The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [119]
And now his life was over.
She had tried not to feel happy when she had heard about Clark’s death. But somewhere deep inside her she hoped he had suffered. Now she was the accused woman’s only hope, Mr. Fenney had said. Her only hope. So she would fly to Dallas on Sunday. It would be her first trip back since she had left.
Could she do it?
Could she go into that courtroom and sit up there and see Senator McCall and tell the world what Clark did to her? He kissed me…he touched me…I said no…he said yes…he slapped me…hit me…once, twice, three times, harder each time…he was wild-eyed, crazy, strong…he pinned me down…pulled my panties down…pried my legs apart…yes, I fought him…but he was too strong…he pushed into me…the pain…the pain…
The pain would never go away.
She had gone to SMU on a dance scholarship. She loved to dance. She had not danced since that night. The rape had changed her life. She hadn’t been able to get over it, to get on with her life. Her therapist had convinced her that testifying at the trial might be just the closure she needed to move forward. She almost walked into a man.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“Hello, Hannah,” the man said.
Hannah looked up at the big bald man in front of her and started to cry.
The only open chair was next to Penny Birnbaum.
Scott and Bobby had returned home and eaten lunch with Louis and the girls. Scott had then driven the Jetta to the title company that was closing the sale of 4000 Beverly Drive. The receptionist led him to the small conference room where he would sign over his home to Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey Birnbaum.
Penny was smiling and patting the seat of the empty chair.
Scott introduced himself to Joy, the closing agent sitting on the near side of the table next to Jeffrey, who was poring over the stack of documents like a jeweler over a new batch of uncut diamonds. Scott walked around the table, sat next to Penny, and scooted his chair up under the table. Before he had settled in, her right hand was on his left knee.
“I still need to measure for furniture, Scott,” she said.
She was wearing a sundress that accentuated her round breasts and narrow waist. Her hand moved up to Scott’s thigh and began closing in on his crotch. He reached down, grabbed her wrist, and placed her hand firmly in her lap. She pushed out her lips in a pouty face. But when he released her wrist, her hand returned to his thigh like a spring-action screen door slamming in place. She smiled.
Joy pushed a pile of papers across the table to Scott and began reciting the numbers shown on the closing statement.
“Three-point-four million sales price due to the seller, less deductions for the loan payoff, two-point-eight million principal plus twenty-four thousand eight hundred ninety accrued interest, the title policy premium, nineteen thousand, miscellaneous title company charges for the escrow fee—”
“Two-fifty?” Jeffrey said.
Joy said, “Standard charge.”
“But there’s no escrow.”
“We still charge the fee.”
“But—”
“I’ll pay the two-fifty, Jeffrey,” Scott said.
He wasn’t in the mood to argue over a $250 charge in a $3.4 million deal. Even with that deduction, Scott would net over $500,000 from the sale. After paying taxes and closing on the little starter home by SMU, with the rest of his 401(k) and the $67,000 from the yard sale, he’d have enough to start a new life.
He removed Penny’s hand again and whispered, “Stop!”
Across the table, Jeffrey and Joy were huddled over the buyer’s closing documents, more voluminous because of the mortgage documents between Jeffrey and his bank. Scott’s thoughts drifted back to that day three years ago when he had signed similar mortgage documents to purchase this very home, but before he could get very far he felt a soft whisper in his ear: “I’m not wearing any panties.”
Penny pulled back and their eyes met. Her eyes dropped and led his down. She twisted slightly in her chair