What I Saw and How I Lied

Chapter 33

Mom had bought four new dresses, all of them dark colors. I picked out a navy dress she hadn't worn yet, with a narrow belt and a little matching jacket. I took out white and navy high-heeled spectator pumps from a brand-new box. I slipped them on. They hurt.

I brushed my hair with hard strokes and drew it back off my forehead. I twisted it and put in the pins like an expert. I rolled up the tube of Fatal Apple lipstick and painted my mouth.

I looked like a doll, a dish. The image in the mirror — it wasn't me.

If I had the clothes and the walk, I could make up a whole new person. I wasn't who I used to be, anyway. A different me would do the thing I had to do today. The dish would do it.

"Evie?" Mom was awake now, groping for her first cigarette. She got a good look at me, and she sat straight up. "What are you doing?"

Her panicked voice woke up Joe.

I looked at them, in separate beds, the sheets tangled and twisting onto the floor. I saw a purplish bruise on Mom's arm, right where Joe had grabbed her.

Wobbling a little bit in the too-tight shoes, I walked out.

I couldn't explain, you see. I couldn't tell her that I understood just a little better what Peter was talking about when he talked about war. I found out that what you think is necessary, what you have to do — well, all of a sudden, that can cover plenty of new ground.

It's just a matter of what you're willing to do.

Noise and heat slamming against my ears. Camera shut­ters clicking. People yelling. Sun hitting my eyes, glinting off metal like shards of glass flying.

They thought Joe was guilty now, so the sidewalk in front of the courthouse was filled. So were the stairs and the hallways. Reporters and photographers lunged for­ward, flashbulbs popping like gunshots.

The instructions were clear. The three of us were to link arms and walk up the stairs to the courtroom.

"Don't stop, whatever you do," Mr. Markel had ordered us in the car. "Don't stop to look at anyone — just keep walking."

We all looked at his narrow back in his brown suit as he used his shoulders and his walk to clear the way. Our pipsqueak attorney had turned into a pretty decent linebacker.

We didn't look at each other. I had showed up at the last minute with Mr. Markel, and there was no time to talk to Mom and Joe. Their fear was in the car with us. I wouldn't meet Mom's scared eyes.

We walked hard and fast, our sides pressed together. My navy straw hat was pulled over my eyes, shadowing my face.

Didja do it, Joe?

Did she help you do it?

Didja love him, Bev?

Repent, sinners! There is one almighty judge and his name is Jesus!

They called us Joe and Bev and Evelyn. The photog­raphers said, Evelyn, turn this way and Aw, come on, Bev, give us a look over here. Like we were pals.

Not even my teachers called me Evelyn. I would give them Evelyn. Someone with cool hands and a confi­dent walk.

I tried to make the noise into one blur of sound. I thought about the Third Avenue El. We hardly ever took it because Mom was afraid of it. She didn't like subways either — she closed her eyes almost the whole time. After all, her parents had died in a train crash. It was me who had to watch out for the stops.

I always wanted to take the El. The train raced above the avenue, and you could see right into apartment win­dows, especially if it was getting dark and lights were on. Just a quick look, like a snapshot someone snatches away from your hand. A man in his undershirt eating at a table. A woman putting on her hat. Someone sleeping in a chair. Down below you, noise had a shadow. Under the tracks there was the roar of the train, and then the echo of the roar, and then the bounce of it against the build­ings. But you were in the middle of it, way above. You weren't part of the city; you were cutting right through the heart of it.

We turned into the courtroom.

It was so humid inside that the windows had steamed over. People stood in back and down the side aisles. They all craned their necks as we walked toward our seats. We sat in the first row, right in back of the counsel table. Mr. Markel left us there and nodded at the other attorney. He opened his briefcase.

I had called him from the phone in the lobby that morning. He'd met me at his office. Early, before Miss Geiger came to work. I'd told him what I was going to say and he didn't interrupt, just took notes on a yellow pad. When I'd finished, he'd closed it and looked up.

"Are you sure?"

I'd nodded.

"Do you have a handkerchief with you?" he'd asked. "Use it."

I felt their eyes on my back as the judge came in. Their curiosity was like a wild, living thing in the room. I had to keep wiping my hands on my skirt because I wanted to be Evelyn with cool hands, not Evie with her stomach in knots and sweat snaking from her armpits. I was concentrating so hard on being cool that I missed them calling my name. Joe had to nudge me.

I stood up so quickly that my purse fell on the floor and I tripped on it. Bad start.

I walked my new walk, the one I had because of the tight high heels, my hips swaying. Chin up! I heard Mrs. Grayson say in my head.

I looked up at the judge, then back down in my lap. I needed that judge on my side. I needed to keep my hands and my stomach calm. I needed not to be sick. I needed not to faint. I had to do this today, because if I had to come back tomorrow, I couldn't do it. I couldn't be Evelyn for one more day.

