Chapter 2: Confiding

“I’m sorry,” Candy said when she got to Professor Pierce’s house. “Three ELs and a bus. I couldn’t judge the time.”

“Quite all right. Tell me your last name again.”

“Wharton.”

“Freeze!” That was directed at the boys running around. Indeed, Prof. Pierce turned around to face them before shouting. The boys stopped and stared at her. “This is Miss Wharton. And, no, she’s not a babysitter. Mama’s going to be home all night. That one...” she pointed, “is Johnny. That one...” she pointed at the other boy, “is Paul. They may now move, but only one foot at a time.” The boys walked over to them. “Give me your coat,” Prof. Pierce said to her.

“Hi, Paul.” He was bigger and his hair was lighter. They didn’t look like twins, but she was quite clear that she’d never be able to describe one accurately enough to distinguish him from the other. She put her gloves in the coat pockets, took off her coat, and handed it and her scarf to Prof. Pierce.

“You’re not a babysitter?” Johnny asked.

“No. I’m not.”

“For which she can thank God. She’s an economics student in college. Why don’t you show her your books while I get dinner ready?” So they showed her a couple of picture books. She was trying to decide whether she was supposed to read the books to them when the outside door opened.

“Well,” said a big man dressed like a businessman. “We have a guest. Do you want to introduce her to me?” The boys stood mute.

“I’m Candy Wharton,” she finally said.

“Miss Wharton,” said one of the boys. She could tell them apart by eye when they were both standing still. Their voices sounded alike to her.

“How do you do, Miss Wharton? I’m Bill Pierce.” He took off his overcoat and suit coat and hung them both in the closet. “Now, if you’ll excuse us for a moment, these two boys are the wrong side up.”

The observation looked a little clearer a minute later. Both boys ran to him and he picked one up and held him upside down. The other boy -- she’d lost track again -- was trying to tickle both his father and his brother. Both of them were fending him off. Both boys were giggling. After a couple of minutes of this, he set one down and went after the other. That one tried -- none too sincerely -- to escape, but his brother cooperated in the capture. When he was upside down, the giggles turned to shrieks.

When the bell rang, she was about to offer to get it. Mr. Pierce walked to the door without asking her. He didn’t even set the boy down.

“States Attorney’s Office,” the man at the door said. “We have reports of serious child abuse here.” He walked in already unzipping his parka.

“Well,” Mr. Pierce said, “they abuse us horribly, but nobody here is serious. This is,” now that the newcomer could see her, “Miss Wharton.”

“Eric Stewart. I’m sorry for the humor. I didn’t know you were here yet. I’m Paul’s godfather as well the position you’ve heard about.” He must be the States Attorney. Actually, he’d said that at the door, even though the context had been a joke. He hung his parka in the closet without his host’s invitation. Clearly, this was a man who had been here before.

They ate at one end of a dining room table which could easily have seated a dozen. Overlooking the table was a large picture of Prof. Pierce in academic robes holding a much smaller pair of twins. Nobody brought up why she was here at all. When the dinner was over, Mr. Pierce gave each of his boys an enthusiastic hug and kiss. The kiss for Prof. Pierce was much milder, but Candy thought she saw him squeeze her butt. He went off to a ‘finance meeting.’ Everybody else seemed to know what that was. Prof. Pierce started clearing the table. Candy got up to help her.

“You don’t have to...”

“Please!” She didn’t know Prof. Pierce well, but this Stewart guy was a total stranger, a total stranger who would be digging into her most private memories. Anyway, Prof. Pierce shrugged her shoulders. Cleanup consisted of getting the dishes from the table to the sink and then, rinsed, into the dishwasher.

“Look,” Prof. Pierce said when they were finished. “You have to talk with Eric, and I have to get the boys to bed. I can stay up there until you call. I’ve intruded on your privacy enough. Or...”

“Please. I want you there.” She really didn’t want to talk about it at all, even less to a strange man. If she had to, she wanted Prof. Pierce there.

