Chapter 128: Deposition

Thursday, May 19, 1983

School was ... fine. At this point in the semester we had two things: the occasional paper or research project to turn in, and finals. There was very little more information the teachers were trying to cram into our overloaded heads. A bit, here and there, but not much.

That, and Debate and Drama were done, of course.

9:15pm

Angie came over right after Mom and Dad went to bed, climbing right into my bed and rubbing noses.

“So ... ready for whatever you had last night?”

“I ... think so. It’s not bad, just ... I don’t know. Complicated.”

“So what else is new?” she said, grinning a bit.

“You have a point there,” I said, chuckling. “Okay, so ... I started talking with Linda about dating.”

“Didn’t you do that last time?”

“It was a couple of times back, more or less. Anyway ... the difference is that I asked ‘why me?’”

“And the answer was a surprise.”

“Pretty much. The starting point was that I’m ‘a catch,’ I suppose.”

Whap! A gentle one, but still.

“C’mon! You know that!”

“I ... guess I didn’t. You’re right that I should have, but ... insecurities, I suppose.”

She sighed. “I know you say that you don’t know what girls see in guys, but...”

“But I don’t.”

“Handsome: check. Successful: check. A gentleman: check. No girls saying anything bad: check. Many girls saying something good: check. Dated the head cheerleader: check. Need I go on?”

“I guess not. I still...”

“You still see yourself partly as first-life Steve, even with all of the differences. I know the feeling. I still sometimes see myself as first-life Angie, wondering why people respect me when I’m just a ‘party girl.’ Then I remember: no one knows I’m a reformed party girl except you. Well, no one knows you’re a reformed overweight nerd except me.”

“I’ll keep trying.”

“So ... crisis solved?”

“Nope,” I said.

“I figured it couldn’t be that easy.”

“She basically said most girls are holding back because I might reject them.”

“Well ... no. I think if she said that, it’s wrong. It’s more ... well ... think of Mike, or Tony. Both of them have a lot going for them. Are either of them going to ask Jess out? I mean, if there was no Sarah.”

“I’d say ‘no.’ But I’m not Jess.”

“You might as well be! You dated her for months! Therefore, you’re on her level. I know, you were with Jas, and as amazing as Jas is, no one puts her on Jess’s level, but this stuff doesn’t need to make sense. You dated Jess, you’re on great terms with her, therefore you’re more on her level than not. Add that to you’re still dating Jas, and most girls would think ‘He’s not going to go out with me.’”

“That makes sense. Not a lot of them want the entanglement of an open relationship.”

“No. You’re relying on that too much. It’s more about you than it’s about Jas. If you weren’t with her, some more ambitious girls would make their interest known, but only some.”

“Speaking of which, Linda said that some ... um ... predatory girls ... would be after me, trying to pry me away from Jas, except that word is out...”

“That’s a little edgy of her. We’re getting into girls-only territory.”

“I don’t want to get her in trouble...”

“Nah. I won’t say anything, not even to her. And, yes. If someone acted that way, they’d be persona non grata with Jess, which counts for a lot.”

“She told me a story about some girl who threatened to cry rape...”

“I heard that one both go-rounds. No idea if it’s true. If it is, it’s at least a few years back. That’s extreme by any standard. I guarantee, though, there are girls who’d go out with you claiming they understood the open relationship and your commitment to Jas, and then would do whatever they could to pry you apart from her. If anyone tried that ... yes, a bunch of people would kick her ass. I know trying to break you up wouldn’t work. So does Jess. Doesn’t matter; it’s a lousy thing to do.”

“You do know this is weird.”

She shrugged. “No weirder than people seeing me as a role model. Well ... as a good role model. Both of our lives are weird. Good, but weird. Very weird.”

“I’m going to talk to Jess about this, too.”

“Good. You should. She’ll have a completely different perspective, since she doesn’t have any idea that there ever was a socially awkward overweight kinda-nerdy high school Steve. She only knows you.”