I put my hand on the Bible.

I swear it on a stack of Bibles. We said it back home when we told the truth, no fudging. Because if you swore on a Bible and you lie, you'd go to straight to hell on the downtown express.

Mr. Markel rose. He told me in a warm tone I'd never heard from him before not to be nervous. I nodded nervously.

"Just tell the truth," he said. "Let's start the night of September fifth. What happened that evening?"

"We were all having dinner in the restaurant at the hotel."

"You're sure it was that evening?”

“Yes, it was a Friday night. We'd been to the movies that day."

"Who was there that evening, Miss Spooner?"

"My father and mother, and the Graysons, and Peter — Mr. Coleridge. After dinner was over, the ladies decided they'd go upstairs to their rooms, and the gen­tlemen would go to the lobby for coffee. Peter leaned over and asked me if I'd go for a walk, and I said yes." I hesitated. "But I didn't tell my parents."

"Why is that, Miss Spooner?"

It was hard for me to avoid looking at Joe and Mom at that moment. But I remembered Mr. Markel's instruc­tions. I wasn't going to slip.

"Because I knew they'd say no. They thought Peter was too old for me."

"Was it the first time you'd met Mr. Coleridge with­out your parents consent?"

"No." I whispered the word, and the judge made me say it again.

"You were, in fact, carrying on a secret romance with the deceased?"

"Yes, sir. It started when Peter drove me and my mother places. If we were alone for a minute or two, he would ask me to meet him later. If I was able to, I did."

The crowd was completely silent now. They hung on every word.

"Did your mother have any knowledge of this?”

“No, sir."

"Did you ever go to the house he had used?"

"Yes. I didn't know he'd broken in."

"What did you do on the night in question?"

"First I went upstairs. I could hear my mother getting ready for bed. While she was in the bathroom, I went to her closet and took out one of her dresses. The blue one, because that was the prettiest."

A flashbulb popped, and the judge ordered the pho­tographer out of the courtroom.

"I wanted to look older. So I met him in my mother's dress, and we walked for a bit, and then we stopped under this tree, and we kissed. He thought he heard someone coming, and he pressed my head against his shirt. A minute later he saw someone go by. He didn't know it was Wally, but he promised me that whoever it was hadn't seen my face."

"Do you think he was telling the truth?"

"Oh, yes. Because I heard the footsteps, too. And we were hidden by the tree, so the person couldn't have seen us until he was pretty close."

"What happened next?"

"We waited just a little bit, and then he walked me back to the road. I sneaked back into the hotel. My mother was sleeping by then, so I put the dress back in her closet."

"Did the dress fit you?"

"Yes, perfectly. My mother and I are the same size."

"Were you in love with Mr. Coleridge, Miss Spooner?"

I ducked my head. "Yes, sir, I was."

At least I got to tell one solid truth today.

"Did you have any knowledge at any time that Mr. Coleridge might have a romance with your mother?"

"Oh, no. I knew he didn't. She spent time with both of us. It was a good ... cover, Peter said. No one would suspect the two of us if my mother was along."

"Was Peter Coleridge in love with you, Miss Spooner?"

"Yes. He was. He told me so."

Mom slowly slid off her chair.

The photographers who were hiding their cameras rushed forward. The judge banged his gavel, but no one listened. I stood up.

"Give her some air!" I heard Joe shout.

People rushed forward, but Joe waved them back. The judge banged his gavel again. Someone called for water. It had turned into a circus in a tent, all color and heat and movement. And smell. I felt like I could smell every­one in the room, the ladies with the half-moons of perspiration under the arms of their rayon dresses, the men with their handkerchiefs already wet from mopping their foreheads, their hats tilted back.

Through all the commotion, I noticed a man sitting on the aisle near the back. I noticed him by his stillness. He was the only one not whispering or craning his neck to see Mom. A man dressed in a plain dark suit, a white shirt buttoned tightly at his neck, and no tie. He would have been handsome if it weren't for the deep lines in his face, his thinning iron-gray hair. I thought I was used to people staring at me, but this gaze felt deeper than the others.

"I call for a recess, your honor," Mr. Markel said. The judge sighed. He leaned over and said to me, "Would you like a recess, miss?”

“No, I'd like to go on," I said.

"Then please sit down, Miss Spooner."

I turned again to Mr. Markel, in a hurry to get this over with. I could still feel the gray-haired man's gaze.

Mom pushed away the glass of water one of the court officers kept trying to get her to drink. She pressed her handkerchief against her forehead. She looked so pale, so small.

I broke Mr. Markel's rule and looked straight into her eyes. She shook her head, just a little bit, tears pooling in her eyes. I didn't know what the head shake meant. You don't have to lie, Evie.

But I did, and she knew it, so maybe she was shaking her head at the whole awful stink of it.

