A Summons to New Orleans Page 15

  Nora went into the bathroom but didn’t find Simone. Instead, she combed her hair and put on lipstick. She wanted to give Poppy some time with her husband. She gave them plenty of time to walk away, to find a more neutral ground on which they could discuss their problems. But when she came back out, they were still standing there, just where she had left them.

  She wandered up to them and said, “I guess we should go back in.”

  “I will,” Poppy told her. “You can do what you want,” she said to Adam.

  Poppy turned away from them and went back into the courtroom.

  Adam looked at Nora and said, “You’re the one who lives in Charlottesville.”

  “Yes, I suppose that characterizes me.”

  “I’m so sorry about your friend,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “I work with battered women. I mean, I don’t work with them. I put their faces back together. And I can tell you, there is nothing worse than having to deal with a woman who has been beaten, and who still believes she loves her husband. When people can’t break away from abuse . . . well, that’s a scary thing. Simone’s case is altogether different. I want to help, but Poppy won’t let me. She won’t let me help her, either.”

  “I suppose that is who Poppy is. She doesn’t want to be helped.”

  He smiled and said, “How well do you know Poppy?”

  “We lived together in college. She was always smart. She had a lot of opinions.”

  “Opinions are one thing. Belief is another.”

  “She seems to have a lot of belief lately.”

  “Lately,” he agreed.

  “Why did you come here?” Nora asked.

  He shrugged, loosening his tie. “I had some vacation time coming, and I didn’t feel like being alone. Honestly, I haven’t really known what to do with myself since Poppy left me. I’ve been putting off trying to have a confrontation with her. I guess this isn’t the best opportunity, but this is what I needed to do.”

  “Has it been hard for you?” Nora asked.

  He looked at her. He had warm, dark eyes, and he would have looked quite feminine if it weren’t for his fierce, black eyebrows. He had perfect teeth and a square jaw, and from the way the lines formed around his eyes and his mouth, she could see he probably was someone who smiled a lot. He wasn’t smiling now, though.

  “It’s been hell,” he said.

  “Yes, I’m recently separated myself.”

  “I’m just sort of confused. It wasn’t as if we fought. We had a great marriage. Even after she found Jesus, I was willing to live with that. I’m Jewish, but I’m not religious. I don’t want to convert or anything, but it’s not as if I ever forced my religion on her. She objects to it in the abstract. It’s like someone objecting to the place you were born, or your zodiac sign. I can’t help it. I can’t change it. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Maybe it will wear off,” Nora said, realizing immediately that the remark sounded a little simplistic.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know how you felt when you got separated, but everything is out of balance to me. I was meant to be married to her. I knew it the moment I met her. And these recent events make me feel like the earth has tilted on its axis or something. I don’t want to be overly dramatic. But it’s obvious we should be together.”

  The clack of heels coming down the hall made them turn. Simone was approaching them, moving fast and smiling, and as if she had never expected to see a familiar face in these surroundings.

  “Hey, Nora, how’s it going?” she said, as if it had been ages since they’d met.

  “Oh, fine, I guess.”

  “Anything exciting in the testimony?”

  “Not really.” She noticed Simone looking at Adam and she said, “This is Adam, Poppy’s husband. This is Simone.”

  They shook hands. Simone stared at him, as if amazed by his presence.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” she said, in her faux Southern-hostess manner.

  Nora resisted an urge to roll her eyes.

  “Well, I didn’t know what else to do. I am so sorry about what happened to you.”

  “Thanks,” Simone said, blushing a little. “The clerk just told me that I’m up next. So why don’t you come inside? This is the main event.”

  “Are you okay?” Nora asked.

  “I’m great. Let’s go.”

  They all filed into the courtroom, as if they were about to see a private screening of a rare film.

  Nora and Adam sat in the front row, next to Poppy, and Simone took the stand. She waltzed up to the witness box, looking confident, sophisticated, wearing a slight smile. Nora thought she should look a little more miserable. Glancing at the jury, she could see they thought so, too.

  She stated her name for the record. Margaret asked permission to approach the witness.

  “Ms. Gray, can you tell the court what you do for a living?”

  Simone said, “I am a journalist. Mainly I write food and travel pieces.”

  “And where do you live?”

  “In Los Angeles.”

  “Are you from there originally?”

  “Yes, I am, though I spent four years at college in Charlottesville, Virginia, at the University of Virginia.”

  “Have you been to New Orleans on more than one occasion?”

  “Several times, yes,” Simone said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have come here to do some travel pieces.”

  “And where do you stay when you come here?”

  “Always at the Collier House.”

  “When was the last time you were here?”

  “Last May,” she said. “It was May twenty-seventh.”

  “And what was the purpose of your visit?”

