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