“True enough.”

“On that subject, or related. No change, in my opinion. You and Jess would never have worked. On the other hand, you and Jess ... or you, and Jas, and me, and Jess ... as long-term friends and allies ... that works. I don’t know what her future is, but I have this feeling that she’s going to be a major ripple herself.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I think so, too. I think her path is different now.”

“I think the whole blackmail thing screwed with her before. It didn’t wreck her — she was a big part of the high school social elite my senior year — but ... she lost a step. Or two. Or three. Or ... maybe it’s just that she gained a step in finding allies who she could trust.”

“Maybe so. Either way, I agree. Whether or not we go to the same college, she should be on the keep-in-touch list.”

I stretched and snuggled up.

“Got it out of your system?” she said, smiling.

“For now. It’ll come back.”

“That’s probably good. Humility is a plus.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s part of what’s saved us,” she said.

“Sis?”

“You got here after your marriage blew up, unsatisfied with your life but ready to start over as best as you could. I got here after a prison beating, feeling like I was ready for a second chance. We’d both ... lost ... the first time. If we’d come in all arrogant, or maybe even ... average ... we’d probably have long since abused the knowledge that we have.”

“Hrm. Yeah ... yeah, I can see that, sis. I knew immediately that I needed to make things better.”

“Me, too,” she said, hugging me. “My big fear was backsliding, and you were the thing that stopped that, if it was going to happen.”

“And my big fear was getting lazy, and ... not possible with you in the house.”

She giggled. “We could’ve gotten lazy together.”

“Would you have?”

“Hell, no. Vain Angie would’ve worked on her figure, while Motivated Angie would’ve taken care of herself.”

“There you go!”

She chuckled. “We make a pretty good team.”

“The best.”

“Tired?”

“Very.”

“Me, too.”

“Night, sis.”

“Night, bro.”

“Love you!”

“Love you, too!”

We quickly smooched, then snuggled up and went off to sleep.

Friday, May 20, 1983

During Debate (shortened, as was everything else, to make room for one final), Jas and I, and then Jaya and I, made a plan for Saturday the 28th. That plan involved me borrowing Jasmine’s brother’s bedroom for Jaya and me. It wasn’t ideal, but renting a hotel room wasn’t ideal either, and Jaya said she agreed that Jasmine’s house was a good plan. Given the circumstances, that was the best night. Jaya didn’t want to try anything this weekend, not with finals looming.

We were both looking forward to it, and (like nearly everything in my life) no one could say I’d rushed into it.

Saturday, May 21, 1983

Dad and I picked up Jas around ten-fifteen, then headed to Mr. Lancaster’s office. As far as we knew, and as far as they knew, we were on for my deposition today. I certainly wouldn’t put it past the other lawyers to delay things, of course.

Mr. Keller and Ms. Jennings were there as well. We all shook hands, then headed to a conference room.

“I wanted to double-check and make sure you know that you’ll be deposed separately,” Ms. Jennings said.

“We’d already gotten that impression from Mr. Lancaster,” I said.

Jas nodded along. “We’re ready for that.”

“Good. You’re both very much on the same page. Remember that the goal isn’t a perfect match. You don’t ‘lose’ if your stories slightly differ. If it’s a big material difference, then you would. But it’s not like the ‘blue shirt’ thing I mentioned. There’s no ‘whodunnit?’ here. The accident itself is defined by physics, and we’ve got that cold. This is just about recording your story, completely.”

Jas smiled. “I can do that.”

“Me, too,” I said.

The phone rang just then. Mr. Keller picked it up and answered.

“Got it. We’re ready.”

He hung up, then smiled. “They’re on their way up. The court reporter arrived at the same time, so we’ll be ready to go.”

We went out into the hall. The elevator made its ‘ding,’ and the door slid open to reveal a man and two women. The man was pretty clearly the sort of lawyer you get from central casting: tall, photogenic, with his just slightly graying hair in perfect order, an impeccable designer suit, and a quick smile. I’d have put him at about fifty. One of the women followed the same model: shorter, but not too short, with shoulder-length brown hair and glasses. I’d guess about forty.

