The Ditto List (43 page)

He went first to the booze, unaware of what she was going to say about it, aware that imprecision and arrogance were the major mistakes of one in her position. Gardner would exploit the slightest opening, magnify the smallest slip, exaggerate the merest frailty. She was as vulnerable as a babe, but Mareth Stone had chosen the course herself. Her fate was where she wanted it—entirely in her hands. D.T. began his questions. Judge Hoskins was, for the first time since Chas Stone had left the witness stand, giving the case his full attention.

She had had her first drink the night after the last day of her freshman year in college, a store-bought Tom Collins mixer heavily laced with rum, a long night of revelry followed by a longer morning of nausea and remorse. She had been able to taste the concoction for years afterward, whenever she came near a potion that hinted of the blend of lemon-lime. She had never drunk rum again, but she had continued to drink socially, before her marriage and after, never regularly, never to forget or anything, only to relax, to feel comfortable and funny and free to laugh and joke and enjoy herself outside the joyless atmosphere her husband imposed upon their home. The pattern changed only when her marriage began to sour as bitterly as that first mixer.

She had drunk excessively for a period of perhaps six months. She admitted it. She regretted it, but it was no longer a problem because she had abandoned the habit of excess because it hadn't worked and because now that her marriage had definitely ended there was no longer a need for whatever it was that liquor had given her. What was that? Oh, a certain anesthetic condition, an insensitivity to her deteriorating marital environment, an ability to delude herself into thinking that all the things that were happening might be sad, and horribly depressing, but they were inflicting no lasting pain.

No, she no longer believed that. There had been much pain, almost blinding at times, and it continued to this day. She had loved Chas once, had wanted to keep her marriage alive, had not wanted to become like all the others out there—the twice-or-thrice-divorced, minstrels of love, wandering from man to man until all men were equally acceptable or not, indistinguishable, tools. She had wanted to succeed, but now that it was clear that she and Chas were through, she could accept it. And make a new life for herself and her children, a process she had already begun.

No, she had never been arrested while drinking, or for being intoxicated in public, or for any other reason. No, she had never been hospitalized or forced to dry out. No, the children had never suffered as a result of her problem. Yes, the problem had been eliminated; no, she had not had to seek professional help to accomplish it; yes, she was fully in control of the situation now. It was simply not a problem. Yes, at about the time she had begun drinking too much she had begun a love affair with another man.

It was not something she had planned or wanted. The need had just materialized, magically, insidiously, like a virus. Like the drinking, she felt the affair was a result of an expanding desperation about her marriage and her life, of her sense that everything she valued had taken a step back, was just beyond her reach. Basically, the affair was part of her effort to get through an entire week without crying. Over the way she felt, over the way her life was going, over her effort to avoid the conclusion that she had failed at every single thing that mattered.

They had met several times, ten maybe, at first only to talk, to share mutual disappointments and dissatisfactions, to learn enough about each other to decide if they wanted to go to places neither of them had been before. He was a nice man, kind, considerate, patient, sympathetic, understanding. He seemed, for those few days, to be everything her husband was not, though she now knew that was an illusion, a perfection she had seen because she had so badly yearned to see it.

Yes, the affair had eventually culminated in a sexual relationship. But only twice. It had not been what she needed or wanted. It had in fact added to her burden, not eased it, and after the two times she had ended the relationship. Yes, completely. She had never seen the man alone again. That had been almost two years ago now. No, there had been no other affairs during the time she and Chas were living together. Yes, there had been a sexual experience since he had left her. With one man. No, the children had not been in the house at the time. Of course they had not seen the act, good grief, what kind of woman would make love in front of children that age? Yes, she intended to marry again if she found the right man, but she wasn't in a hurry, wasn't desperate.

She loved her children, and wanted them with her, and would be able to support them with an award of three thousand dollars per month in child support from her ex-husband. She was certain the children wanted to stay with her. There had been no serious problems since their father had left home, nothing she couldn't handle. They were all getting along just fine. In some ways, she thought life at home was actually better, now that the discords of marriage had been removed. Was there anything else she wanted to say? Only that she was a good mother, that being a mother was the most important thing in her life, that she wanted to continue loving and caring for and sharing in the lives of David and Cristine for the rest of her life. She begged the court not to take them from her.

“Your witness, Mr. Gardner.”

D.T. sat down and Dick Gardner stood up. “Thank you, Mr. Jones. Mrs. Stone?”

Gardner paused, focusing all minds in the room toward him, gearing them for a shift in attitude, for a wrenching of their sentiments. Standing there, slim, tall, the slightest, kindest smile on his lips, even inanimate objects—the flags behind the judge's bench, the long lights overhead, the long benches bearing spectators—seemed subservient to his will, awaiting with pleasure his assault upon the woman who twitched nervously in the chair before him.

“I listened very closely to your direct testimony, Mrs. Stone,” Gardner began. “It was quite enlightening. Somewhat contrary to what I had been led to believe were the true facts, however. So …”

“Objection. Counsel is testifying.”

“Sustained.”

“Excuse me, Your Honor,” Dick Gardner said. “Mrs. Stone, I'm going to have to go over some of the points you brought up, I'm afraid, to get things clear in my mind. First, during the time you were living with Mr. Stone, that's Chas Stone, the petitioner seated here before me, during that time did you ever have a love affair other than the one with Richard Weaver you described already, Mrs. Stone? An affair that culminated in sexual congress?”

“No. I did not. Only the one.”

“Are you quite certain of that?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“I suppose you would know, wouldn't you? I mean, it's not the type of thing you'd be likely to forget, is it?” Gardner's smile would have charmed an asp.

“No. It is not.”

“Very well. Where do you buy your booze, Mrs. Stone? I mean your hard liquor.”

