On a beautiful autumn Sunday afternoon in New York, Zurich Robinson opened up some deep wounds. Not the wounds he suffered on the football field. Yes, the Cougars lost again. This time to the New Jersey Warriors, 38–20. Zurich had played much better than his effort against Atlanta, throwing two touchdown passes late in the game. All week, he had tried to put Mia and his troubles in Chicago out of his mind during practice and the game. On Tuesday, he was scheduled to meet with Tamela to find out what, if anything, the Chicago DA was going to do about Mia’s allegations. Despite Mia’s initial statement and the evidence the police had collected, Tamela told him, she didn’t think they had a case, but Mia could still come after him with a civil suit. Zurich had not discussed his problems with anyone except Tamela and Gina. MamaCee had called several times, and once even left a message on his answering machine. A first for her. But Zurich assured her that everything was going fine.
After the game Zurich had a couple of surprises. Both pleasant. As he was walking toward the locker room, with his head down from the dejection of his performance, one of the Warriors’ players came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. When Zurich turned, he was looking directly into the stunning gray eyes of Basil Henderson, the Warriors’ All-Pro wide receiver. Zurich was a big fan of the sure-handed player. With a big smile on his face Basil said, “Say, Gee. I just wanted to come up and tell you, man, that you can throw. You’re going to be a good one. I wish you were throwing to me.”
Zurich replied with excitement in his voice, “Thank you, thanks a lot. It means a great deal coming from you.”
“Cool. Hey, we’re homeboys sorta. Aren’t you from Tampa?”
“Yeah, I am. Right near Temple Terrace. Where are you from, Basil?” Zurich said.
“I’m from Miami,” Basil said.
“I didn’t know that.”
“No problem. By the way, I saw a piece in All Sports where some bitch is accusing you of something bad, man. How is that going?”
“Everything is going to be fine, I hope. Thank you for your concern,” Zurich said. Gina had informed him some national newspapers would probably pick up the piece that ran in the Sun-Times, but not to worry since she was working on a plan to counter the negative press.
“Yeah, man, but be careful. Both the media and women can be a real ball buster. Look, I’m going to get a piece of paper and leave my number with your team equipment manager. Why don’t you give me a call and let’s keep in touch. Maybe we can hang out when we come to Chicago to play the Bears or when you guys are up here against the Giants,” Basil said.
“That would be great,” Zurich said.
“Cool. I’ll make sure I get that number to you.”
When Zurich entered the press room to talk to reporters, one insisted on asking him questions about his possible involvement in a sexual assault in Chicago. When Zurich said, “No comment under advice of counsel,” the reporter continued asking questions, citing the number of black pro athletes accused of violence against women.
Zurich’s eyes moved past the annoying reporter and suddenly saw Sean. Broad smiles came across both of their faces. Zurich walked over to shake hands with Sean and told him he hadn’t known he was going to be at the game. Sean introduced Zurich to Gerald, who stood there wide-eyed and quiet for once, and then said, “Changes at the last minute. I have a few more questions for you. If you have a couple hours, I can get you out of this.”
Zurich agreed and quickly informed Sean that he had planned to spend the night in New York City before going back to Chicago. Sean was surprised at the questions from the reporter. He had not heard about Zurich’s being under investigation for rape. His subscription to All Sports had expired, and he had not seen the small article. He wanted to know more about this and how it might affect the article he was working on, and he also wanted to find out what other secrets Zurich was keeping.
After dropping Gerald off in Brooklyn, Sean suggested a quiet coffee shop, in midtown Manhattan, where they could get sandwiches. Once they arrived and found a small table near a window looking out on Broadway, it was Zurich who had the first question.
“How do you like living in New York, Sean?”
“Sometimes I love it and there are times when I think I have lost my mind,” Sean said.
“What do you do when you’re not working?”
“Well, sometimes I just go to bookstores and see what’s new. You know with books and magazines. I roller blade in Central Park, and I try to spend a lot of time with my nephew.” Sean was beginning to wonder who was the reporter. But he liked the fact that Zurich was interested in his life.
“Oh, he’s a great kid. I really enjoyed meeting him and your sister. You guys look like twins,” Zurich said. Sean thought this was the perfect opening, but he was a bit nervous considering how to ask Zurich about his brother. Maybe if he had a beer, it would relax him.
“Twins … hum, that’s interesting. I want to thank you for what you did for Gerald. I mean the autograph and the jersey. Man, that was great. Did you see the look on his face when you gave him your jersey? I don’t think he will ever be the same,” Sean said.