Not too much longer, Mom.

"Did your parents ever find out about your romance with Peter Coleridge?" Mr. Markel asked. "I told them this morning," I said. "They were surprised?"

"They were shocked. I wish I'd told them before."

"Now we come to the second part of your testimony," Mr. Markel said. "I know you come forward reluctantly on this issue, Miss Spooner, and I know this might be hard for you. Can you tell us about the events of September seventeenth?"

"Well, my parents and Peter had planned to hire a boat that day. Then we found out that a storm was com­ing, and they talked about whether to go."

"There were small craft warnings."

"Peter said he could handle the boat, if they still wanted to go."

The man with the thin gray hair and the thick hands was still staring at me.

Stop looking at me like that, stop it.

"So they went out on Mr. Forrest's boat, and I was waiting for them at the hotel. Wally — Walter — was getting off his shift."

"That's Walter Forrest, the former bellhop at the Le Mirage Hotel?"

"Yes. I was nervous and upset — the weather was getting worse, and I was worried about my parents and Peter. I knew Wally from the hotel, and he seemed like a swell boy. He reassured me, saying the weather wasn't too bad yet. Then he said maybe we should walk to the beach and look at the waves. We walked along the beach for a while, and then ... he suggested that we sit up near the dunes."

"Was anyone else on the beach at that time?”

“No, it was beginning to get quite windy.”

“What happened then?" I hesitated.

"Miss Spooner," Mr. Markel said in a gentle voice, "please go on."

"Well, Wally kissed me. And I guess he lost his head. He pushed me down on the sand. He ... pulled up my skirt. I tried to get him off me —"

Just the fans whirring now. That was the only noise. It was like a roar in my ears. I had to speak through the noise. I saw a woman in the third row, her round blue eyes trained on my face. I saw sympathy there, and sur­prise, and ... greed.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to frighten me —"

Suddenly Mr. Forrest rose from a middle row. I hadn't seen him. His big sunburned face was red. "Liar! You led him on! You're a whore like your mother!"

The word whore was like a bomb thrown into the courtroom. A couple of women shrieked, and Joe half-rose, as if he'd deck Captain Sandy, and the judge called, "Get that man out of my courtroom!"

Whore. How strange it felt, to have that word thrown at my head.

I had to concentrate on the roar of the train in my head, of the shadow that noise could cast.

The silent man on the aisle, watching me. Never tak­ing his eyes off me.

I leaned over and buried my face in my handkerchief. I wasn't crying. Tears were so far away from me now, it was like they were in another country. I just kept my head there, until the gavel stopped banging and the room went quiet, and I knew that Mr. Forrest had been escorted from the courtroom.

"Miss Spooner?" The judge spoke in a nicer voice than I'd heard before. "Can you continue?"

Slowly, I raised my head. The women had stopped fan­ning themselves. The reporters were furiously scribbling in their notebooks and looking at me at the same time.

Everything happens underneath the same moon. Things you never thought you'd see. Or do.

I was sorry about Wally. But I had to do it. I had to tell them what happened so that they wouldn't believe him over me. But I couldn't let it stay like that.

"I'm responsible for what happened," I said. "I went with Wally to the beach alone. And when he suggested we find a place in the dunes, I went with him. And when he kissed me, at first I was so surprised that I didn't say no. I guess he thought... well, I guess he thought I was fast. I don't blame him for that."

"What happened after the ... incident?" Mr. Markel asked.

"He walked me back to the hotel. My skirt was torn. I was upset. And the hotel manager, Mr. Forney, he saw us. He was outside. He called to Wally, and later on Mr. Forney told me that he fired Wally because of what happened. It's not like I think Wally would hold a grudge against my family or anything...." I looked down at my twisted handkerchief. "I mean, I hope he doesn't blame me for his getting fired. He saw someone with Peter that night, and I guess he thought it was my mother. It's not like he was making anything up. He just got confused because of the blue dress, maybe."

It was almost over. I looked out at the woman in the third row. She was nodding just a little bit as she listened.

The state's attorney was looking down at his notes. His bald spot was shiny with sweat. It was his turn now.

I answered every question, and he couldn't rattle me. He tried to do his job, but I knew by his eyes that he believed me, too. After ten minutes he gave up, and I was dismissed.

When I walked down the aisle to leave, I had to pass the man. I looked right into his face. His eyes were light green. I could see how handsome he'd been once. He had the hands of a fisherman, thick and useful-looking.

He had a way of looking at you, like he could get the full measure of you in one long glance. Peter must have inherited that. Now I faltered as his father took me in, and I felt afraid. I wanted to say something, but what?

I'm sorry.

I loved your son.

I wanted justice for him, too.

I'd answered every question, I'd thrown mud at a good boy's reputation, I'd lied, I'd been called a whore. But it was that one man's wave of contempt that finally made the tears come.