CHAPTER 3

 

 

 

 

           

 

 

           

     He didn’t sleep well and didn’t know why. Perhaps because the guest room’s bed felt hard, or because he hadn’t slept alone in years. He tossed and turned all night in an effort to get comfortable. He pulled the covers up and then half an hour later threw them off. Finally giving up, he lay in the dark, staring at the digital alarm, thinking about his predicament. Carol, he decided, had been right about one thing, he needed a damn good lawyer. He didn’t think old Charlie Ponton handled felony cases, but he felt obligated to consult him, yeah that’s what he’d do.

     When you didn’t do something and there were no witnesses, how did you prove you were telling the truth? Man! That’s one hell of a question.

     He’d told Carol that he’d continue to work at his business, but if this thing got any worse, the media might make that difficult. Those reporters hovering around police headquarters, they reminded him of a flock of vultures. He decided to send a letter to each of his clients declaring his innocence and asking that they withhold judgment until the real perpetrator is found. Yeah, maybe I’ll send one of those letters to Carol.

      Boy! Wait until her butt-in-ski mother and Daddy Warbucks hear about this. Even when they find the real rapist, they’ll bring it up ad-nauseam. He pulled at the sheet and draped it over his body. God bless the kids, they were great. Robert, of course is too young, only seven, so how’s he going to understand any of this. He had seen the surprise on their young faces as they watched him move into the guest room. He recalled Carol saying; “It’s because Daddy snores and Mommy needs to get a good night’s sleep.” Robert bought it, but he doubted Janet had.

     He closed his eyes and finally drifted off to sleep. Thirty-five minutes later, the alarm clock jolted him awake. He dragged himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom to take a wake-up shower. He put a fresh blade in his razor but still managed to nick himself twice.

     Fully dressed, he went downstairs for breakfast. Hannah, the maid, gave him her usual cheery, “Good morning! You’re up mighty early, what’ll you have for breakfast, bacon and eggs?”

     “No thanks, Hannah, just some toast and coffee.”

     “Where’s Miss Carol? You eating alone?”

     “It kind of looks that way.”

     Hannah frowned, clamped her jaw shut, and poured a glass of orange juice that she placed in front of him on the marble breakfast bar. She popped two slices of whole wheat in the toaster and poured him a cup of her freshly brewed coffee.

     He didn’t waste a lot of time. He smeared a little cream cheese on his toast, topped it with strawberry preserve, and consumed it and a single cup of coffee in less than ten-minutes. Then with a perfunctory, “Thanks Hannah,” walked out the back door to the garage.

 

           

     Entering the second floor office, he became acutely aware of the sudden cessation of chatter and the speed with which twelve eyeballs zeroed in on him. He knew he needed to say something assuring, even though he didn’t feel his normal confident self.

     Gary walked straight to his office, when he reached the door he made an abrupt turn and stepped back toward the center of the large room. He looked at the two women directly in front of him and then let his gaze move left until his eyes made contact with the four men seated at their desks. “I know that you’re all wondering what is going on. It’s very simple. I did what you four men do.” He watched the men to see what their facial expressions revealed. They didn’t reveal a thing.”He continued, “I made a sales-call as a result of a request from one of my clients, Julia Walsh. The young woman, a well-known actress, and I were alone for about thirty minutes. I left without ever putting a finger on her. However, yesterday she accused me of assault and rape. Those are false charges. The police are investigating and I expect they’ll clear me soon.”

     He looked straight ahead at Erica and Martha and gave them a weak smile, “Any questions?”

     Andy Metro, who’d been with him for nine years, raised his hand, “I’ve got one. Is she as hot in person as she is on the screen?”

     Gary shrugged, executed a 180, and strode into his office. He snapped on the light, closed his door, hung up his suit coat and collapsed into his chair. A color photo of Miriam West stared up at him from the center of the morning’s Palm Beach Dispatch. Examining the picture, he noted that the photographer had shot the photo so that even though she wore dark sunglasses, both the bandage and the bruise were prominent. Yes Andy, he thought, she is hot.