“No problem. Glad to do it. I mean you and Gerald saved me from that asshole reporter. I wanted to say to him what part of no comment don’t you understand, jerk,” Zurich said.
“Do you want to talk about that?”
“I’m sorry, Sean, but no comment goes for you, too. But, off the record, I will tell you that no charges have been filed and there is not an ounce of truth to it,” Zurich said confidently.
“Understood.”
A waiter came over, and Zurich and Sean both ordered turkey sandwiches and coffee. Then Sean suddenly changed his beverage to a Molson’s beer. They continued their small talk about the game and about the Cougars’ chances of ever winning another game. Zurich said his hopes were still really high and that he was feeling more comfortable in the NFL. He mentioned his encounter with Basil Henderson and asked Sean if he had ever interviewed him. Sean said, “No,” and decided against telling him about the party where he had met Basil.
After a couple of swigs of his beer, Sean thought it was now or never, so he looked seriously across the table and said, “Zurich.”
“Yeah, Sean,” Zurich said as he took a napkin and wiped mustard from his lips.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s personal,” Sean said.
“I’m game. Ask your question,” Zurich said firmly.
“Tell me about your brother,” Sean said.
“My brother? You mean my brothers?” Zurich asked.
“Not your brothers. I’m talking about one specific brother. Tell me about Zachary.”
Zurich didn’t ask how Sean had found out about Zachary. He just looked at him and then moved his eyes around the small coffee shop and back toward Sean. His gaze became a stare, there was a respectful silence, and Zurich began to speak, as if he had been waiting for someone to ask.
“He was my best friend. He was born first. About thirty minutes before me. We were born on the same day as the first Super Bowl. January 15, 1967. Who played in that game? I know you know who played in the first Super Bowl.” Zurich paused as if he was trying to remember the teams. It would take his mind away from the pain the memory of his twin brought.
“Green Bay and Kansas City,” Sean replied. “It was Green Bay and Kansas City,” he repeated.
“The Green Bay Packers and the Kansas City Chiefs. All my folks used to say was someday we would play pro ball or some type of sports. When we were real little, down in Mississippi and Florida, no one wanted to play football with us, so Zach and me would play against each other. I would be the Green Bay Packers, and Zach would be the Kansas City Chiefs. Sometimes we would switch. It didn’t matter who won. I think we liked it better when we played alone,” Zurich said as he smiled to himself. “When we played with other people, we always had to be on the same team. Sometimes I would play quarterback. Zach would be my receiver and then sometimes I would be the receiver.”
“How did he die?” Sean asked.
“If you ask my father, or anyone else close to my family except my grandmother, they will tell you Zachary died of cancer. And in some ways that’s true. He did have some type of cancer along with several other diseases. But the truth is my brother died of AIDS,” Zurich said.
“So you’re an identical twin. It must have been difficult losing him so young,” Sean said. He was trying to balance his reporter’s instinct to ask all the right questions with his personal feelings for Zurich, who he felt was in a lot of pain answering those same questions. He suddenly regretted bringing it up. What purpose did it serve, Sean thought, but then, he wanted to know.
Zurich had ignored Sean’s comment and just started talking, dreamlike, as if he were in a trance.
“When we were around sixteen, Zach lost interest in sports and started taking dance. My father went crazy and made him stop. But Zach … that Zach, he didn’t stop. He would sneak and take classes down at the local YMCA in Temple Terrace, which was right outside of Tampa. I was playing football there, and Zach had my dad thinking he was playing football, too. I was the only one who knew. Well, not exactly. MamaCee knew. She would send Zach the money to pay for classes and the things he needed. You know, shoes and tights. At first, I didn’t understand his love for dance. I was mad at him, too, ’cause I thought only sissies took dance. I tried to talk him out of it all the time, especially when my older brothers started teasing him. Sometimes they would tease me, too, saying Zach and I were exactly alike and sooner or later I’d be taking dance lessons, too. But Zach didn’t let that stop him, despite my pleas. He would say all the time, ‘You, my brother, will be playing for the Green Bay Packers.’ Then he would stop and say, ‘No, you can play for the New York Jets, so we can be close together, since I’ll be dancing with the New York City Ballet. That way we can always be together. Zach and Zuri,’ he would say.”
Zurich took a sip of his now-cold coffee and just stared out the window. His face looked peaceful.
