Young Wives (60 page)

She hadn’t advertised her services nearby but in northern Westchester instead; if all of this worked, she’d decided she would move even farther away from the scene of her husband’s crime. Maybe all of this could happen. It was a modest enough hope—to be able to work and take care of her children. But that was all she wanted. Michelle wasn’t interested in anything except self-sufficiency and peace. No more haunting dreams. She wanted to feel that she could provide whatever was needed and deal with whatever arose. And these letters—these precious letters—did more to make her believe that was possible than anything had before.

Time was passing. She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, but she looked down at her watch and realized she’d be late for Michael Rice and the meeting he had set up. She stuffed the letters into her purse and then got into the Lexus—a car she now despised—and drove to the county municipal building.

As she got closer and closer, she lost all of that delicious feeling of lightness she had had and felt it replaced with dread and fear. Her chest tightened as if she’d tried to struggle into one of Jenna’s leotards. She knew why—she didn’t want to have to see District Attorney Douglas. He was the man who had ruined her life, frightened her and her children, and scarred them in a way they would never recover from. Now that she’d realized her husband’s guilt, she felt that she couldn’t really object to Douglas’s attitude toward Frank, but Michelle was afraid to find out what his attitude toward her might be. Hostile, she was sure. But she had to find out if she was free to move away, to leave Frank and go undisturbed, as far as the law was concerned.

Michael was waiting for her and she could see by the expression on his face that it wasn’t good that she was late.

“Let’s go,” he said, without any preamble. “It wasn’t easy to get this time with Douglas and I don’t want him to shuffle us off his calendar.”

Michelle nodded meekly and followed her lawyer into the building and up to the fourth floor.

George Douglas was a big man—beefy, but not fat. His hair was sandy red and thinning, plastered in thin strips over a mostly bald head, and his skin was freckled all over. He came out of his office as soon as his secretary had announced them. “Rice,” he said, and nodded curtly at Michael. “And you’re Mrs. Russo?”

Michelle couldn’t speak. He reminded her too much of her father, a man who had died almost twenty years ago but was the approximate size and shape of DA Douglas. If she wasn’t already terrified, which she was, she would have been by this reincarnation. Typical luck for her. Where was it written that this man she already feared would also have to resemble another man she’d feared? For a moment, she was afraid that she couldn’t cope, that she’d literally turn and run away. But there was nothing to do except take a deep breath and move forward as he ushered them into his office. His bald head glistened like his many plaques and trophies between the pomaded and carefully placed reddish strands plastered to his head.

“This is Assistant District Attorney Ben Michaelson and this is Stephen Katz,” Douglas said by way of introduction. “Michael Rice. And his client, Mrs. Russo.” He sat down heavily in a worn leatherette swivel chair, leaned back, and steepled his hands in front of his stomach. “So,” he said. “What have you got to offer, Rice?”

“We’re not here to offer anything,” Michael said. “As I told you on the phone, this is an open discussion to determine how justice can best be served.”

“Yeah, sure,” Douglas said. And for a moment Michelle raised her head from the defensive position she had tucked it into and dared to take a look at him. “Well, if you want justice to be served,” Douglas repeated, “here’s what you can do—you can have Mrs. Russo wear a wire and give us a recorded admission of guilt from her husband. Better yet, you could let us know where his stash is, and who he was working
for
. We already know who he was working
with
, so I’m not interested in the names of his soldiers.”

Michelle felt she might die, right there in her chair. All of these men were so tough and so quick to dispose of her, her husband, and the lives of her children. The most humiliating part of it was that she now knew Frank was guilty, and that they’d known before she did. She felt tears come to her eyes and she lowered her head again.

“Mrs. Russo is the mother of two school-age children. She’s also innocent, and completely unaware of any criminal activity on her husband’s part,” Michael said. “I’d also like to remind you that though he’s been charged, you still have no evidence and you’re conducting this based totally on the testimony of men who may prove to be unreliable.”

“Hey, Michael,” Douglas said. “Am I mistaken or did you come here looking for a deal, just like they did?”

“No, we didn’t. We just wanted to let you know Mrs. Russo plans to leave the county, and perhaps begin divorce proceedings.”