When they went to the living room, that man was on the couch between the boys reading one of their picture books to them. She and Prof. Pierce sat and watched them for a few minutes. Prof. Pierce looked at her watch.

“Time for bed. Give Uncle Eric a kiss.” Then, while the boys did, Prof. Pierce looked at her with raised eyebrows. Oh! Should they give her a kiss, too? Well, right now, this was the age of boys she wanted kissing her. She nodded. “And give Miss Walton a kiss, too.” They came over, Paul in front of Johnny. They were standing still, and she remembered that Paul was the larger. She bent over, and Paul gave her a shy kiss and an enthusiastic hug.

“Nighty-night,” he said.

“Good night, Paul.”

“Nighty-night.” This followed Johnny’s kiss.

“Good night, Johnny.” They started climbing the stairs at a creep.

“She wants me down here before the conversation gets serious.” Professor Pierce started up the stairs with a swat for the butt of the lower boy. They climbed a little less slowly.

“Well,” Mr. Stewart said when they had both listened to the sounds from upstairs for a minute. He cleared his throat. “Without getting into anything substantial, maybe I could get some background. You’re a student of Mrs. Pierce?”

“Yeah. Freshman Economics.”

“You’re a freshman?”

“Yeah.”

“Eighteen?”

“Nineteen. I had my birthday this September. You’re a state’s attorney?”

“An assistant state’s attorney. The State’s Attorney is Carey. Illinois is divided into judicial districts, most of them covering more than one county. Cook is nearly half the state, population-wise, and the district court is about the largest court of first instance in the nation. The State’s Attorney’s office handles all the prosecutions for any criminal cases in the county, not counting federal prosecutions. We go from parking tickets to murder. There are one hell of a lot of us, and we mostly specialize. I don’t handle...” There was a long pause. “That is to say, I prosecute traffic cases.” There was another long pause. “When I’m not in the office, I sing in the church choir with Mrs. Pierce and am godfather to Paul.” They sat for another minute of silence.

“What other courses do you take?” he finally asked. She got through her courses and her high-school background. When they heard Prof. Pierce coming down the stairs, he got up.

“Look, you want her present. Do you want her close?” That sounded like a good idea. “Why don’t you and she take the sofa while I get a chair?” He carried a chair from the dining room while she walked over to the couch. Prof. Pierce sat down beside her.

“Look,” Stewart began, “this is painful. I know it. But it’s not going to get less painful with more delay.” Another pause. She may have nodded. “Mrs. Pierce tells me that you were raped. Tell me about it.”

“I was stupid...”

“You were, are, a college freshman. That’s not being stupid; it might be being less cautious than an older woman might be. That’s not the point. Where were you? Who was with you? What did he do? Start where you want. If I need more details, I’ll ask for them.” Well, it wasn’t easy, but he seemed to be trying to make it easier.

“I was at a dance with this boy. He had taken me there on a date. On the way home, he invited me to his apartment for a drink. I said yes. Anyway, one thing led to another. We were making out. I wanted him to stop, but he wouldn’t.”

“Did you tell him to stop? When?”

“When he took my panties off, and my pantyhose. He ignored me. Then, later, I found that he was naked, too. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t.”

“He wouldn’t stop?”

“No.”

“You told him to stop?”

“Yes.”

“There was intercourse? He was inside you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. That’s rape. Unless, of course, you’re married to him.”

“I’m not.”

“I didn’t think you were. It’s just the law. If you don’t like that, write your state legislator. Anyway, you’ve been saying ‘he.’ What was his name?”

“Jerry Lambert.”

“BMOC,” Prof. Pierce put in.

“Like Prof. Pierce says, he’s important.” She reached out to touch Prof. Pierce. She started crying and found herself in Prof. Pierce’s arms.

“Look,” Stewart said after a while, “I’m not the enemy.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“No, but Mama Bear was protecting you from me. Anyway, this isn’t the end. Did you report this to the police?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re going to have to tell this all over again. At least you’ll be telling it to a woman. Can I make an appointment for you?”

“If you have to.”