“All of my life it has been we, never me. Long before my mother or father held me, I’m sure Zach and I held each other as we wrestled in my mother’s womb, long before we played football, or learned about things like love … hate. Before we knew about life … AIDS … pain and grief.” His voice was soft and hesitant, as if he were choking out the words, but then it became stronger. “Even though we were different in many ways I always felt safe with Zachary. When he died, I think I went into shock, and I don’t think I’ve ever come out,” Zurich said, his voice thick with emotion. “He kept all the pain he was suffering to himself. Didn’t tell me he had AIDS until MamaCee convinced him he should tell me. I think she knew something was wrong before Zach knew, kept saying something about her legs. I was living in Canada at the time, but the moment he called me I was on a plane to New York, but … but …” Zurich paused. “It was just too late … too late. I wondered why he didn’t tell me the moment he found out. My father and MamaCee didn’t handle it well. I mean, I know they loved Zachary as much as I did, at least I think they did. They loved him as much as they were able to. MamaCee had this prayer cloth she was depending on and all these homemade remedies that Zach never bothered to take. He didn’t want to hurt MamaCee’s feelings. They didn’t come to New York to see him and then when he died, they didn’t want to follow his wishes to be cremated and have his ashes spread over the field behind MamaCee’s house. I became so angry at them, my father tried to explain, but I made them follow his wishes. They were not going to ignore what Zachary wanted,” Zurich said. Sean now realized why Zurich didn’t want to talk about his family when they first met. He was beginning to feel that maybe his own family wasn’t that screwed up. After all, he was confident that if he ever got sick, both his parents, his brother, and Anja would be at his side.
“I still sometimes don’t know if I can make something of this football career without my brother. Sometimes I wonder if playing football even matters. I mean I can throw a ball, I can run fast, but I can’t cure cancer. I can’t stop AIDS,” he said.
“But look how well you’re doing with your career,” Sean said. “Don’t you think Zach would be proud of you?” he asked as he tried to comfort Zurich’s fears.
“He was always proud of me and me of him. We always supported each other even when no one else understood. I mean his death was so unfair. Things were starting to happen for both of us. NFL scouts were starting to pay attention to how well I was playing in Canada; Zach had been promoted to the main company at Alvin Ailey and was even doing some dancing in shows and videos. He was talking about going to school, you know college, so that he could teach dance one day maybe on a college level. And then just out of the blue … bam … bam,” Zurich said as he slammed his palm down on the Formica table. He was silent for a few moments and then he looked at Sean. “Do you know what was the hardest part of losing my brother?”
“No, Zurich. Tell me.” The waiter came over and poured water in their glasses and asked if they needed anything else and Sean mouthed, “No.” And Zurich began talking again:
“Zach was living up here in New York,” Zurich said as he looked out the window of the restaurant again. “Close to this place,” he said. “I think he lived near here. A couple of days before he died, I was sitting beside his bed, rubbing his body with ice, because he was sweating a lot. He asked me to shave his head, so that he could look like me. You know it’s funny ’cause Zach shaved his head first when he moved to New York. It was like he didn’t want to be a twin anymore. But we were twins, so I shaved my head right away but only told MamaCee. And I think he was happy when I did tell him, ’cause, you know, we looked like each other again, although toward the end he didn’t look like me anymore. He weighed less than a hundred pounds and there were sores all over his body. The only way I really knew it was my brother was when I looked in his eyes. The eyes were still the same. I shaved his head anyway, very slowly ’cause I didn’t want to hurt him, and when I finished, we looked in the mirror and said something corny like ‘twins till the end.’ And then he looked at me with tears in his eyes and he said, ‘Make me well, Zurich. Make me well.’ ”
“I told him how I wished that I could, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t make him well. And he said ‘Yes, you can, Zuri. You can do anything. Make me well.’ But all I could do was hold him. I wanted to say, ‘Tell me who did this to you, Zach. Tell me who did this to you.’ But I didn’t. I just held him.”
“Zurich, you realize no one was to blame. Not Zachary, not you,” Sean said.
“Yeah, I’ve learned a lot about AIDS since then, I know,” Zurich said sadly. After a few moments of silence Zurich said, “Two forty-three A.M.”
“Two forty-three A.M.? What’s that, Zurich?”
“It’s the time Zachary died,” he said in melancholy tone.
Sean wanted to grab Zurich and hold him or just touch his hands in support, but he didn’t. He knew some men were bothered by affection, no matter how it was offered. He wanted to ask how Zachary contracted AIDS. Was he gay? And if his identical twin was gay, was Zurich also? But he didn’t. This was not the place or time, he thought. He simply motioned the waiter to leave them alone when he saw him heading toward the table. He felt Zurich needed to savor the silence, and so did he.