     As he began to read the article, Erica knocked. Seeing her through the glass portion of the door, he waved her in. She’d cast off the grim look he had seen in the outer office but he noticed the corner of her bottom lip taking a beating.

     Setting his coffee mug on the newspaper, she said, “I thought you might like a fresh cup.”

     “Thanks, Erica,” he said, lifting the mug and putting it to his lips. He took a small sip. “What did you think of my little speech?”

     “A—adequate I’d say. They’ve all read the paper. You didn’t need to spell it out.”

     “Right,” he said taking a deep breath, “they’re one up on me. I left home before the paperboy arrived, so I haven’t read it yet.” He picked up the office copy of the Dispatch.

     “Are you sure you want to read that woman’s lies?”

     He tilted his head to one side and looked at her; “Are you sure she’s lying.”

     “Of course I am. She claims you made improper advances and that when she rejected them, you exploded like a wild man, that you punched her, threw her on the floor, and raped her. I know you too well to believe a word of it. Look at all the times we’ve been alone together; you’ve never done anything improper or unprofessional.”

     Gary gave her an appreciative smile, “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I needed that.” He put his coffee mug to his lips, afraid that if he said another word he’d reveal how Carol had reacted.

     Erica returned to her desk, as Gary decided that he did need to know what the press was saying. After all, he told himself, this is what Carol will read. She still believes that ancient crap about me and Alana. He read the entire article right to its final quote from Chief Harrison Moore: ‘At this time, I’d say that Mr. Sanders is a person of interest’. When he finished, he drained his coffee mug and called the Dispatch. After being put on hold, the operator finally connected him to Vincent Bernardino, who admitted to being Miguel Gonzales’ editor.

     “I’m the guy that your reporter wrote about. How can you print everything Miriam West said as though it’s gospel? Don’t you have a duty to try to verify her statements?”

     “Mr. Sanders, if you’ll read the article again, you’ll see that he did say that the actress alleged—”

     “I read that alright,” he interrupted, “but he goes on to quote her saying I punched and raped her.”

     “There is nothing I can do about that. He is merely writing what she told him in an interview. I’ll be happy to send Miguel over to your office to hear your side of the confrontation.”

     Gary gripped the phone tighter and screamed; “There was no confrontation, you ass!” and hung up. He looked through the glass wall to see his staff giving him odd looks. Now why in hell did I call that editor? Why didn’t I call my attorney instead? Rising from his chair, he refolded the paper and then in dramatic fashion dropped it into his wastebasket. Martha and Erica led the applause that was quickly picked up by Andy and the other salesmen. Gary grinned and then quickly took his seat and picked up two phone message slips hanging on the pen of his desk set.

     The first message came from Roger King who had called to cancel his 10:30 appointment. Gary picked up his phone and called King’s office. “This is Gary Sanders, calling for Mr. King.”

     “I’m sorry, Mr. Sanders, but Mr. King is not available.”

     “Do you have any idea when he’ll be in?”

     “I’m sorry sir, but I have no information about that.”

     “Well, ask him to call me, please.”

     The other message came from John Randle and resulted in the same kind of treatment. Gary decided they had probably read the article in the Palm Beach Dispatch and believed every rotten word.

     He flipped through his rolodex until he found the number he needed. Charlie Ponton took his call, but as soon as he began to tell him of his problem, the attorney cut him off. “Gary, I read about it in this morning’s Post. I practice business not criminal law. I suggest you call Joseph Flaherty, he’s not cheap, but he is good. Tell him I sent you.”