“Look, I repeat. I’m not the enemy. This MF, Jerry, is. Nothing’s going to happen to him if you hide yourself away. We’re not putting you through this because we’re evil. He’s putting you through this because of what he did and because that’s the only way that he’ll suffer at all.

“Anyway, I know the woman at the State’s Attorney’s Office you should talk to. I don’t know whether she’s in court tomorrow. How do I get in contact with you? And when? Are you going to be home tomorrow?” Could she be? She wasn’t getting anything out of classes anyway. But she didn’t want to be home for Mom to nag.

“I don’t want to be home. I haven’t told Mom.”

“Well, sometime, you’ll have to. Why don’t you give me your phone number, and when you’ll be home tomorrow. We’ll assume an appointment sometime Thursday. I’ll call you tomorrow night with the time and the room number.” She started to write down her phone number. “You know the County Building? It’s really the same building as City Hall, only we have the east side.” She gave him the paper she’d written her phone number on.

“Take my work phone, too,” he said. He handed her a card. “That way, if you call me in the early afternoon, you can learn the appointment without my calling you and raising questions at home.” They sat there for a minute.

“Anyone want more dessert?” asked Prof. Pierce. Her stomach didn’t really feel happy about what she had forced down already. “Somehow,” Prof. Pierce said, “I don’t think this is the night to suggest a few hands of gin rummy.” Yes. The evening was over. She should go.

“You have been awfully kind already,” she said.

“I could drive you home,” Mr. Stewart said.

“Really, I can...”

“I won’t take it personally if you would rather ride in the back seat. You have a damned good reason to be off men, but don’t think of me as a man; think of me as a driver.” Well, her fears might be real, but they weren’t sensible.

When they reached the car, she headed toward the front passenger door. The back seat was less scary, and he’d offered it, but she had to deal with her nerves some time. Actually, as she gave him directions, she reflected that she would have been more scared standing on a lonely street corner waiting for the bus.

“You really can tell the kids apart?” he asked. “Or was that a lucky guess?”

“I can tell them apart when they’re both present and standing still. Can’t you?”

“That’s the easy part. And they’re seldom standing still, as you might have noticed. I can tell them apart. It’s just that lots of people can’t. After all, I’m Paul’s godfather. I can’t wait ‘til the boys see the movie. I’ll hear about it then. As I said, the hard part is getting them to stand still.”

“You seem to have had no problem getting to stand still -- sit still --for their books. Prof. Pierce seems proud of them.” And she seemed to trust Mr. Stewart with them, too. That might be a recommendation.

“She is. She has been from their birth, if also a tiny bit overwhelmed. You saw the picture?”

“Yeah.”

“She wrote her dissertation while carrying twins. Bill is proud as punch about that accomplishment -- those accomplishments. Bill was notorious in the church for cuddling other people’s babies. Then she gave him two of his own. He hasn’t quite given up other people’s infants, but he is still a hands-on parent. I may tease him about abuse, but the boys not only love him, they love his treatment of them.”

“Yeah. He was holding them upside-down when you came.”

“Carolyn -- you call her Prof. Pierce, don’t you?” At a nod, he continued. “Prof. Pierce would really prefer a little less roughness. The boys love it, though. They try to get me to pick them up that way. I don’t trust my strength enough. They’re head down over a floor, and they wiggle like mad. Theologically, I’m supposed to have a special relationship with Paul. Actually, I try to treat both the boys equally.”

They went on like that for the rest of the ride. They had two points of contact, and she was grateful that he didn’t bring up the other one. The nearest parking space was a half block from her house, and he walked her to the bottom of the porch steps. He didn’t stand beside her as she got her key out, and that reassured her.

She called him from a phone booth a little after noon. He gave her the time and office location for her appointment the next morning. It was with a Miss Murphy.

When she got to the State’s Attorney’s office, they directed her to Miss Murphy’s office. There was a cop, a woman cop, outside her door. Miss Murphy ushered her in and offered her coffee.

“No, thank you. Has Mr. Stewart told you what I told him?”