“Oh really? How interesting. And this is just coincidental, having no bearing on Frank Russo’s recent activities?”

“George, we’re not on trial, and Mrs. Russo doesn’t have to explain her domestic life to you or plead the Fifth Amendment. Just let us know if she’s free to go,” Michael Rice said. “You’re not charging her.”

“Not yet, but she’s not free to go,” Douglas said. “Now, if Mrs. Russo wants to turn state’s evidence in return for a guarantee that she will not be prosecuted, we might be able—
might
be able—to work that out,” he said. “But she’d be doing just the same thing as my other witnesses, so don’t malign them, okay?” Michelle felt panic, but tried not to show it. “I only let someone walk if they can bring me in someone bigger, not someone who’s irrelevant.”

For the first time, Douglas turned and looked directly at Michelle. “Do you know something useful?” he asked her. “Can you tell me who he spoke to? Who he brought to your house? Can you tell me where shipments came from? What cousins does Frank have who might, just possibly, of course, be connected? Who does he know from Colombia? Have you taken a lot of vacations in Mexico, or Caracas? You’re going to have to give it up, Mrs. Russo.”

She looked at the disgusting man. She could tell him the truth. “If I knew any of that, if Frank had done any of that in front of me, I wouldn’t be Mrs. Russo any more,” she said. “All I want is to find out if you think I’m involved, which I’m not. And whether or not I’m safe to take my children out of this county. I’m concerned about my children and”—here she took a deep breath—“I have no proof if Frank’s guilty or not, but I’m afraid he may be and that makes me frightened and ashamed.”

“You’re
afraid
he may be guilty?” Douglas asked, his voice full of false concern. “You’re
afraid
he may be guilty? Let me tell you something. You know goddamned well that your husband has been playing the game. Either that or you are the most disloyal, disgusting wife I’ve run into in some time. You’re telling me you’re abandoning that son-of-a-bitch because he’s run into trouble with the law and you don’t even
know
if he’s guilty? You’re just
afraid
he might be. What kind of woman does that, Mrs. Russo?”

“I don’t like your tone, Douglas,” Michael said hotly. “I don’t like the way you’re talking to Mrs. Russo. We came here in good faith.”

Douglas looked at Michelle and she forced herself not to look away. “You know,” he said. “I don’t think that you’re a bitch, but I
do
think that you’re a liar. You’re not afraid he’s guilty. You know it. You know plenty, enough to make you want to get the hell away from the father of your children. Now, I’ll help you do that, but you got to help me, too. If you came here in good faith, then give me something.”

“Mrs. Russo has nothing to give you,” Michael said. “She’s innocent and she’s been terrorized both by her husband and by the police. Come on, George. It’s been brutal on her. And her children have become pariahs at school.”

Douglas took his hands off his belly and put them behind his head. “Well, I’m hurting for them,” he said, with what seemed like sincerity. “But you know what? I can’t cry for all the women I see who for years prefer to keep their eyes shut. Who don’t want to know exactly what their husbands are doing because, if they did, it might rock their boat. It might shake their world. It might even cut their income.” He paused. “You live on a nice street, Mrs. Russo. You drive a nice car. I know that for a fact. We’ve looked at your tax returns, we’ve looked at your husband’s business income. He’s not stupid, I’ll grant you that. But I don’t think you are, either. I don’t want to hear women tell me”—here he raised his voice in an unpleasant falsetto—’“I didn’t know he was busting heads. I didn’t know about the thirty phone lines and the fact that he was taking more bets than OTB. I didn’t know who Lefty or Pee Wee really were.’ They know. They just don’t
want
to know.” Douglas shrugged. “What have you got for me, Michael?”

“What I’ve got is an innocent woman who wants some assurances and some help from the public servants paid to protect and serve her,” he said.

Douglas stood up. “Mrs. Russo, if you
are
innocent and telling the truth, I’m sorry to tell you that you and your kids are about to unfairly be the recipients of a shitstorm of trouble. We’re looking for everything we can grab until the trial. You can’t leave the county. You got no guarantees that we won’t tail you or pick you up or do whatever it might take to take Frank Russo down. You may be subpoenaed, even as a hostile witness. You’ve got a simple choice—give us something to help us and walk, or go through this with him.”