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While I hope you enjoy this chapter, I want you to know that I really appreciate hearing from you with any ideas you have on how to improve it. You might also take this opportunity to view Part 1

of my novel, Palm Beach Style. You can find it by going to the short story tab at my website: joshswritingroom.com

 

 

RAPE-Serialized version

 

Hi Everyone:

After reading chapter two of my novel, RAPE, I hope you will decide to visit my website at:  joshswritingroom.com  where you can find a very clever short story and information about three of my published novels:

PATH TO A PARDON,

                            THE EINDHOVEN STRATEGY,

                                                                 PALM BEACH STYLE.

 

 

As each new chapter is published on this blog, the previous chapter(s) should be archived below, so even if you did not read it when it first appeared, you can easily catch up. Your suggestions are appreciated and will receive careful consideration.

 

CHAPTER 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Officer Hall gave Gary a nonchalant salute. “I sure hope this turns out well for you.”

“It’s got to, I’m innocent!” Gary said, closing the door of the police cruiser. Standing on the sidewalk, he watched the car pull into traffic, and then glancing up at the windows of his office decided that facing the questions of his staff had to wait; he needed to go home, needed to talk to Carol. He strolled toward his parking place while punching in Erica’s number on his speed dial.

When she heard his voice she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine and I’m back, but I’m not coming in right now. I have to get home to let Carol know what’s going on. You can tell everyone that the Chief just wanted to know when I got to Julia Walsh’s place, what time I left and what happened in between.

“Gary, did the police charge you with anything?”

“Miriam West accused me of rape and assault, but I haven’t been charged with a thing.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it. You’re right about not coming in, the sales reps are all out. Martha and I are here alone. I’ll tell everyone that you’ll be in tomorrow.” 

He started the Maserati and headed back toward County Road and home. He was no more prepared to face Carol than his office staff.  I need to step back, need to take a break, he thought, but not in some dark dingy bar. What better place than at The Breakers, my favorite haunt. Only this morning Erica had brought him a message from Clifford, the golf pro at the hotel. He recalled asking her to handle it, suggesting that if he asked her to lunch, she should accept.

          She gave him one of her cross-eyed looks. Later when she handed him the call slip from Julia Walsh he grabbed the phone and dialed the number from memory. The Empress of Palm Beach had been his first major client on the island. She had opened a lot of doors for him. Because of her, he now insured many of his client’s winter homes here in Palm Beach and their northern summer mansions, as well as private planes, cars and in some cases, their business interests. When she called, he jumped, and he didn’t touch mother earth until he carried out her wishes.

          Turning onto the long drive up to the hotel’s front door, he viewed the closely manicured lawn and remembered their conversation. “Julia,” he had said, “I just learned that you called. It’s so nice to hear from my favorite client. How can I help you today?”

          “Gary, you sly dog; I’ll bet you say that to all your clients.”

          “Now Julia, you know I never lie to you. You’re not only my favorite client, but also one of my best friends.”

          “Gary, I swear, you spread more fertilizer than my gardener.” She nailed him for a contribution to the big Red Cross Ball she was chairing.  He quickly agreed, and she asked him to come to her home to see her niece, Miriam West, whom she asserted had won an Academy Award for best supporting actress for her role in Slater’s Revenge. The star had recently come from Hollywood with a lot of uninsured jewelry.

          After setting the appointment, he asked Erica about the Star’s movie, which he had never seen. Erica had lowered her pen and grinned at him. “Clifford,” she said, “had called again and had asked her to lunch.”

          He asked if she had accepted. When she shook her head, he asked why not, and learned that Clifford was a Lech, something that everyone but he knew.  He apologized, took her to lunch at the Chesterfield, where she told him about Miriam’s movie, and how, while she played her part well in that one, was later panned in a stinker about a woman who marries a sheik in Saudi Arabia.

He tipped the Valet with a ten-spot and admonished him to treat his car with care, before strolling through the front door.

The lobby of The Breakers always reminded him of a magnificent tunnel; this one contained a couple of dozen stone encased pillars supporting a curved baroque ceiling from which half a dozen magnificent chandeliers cast subdued lighting. He by-passed the check-in counter and found his way to the elegant Tapestry Bar, loaded with cozy overstuffed furniture groupings nestled between the bar and the back wall decorated with distinctive tapestries from which the place took its name. There were only a few people imbibing, no one he knew.