“Why, the store on Calumet, usually. In the shopping center.”

“Quality Liquors?”

“I believe that's it. Yes.”

“What type of hard liquor do you usually buy?”

“Bourbon. Once in a while.”

“What brand?”

“I … Early Times.”

“Do you ever buy liquor for anyone else? Friends? Neighbors?”

“No.”

“Do you buy wine at that store?”

“No.”

“Beer?”

“No. Only liquor.”

“How much Early Times did you buy last month, Mrs. Stone? In January. Do you have any idea?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, you carry an account at Quality Liquors, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“How much was last month's bill?”

“I don't recall.”

“I see. You did pay it, didn't you?”

“Yes. I'm sure I did.”

“Then perhaps I can help you as to the amount. It was ninety-nine dollars, was it not? Ninety-nine dollars and eleven cents, to be exact.”

“If you say so.”

“How much do you pay for a fifth of Early Times, Mrs. Stone?”

“I'm not sure. Nine dollars, I think.”

“I think that's about it. Nine thirty-five, is the current price, is it not?”

“That sounds right.”

“So, assuming those two figures for the moment, a little arithmetic reveals that you purchased exactly ten fifths of Early Times last month, isn't that right? Allowing for sales tax of six percent? Ten fifths of bourbon over a period of thirty days. This is correct, is it not?”

“I suppose it is. But …”

“Thank you, Mrs. Stone. Do you have any idea how many individual highballs there are in a fifth of liquor?”

“No.”

“A good stiff drink has an ounce and a half of liquor in it, right?”

“I guess.”

“And a fifth has twenty-four ounces?”

“I haven't the faintest idea.”

“Well, assume for a moment that it does. That makes sixteen drinks, times ten fifths equals over one hundred and sixty drinks a month. More than five a day. Right?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, if you don't know I'm sure there are others in the room who do.”

Gardner consulted his notes. Mareth Stone shrank inside her clothes. “But I've had
guests
. And I …”

“Move to strike, Your Honor,” Dick Gardner said.

“Sustained. Please limit yourself to answering the questions put to you, Mrs. Stone,” Judge Hoskins admonished.

“But there are
explanations
. I'm not a …”

“
Mrs. Stone
. Silence. Please.”

She bowed her head and bit her lip. When she glanced at him, D.T. made a sign to calm her down. It didn't seem to take. Dick Gardner stood up.

“Now. You mentioned guests, Mrs. Stone. How many different men have you entertained in your home since your husband moved out of the house some six months ago?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” D.T. said. “Irrelevant.”

“Overruled.”

“Mrs. Stone? How many?” Gardner repeated.

“I have no idea.”

“Two? Ten? A hundred?”

“I really don't know. Not nearly a hundred.”

“It's been exactly seventeen, hadn't it, Mrs. Stone? Seventeen different men in your house, after dark, all at your invitation?”

“I doubt very much that it's been that many.”

“I see. Do you want me to read the names? I have a list right here. Thomas Irwin. Lawrence Forsythe. Calvin Cox …”

“I … no. You don't need to read the names. That damned
detective
did it, didn't he? The slimy bastard. I saw him out there. Acting like I was some sort of animal in a cage. What kind of man are you, Mr. Gardner? That's what
I'd
like to know. Just what kind of man
are
you to hire someone to peep in my windows day and night like a …
pervert?
”

Gardner was impervious. “Please confine yourself to answering my questions, Mrs. Stone. You have already had your opportunity to speak on the subjects that interest you. Now—”

“
None
of this interests me, Mr. Gardner. It's boring and stupid. If I could, I'd take my kids out of here right now and never come back.”

Gardner glowed. “But of course that's what we're here to determine, isn't it, Mrs. Stone? Who should be the one to take the children home. And quite frankly I'm surprised that you feel this court has no business knowing how many men have traipsed through the lives of you and your children over the six months since their father was forced to leave the family residence.”

“Forced to leave? No one
forced
him to leave. He snuck out like a rat, without telling any of us what he was going to do. That's the kind of man
he
is.”

Judge Hoskins adjusted his robes and glared. “All right, Mr. Gardner. Mrs. Stone. Let's get on with it. This wrangling is beside the point, as you both well know.”

Gardner bowed. “Very well, Your Honor. My apologies to the court. I have only a few more questions, Mrs. Stone. Your kitchen caught fire two weeks ago, didn't it?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

“While you were preparing the evening meal?”

“Yes.”

“But you weren't in the kitchen when the fire broke out, were you?”

“No.”

“You were—where?—in the bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“Lying down?”

“Yes.”

“Asleep?”

“No. Yes. I guess I was. For a minute.”

“The children were in the house, were they not?”

“Yes.”

“Downstairs?”

“I guess so.”

“Now, shortly after the fire broke out the smoke alarm went off, didn't it?”

“Yes.”

“But it didn't wake you, did it?”

“Not right away. No.”

“The children had to come up and shake you awake, didn't they?”

“I guess.”

“They were very frightened, weren't they?”

“For a few minutes, maybe.”

“Crying?”

“Yes.”

“Screaming?”

“I don't know. Maybe once or twice.”

“After the fire was out they wanted to go spend the night with their father, didn't they?”

“No.”

“
Didn't
they, Mrs. Stone?”

“One of them did. Cristine. But not David. David would
never
go to Chas.”

“You didn't let
either
of them go to their father, did you?”

“No. They weren't serious. They were only frightened by the smoke and the noise.”

“Yes. The smoke alarm. It was very loud, wasn't it?”

“Yes.”

“My question for you is this, Mrs. Stone.
What had you taken that made you sleep right through it?
”

“You son of a bitch.
Nothing
. I …”