Faithful in Her Fashion

The prosecution contended that he had been driving, which he admitted. The defense insisted that he had not been driving once he had become intoxicated. Most judges would have dismissed the case at the preliminary hearing, but the city was in a big anti-drunk-driving push, and the DA was showing how tough he was, so guilty or not there would be a trial date. The trial itself would never take place. When the push was over the plea bargain would be disorderly conduct. The defendant was after all standing on the street completely intoxicated.

With his head beginning to ache. Jimmy looked over to his right. Four empty seats over, Steven (Foxy) Fitzgerald was sitting down. They nodded to each other. Steven had been nicknamed 'Foxy' in law school. Jimmy remembered how funny they all thought it was. He'd gotten the name not for any legal acumen, but for having the most beautiful girlfriend anyone had ever seen. She was described as a real fox. When it was discovered that she was also the daughter of a rich insurance mogul, Steven had been renamed Foxy.

Yet, how foxy was it, being married to an unfaithful woman? There were those who envied Jimmy and referred to him as one shrewd bastard, being married to a pretty doctor. He had it made in his colleagues' opinions. Would they think the same now? Here, he sat scrounging for a fee in a sham case. Four seats away, the attorney defending in the biggest local murder case was equally stuck, waiting in police court. Why? Because Foxy's firm thought nothing of him? Shrewd Jimmy and Foxy Steven were both making the same mistakes.

Being smart isn't enough in life. One needs to be lucky. Marry the wrong woman -- No, that's incorrect, if you love the wrong woman you find yourself stuck. Foxy worked for a good size firm, but he wasn't a partner or apparently on his way to becoming one. Everyone knew Foxy's job situation just as they knew his wife ran around on him. Jimmy also struggled to make ends meet while his wife flew off to Africa to play house with medical studs while nobly struggling to save the world. Jimmy's situation was also a known fact. "They call this a city, but it's really a small town," he thought.

"Wondering if we are in the wrong business?" Foxy said.

Jimmy's mind had wandered so far; he didn't see Foxy cross the distance between them.

"Actually, that and other things," Jimmy responded.

"Yea, it's a funny life," Foxy seemed to ponder. "Ever wonder about what it is we actually do?"

"Not sure what you mean."

"Defending people. Is it about the innocent or the guilty?"

*

"Both I guess."

"Ever get a guilty man off?" Foxy asked.

"Not sure, probably, I guess."

"You think it's the risk we take?"

"Yet, when you prosecute you risk convicting someone innocent. That seems a bigger risk," Jimmy said.

"Maybe."

"I was thinking about my wife," Jimmy confessed.

"And you think we share a problem?" Foxy said, arching one eyebrow to look at the same time skeptical and self-mocking.

"In a word, yes," Jimmy answered.

"Could be, but a wife can be the kind of problem that only exists if you let it. A conscience can be much harder than a woman to live with. I guess it all depends on a man's opinion of himself."

This conversation was a set of riddles, questions without defined answers. They called Jimmy's case then, ending the bizarre discussion. In the coming days, Jimmy would wonder whether Steven knew something of Jimmy's problems, or whether Foxy Steven was only trying to resolve his own. Both men were married to strong-willed women who had independent and successful careers. Both wives stood by them, seeming to love their husbands. Both men were struggling lawyers with apparently dim career possibilities. Yet, Foxy was hinting at another link. Did they both represent murderers?

By the time, Jimmy left Court it was late in the afternoon. Having been out all the previous night, he decided to go home early and enjoy his daughters.

"You've got to see mom," his daughter Vicky announced as he walked through the door. Her younger sister Beth was standing beside her, nodding gravely.

"Why?" he asked dreading the answer. The girls had been taking the school bus home since their mother's return. They enjoyed riding the bus with their friends. They enjoyed not having to wait for dad to pick them up from after-school care. They enjoyed having mom home to meet them at the door. That was a real treat, but not today. They'd come home to find mom in her darkened bedroom, crying. She'd kept telling them she was all right and would be down in a minute, but their young world didn't encompass adults in distress.