After leaving the coffee shop, Zurich and Sean stood outside on Forty-fourth between Broadway and Eighth Avenue, preparing to say good-bye. While dusk took over the city, Zurich looked at Sean and asked, “Will you go somewhere with me? It should only take about thirty minutes.”
“Sure,” Sean replied quickly. He did not want the day to end. Sean thought Zurich was one of most sensitive men he had ever met. He had gotten the answers to the questions he had, but they only gave way to more questions, and feelings for Zurich that Sean himself didn’t understand.
“I want to go where my brother lived. I think it’s close by.”
“Do you know the address?”
“Yes. It was 300 West Fifty-fifth. I think it’s near Columbus Circle,” Zurich said.
“Yes, it is,” Sean said as he turned and pointed toward Eighth Avenue. As the two of them started walking, Sean turned the conversation again toward Zurich’s problem in Chicago.
“Are you worried about what this lady said you did to her?”
“No, not really,” Zurich said confidently.
“Why do you think she’s doing this?”
“You know, Sean, I really don’t know. But I’m not afraid. I know what will happen will happen. MamaCee used to always tell me where there is fear … faith cannot exist. And the one thing I’m confident of is my faith,” Zurich said. Sean simply nodded.
“What about you, Sean, have you found a good church here in New York?” Zurich asked.
“No,” Sean said quickly.
“You do believe in God, don’t you?”
“Of course, I’m just hiding from Him right now,” Sean said.
“What? Hiding? I don’t understand,” Zurich said.
“It’s too long a story. Maybe one day I’ll tell you what I mean by that. I think we’ve opened up enough today. Don’t you?” He hoped Zurich wouldn’t pursue this topic. He was afraid talking about religion would spoil his otherwise perfect day.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. But I’m not going to let you off the hook. You can’t run from God,” Zurich said firmly. Sean liked the way Zurich seemed concerned about his soul.
The evening sun was going down, casting long shadows on the streets as they walked in silence. When they came up on Fifty-fourth and Eighth, Sean and Zurich waited for the light to change.
Sean looked at Zurich, whose face suddenly seemed somber as he gazed at a yellow brick high-rise across the street and said, “That’s it. That’s the building.”
When the light flashed Walk Zurich and Sean crossed the street to the building where Zachary had taken his last steps.
Monday afternoon a rainstorm surprised Hyde Park, but by evening the rain had ended and the sky blossomed with a quiet pink color. The dark clouds hovering over the neighborhood had cleared to allow a pale evening light, while Tamela and her mother enjoyed wine coolers on the terrace of her parents’ home.
“So this new man, you like?” Blanche asked.
Tamela smiled briefly. “Yeah, Mama, I think I like.”
“So who are his people?”
“He’s from down South, a place called Pine Bluff, Arkansas,” Tamela said.
“Oh, Pine Bluff. They used to have a black college down there. AM&N they called it. We used to play them in football when your father and I went to Southern,” Blanche said.
“Caliph said something about there being a black college down there, but he called it UAPB.”
“That’s AM&N. They had a good teaching program,” Blanche said. Tamela didn’t respond to her mother’s last statement but just continued to gaze out on the neighborhood where she grew up.
“Now tell your mama what’s the problem,” Blanche said.
“Now who said I had a problem?” Tamela asked.
“Darling, you know I love seeing you, but when you call me at work on a Monday and say you’ve got something you need to talk to me about and ask if your daddy has any wine coolers in the box, then something is wrong. Besides, I can see it on your face,” she said.
Tamela took a sip of her wine cooler and took off her watch and laid it on the patio table. She took a deep breath and knew it was time to share a secret she had held for years.
“Well, you know I’m working on this new case. You know the one with this football player, right?”
“Yes. I’m glad to see that firm of yours has finally realized what they have in you. Is that your problem?” Blanche wondered aloud.
“Sorta. You see, Mama, I’m wondering if I should really be handling this case, especially if it goes to trial,” Tamela said.
“Why, darling? Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting on? A high-profile case that will help you when you break out on your own?”
“Yes, I know. But without going into a lot of details, my client is a suspect in a rape and beating. A horrible rape and beating. I saw some pictures this morning of the victim and it made me sick,” Tamela said.
“Do you think he did it?”
“That I don’t know. He’s somewhat of a mystery. I mean he seems like a nice guy, but some of the evidence the police have collected makes me wonder. Now I know as a defense attorney I am under an obligation to defend my clients to the best of my ability. That I must put my personal feelings aside,” Tamela said.
