Angelique does not return the sentiment. He knows he should have warned Sam about his mother. Don’t expect any semblance of normalcy.
“I suppose I’d better check out the restroom before your trial, Brian,” his mother says. “Good luck, just in case I don’t manage to speak to you before it starts.”
“Thank you, Mother.” He allows her to kiss his cheek.
Then she turns tail and vanishes in the direction of the restrooms. Sam stares after her, the disappointment obvious on her face.
“Don’t mind her,” Brian says.
Sam gives him a smile. “At least she showed up.”
Which echoes his sentiments perfectly.
“Caleb wanted to come too,” he says, “but he couldn’t get off work. Anyway, I don’t want this trial to turn into circus freak show with all my friends showing up. It’s not exactly as if I’m the good guy here.”
“I know. But both Caleb and Cassie are behind you one hundred percent. You know that.”
“Caleb maybe.” He grimaces. “I’m sure Cassie won’t mind seeing me tucked away behind bars for a millennium or two.”
Sam’s lack of response to this validates his observation. She straightens his tie in a loving gesture.
“You look like a million bucks,” she says, changing the topic.
At Karen’s behest, he had suited up nicely. He is wearing his dove grey Armani, and his hair has been combed and styled immaculately.
“It’s important to let the jury see what a fine, upstanding member of the community you are, and it’s important you do not look like a common ra**st,” Karen had said.
Brian clasps Sam’s hand at his tie. His eyes arrest her shining ones.
His voice is hoarse as he says, “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did. Whatever happens . . . thank you.”
He kisses her on the lips, long and hard, before she can protest. She falls into the kiss, her arms going around his neck.
Someone clears her throat behind them.
“Brian,” Karen says, “it’s time.”
He releases Sam from the kiss. Her eyes are moist as she gazes at him.
“I care for you . . . very, very much,” she whispers.
“I care for you too,” he replies.
A strange feeling permeates his insides, turning his organs into mush. He turns away from Sam before he can betray himself.
The courtroom hushes as Judge Cowan takes his seat amid a clatter of chair against floor. Then everyone takes their seats as well with scrapes and much adjusting. Brian’s eyes stray to the jury again. He can feel them appraising him, taking in his careful appearance. The women in particular seem admiring of his looks. He hopes they are thinking that someone who wears Armani can’t possibly be a ra**st.
Fat chance.
He’s not sure about the men though. From the way they are giving him the once over, they don’t seem to have an opinion.
Yet.
The proceedings begin.
Norma Hennessey stands up. “The prosecution calls Delilah Faulkner to the stand.”
Delilah Faulkner is not looking her best today. She is dressed in a simple black skirt suit – neat but not expensive looking. Her usually glorious red hair has been pulled back into a bun, and several strands stick out from it, giving her a slightly disheveled appearance. Her eyes are ringed and her face is very pale. Her usually lacquered fingernails have been pared down and bitten.
God, Brian thinks. She’s really giving the jury a show. A prickle of discomfort creeps around his neck, and he has to loosen his tie.
A marshal swears Delilah in.
Brian tenses as Norma Hennessey goes through the preliminary identification questions. Then Delilah is ready to begin her story.
“Ms Faulkner, do you know the defendant, Brian Morton?”
Delilah stares hard at him. He meets her eyes. Her lower lip starts to tremble, and she clutches at the witness stand as if she is going to fall.
Delilah whimpers, “Y-yes, I do. I met him . . . in the lobby of his apartment building.”
“When?”
“Around nine p.m., on the night of ______” Delilah gives the date.
“Tell us what happened on that night, Ms Faulkner,” Norma coaxes her gently.
Delilah takes a deep breath. She trembles again. Brian clenches his fist under the table.
“Do you need some water?” Norma says in a solicitous tone.
“N-no. I can continue.”
Delilah seemingly takes a moment to compose herself, all the while looking like a frail waif who has been victimized. She stares at the jury. Brian seizes them up. Their expressions range from the non-committal to the concerned.
Delilah says, “I was visiting a friend. I brought some pasta. I was walking through the lobby of Mr. Morton’s apartment block, when the elevator doors opened beside me. This man, Mr. Morton, steps out and collides into me. The pasta sauce spilled all over the front of my dress. Mr. Morton said he was sorry. I was extremely uncomfortable because he was looking down my dress at that time. He had this . . . this look on his face.”
“What look?”
“A strange look. His eyes were gleaming, and he looked as if he would like to eat me.”
“Objection, your Honor,” Karen asserts. “I object to the descriptions used by the plaintiff. It is merely her conjecture and it was dark in the lobby.”
“Objection sustained,” says the judge. “Stick to the facts of the case, Ms. Faulkner.”
“Yes, your Honor. Mr. Morton then invited me up to his penthouse to help get me cleaned up.”
“Did you accept his invitation?” Norma says.
“Not at first. I told him I was there to visit a friend, but he insisted. I saw no harm in his invitation at first . . . and so I allowed him to persuade me to follow him upstairs.”
“Objection. The language used is misleading.”
“Sustained. Once again, Ms. Faulkner, I must ask you to stick to the facts.”
“Yes, sir.”
Norma Hennessey says, “All this can be corroborated in the footage recorded by the security camera in the apartment lobby, your Honor.”
The court takes a pause to allow a television screen and VCR to be wheeled in.
“Relax,” Karen whispers to Brian.
Easy for you to say, Brian thinks, squirming. He turns to Sam behind him, and she gives him an encouraging smile.
His mother’s expression is stony.
The videotape plays for the courtroom audience. Brian watches it for the second time despite telling himself he wouldn’t. The lobby scene plays again. The collision. The conversation. The smile on his face – smug, predatory. Just as Delilah described it. He can hear some of the jury members tittering.