The other woman was anything but like the first two. She was wearing a much plainer outfit and carrying what looked like a typewriter. No question about who was who in this group.

The man smiled, offering his hand to Mr. Lancaster. “Don Blankenship.”

Mr. Lancaster shook hands, giving his name, and then he started meeting and greeting everyone, while the woman headed over to Mr. Lancaster and said, “Stephanie Lane.”

She repeated the same ritual, and I shook hands with both of them, putting on a friendly smile that Jas matched. The game was afoot, after all.

After a bit of back-and-forth, they agreed that Jasmine would go first. That put me back in the conference room. As part of the back and forth, they decided Dad could sit in on the deposition as Camille and Francis’s representative. My guess, though they hadn’t confirmed it, was that Camille and Francis wanted to send a message to Jasmine that she was mature enough to do things like this on her own.

I’d done the same thing with my own kids (when I felt that they were mature enough and had trustworthy people to rely on, of course). Once they’d hit sixteen or so, every meeting with adults carried a ‘Would you prefer me to be there, or would you like to try this on your own?’ I was just a text or a call away, in the waiting room. I’d always felt they appreciated the respect.

Since I’d expected to be at loose ends for a while I’d brought a book with me. I’d considered tweaking everyone and bringing a legal thriller, but decided to play it straight and brought Steven King’s ‘Different Seasons’.

They wrapped up around one. Mr. Lancaster (or some secretary, most likely) had ordered lunch, so we all had sandwiches before resuming. The other two lawyers ate in another conference room, presumably so we could speak freely.

After lunch, I was the one under the microscope. Everyone identified themselves for the stenographer, and Mr. Blankenship asked me to give her my license and my full legal name, age, address, and grade, which I did. I suspect that age might matter, but grade was unlikely to. Put together, I think the intent was to send me a message: ‘You’re just a high school junior. What could you know?’

Maybe that was just being cynical, but I was in a room with four lawyers. If one can’t be cynical in that sort of surroundings, where can one be cynical?

As I’d suspected, Ms. Lane asked the bulk of the questions once we got going. I’d been expecting a variation on ‘good cop, bad cop’. She was polite, perhaps even friendly, and smiled a lot. She asked me to walk through the evening, and I did, being careful with my timeline and including details that didn’t seem pertinent (such as browsing stores after eating). Mr. Blankenship occasionally asked a question, such as ‘Do you often go out to dinner so far from home?’ or ‘Do you often take dates to such an expensive restaurant?’ Mind you, Bangkok Thai isn’t all that pricey, but I think he’d expected me to be on a McDonald’s budget.

I just smiled and said that, yes, I liked to vary which restaurants and cuisines we went to, and, yes, sometimes I’d spend a bit on a nice meal. In both cases, I’d stopped and whispered the answer to Mr. Lancaster and gotten approval.

Perhaps they’d try to paint me as some sort of wild and crazy playboy? That might work, and might affect a jury, but ... it’d be hard in this case, since I’d been with my acknowledged girlfriend of well over a year, and all we’d done was have some Thai food, browse a used book store and a used record store, then head home. What we were intending to do when we got to Jasmine’s hadn’t come up, and I wasn’t expecting it to come up. Maybe?

Once we got close to the accident, Mr. Blankenship said, “You seem very certain of the route.”

I glanced at Mr. Lancaster, then said, “I am.”

“How are you so sure?”

I smiled. “This is the neighborhood I grew up in. I’ve never lived anywhere else. I was on the way to my girlfriend’s house, where I’ve been dozens of times. It’s a familiar route.”

“So,” he said, “you drive that way often. It’s ... familiar ... as you said.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but refrained.

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“So you might have been thinking about something else, correct? Perhaps what you were going to do when you got to your girlfriend’s house?”