Consisting of a confidence and a kiss

Since her return from Marblehead Angie felt
so
much better—almost lighthearted. Who knew she had so much spite in her? As she drove to work in her old clunker, she actually laughed out loud. She still couldn’t think of the scene without smirking to herself. But it wasn’t really spite. Somehow, whatever the outcome between Reid and Lisa, Angie felt that she’d gotten her self-respect back. And if she hadn’t had the help of Jada and Michelle—or should she say, Jenette and Katherine?—she never would have been able to pull it off.

She giggled at that phrase. She’d wondered if Reid had been able to “pull it off,” or if Lisa had left him right then and he was still attached to the mattress. If she had, Angie wondered how he’d get into his trousers. It was like that old joke about a guy with five penises—his pants fit like a glove. She guessed that Reid’s trousers, if he was still stuck to the mattress, would have to fit like a sheet. She almost laughed out loud, alone in the car. What giddiness. If only she had thought to snag a photo or two for herself out of all those Polaroids. She’d also wished she’d had the presence of mind to say, “Oh, Lisa, I’m so very, very sorry.” Just to rub her nose in it. But she hadn’t. Well, she’d pulled it off as perfectly as she could, and she was deeply satisfied. She knew that she and Jada and Michelle would laugh about it for the rest of their lives.

Somehow she felt she could start living her life now. She’d make her job permanent, if there was budgetary approval. She’d start saving money for a new car, tell her parents about the baby, and prepare for it. She wasn’t afraid of raising the child on her own. Somehow she felt prepared for anything life dished out.

She got closer to the office and the smile faded from her face. The only dark thing about these last few days had been sitting in the diner and watching Frank talk to Michelle. Because he’d never met her, she felt that she could take the risk of occasionally looking at him in her mirror, but even in reflection his intensity and anger was enough to frighten her. There was no doubt he was a good-looking man, and a sexy one. But there was also no doubt that he terrified Michelle. She prayed that Michelle wouldn’t back off her resolve, especially now that they had the incriminating tape. Her friends had helped her. Now she would help them, if only they’d stick to their plans.

Angie had a few things she had to do today along those lines, and none of them would be pleasant. Most importantly, she had to inform Michael and the board that Jada was dropping her appeal. After the investment they’d made in Jackson vs. Jackson, Laura and the board would probably be disappointed. Angie still wished with all her heart that Jada would pursue a legal approach to her problems, but she of all people was in no position to insist on that. After all, the Marblehead caper was anything but aboveboard. Still, she worried that what Jada was thinking of was going way too far and might end in tragedy—for all of them.

Then there was another difficult thing she had to do—she had to face Michael and inform him about her condition. She didn’t know why she had been putting it off, they’d barely spoken since he’d asked her out. She’d been busy, of course, but that wasn’t the only reason she hadn’t revealed her pregnancy. Maybe she was afraid that it would discourage Michael—and maybe she was afraid it wouldn’t. But as she pulled into her spot at the clinic, she knew she had to say something.

Her morning was busy with appointments. She literally bumped into Michael in the hallway once, but he was with a client and she was on her way to meet one in reception. They exchanged looks, but not a word was spoken.

In the early afternoon, there was a staff meeting where she broke the news to all of them that the Jackson case was off the agenda. Everyone was disappointed, but Michael was the one who raised the most objections. “What’s she gonna do?” he asked. “Just live with the situation? Pretend it doesn’t exist? Forget about her kids?”

“I don’t know,” Angie lied calmly. “Maybe she’s going to seek private counsel.” She knew that reflected badly on both of them, but she just wanted this part of the board meeting to end. But Michael wouldn’t give up. He brought up three alternatives to present to Jada, as well as a final scenario for good measure. The guy was certainly dedicated.

“Just bring her in. Let me talk to her,” he said.

“I don’t think she will. She’s just not going to.”

“She owes us that much,” he said. In the end, though, he and the board had to accept the decision. Angie gave them the letter that she and Jada had drafted and they went on to other business. If Angie noticed her mother and Laura looking at her with what seemed like disappointment, she just had to hope she was wrong or imagining it. It had been a big case, bigger than she could handle. She hoped it didn’t mean that when Karen Levin-Thomas came back that Angie would find herself without a job.