He took a seat at the back of the room, allowed his body the pampering provided by the soft cushions, and ordered a single malt scotch on the rocks. Waiting for his drink, his mind began to focus on the task ahead. Should he call Carol? No, that’s much too cowardly. He needed to look her in the eye, let her read the innocence in his. He checked the time; the children were still in school. He considered just calling to invite her to meet him here.

The waiter brought his drink. He took a sip, held it in his mouth, and savored its flavor on his pallet before allowing the smooth elixir to journey down his throat spreading its comfort through his chest on its downward course.  After the trauma of his police interview, he felt he deserved this chance to unwind, and find a new perspective. Half an hour went by and he still had no clear idea of how to broach the subject with Carol.

 Hey honey, guess what happened to me today—no.

 Carol come sit here next to me. There’s something we need to discuss—not much better.

Boy! Did I have a rotten day—a big fat no.

Sweetheart, do you remember me telling you about the sales call I made at Julia Walsh’s place yesterday? Hm, much better, he decided and drained his glass.

The waiter stepped to his table to ask if he wanted another.  He glanced at his watch it showed two-thirty. Time was slipping away from him; he wanted to get home well before the children arrived so he and Carol would have plenty of time to decide on the best course of action. 

Conscious of the liquor on his breath, he kept the big sedan below the speed limit and concentrated on his driving. He drove north on County Road passing innocuous as well as spectacular entrances to well hidden mansions. When he reached The Beach club he turned toward the ocean, and then made a smooth left turn onto the Ocean Road. He felt an urge to stop, take in the sight of soft waves breaking on the narrow beach to chase the sandpipers, but having settled on an opening gambit he opted against delay.

He parked in the garage and entered through the back door. Walking from the kitchen toward the front of the house his masterful plan evaporated. Carol paced back and forth in the living room, intermittently running her fingers through her short blond hair, and then rapidly rubbing her hands together. As he moved closer, he noticed her cheeks, stained with mascara.

She spotted him through red-rimmed eyes, stopped, stood on one foot, and removed one of her loafers, which she threw, hitting him in the chest. “What the hell have you done!” she screamed.

“Carol honey, let me explain.”

“I’ve heard all about it. Is this going to be like that fling you had with Alana?  What was it this time—a lover’s quarrel? How could you do this to me? How will I ever face my friends?”

“Wait a minute. You say you heard all about it. What are you talking about? It only happened a couple of hours ago.”

“Well this kind of dirt travels at jet speed, you stupid bastard. A reporter named Miguel Rodriguez or maybe it’s Gonzales came to see me. He told me that Miriam West filed a complaint against you for rape and assault. How long has this been going on? How could you sleep with that big boobed actress? Aren’t I good enough for you anymore?”

“Listen Carol, when I came home yesterday I told you exactly what happened. I went there on business. I had never met that woman before and I didn’t do anything wrong, or cause her any harm. I have no idea why she claims that I did. Now you can believe me, or not. I have no way to prove that what I’ve told you is true. You’ll just have to trust me and have faith that I speak the truth.”

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “I’ve heard that song before. What kind of perverted beast are you? First you assault that—that woman, and then you make love to me. You’re a stupid idiot! Well, answer me this Mr. Big-shot businessman, what are you going to do to clean up this mess?”

“Nothing—there’s nothing I can do. So I’m going to continue to work at my business and hope the police find the guy who did it.”

Carol pulled a tissue from her jean pocket and wiped at her eyes. “Until they do, I think you’d better move into the guest room.”

Gary took a deep breath and sighed. “This will pass.”

Carol shook her head. “That’s what the Egyptians thought when they saw the first swarm of locus. You’d better hire a damn good lawyer.”