79 Park Avenue (18 page)

"Did you ever have intercourse for money after you met Miss Hood that she did not arrange?"

"No, sir," she said. "I'm not a whore."

'That's all, thank you," I said, walking away from her. I paused in front of Vito's table. Marja looked up at me. Her

eyes, wide and dark and proud, stared right into me. I had the strangest feeling that the pride in them was for me. I kept my eyes carefully guarded and turned to Vito.

"Your witness," I said and continued on to my table. I sat down and watched Vito get slowly to his feet.

There was no doubt about it, he was a real pro. Even the way he walked toward the witness indicated his sureness and his ability. His voice was warm and rich.

"Miss Mamay," he called.

She looked up at him. "Yes, sir."

I nodded to myself in reluctant grudging admiration. In just the way he spoke her name he had asserted his dominance over her.

"You mentioned that you appeared in a play in Chilli-cothe. Lark in the Valley, I beUeve you called it."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"It was written by a Professor Berg, you stated, a professor of dramatics in the senior school?"

"Yes, sir."

"You said that you came to New York after that at the suggestion of the professor, who said you had too much talent to waste it in a small town like ChiUicothe?"

"Yes, su:."

"I assume he meant dramatic talent. That was what he meant, wasn't it?"

The girl hesitated.

Vito's voice was impatient. "Come, Miss Mamay. That was what he meant, wasn't it?"

Her voice was even smaller than before. "I think so."

"You can be more positive than that. Miss Marnay," he said sarcastically.

"That was what he meant," she said. "Yes, sir."

"What?" he asked.

*T>ramatic talent/' she said.

"You said that the play was presented at a little theater in ChiUicothe. What theater was it?"

Her brows knotted together. She cast a worried glance at me. I tried to look confident, but I didn't know what the hell he was getting at. "It—it wasn't exacfly a theater," she stammered.

"If it wasn't a theater, what was it?" Vito asked

"It was at the Antelope Qub," she said. "It was a special show the professor wrote for their annual affair."

'The Antelope Qub," Vito said. He looked at the jury. "I see." He turned back to her. "That wouldn't be a stag affair, would it?"

She looked down at her feet. "I believe it was."

"Were you the only female in the cast?" he asked

She nodded. "I was."

"What part did you play?"

Her voice hardly carried to my table. "I was the farm girl."

"What was theme of the play? Did you have many lines to speak?" His voice was harsh.

"It was about this girl and the three men that worked on the farm. The farmer, his son, and the hired hand, and what they did on that one particular night. I didn't have any lines to speak. It was all in pantomime. The professor was a great beUever in the Stanislavsky method of drama."

"Stanislavsky, hmm . . ." Vito scratched his head. "Wasn't that the Russian who beUeved in action instead of speech?"

'That's right," she said.

"And the professor's play was aU action?" he added

She nodded. "Yes."

His voice turned very heavy and sarcastic. "So much so

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The State vs. Maryann Flood 185

that the play was raided by the police and all of you were charged with giving an indecent performance. As a result of that, you and the professor were dismissed from your posts in school. Isn't that true?"

She didn't answer. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Vito was shouting now. "Come now, Miss Mamay, answer my question."

Her face had lost all its color; the rouge stood out in dark blotches on her cheeks. She looked down at the floor. Her voice had vanished into a tiny whisper. "Yes."

"That's all, Miss Mamay." Vito looked at the jury as if to say: How can you believe anything a girl like that might say? He half shrugged, and turned back to his table.

Joel and Alec leaned toward me as I called the next witness. Their whispers were hoarse in my ear.

"He sure kicked hell out of her," Joel said.

"Yeah," Alec answered, his glance following the girl as she took her seat. "He really ripped her."

I drew in my breath. "One thing you guys are forgetting. He ripped her, not the story she told about Flood. Notice he stayed away from that?"

Joel nodded. "He's no dope. He's trying to destroy her credibility."

"It won't do him any good," I answered. "The payoff will still come on facts pertinent to the case. And he knows it."