“Some of it. Why don’t you tell me from the beginning?” She went through the whole thing for Miss Murphy. She went back and described her interaction with Jerry at the previous dance. Miss Murphy led her through the whole thing from there. She asked specifically if it had been her first sexual experience.

“And did you report it to the police?”

“No. I told you that.”

“Well, you should now. Officer Curran, the woman outside, will take your statement. Do you know precisely where the apartment house is?”

“No.”

“But it’s in Chicago?”

“Yeah. He drove me there and home from there. I’d have known if we were going far out.”

“Okay. We can locate his apartment. It’s just that it’s a jurisdictional matter, and I don’t want you having to report it yet again to another department.” Well, she didn’t want to repeat it anymore, either.

Officer Curran was sympathetic, and her questions were fewer. She didn’t want to know all the details, merely enough to identify the man. She did ask about the location, though.

“You think it’s picky of us, don’t you? But before he gets to court, he’s entitled to a specific charge, and that charge must list the place in which the crime was committed. All the cop shows where the brilliant detective catches the criminal genius? Well, I’ve never met either. Some geniuses are criminal, I guess. I’ve seen college professors charged with rape. Still, no criminals are geniuses. No. Crime prevention is just a matter of plugging along. Anyway. somebody will talk to this Jerry guy. Not me, a detective. There used to be a detective doing my job, but Miss Murphy thought a woman was more important than rank.”

“I’m glad.” Then she went to a McDonald’s until it was a reasonable time to go home. She didn’t hear anything further from the State’s Attorney’s Office. At first, she thought that they had done nothing. Soon, though, she found that the police had contacted Jerry. She heard his voice from behind her Monday.

“Bitch! What did you tell the cops?”

“Nothing but the truth.” She would have been more explicit if they couldn’t be overheard.

“That wasn’t the truth, bitch. You were crawling all over me. You begged for it.” He obviously didn’t care that they could be overheard.

“That’s not true. You raped me.”

“You begged for it. You think I can’t get all the pussy I want?”

She broke away, but she started to notice kids whispering about her before or after class. It kept up for the rest of the week. That Friday night, she told Mom everything. Mom called in Dad and had her repeat it.

“Well,” Dad said, “you shouldn’t have led him on.”

“Led him on? What did I suggest? Not one damned thing. I should have said ‘no’ earlier. I know that, but when I did say ‘no,’ he didn’t stop. He didn’t even notice.”

“Well, you say that’s not the story he told.”

“Of course it’s not. He’d be in jail if he’d told the truth. Don’t you believe me?”

“We raised you to behave right. We raised you to tell the truth.” And so they had, but they didn’t believe her when she did. She went to her room and hid. She thought about dropping out, but the quarter was practically over. Anyway, even with the whispering, the University was a shade less of a turn-off than home.

That Saturday brought another worry. It should have been her period. Could she be pregnant from one sex act, one rape? By Sunday she’d convinced herself that this was one worry too many. She had missed periods before. She’d missed them or they’d been late during times of stress, and this had been the time of highest stress in her life.

“Might I see you after class, Candy?” Prof. Pierce asked at the end of Economics class Monday. She stayed after, and Prof. Pierce took her to her office. The other professor wasn’t there.

“How is it going?”

“Fine.”

“Really?” Well, no. She didn’t even expect to be believed.

“Worse than I can say. Jerry has been to see me, and people are talking about me, and I told my parents, and they don’t believe me.” She broke into tears. Prof. Pierce held her and let her cry. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’m sorry, too. And I’m mad as hell. But you don’t have anything to apologize for. Look, do you have any support network? any group who are standing up for you?”

“No. My family isn’t, and I don’t know anybody in school. And I used to in high school, but they all moved on and went our different ways.” That didn’t sound too clear. She was suddenly glad that Prof. Pierce didn’t teach English.

“How about church?”

“I don’t go much.” Which meant that she’d refused when Mom tried to take her along last Christmas Eve. Her parents went every Easter and Christmas Eve, but the Christmas Eve service was too childish for her.

“You don’t have any objection to going?”