* * *
Gloria wrinkled her nose as she wiped the excess makeup from Theo’s face. “Stand still or you’ll have this crap all over you. Whose idea was it to use bronzer?”
“You know I hate looking washed out on TV.” Theo eyed herself in the ladies’ room mirror, noting the brown streaks across her cheek.
“What do they make this stuff with? Baby shit?”
She could always count on Gloria for a frank opinion of anything. “Forget it. I’ll do it.”
“Hold on, I’m almost done.” She’d already gone through half a box of tissues. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to ease up a little. Philip thinks you hit it out of the park, but I couldn’t stop thinking about your jury pool. That take-no-prisoners approach isn’t going to work with men, especially sports fans.”
And especially not in Atlanta, where many of the potential jurors were Harwood fans.
“Yeah, I know.” Theo usually showed more restraint on TV. The “angry woman” played well in the feminist blogosphere and social media, but not on the network news. “I’m trying to thread a needle here. There’s a better than average chance this case will never get to court. I need to provoke enough outrage to get something that looks like justice for a rape victim.”
“You mean the DOJ?”
“Or the DA. You know Justice won’t investigate unless the public demands it. And by the way, Ms. Women’s Studies Scholar, this is where you come in. We need to stir up a few of your militant women’s groups. Get them started on petitions, protests and vigils for Hayley. Preferably without having our fingerprints all over it.”
Gloria mumbled a curse at finding a smudge of makeup on the cuff of her white blouse. “I’d be surprised if they didn’t stir themselves. Your problem is timing though. All the campuses—Harwood, Emory, Georgia Tech—they’re out for the summer. It might be hard to get critical mass.”
“A community group then. Get Jalinda to help.”
Theo checked her face one last time and deemed herself fit to be seen in public. As she left the ladies’ room, she ran into Penny.
“There you are, Theo. A woman called in a couple of minutes ago, says she’s a sophomore at Harwood. She saw you on the news and wants to tell you something. She left a number.”
Gloria nudged her from behind. “If she’s a Hornets fan, that something will probably be ‘Go to hell.’ Our phone’s going to ring all day.”
“True,” Theo said. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d been inundated with calls, faxes and emails complaining about one of their cases. Some of the more vicious trolls threatened to rape and kill her, and they’d posted her home address on the Internet inviting the unhinged to follow through. “But I did just tell a few million viewers there were probably more women out there with stories like Hayley’s. Try to screen them if you can, Penny. Get this one back on the phone and put her through.”
As she waited, she checked for messages on her cell phone, finding one from Celia.
CB
was all it said. Call back, their usual exchange. She’d do that after talking to the caller.
Who would have guessed she’d have fallen so hard for someone after just one date? A date that had lasted nearly two days. By the time Celia had left for her office on Sunday to pack up, Theo was already hopelessly in love. It was crazy. And yet she’d never been so certain of her feelings.
The phone jarred her from her thoughts. “This is Theo Constantine. To whom am I speaking?”
“My name’s Kelsey Cameron. I’m a sophomore at Harwood. At least I used to be. I’m transferring to Georgia Southern in the fall. I saw you this morning on TNS.”
“Hello, Kelsey.” Theo paused to see if the woman would continue on her own. The fact that she didn’t suggested she was unsure of herself. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”
“I wasn’t sure if I should call or not. What you said…you know, about there being other girls this happened to…it did. It happened to me too. Last year right before Christmas break at a keg party. Except it was a football player.”
Theo’s pulse began to race but she tempered her excitement. “I appreciate you calling, Kelsey. Would you mind if I asked you some questions?”
“Sure, but I don’t want to press charges or anything. That’s why I’m transferring…so I can put this behind me.” In pain-filled detail, Kelsey told her story.
Though it was vindicating for Theo to hear she was correct in her guess that other women had suffered the same fate, there was nothing to celebrate in Kelsey’s quivering words. “Did you report it like Hayley did?”
Penny tiptoed in and placed a steaming mug of coffee on her desk.