“Have you talked to your police friend about this?”
“No.”
“But something else is bothering you, right?” Blanche asked softly and touched her daughter’s hand. Her dark eyes were full of concern, as she prepared herself to handle whatever Tamela was about to reveal. It couldn’t be that bad, she thought. Her daughter shared almost everything with her. Even things she didn’t want to talk about, like romance.
“It’s strange how the past somehow shows up in the present,” Tamela said as she looked out at the city.
“What are you talking about, baby? You know you can tell me anything,” Blanche said. Tamela was silent for a few moments and then she turned to look at her mother, whose smooth brown face was unmarked by the passage of time.
“I know that, Mama,” Tamela said as she took another deep breath and started to speak. “You remember Jason? The guy I dated while I was at Southern,” Tamela asked gingerly.
“Yeah, baby. I remember him. He really hurt you,” Blanche said as she remembered the muscular, light-skinned boy her daughter had fallen in love with during her freshman year. She had brought him home and insisted they were not sleeping together even though Blanche knew the glow on her daughter’s face was not from her studies. She also remembered how depressed her daughter had been when she and Jason broke up, after her first year of law school. But both parents thought Tamela handled the breakup without much emotion. She simply put all her energies into law school.
“Yeah, he did. Well, one night during my senior year, I was over at Jason’s apartment, studying,” Tamela said. She looked at her mother to see if she was going to ask how late it was or had she spent the night, but she didn’t say a word. “Anyhow, late that night I heard all this screaming and loud noise coming from his housemate’s room. That wasn’t so strange since they were always partying, especially after football games when they won or after greek step shows. They were a pretty wild bunch,” Tamela said as she paused and took another sip of her drink. “But this night I could have sworn that I heard several male voices and this one woman’s voice. She was crying and yelling, ‘Stop … stop … stop it.’ I woke Jason up and told him what I heard and he basically told me to mind my business and go back to sleep.” Tamela looked at her mother to gauge her reaction but it remained the same, sort of passive, yet openly concerned. She started talking again: “I couldn’t go back to sleep ’cause they were making all this racket, so I got up and pretended like I was going to the bathroom, which was in the middle of the apartment, separating Jason and his housemate’s bedroom. When I walked out, I saw about four guys, all naked, standing in line, drinking beer, and shouting, ‘Hurry up, man, hurry up before we have to take that bitch back to the dorm.’ I could hear this female voice just saying, ‘Stop, please stop,’ and when all of those guys went back into the room, the door opened wide and for a second, I saw this girl’s face,” Tamela said as she paused. “Mama, she looked scared to death and for a brief minute our eyes met. But then one of the big guys in the room pushed her down when he saw me and told one of his friends to shut the door. I couldn’t sleep that night and the cries and the noise stopped about an hour later. I heard them leave early that morning. When I mentioned what I saw to Jason, what I heard, he again told me to mind my own business, that the young lady was probably some local whore who liked to get with football players. So that’s what I did, I just assumed that she knew what she was doing,” Tamela said. She took her hands to her lips and was quiet for a few moments, just looking straight ahead, when her mother touched her arm and said, “Then what? What happened?”
“About a week later, there was a report on television and talk all over campus about this young girl, who I had met once when she came to one of our rush parties, who had been raped and beaten by several football players. She was a real pretty girl, light-skinned with long black hair. We started to pledge her, but some of the sisters from her hometown said she was real fast and would be trouble when it came to boyfriends, so we passed on her, but she pledged another sorority,” Tamela said.
“Were the boys ever arrested?” Blanche asked.
“No, Mama, they weren’t. I heard there wasn’t enough evidence. The guys all said that she agreed to have sex with them and nothing happened to them. A couple of days later I heard at a sorority meeting that the young lady withdrew from school and I never heard what happened after that. And nobody seemed to care. I heard people on campus talking about it, saying the bitch deserved it for going over to some guy’s apartment that late at night … that she probably enjoyed it. But, Mama, I never said anything to anybody but Jason and after a while, even he wouldn’t listen to me. I kept telling him we should go to the police and tell them what happened, but he said if I did that I would be going alone and that he would never, ever speak to me again,” Tamela said as tears began to fill her eyes. “He said he would say I was lying … that nobody was going to tell on his boys.”
“Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry,” her mother said as she gently rubbed Tamela’s arms.