Vicky understood without knowing why that there existed some problem between her parents. She assumed it was her father causing the problem. He was a big man, and though he was a loving father, his oldest daughter had the impression that adults avoided her dad. An exception had been her mother, also her aunts. But now her mother and father seemed to have lost the affection they'd once readily displayed.

"Dad you need to help mom. She's upstairs on her bed, and she's crying," Vicky said.

Jimmy bounded up the steps wondering just what had set his wife off. With the curtains drawn tight and no lights on, the room was unnaturally dark. He turned on the bedside lamp and sat down on the corner of the bed. Simone was laying curled up quietly, crying into a pillow. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently caressed her.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" he asked.

There was no answer beyond a slight rise in the decibel level of her sniffles.

"You're scaring the girls," he said. "Is it something I've done?" he asked.

She turned slowly to look at him, "They don't want me back. I've lost everything. My work, my husband, my home are all gone. And I don't know why."

It took Jimmy a few moments to get the full story of the meeting at the hospital from his wife. Finally, he said, "Well we could sue — I guess."

"Is that your answer?" she shot back.

"Not really, but it is what I do."

"I just want to know why? No one can doubt that we need to fight this disease to keep it from spreading. How can they treat us this way?"

"Not all good people are rewarded. In fact, I know damn few that are. It's a tough world. Right now, your daughters need to see you downstairs. If not smiling, then at least no longer crying."

"And my husband?"

Jimmy understood the question. How do they go on from here? He had been thinking of it a lot. Legally, he'd filed for a separation after she left eight months ago. But that was merely a legal formality, the precautionary action his legal training told him to take. The true question, he had no answer for.

"I'm here, and that will have to do for the moment."

"What about her? Do you love her?" she asked wiping away her tears with the back of her hand as she sat up.

Jimmy had to laugh. He understood who the 'her' was, and the idea was a joke if not a funny one.

To his wife's stare, he answered, "The lady has a fiancé. She is not in love with me, and I'm not fool enough to fall in love with her."

He swatted Simone's thigh and said, "Now wash your face and come down stairs. I will order pizza, that should help with the girls."

*

The file sat on his desk unopened. He had asked his sister Tara to collect all the information she could on the death of Mary Slatterly in Trenton, New Jersey, some fifteen years ago. Tara had assigned it to one of her computer nerds all of whom were her part-time employees. Tara was presently occupied by the birth of her son, James Henry O'Reilly. Lisa had given birth two weeks early to a nine-pound two-ounce baby boy. Jimmy's daughters had been as happy as any at the birth of what, they were told, was their new cousin. A few adults knew that the relationship was one of brother to sisters, as Jimmy O'Reilly was the sperm donor for the lesbian couple.

Jimmy tried to get his head around being the father of a third child; he contemplated that only a fool would ask a question whose answer might be contained in the file on his desk. Samuel Gil's guilt or innocence was not his business. The man had every right to resist giving his DNA. As a lawyer serving a client, Jimmy O'Reilly was bound to protect his client's interest.

He opened the file.

Mary Slatterly had been the third victim of what might have been a serial killer. Three women had been strangled in their own homes. The murders were approximately a month apart during the summer months. They were linked by a common murder weapon, an expensive and classically made stocking wrapped tightly around each victim's neck. It was an unusual murder weapon, and it linked the deaths together. Mary had been the last victim and possibly a copycat. Or not. It was an open and troubling question.

There was nothing to tie Samuel Gil to any of the murders except Mary Satterly's. Gil had been identified as being with Satterly two days prior to the murder in a local bar. The couple had left together presumably to have sex. But on the night of the murder, Gil claimed to be with friends in Newark. Nothing tied Gil to the murder. Blood was found on a bit of necklace fragment. Mary had been strangled but was not otherwise injured. It was probable that the blood belonged to the killer from a cut received in the act of strangling the victim.

The latest police theory was that the killer had cut his hand on the cheap metal necklace Mary had worn that night. Only part of the broken necklace was found. There was a little blood, and the balance of the neckless was gone. A weak case even with a DNA match. But the police had no match—YET.