“Not to the cops. I went to student health to get the emergency pregnancy pills. When I told the nurse I didn’t remember what happened, she went and got this other nurse who came in and talked me into doing a rape kit. Just in case, she said. A bunch of swabs and a blood test. But I’d already had a shower so she said it probably wouldn’t show much.”
Kelsey spoke with a down-home cadence that Theo noted was different from the other students she’d interviewed. Harwood was an expensive, exclusive school, popular among what she considered the Southern aristocracy. Most of the women she’d interviewed came off as sophisticated and even a bit entitled, but not Kelsey. No wonder she was seeking refuge in a public university.
“Anyway, she asked me if I wanted them to call the police, but I felt like an idiot. Like it was partly my fault, you know? Drinking beer around a bunch of people I didn’t know. That was stupid. Plus I couldn’t say anything about the party because I was only nineteen at the time. A lot of us were underage. It probably would have gotten everybody in trouble.”
“Kelsey,” Theo said slowly, distinctly, “it wasn’t your fault. Let’s just get clear on that. You aren’t responsible for someone else’s bad behavior.” It was an endless source of frustration to hear women express the internalized criticisms leveled against them for going out and having a good time. “How much do you remember about the assault?”
“Not a thing. I guess that’s good. But he was there when I woke up. In the bed, I mean. We were in his dorm room. And I knew I’d been…that he’d had sex with me. I could feel it. But I got up and went back to my apartment like nothing happened, and that’s when my roommate said I should go to student health.”
Theo made note of the similarities to Hayley’s case. A party, probably a drug of some sort, an athlete. “Where did this take place?”
“Henderson Hall. It’s where all the jocks live.”
And where Hayley had been raped.
“But the main reason I called is what you said about the school covering it all up…that hit a nerve. See, after a couple of days, I confronted him about it. He said no, it wasn’t like that. He said he thought I was into it because I went with him to his room. I don’t remember any of that. But anyway, he said not to tell anybody because he was worried about getting suspended from the team before the Gator Bowl. I already told him I wasn’t going to say anything. But then the next day this man shows up at my apartment anyway. Says he’s a lawyer for the team, and he warns me that I need to be careful about making allegations, that I could find myself dealing with an expensive lawsuit. That I could get expelled for slandering another student. He was so cocky I wanted to smack him.”
“Do you remember this man’s name?”
“Austin something. He was about thirty. Drove a black Porsche.”
Kelsey probably didn’t realize the importance of her story. Essentially she was describing an institutional culture of impunity when it came to athletes, in which victims were intimidated to remain silent. If she were willing to go on the record, her testimony would bolster their case.
“This is all extremely interesting, Kelsey. And important. I expect to hear from more young women like you now that the news of Hayley Burkhart’s circumstances have been made public. Would you consent to do a detailed interview here in our office? I’m not asking that you commit to being a witness, just that you help us clarify the details for our records.”
She made arrangements to have Jalinda follow up with a detailed interview, where they’d assess Kelsey’s composure and credibility. If she held up to closer scrutiny, she could be a powerful piece of their case.
The MARTA stop that served the Harwood campus was nearly half a mile from her office, a pleasant walk in decent weather. Even in the rain or cold, it beat driving, as Celia’s assigned parking space wasn’t much closer.
It was her first visit to campus in five days, since packing up her office on Sunday. Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged her in had it not been for the call from her textbook editor asking if she’d received the galleys for proofing. After getting blocked from campus email, she fully expected to find her mailbox empty and her office fitted with a new lock.
Only a dozen or so students milled around Forbes Hall, typical for summer. In the administrative office on the first floor, the secretary gave a cordial nod as Celia entered. It wasn’t an exuberant welcome by any means, but it was hardly the way one greeted a pariah.
Her mailbox was surprisingly jammed, thanks to the bulk of the galley proof and a handful of letters and memos. Celia was tempted to collect it and head right back to the MARTA station before having to face her department head, but curiosity got the best of her. If they hadn’t stopped her mail, perhaps they hadn’t locked her out of her office either.