“I’m not going to cry, Mama. It’s just all day … I mean ever since I saw those pictures of the woman who was raped, I been seeing that girl’s face and hearing her screams and tears. I could have done something and I didn’t. I didn’t do anything because I was afraid of losing a boyfriend who was just as wrong as I was for not saying anything. I could have helped but I didn’t. And now I find myself possibly representing a man just like those boys who raped that young lady,” Tamela said as her face became covered with tears. She was no longer pretending to be unmoved by her confession, unmoved by what she had failed to do.
Blanche got up from her chair and went over and held her daughter. “Just let it out, baby. Just let it out … cry. Everything will be all right … it will be all right,” she said as she rocked her daughter in her arms.
After her good, cleansing cry, Tamela followed her mother back into the house where she watched Blanche search for something to eat. Tamela loved Mondays at her parents’ home because her mother always cooked huge meals on Sundays and there were plenty of leftovers for days.
Blanche set before Tamela a plate of her much-loved meatloaf stuffed with mushrooms and bell peppers, candied yams, green beans with smoked turkey pieces, and freshly sliced tomatoes. She made a fresh pan of cornbread and a pitcher of lemonade before sitting down with a cup of coffee to watch Tamela eat.
“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” Blanche asked.
“Yes, Mama, but why don’t you tell me?” Tamela said as she smiled at her mother and enjoyed the first taste of the meatloaf.
“One of the things that I’m certain they taught you in law school is that there are good people and there are bad people in the world, but in this country they are all entitled to a defense. What’s that phrase, ‘innocent until proven guilty.’ Don’t you rush to judgment because of what you know some men are capable of. You went to law school to defend people, that’s what you’ll have to do with this young man,” Blanche said.
“I know, Mama. And that’s what I’m going to do. I will give my client the best defense I’m capable of,” Tamela said.
“Then that young man doesn’t have anything to worry about. In regard to the other matter, I think you have to forgive yourself. You did what a lot of women your age would have done under the same circumstances. And what can you do now? Try and find this young lady and apologize. I don’t really think that’s possible. You need to ask the man upstairs for forgiveness and then know that it’s done. In times like these you have to depend on your faith for an answer,” Blanche said.
“I know you’re right, Mama. I’ve also been thinking about assisting some of the women who are raped and don’t have legal counsel on what they can do. You know I’ve defended so many of them knuckleheads who have committed crimes against women, and I never stop to think of the women. You know if the charges are dropped against the man, those women still have to deal with their pain,” Tamela said.
“What could you do?”
“You know, help them get counseling. Help them to sue some of these men, if they can’t get justice from the criminal courts,” Tamela said.
“That’s a good idea. You could do even more when you open your own practice,” Blanche said.
“Do you ever regret that you didn’t go to law school?”
“No, not really. I love teaching. You know it’s a very important job. Sometimes I look at the little boys and girls in my classes, and I just pray I’m making a difference. You’ve got to do the same thing, baby. You’ve got to make a difference and that means standing up to your responsibility.”
“How did you get to be so smart, lady?”
“A whole lot of living, my daughter, a lot of living,” she smiled. The Tuesday morning after he returned from New York, Zurich got the surprise of his life. He was on his way to Tamela’s office to go over his case when the phone rang. When he picked up, MamaCee’s voice reached out loud and clear, as if she were next door. MamaCee had the type of voice that could carry for miles, no matter which way the wind was blowing.
“Zuri,” she said.
“MamaCee. How are you doing?” He was wondering why she was calling him this early in the day. MamaCee never called during the day when the rates were too high, saving her long distance calls until Sunday.
“I’m doin’ fine, baby. Come git me,” she said.
“Come and get you? Where are you, MamaCee?”
“O’Hara. I’m here at O’Hara. I’m in Chicago, baby,” she said.
“You’re where?”
“O’Hara. Ain’t that the name of this airport? Boy, it’s big. I’m telling you that plane ride was something else. It was so beautiful flying up there so high, the sky was beautiful and the clouds … It was like I was flying to heaven. And, Zuri, those young people on the plane serving food, they were so sweet to me. I told them it was the first time I was on one of them planes and that I was going to see my grandbaby. I told them ’bout you playing for the Chicago team. The food wasn’t that good, but the peoples were so nice. I am so happy that I brought my own food. I tried to share some of it, but I didn’t have enough,” MamaCee said.
“MamaCee, what are you doing in Chicago?” Zurich asked. He couldn’t believe MamaCee was just thirty minutes away or that she had actually gotten on a plane.
“I’ll tell you ’bout that when you git here. You do have a car, don’t ya, baby?”