Over the years, the Trenton police claimed that other related murders had occurred, but the connection, the unusual vintage stocking, was absent on the later victims. The stockings were high end, expensive, nylon-seamed though made in the traditional manner. Other killings took place using a less unique stocking. Those murders took place in New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. Jimmy told himself for that reason there was no cause to suspect Samuel Gil. But, he could not shake an element of doubt.

Tara had a man watching Sam Gil's house and pretending to be Gil. If pressed, their story was that they were house-sitting for the absent Gil. About two weeks after the decision came down from the appeals court, an unmarked sedan showed up.

"My guy says it's not there all the time. They come in the mornings, but they always show the night before the trash pickup," Tara informed Jimmy.

"Do you think they found anything?"

"Not hardly, my guy has the lights on a timer when he's not there. He puts out just enough trash to look right every Wednesday night, but not at the curb. In the garage."

They didn't stop there. The man who generally met Gil's physical description exited Gil's house on a Saturday morning. He drove Gil's car to the mall where he picked up dry cleaning, visited the hardware store, and ended at Burger King. He was slovenly enough not to bus his table, leaving his drink cup, food wrappers, and a half-eaten burger behind.

*

"I don't know what to do," Simone said, "When I'm here, I feel guilty I'm not there, and when I'm there I feel guilty about not being here."

Doctor Ellen Blake had spent the better part of this, their first therapy session with her new patient, trying to get the background. Dr. Swenson had referred the patient, previously been part of a marriage counseling couple. Infidelity had been the problem then, but now Ellen suspected the problem was much more extensive.

The notes she had from the marriage counseling showed the husband to be grossly uncooperative, the kind of personality that in Ellen's experience did poorly in therapy. But the patient here was a different matter. Simone O'Reilly was a woman desperate for help and willing to face her problems. It was Ellen's job to discover the root of those problems.

"Tell me why you feel guilty when you are working abroad?" Ellen said.

It was the easier of the two guilt-trips, and Ellen expected -- this early in the counseling -- to receive a pat answer. Nevertheless, she was surprised by the answer.

Simone expressed the normal guilt of a mother separated from her family, but the separation anxiety she expressed was for her children. Guilt about her husband went into to her infidelity.

"Don't you miss your husband when you are away."

"Yes, I miss him greatly, but I don't feel guilty about it. I'm doing the right thing, and I know he approves of my work. I feel guilty because I use other men to replace his absence. There is nothing I have that Jimmy needs."

"Why do you say that? Doesn't he need his wife."

Simone gave a little sad laugh, "Jimmy need someone? You don't know the man."

They left it there. The session was up, but it had been productive, very productive.

Simone went home straight away. She had arranged a satellite link to exchange texts with Claire Hudson in Liberia. The two women had been friends for years. Simone missed her friend even more now that she had become some kind of modern day leper.

When the link came up, neither woman wasted time with pleasantries. Claire got right to asking her friend how the Hudson family was doing. Claire had three sons and a husband she had left behind. Simone assured her friend that as far as she was able to tell, her husband and boys were doing well.

"I call and email every chance I get, but you never can tell. You know men, they hide things until it's too late," Claire said.

Declan Hudson was a big bear of a man. A diesel mechanic, he was not a man of many words, but a good-hearted soul. Simone knew Claire's worries were two-fold. Her sons were doing without a mother, and Declan was not a bad looking man and a hemisphere away.

"Relax the boys are doing well, and Declan's not seeing anyone. But how is Arthur?"

Claire laughed, "Arthur is history, went off to Nigeria. I hope you don't mind, but I've taken up with Ben. You left him without a bed mate, and it would be a shame to let a man like that go to waste."

"Well, I do mind, he was my bit of meat."

"You were not using him, and besides you have Jimmy to keep your bed warm."

"Not when he won't sleep in it I don't."

"Still mad is he?"

"Don't really know, but he does have that political skank. "

"I can't believe you are letting that go on. The man loves you, and we both know when you want to there is no man you can't get. So, turn on the sex appeal and seduce the man."

"Has it come to the point that I need to seduce my own husband?"

"Yes, and be quick about it before he replaces the skank with someone more worthwhile. Look, my time is up but email me when you can."

Claire was gone, but talking to her had done more than the therapy session. Jimmy O'Reilly was a man. Even if all she could get from him was sex, it was time she got that.

