Grif Stockley - Illegal Motion

“No, I told him I’d meet him there. I know it doesn’t make sense, but my father has told me over and over never to let myself get in a situation I can’t get out of. I just figured that if Dade tried to get fresh, I’d leave. It never occurred to me that he would rape me.” Her voice becomes tiny here, though she doesn’t cry.

Despite the welter of emotions building in me, I rock my chair and roll my eyes, communicating to the jury that this explanation is garbage. Fresh? Nobody uses that word. The fact is, Robin could have seduced her professor, fucked him happily on a weekly basis in my motel, and now she’s worried about Dade being “fresh.” The lawyer part of me wants to get up and scream at the jury that Alice is disappearing through the looking-glass, and what remains is a first-class liar. Do I believe this? I don’t know what I believe.

Binkie ignores me and tells Robin to continue.

“What happened next?”

“Well, I got there sometime around eight, and he was already in the house. For the first few minutes he acted okay, but then he came over to the chair where I was sit ting and grabbed me by the arm. I just froze. He said he wanted to take a shower with me. I remember asking him if he were crazy. Then, I smelled beer on his breath and knew he had been drinking. I said, “I have to leave,” but he said, “Don’t make me have to hurt you.” He pulled me up and took me into the bathroom and told me to take off my clothes. I started crying and told him to let me go home. He just shook his head. I could tell he would hurt me if I didn’t do what he said.”

Robin stops and begins to cry, her first tears of the day.

As her roommate has done, she reaches inside the sleeve of her sweater and pulls out a tissue and wipes her eyes.

Sighing heavily, she begins again, this time looking down at her lap but making sure her voice is loud enough for the jury to hear.

“I took off my clothes and did what he said. He did the same and got in with me and made me wash him. Afterward, he took a towel and dried me off and then made me get on the bed in his room. He put his penis inside my vagina and made me have sex with him. I was scared not to. He had this horrible look on his face.”

“Did he ejaculate inside of you?” Binkie asks.

“Yes.”

“Was he wearing a condom?”

“No” “How long did this take?” Binkie asks, his hands twisting inside his suit pockets.

“About thirty minutes from the time he made me take off my clothes and get in the shower with him to the time when he rolled off of me and let me go.”

I watch the faces of the jurors, who are paying close attention Unfortunately, Maria Chastain, the one black juror, seems more engrossed than anyone. I’ve got to give Robin credit: fearful or not, she can captivate an audience

“Did he hurt you?” Binlde asks.

“No,” Robin says, looking up at him.

“I did what he wanted.”

“Did he say anything or did you say anything in those thirty minutes?”

“I was crying,” Robin says, sniffing.

“I think he said some other things but I don’t remember.”

“What did you do after he was finished?” Binkie says, his voice stoical. He doesn’t like rape cases, his manner suggests.

“I put on my clothes. He watched me and said that if I told anybody, nobody would believe me, and he’d spread it all over campus that I was a slut.”

“Did you say anything?”

Robin dabs at her eyes.

“I was too afraid.”

“What happened next?”

Robin sighs as if she knows she has finished the hard est part and says, “I drove straight back to the sorority house and went up and took a shower and got in bed.”

“Did anyone see you?” Binkie asks.

“Did you speak to anyone?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t want to see or talk to any body. I just wanted to be alone.”

Robin’s voice is tense with anxiety. Beside me, Dade is shaking his head. He whispers urgently in my ear, “She’s lying and she knows it! She wanted to get in the shower. I didn’t tell her no such thing about hurting her or her being a slut or anything!”

Watching the jury, I nod, realizing he didn’t deny he raped her. Binkie leads Robin through the reasons why she didn’t go to the police or hospital immediately. She says nothing that is not in her statement or in the transcript of the “J” Board hearing.

“I just couldn’t face going through it then,” she concludes tearfully.

“If it hadn’t been for Shannon, I might not have gone. I knew it would be horrible, and it has been.”

Binkie turns to me and says sternly, “Your witness.”

I take my time getting up. One of the reasons I’m convinced that Robin didn’t tell anybody for nine hours is that she was worried that her escapade the past summer would come out, but if I ask about it the judge will de clare a mistrial and probably would throw me in jail and bury the key. From beside the podium, I ask, “Where is the house you went to that night, Ms. Perry?”

Robin runs the fingers of her right hand through her hair.

“About two miles east of campus.”

“Is it in the city limits?”

Robin hunches her shoulders.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you recall if it has a well beside it?”

“I remember seeing a well, but I think it’s boarded up.”

“Does it have a house across from it?”

“No” “Immediately on either side?”

“No.”

“In fact, the house you went to that night is at the end of the road there. You can’t go any further, can you?”

“No.”

“Would you agree that some people might consider the house somewhat isolated?”

“Yes.”

“What are you majoring in, Ms. Perry?”

“Communications,” she answers, her hands beginning to twist a bit in her lap.

“You get almost straight A’s, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she says, undoubtedly schooled by Binkie to make her answers as short as possible.

“Are you planning a career in the theater?” I ask, as snidely as I can, not caring how she answers.

Binkie objects, however, and I withdraw the question, knowing I’ve made my point on the jury.

“Had you ever dated an African-American before Dade?”

Too sharp for her own good, she answers vehemently, “I didn’t date Dade.”

I take my time and return to the table and pull out a copy of the local paper and bring it back to the podium.

“Let me read you a quote attributed to you from the Northwest Arkansas Times from October twenty-third.

This was at a rally on campus where you addressed several hundred students and others.

“I want to thank every body for their support. I can’t tell you how many other girls have told me that they have been a victim of date rape since this has occurred. It is a crime that most girls still do not talk about, but it happens much more frequently than we are aware. Thank you for being here.” Do you deny saying those words?”

“No, but that’s not what I meant,” Robin contends.

“We never had a date.”

I fold the paper and take it back to the table and hand it to Dade. When I return to the podium, I ask, “That’s an important distinction to you, isn’t it, Ms. Perry?”

“I don’t understand,” she says, feigning ignorance or hoping I’m talking about something else.

“It’s important to you that no one think you dated Dade, isn’t that correct?” I ask.

“I’ve already explained that my parents are very conservative she says.

“They asked me not to date anybody who wasn’t white and wasn’t from the South.”

“So you won’t deny that during your first visit last spring to the house on Happy Hollow Road with your roommate at one point you and Dade were back in the kitchen alone and he tried to kiss you, but you wouldn’t let him.”