. She glanced quickly at the scene and saw someone in the crowd pointing at her car.

5

Charlene took Sarah Mae’s trembling hand in her own. They stood as the judge entered, then sat at counsel table when he called the proceedings to order. He had not asked for the jury.

“Back on the record in Sherman v. National Parental Planning Group,” Judge Lewis said. “I have given due consideration to the arguments of counsel in this matter. I find both to have made excellent points.”

Excellent? Charlene thought. Even her? There was hope. She had a very small burden to carry in order to defeat the motion.

“I have spent the last two hours poring over the legislative history of the informed consent statute,” Lewis said. “And while there is plenty of ambiguity about the intentions of the drafters, there was a very clear consensus about what this statute was supposed to accomplish. While it was meant to give a certain amount of added information to a class of people, namely women seeking abortion, it was also clearly intended to provide a barrier in the area of litigation.”

Lewis paused and looked at Charlene. His look made her stomach drop.

He was preparing her.

“And while this court believes strongly in the jury as finders of fact, I am mindful of my role as the interpreter of the law. In that capacity, I find I am in agreement with the argument of counsel for the defense.”

Charlene’s heart joined her stomach in free fall.

“Therefore, the defense motion for a directed verdict is granted. The case is dismissed.”

For a moment silence prevailed. Then Winsor was standing, hugging Graebner and a representative of the NPPG. They slapped each other on the back.

Then she heard Aggie Sherman’s anguished, angry wail. Sarah Mae’s mother slammed her hands down on the railing and shouted, “No!”

Charlene took a step toward her to comfort her, but Aggie pointed directly at her and screamed, “You stay away from us!”