  “I was asked to write a piece for a national magazine. The assignment was ‘The Most Romantic Spots in New Orleans.’”

  “Were you by yourself at the time?”

  “Yes. I am always by myself on assignment.”

  “Did the magazine you were writing for tell you where to go, what restaurants to review?”

  “Yes, they gave me a list. I came up with some other spots on my own.”

  “Do you recall where you had dinner on the night of the twenty-seventh?”

  “Yes, I ate at Emeril’s. In the warehouse district.”

  “Did you go home after dinner?”

  “No. I decided to investigate some clubs on Bourbon Street.”

  “Why did you decide to do that?”

  “I was trying to construct a romantic evening. I thought that a couple might want to go dancing after dinner, and I knew there were dance clubs in the Quarter.”

  “Did you go to a dance club after dinner?”

  “Yes. I took a cab to Bourbon Street, and I wandered along there for a while. I decided to go into a dance club called Oz.”

  “Can you tell us where that is located?”

  “On Bourbon and St. Ann.”

  Margaret produced a map, and Simone marked the spot with a pen.

  “What made you choose that club?” Margaret asked.

  “It was loud and crowded. I heard dance music coming from inside it. It seemed like a popular place.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual about it?”

  “I don’t know if it was unusual, but I could tell it was a gay club.”

  “How could you tell?”

  “There was a sign on the door. It said, THIS IS A GAY CLUB. BE NICE OR LEAVE.”

  “And you still thought this was a good club to investigate?”

  “Well, I talked briefly to the bouncer. He said that it was technically a gay club, but a lot of straight couples and singles came there because it had good music.”

  “Did this concern you at all?”

  “No. I’m from Los Angeles, where there is a large gay community. Also, straight single women tend to feel safe in predominately gay clubs. I thought it was a good place to go.”

  “What happened when you went inside?”
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  “It was noisy and crowded. I went to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine.”

  “Had you been drinking prior to that?”

  “I had a glass of wine at dinner. I am usually required to sample the wine at the restaurants I review.”

  “Were you drunk?”

  “Not at all.”

  “What happened after you got your glass of wine?”

  “I watched people dancing. I thought about the article I was going to write. Then I was approached by a man.”

  “Describe this man, please.”

  “He was a black man, about five feet seven, handsome, well dressed. He was very polite to me. He asked if I wanted to dance. I told him I didn’t at the moment. Then he asked if I were visiting from out of town. I said I was. We started talking a little.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “He said he was local, and I asked him about what it was like to grow up in New Orleans. He said it was good. He’d grown up in the Quarter, and he managed a restaurant on Chartres. I asked if the crime were difficult to deal with, but he said the crime was no worse than any other place. He asked where I was from and I told him. He said that Los Angeles had its share of crime, but I told him I had never been afraid there. I had never encountered any crime.”

  “Then what did he say?”

  “He asked me again if I wanted to dance.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said no, I was there on assignment and I was happy just to observe. He asked me what assignment and I told him. He said it would be a better story if I actually participated. ‘Just one dance,’ he said. ‘It’ll be over before you know it.’ I finally agreed.”

  “You danced with him.”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of dance was it?”

  “A fast dance.”

  “Did you touch at all?”

  “No.”

  “How long did the dance last?”

  “I don’t know. Three minutes or so.”

  “Then what happened.”

  “I had to go to the bathroom. He told me he would show me where it was. He led me up the back stairs to a balcony up top. He showed me where the bathrooms were. The women’s room was locked, but the men’s room door was wide open. There was only a single stall in there, so he suggested I go in there, and he would watch the door.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, I went into the men’s room. I was alone in there. I used it quickly. When I came out, he was still there and he asked if I wanted another drink.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, but I told him I would split one with him. He bought a beer and poured some in a glass for me. Then we went out onto an outside balcony that overlooked Bourbon Street. It was busy below, and we sat out there for a while and talked and watched people.”

  “Were there other people on the balcony?”

  “Yes. Haifa dozen or so.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “He told me about his life, his job at this restaurant, his child by a former girlfriend, his dreams of owning his own restaurant. I told him a little bit about my job as a journalist.”

  “Did you have any physical contact?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I said I wanted to go home. I was tired, and I was going to get a cab to my hotel. He asked where I was staying and I said a hotel at Chartres and Ursulines. He told me I was only four blocks from my hotel. And I told him I was worried about crime. He said he was walking in that direction, as he wanted to check on his restaurant. So he volunteered to walk me there.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said no at first. Then he said it was silly for me to take a cab when he could walk me safely in that direction. I finally saw the logic of that. I had no reason not to trust him. He had been perfectly nice all night. Besides, he was local. He had told me his name and where he worked. I didn’t think he’d risk any of that if he intended to do me harm.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “We walked out onto Bourbon Street. It was late, around midnight, but it was still pretty crowded. We turned left and walked down St. Ann’s.”