“Yes, MamaCee, I’ll be right there. What airline did you come on?”
“Wait a minute, let me ask somebody what airline I’m at,” MamaCee said. Zurich could hear her saying, “Come here, baby. Yea, you. What airline is this?” Zurich could hear a voice say, “Miss, you’re at the Delta airline terminal.”
“Okay, MamaCee. Do you know what gate?”
“Hold on,” MamaCee said. Once again Zurich could hear her talking with someone. A few seconds later he heard her say, “Thank you, baby, I bet ya’ll think I’m some kinda country bumpkin, here is the gate number looking me right in the face.”
“MamaCee,” Zurich said.
“Yeah, baby. I’m at gate number forty-eight,” she said.
“Okay, MamaCee. Wait right there. I’m coming to get you,” Zurich said.
“Fine, baby. Anyhow, where am I going? One plane ride in a day is enough for this old lady. I’ll be sittin’ right here resting my feet till you git here. Got both my arms wrapped round my handbag ’cause I know some of these people might try and snatch it. I might even finish up this fried chicken and deviled eggs I brought. But maybe I should save some for you. I know how much you like MamaCee’s fried chicken and deviled eggs, don’tcha, baby?”
“MamaCee, hang up the phone. I’m on the way.”
Zurich arrived at Tamela’s office over an hour late, with MamaCee in tow. He still couldn’t believe that MamaCee had gotten on a plane and come to Chicago simply because her legs were hurting. But seeing his grandmother made him smile; in fact, it caused him to actually laugh for the first time in weeks.
When he picked up MamaCee at O’Hare Airport, she was sitting in the waiting area, surrounded by her bags and two white flight attendants, who seemed to be enjoying her lively conversation. When she stood up and hugged Zurich, he couldn’t stop laughing, even though there were tears in the corners of his eyes. MamaCee looked like a walking curtain, in her best Sunday-go-to-meeting getup. She had on one of her church hats, with a detachable tiara, and flowers. Her shapeless floral-print cotton dress had buttons from top to bottom, and along her shoulders were gold epaulettes held together by a fake fox head. To top everything off, MamaCee had on her comfortable white ushering shoes, with stockings that stopped at her knees.
She hugged and kissed Zurich on the mouth, on his hands, as she said to the flight attendants, “See, I told y’all my grandboy was a fine thang.”
MamaCee talked nonstop as they drove down the Kennedy Expressway into the city. Beginning with a story of how nervous she was flying and how Ms. Clara, the director at a hospice MamaCee volunteered for, had told her to dress up when she got on the plane. Then there was a lengthy description of Ms. Clara, her family, her life. And then MamaCee asked Zurich several questions, one after another. “What building is that, baby? Ain’t you driving a little fast? Ain’t people scared to be on them trains moving all fast on them little tracks?” But Zurich didn’t answer her questions and MamaCee didn’t notice.
Zurich was relieved when Christina promised to take care of MamaCee and showed him into Tamela’s office. Maybe there, he thought, he could get a word in edgewise.
“I’m sorry I’m late, but I had to pick up my grandmother,” Zurich said as he took a seat and wiped a thin film of perspiration from his brow.
“That’s all right. I had something I needed to finish,” Tamela said, pulling a yellow legal pad from her left desk drawer.
Zurich glanced around Tamela’s office looking for a box of tissues. It was cool in the office, but a nervous sweat seeped through his shirt. Tamela’s office was littered everywhere with legal books and periodicals, and a glass-topped table was covered with the three E’s of magazines for black folks, Essence, Ebony, and Emerge. Behind her desk, a matching credenza and a mini-refrigerator sat before a wall covered with diplomas and family pictures.
“I haven’t seen any more articles in the newspaper on this. Have you?” Tamela asked.
“No, I guess I can be thankful for small blessings,” Zurich said.
“Would you like something to drink? Some coffee, juice, or water?” Tamela asked.
“Yeah, some bottled water would be nice,” Zurich said.
“Would you like a glass?”
“No, I can drink it from the bottle,” Zurich said.
Tamela leaned back from her desk, reached inside the refrigerator, and pulled out a small bottle of Evian. Placing a napkin around it she handed it to Zurich and asked, “So why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Zurich twisted off the plastic top, took a long gulp, and used the damp napkin to wipe his forehead. He began to talk about Mia. After he had gone on for about ten minutes, Tamela said, “Tell me about the scratches on your hands.”