*

"That's a stupid request," Rebecca said.

She was a bright if an impatient young woman. A graduate of Cornell Law School, she had clerked for the O'Reilly firm the summer before last. After graduating she took the bar exam and then returned home to be with her sick father. It was the act of a loving daughter, but a damn stupid career move. Working as a clerk for Jimmy O'Reilly was the only job she could get, and one she usually enjoyed. But not by being a mere gofer.

"Who's the boss here?" Jimmy demanded.

"You are, but why use a law grad to look up lingerie?"

"I have my reasons. Just, find out who sells high-end vintage stockings, the kind with a hole in them."

"A keyhole in the welt?" she said.

"What?"

"That's what it's called. It's a byproduct of the stitching process."

"Good, find out if anyone around here sells them."

"And then?"

"Come back, and we will put that fancy Cornell education of yours to work."

Jimmy knew his law clerk was upset with the task, but he dared not use his sister or her crew. Even asking the question was insane, but his conscience was not behaving in the reasonable fashion it normally did. He was troubled by his idle conversation with Foxy Fitzgerald, a conversation made all the more difficult by the news that the obviously guilty Roger Hamilton had been found not guilty of murdering his pregnant wife.

Foxy had pulled off a courtroom miracle. The immediate media reaction was shock. As gradually the details seeped out as to how Foxy had manipulated the court and the jury, shock was replaced by outrage. A rich man had gotten away with murder. The courts were biased, and defense lawyers were to blame. In this case, just perhaps, the news media and the public were right!

The Trenton police were looking for a serial killer. A man who strangled women with a stocking. A smart-ass attorney named James O'Reilly had interfered. It would be best to make sure his actions were appropriate, not just legally acceptable.

Simone was waiting for him at home. Their daughters had been sent to her mother's for the evening. She wore a pretty tea dress, attractive but modest.

"I have a beef stew with sour cream biscuits for dinner," she said.

It was an old favorite from when they were first married. Taught to Simone by a Hungarian neighbor, who lived in the same building as their first apartment. The neighbor had been an elderly woman who had recently lost her husband. The dish was a variation of goulash but very Americanized.

The smell coming from the kitchen brought the memory back. Jimmy could see both the older woman and his young bride working at the small apartment stove. He had to smile to himself. His wife was brilliant. The moment he heard the girls were away he'd expected a move by Simone. She had been hinting for days at some kind of reconciliation, but she was too sharp to try a direct seduction. She was reminding him of an earlier happier time.

The table was set for two, the candles lit, and the Egri Bikavar ('Bull's Blood') wine open. Jimmy picked up the wine bottle as Simone entered from the kitchen with the steaming casserole dish.

"What, no Maga Vöros ('Your Red')?" he asked, referring to the cheap liter of bottled wine they bought at the discount store as newlyweds.

Simone answered with a laugh, "You know they didn't have it. I got as close as I could."

She paused and tilted her head in that reflective way she had. "I'm a little transparent, I guess?" she said.

"Only to me," he replied

They sat, and as he poured the wine, she filled their plates. She brought her glass to his, and as they touched, she said, "To our love."

"To our love," he repeated.

The food was fabulous, and as it was meant to, it fed his soul as well as his stomach.

Looking across the table, he admired his wife's beauty. He reminded himself it was not merely skin deep; she was a truly good person. She proved that with her work. Her sojourns in Africa were no liberal's self-indulgence. She went because she was needed. She was naturally not a physically brave woman. She endured the daily dangers while trembling internally with fear. Perhaps that's what true courage is all about. Being scared but standing firm and doing your job.

On the scale set by his wife, Jimmy knew that his own courage was sadly lacking. He feared tomorrow, running out of money, or being found out as an immoral fraud. His fears were vague and constant. Yet, he kept going. Never looking to left or right but always forward. He ran toward the fire because if he turned his back on it, then he would surely be consumed. What the world saw as courage was a terrible fear.

"It can't work," he said, "There is no going back to how things were."

Simone gave a sad smile and twisted the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. "I didn't expect we could, but perhaps we can remember better times as we figure our way forward."