"All the same, I'd be careful, Mike," Alec whispered. "He's got a bagful of tricks."

The clerk was administering the oath to another girl, the second witness for the State. I began to get to my feet. "He'll still have to find something better than the truth if he expects to get anywhere with this one," I said as the court

clerk nodded to me. I moved aroimd the table and walked toward the witness stand.

The hospital room was dark and quiet as I came in. I could hear the somids of the Old Man's breathing. It was slow and easy.

A nurse held her finger to her lips. "He's sleeping."

I nodded and started to back out of the room.

"Who's sleeping?" The Old Man's voice was loud and strong in the quiet. "That you, Mike?"

I stepped forward again. "Yes, sir."

"Come over here and speak up," he said irascibly. "I can't hear you."

I walked over to the head of the bed. His bright, dark eyes looked up at me. A half-smile was on his hps. "How did it go today, Counselor?"

"All right," I said. "We got through the first four witnesses. Vito couldn't do very much with their stories. All he did was bang at the people themselves. I think we did pretty good, on the whole."

"I know," the Old Man said. "I heard."

I glanced at the telephone next to the hospital bed. He must have been burning up the wire all day.

"There's one thing that bothers me, though," he said. "I can't figure Vito's strategy at all. Right now it looks like he's feeding the girl to the wolves."

I didn't speak. There was a curious sinking feeling in my heart. I could have put up a much better argument than Vito had that day. "It's almost as if he didn't care what happens with our case," I said. "He's letting me get away with everything in the book."

"Did you see Flood?" the Old Man asked. "How'd she look?" His eyes were watching me very carefully.

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The State vs. Maryann Flood 187

"I saw her," I said. "She seems okay."

"Mike," he said, "it's me you're talkin' to."

"She looks fine," I said. "Real fine."

"Still got the same feeling toward her? Even now?"

"I—I don't know, John," I said "I only know that when I look at her I choke up inside."

He nodded slowly. "I know what you mean, Mike. I spoke to her a couple of times. She's got great strength and real courage, son. She might have been a great lady if she had gone in another direction."

"Maybe she never had a chance, sir," I said.

The shrewd look came back into his eyes. "She had her chance, Mike. No matter what you say or what anyone did, she had the final say. She herself threw it away."

I didn't answer. I was remembering a time long ago. That time she left me standing in the road when I went to pick her up. The day she got out of the Geyer Home.

Something had happened to her up there. I knew it the moment I saw her walking down the path. She was different. It wasn't until I could see her eyes that I knew what it was. She was older. Far older then than I would ever be. I could see her getting into the cab and leaving me standing there on the-sidewalk.

I went back to my car, the one I had borrowed to bring her home in, and slowly drove downtown. I walked into the apartment.

Mom and Pop were sitting at the kitchen table. Pop was wearing his Sunday suit and a tie. My feet were like lead as I dragged them into the kitchen. I could see them looking at the doorway behind me.

"She didn't come, Ma," I said slowly.

My mother got to her feet, her eyes soft and cahn. "Maybe it's for the best, son," she said gendy.

I shook my head violently. So hard that I could feel the tears rolling inside my eyes. "No, Ma," I cried. "It's not for the best. She needs me. I know she needs me. But there's something that's holding her back and I don't know what it is."

My father got to his feet. "I'll put your things back m your room, Mike," he said. He walked slowly out of the kitchen.

I looked after him. Poor Pop. He just didn't understand at all. I turned back to my mother. "What should I do now, Ma?" I asked.

She stared at me for a moment, then spoke softly. "Forget her, son. She's not for you."

"That's easy to say, Mom," I said. "But I'm not a kid any more. I'm almost twenty-one. And I still love her."

"Love her?" My mother's voice was filled with scorn. "What do you know about love? You're still a baby yet. All you can do is hurt and cry." Suddenly her voice broke and she turned away from me.

I went to her quickly and caught at her arms. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears. "Stop it, Ma," I said. "Stop it. It's bad enough the way it is."