  Margaret produced the map again, and Simone charted out their path with a marker.

  “When we got to Royal Street, he suggested we turn right instead of left. I knew this was the opposite direction of my hotel, but he told me it was a better street to walk on. Since he was local, I trusted him. Then he said to turn left. I didn’t realize we were turning left on to Pirates Alley. I thought it was another commercial street, because it was well lit. So we were walking. I had my arms crossed and I was looking at my feet. He was talking to me, and walking a few feet away from me. All of a sudden, he grabbed me by the throat. I was completely taken by surprise. He told me he wanted me to take down my panties.”

  Simone stopped and took a breath. Nora looked at Poppy, who stared dead ahead. Between them, Adam was watching the event with rapt attention. Nora felt nervous, her palms sweating. She suddenly felt the need to stop this somehow, but there was nothing to do but listen.

  “Did you scream?” Margaret asked.

  “I couldn’t scream, or even breathe. His hands were around my throat and he was choking me. I couldn’t believe how strong he was. I looked to see if anyone was near. There was a homeless guy a few feet away, but he didn’t move. Other than that, we were alone. There was no one around. At that point, I realized this wasn’t a dream. It was happening. I was going to be raped, maybe killed. I thought of my family, how I would never see them again. I was just so horrified. I felt hopeless.”

  At this point Simone stopped talking. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sucked in some jagged breaths.

  Margaret said, “Take your time.”

  She did. Nora looked at the jury. Some of them had started to pay attention. They were looking at Simone as if she were some strange creature in a zoo, who might suddenly pounce out of the witness box and attack them. They seemed nervous, aware, and Nora thought that was a good sign. Finally Simone took a deep breath, pushed back her hair and continued talking.

  “When he took his hand away, I tried talking to him. I told him he didn’t want to do this. I asked him not to. I had a family. He said he wouldn’t hurt me if I did what he told me to do. I tried to offer him my money. He got mad and he threw my purse on the ground. He said he didn’t need money, he had a job. What he wanted me to do was take my panties down. I said no. He choked me again. Then, with one hand around my neck, he took his other hand and started pulling up my dress and pulling down my panties. At that point, I helped him. I just wanted to stay alive.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “He raped me,” Simone said. “I don’t remember much of it, but he raped me, and then he took his hand away from my throat and turned me around. He penetrated me anally, and that hurt so bad that I screamed. When I screamed he stopped. He turned me back around. He said, ‘I ought to kill you.’

  “I told him he shouldn’t. I was just a tourist and I was leaving the next day, so I couldn’t be a threat to him. All I wanted to do was get on a plane and forget about it. He said, ‘I don’t care if you call me a rapist. I don’t care what you call me. Just get out of town. And remember that this is a dangerous place. You can’t go around talking to strangers. Don’t be stupid.’ Then he told me how to get back to my hotel, and he told me again not to be stupid, and he walked away.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I walked back to the hotel, which was only a few blocks away. I went into the office and told the night manager to call the police because I had been attacked.”

  The interrogation went on, Margaret asking question after question. They covered the two hours during which she waited for the cops and drank more and more wine. They talked about the policemen who had asked her to identify the crime scene, though she couldn’t. She talked about the four hours she had spent in the waiting room at Charity Hospital
, and then the cold, callous way they had treated her during the exam, including the culmination of it, where they kicked her out of the hospital and told her to look for a cab stand. And she told about going back to her hotel, crawling into bed and thinking about suicide. She told about the AIDS cocktail she was forced to take after that, and the next night, when she went back to Bourbon Street looking for the assailant. She found him, and he denied knowing her, but she identified him by name and they arrested him. Then she went back to Los Angeles, and had not returned until this moment.

  Simone was crying by then, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed, and the jury was watching her as if they had finally gotten to the interesting part in the movie.

  Margaret approached her with some photographs, after she had shown them to the defense attorney. She said, “Ms. Gray, do you recognize these photographs?”

  Simone took them and stared at them for a long time. Even from this distance, Nora could see a tear sliding down her face.

  “Yes,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  “What are they?”

  “Pictures of me at the hospital.”

  “Are there any marks on you in the photos?”

  “Yes. There are bruises around my neck and on my arms.”

  Margaret took the photos back and handed them to the jury. Then she approached with a wadded-up piece of clothing.

  “Do you recognize this?”

  “Yes. It’s the dress I was wearing.”

  “Do you notice anything unusual about it?”

  “There is a blood stain here on the back. It looks as if someone has cut part of it away.”

  Margaret took the dress away and handed it to a juror.

  She stood in the middle of the room for a moment and then she said, “Ms. Gray, is the man who raped you in this courtroom today?”

  “Yes,” Simone said.