“She was crying, kinda out of control, and I pulled her toward me. Mia pulled back and when she did her fingernails tore across my hands.” Tamela’s eyes narrowed and she asked another question. “Why did you invite her up to your apartment?”
“I didn’t exactly invite her; she sort of invited herself, saying she needed the tape to show to her producer,” Zurich said.
“Did you give her the tape?”
“I couldn’t find it,” Zurich said.
“How did her panties get in your dirty clothes hamper?”
“I have no idea. She did go into my bathroom to freshen up for a few minutes.”
“So let me make sure I’m getting this right. She took off her panties without your knowledge and left them in your bathroom; she asked you to dance; and she placed your hands on her private parts?”
“Yes, that’s what happened,”. Zurich said firmly. The sweat had finally stopped. Tamela felt a nigger, plezze, coming on but resisted.
“You’re also telling me that you didn’t consider this a date, but a business meeting right?”
“Yes, we were meeting to talk about the possibility of me doing some commentating on a program at the station. You can ask Gina about it. I would never go on a date the night before I’m leaving for a big game. I mean this was the first game of the season, but Mia made it seem like if I didn’t do it that night, I would miss out on a big chance,” Zurich said.
“So do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Were you attracted to Ms. Miller?”
“Well, I don’t know how to answer that. I mean she’s beautiful, but that’s not why I went out with her. I thought I made that clear. It was business,” Zurich said firmly.
“Okay, I think I understand, but these are the kinds of questions the prosecutor is going to ask you if this thing goes to trial,” Tamela said.
“So what’s next?”
“I have one more question. If you weren’t interested in her, then why did you call her the night or morning of your meeting and then call her again when you returned from Atlanta?”
“I just didn’t want her to misunderstand me. I wanted her to know that we could still be friends even though I knew she was upset with me for rejecting her,” Zurich said. He decided not to mention the dream because he didn’t think Tamela would understand.
“So do you think she’s blaming you because you rejected her?” Tamela felt another nigger, plezze, coming but she thought back to her conversation with her mother.
“I don’t know.”
“And you didn’t take her back to get her car?”
“No, I tried but she just ran out of my building.”
“I wonder how she got back to her car?” Tamela said. She took her pen and placed it on her lips, frowning, as if she was trying to figure out this mystery.
“There are always taxis sitting out in front of my building. Is there any way we can find out if a taxi driver took her back to her car?”
Tamela thought, All right, Kojak, let me do my job.
“Yeah, that’s a possibility. I’ll check on that later. Okay, I think I have enough information for now. Let me tell you what will probably happen. The Chicago Police will collect all the evidence and will present that to the district attorney, who will decide whether or not to press charges. If they don’t think they have enough evidence, which they probably don’t because they would have arrested you the day we went down to talk with them, the DA will have the option of presenting the evidence to a grand jury or at a preliminary hearing. They could do both but I doubt that very seriously.”
“A preliminary hearing? Grand jury? What happens then? Will I ever get to tell my side?” Zurich asked.
“You could, but in most criminal cases, I don’t believe in presenting a defense at a preliminary hearing. But if you have something you can tell me to prove you didn’t do this, then that’s considered an affirmative defense and I’d put that on,” Tamela said.
Zurich didn’t say anything. He just gazed out of Tamela’s window, wondering how he got into this mess. He had made a promise to his father, MamaCee, and to himself that he would never get into any trouble that would land him in jail. He didn’t want to be a statistic. After a few minutes, Tamela started to talk again, but Zurich didn’t really hear her. A numbness set in; the thought of newspaper headlines, handcuffs, and the sound of jail cells closing cluttered his mind.
“Now at the preliminary hearing, the DA’s only got to show that there’s a strong probability you committed this crime. And the judge makes that determination, and a lot of that depends on what judge we get. During a trial, they have to convince a jury of your guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. That’s not easy,” Tamela said.
“Oh,” Zurich said.
“Do you understand everything I’ve said?”
“Yeah, I think so. What about a semen test? Can’t that prove I didn’t do it?”
“Yes, it could. From the doctor’s report it was hard to tell if she was penetrated and if there was enough semen for a DNA test. You could volunteer to do that, but the test takes weeks and it still might not prevent you from being arrested if they feel like they have enough evidence against you. I would like to use the test as a last resort,” Tamela said.
“Yeah, I would too. So she really was raped?”
“Something bad happened. I’ve seen the pictures. Someone really beat Miss Miller up bad,” Tamela said.
“But it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me,” Zurich said as he got up from the chair and clasped his hands together so hard that the sound startled Tamela.