Not only did her key work, her office appeared exactly as she’d left it. Nothing out of place, and no sign anyone had rummaged through her drawers or files. As she stood before the bookshelf trying to decide if anything had been moved, she was startled by a man’s voice.
“Celia, did you see where PSI picked Atlanta for its conference next year? Finally, an international conference we can afford to attend.” It was Paul Blumenfeld, a colleague who’d joined the faculty the same year she had, yet received his promotion to full professor two years sooner. He honed his hipster image by sporting a soul patch on his chin and wearing his long dark hair in a man-bun.
“I haven’t seen it yet. I just picked up my mail.”
“Good ol’ snail mail. Sure comes in handy, doesn’t it? I couldn’t believe they didn’t tell us ahead of time they were taking the server down for maintenance. You’d think those IT guys could plan better than that. At least it’s back up again. I had emails out the wazoo.”
She smiled weakly as it slowly dawned on her what he was saying. If the server had been down across campus…perhaps she hadn’t been deliberately shut out of her account after all.
He continued his blather but she’d stopped listening. When he left with a cheerful wave, she hurried to her desk to check her access. Sure enough, she was back online. A preliminary glance told her nothing had been deleted, not even the correspondence related to her meeting with Gupton and Tuttle to discuss Hayley’s allegations.
Once again she’d fallen victim to her own paranoia. While it was highly unlikely she’d be welcome at one of the chancellor’s dinner parties, it was clear they weren’t going out of their way to make her life miserable. At least not yet.
Leafing through her mail, she found the memo explaining the maintenance work on the university’s server and apologizing for the temporary disruption. Had she come to her office on Monday instead of lying low at home, she would have spared herself the indignity of feeling scorned by school administrators.
She then came across a thin sealed envelope bearing the return address of Andrew Barker, the performance studies department head and her immediate boss. Inside were her course assignments for the fall semester—Intro to Theater at nine a.m. on Tuesday and Thursday; and at one p.m. on Wednesday, Performance Overview, a second-year course for prospective majors.
If anyone was out to get her, they were practically killing her with kindness.
Only two courses—the same teaching load as other full professors—and the first time in six years she had two days free from classroom duties.
Then again, the date on the letter was last Friday, before Theo’s charges went public. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if she got an addendum telling her they were adding an introductory class or additional duties beyond getting ready for the spring stage production.
No, she was being paranoid again. Maybe Theo was right—they didn’t dare punish her because it would make them look guilty or vindictive. The university didn’t need any more bad press, not with the news stations still talking about the rape and coverup.
One of their tactics for shutting down the chatter was playing out this very afternoon in a courthouse downtown. Theo had been called in to respond to a defense motion for a gag order that would prohibit the attorneys or parties to the case from speaking about it in public or with those not directly involved. That would end Theo’s appearances on news shows, where she’d stoked public outrage to the point that women’s groups were demanding a criminal investigation and NBA fans were pleading with their teams not to draft Frazier or Caldwell. Considering that might be all they won, it would be a shame to see her silenced.
On the other hand, it would give Celia the best possible excuse for not responding to questions or comments from colleagues and students.
* * *
Technically, today’s meeting was only for the attorneys—the motion for a suppression order, where the defense would argue in the judge’s chambers that Theo’s myriad appearances on news programs were prejudicing their defense. Theo didn’t expect any of the named defendants to attend, and had made it clear to Donald Lipscomb his presence wasn’t required.
As she stepped off the elevator on the seventh floor with Jalinda, Sonya Walsh emerged from the ladies’ room. Sonya was general counsel for Harwood University and the personification of aging female conservatism, with shoulder-length brown hair that flipped up at the ends and a polka-dotted silk blouse knotted in a bow at her collar. Theo suspected she was in court today in a supporting role. This case was too big for Harwood University to leave in the hands of someone like Sonya, who lacked experience as a litigator.
“Theo, so nice to see you again. I wish it could be under better circumstances.”