There was a look in my mother's eyes I had never seen before., "Stop it?" she cried. "I hate her! May the Good Lord forgive me, but I hate her soul to hell for what she's done to my baby."

"Maybe she can't help it, Ma," I said.

My mother looked up at me. "She can help it, son," she said slowly. "Never forget that She can always decide what she wants to do."

That had been many years ago, and now it was strange to hear the Old Man say almost the same things. I wondered if I would ever understand their point of view. I had

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mhe State vs. Maryann Flood 189

long since given up hoping they would understand mine.

"Who are you calling tomorrow?" the Chief asked.

I told him.

He calculated carefully. "At this rate you should be ready for summation in less than two weeks."

I nodded.

"I'll be out of here by then. Maybe I can give you a hand," he said.

"We made a bargain, John," I said. "It's my show. You promised."

"Oh," he said innocently, "I wouldn't tell you what to do. I would just make a little suggestion and try to be of help."

I grinned. I knew his way of helping—he took over. "No, thanks," I said dryly.

"Okay, okay," he said testily.

I went right to bed when I got home. Somehow I was glad I was alone in the apartment. It was better that way. I had persuaded Ma to stay up in the country. I think the only reason she agreed was that she knew I didn't want her around while the trial was on.

I stretched out on the bed and closed my eyes. Marja's face jumped in front of me. The look on her face was the one I had seen in court that day. I still didn't get it.

Why should she be proud of me? I was trying to send her to jail. A guilt began to run through me. Could it be that she expected me to look out for her? Was it that she was counting on how I felt about her? But she didn't know how I felt now. For all she knew, I could have changed. There could be someone else.

But as soon as I thought it, I knew that she knew: We had that between us. A sense of recognition that no one ever shared.

I rolled over, trying to put her from my mind. But it didn't work. No matter what I did, she kept creeping back. I wondered about her. There were so many things I didn't know, so many things had happened to her that I hadn't shared.

I remembered thinking about her up at the hospital. Strange that it should have come to me there because of what the Old Man had said.

But there was one period that I knew nothing about—the four months between the time she left the Home and die time her name first appeared on the pohce blotter. She must have gone through hell then. I tried to remember what I was doing during that time. My own memories were too vague, my mind kept turning back to her. What did she do? Where did she go? I didn't know.

I could only sense that she had needed me then more than at any other time in her life.

And I could only feel that I had failed her.

Book Two MARY

Chapter 1

SHE was standing in the open doorway, the sunlight sparkling iridescently in her white-gold hair. She hesitated a moment; then, transferring her small valise from her right hand to her left, she held out her hand to the woman who stood sUghtly behind her. "Good-by, Mrs. Foster," she said huskily.

The woman took her hand with an almost masculine grip. "Good-by, Mary," she answered. "Take care of your-self.'*

A half-smile crossed Mary's lips. "I will, Mrs. Foster," she promised. "I learned a lot in the year an' a half I been here."

There was no humor in the woman's voice. "I hope so, Mary. I wouldn't want to see you in trouble again."

The faint smile disappeared from Mary's mouth. "You won't," she said quietly. She dropped the woman's hand and quickly went out the door. The bright sunlight hit her eyes, and she paused at the head of the steps and blinked.

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194 79 PARK AVENUE

She heard the door swing shut behind her with the heavy clinking sound of metal. A sudden sense of freedom ran through her, as exhilarating as old wine. She turned and looked back at the closed door.

"Yuh won't see me again," she half-whispered to it "I learned too much. Yuh taught me too good."

The door stared at her, its two small windows like empty eyes of a stranger. She shivered suddenly as a chill chased the sense of freedom from her. She began to walk toward the street.

She was tall and slim in the thin dark coat authorities had given her. The late November wind pressed it close to her body, oudining her deep breasts, narrow waist, and gendy flaring hips. She walked easily on strong, straight legs.

The old man who sat in the little house near the gate came out as he saw her approaching. He smiled at her through rheumy eyes. "Goin' home, Marja?"

She smiled at him. "Got no home, Pop," she said "Changed everything. My name, too. It's Mary now, remember?"