“I had a huge fight with my family, Your Honor, because they’re slobs. I mean, they’re really wonderful and I love them more than my life, but they are horrible slobs. I have four sons, Your Honor. They’re aged seventeen to twenty-one. Three are students. All four of them still live at home. And why shouldn’t they?” she shrugged. “I go out and kill a bear for them every afternoon….” The courtroom laughed. The judge did not, but that half smile was still there.
“So, I’ve been begging and pleading with them for some help in keeping up the house. Like every mother does, I guess. But you cannot imagine how— Well, suffice it to say, they weren’t making any progress. And then when I went out to the garage—” She stopped suddenly, a stricken look on her face. The judge frowned and lifted the report, glancing at it.
“You didn’t find this stash of marijuana by the mailbox at the curb?”
Barbara Ann sighed deeply. Damn, was she ever a lousy liar. Her lawyer groaned loudly and turned away from her in utter revulsion.
“We have two garages, Your Honor. One is attached to the house and the other one is a freestanding building. We have a million cars, with these boys. Anyway, the unattached garage is where I try to steer most of their loudest, messiest projects. It’s a wreck. You can hardly walk through. I was out there digging through boxes looking for mousetraps, and I came across that stuff. And I came unglued. I mean, it’s one thing to work like a farmhand to take care of these boys—these men—when they are living by the moral standards of my house and the laws of the land, but it’s another thing if they’re…you know….”
“Doing drugs?” the judge helped.
“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “I don’t think I was jumping to conclusions, Your Honor. I mean, look what I found! It was like the difference between stumbling across an empty beer can and discovering a still!” Everyone laughed. The judge’s shoulders shook a little. “I think we have it pretty well established that my sons aren’t drug addicts, thank God. I have to tell you, my heart was ripped out of my body and stomped on.”
“Oh? So, who’s taking responsibility for the marijuana?”
“No one. One of the boys thinks he’s narrowed it down to one of his friends—they all have lots of friends. There were times my house was like a stadium. But, this is my fault, Your Honor. I let them treat that garage almost like a clubhouse. They worked on cars there, built things like big, huge model airplanes, played their guitars and drums out there, and there were young men coming and going all the time. There were times I’d find one of the boys’ friends out there working on an engine when my boys weren’t even home. We were going to run into a bad apple someday.”
“So, what has you so convinced your own sons are innocent?” she asked.
“I searched their rooms. I turned over mattresses, emptied drawers, cleared out closets. I found some pretty unappetizing stuff, but I didn’t find any drugs.”
“But you still left?”
“It’s time, Your Honor. They’re grown. They can either act like the clean, decent young men I raised or they can live in that frat-house environment without me as their maid.”
“But you took the marijuana with you.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to leave it there! I didn’t want anyone from my family to have it or dispose of it or give it away!”
“I see. So, are you prepared to turn over the son who thinks he knows who put it there? Are you going to let someone take responsibility for what is felony drug possession?”
She hung her head. “No, Your Honor. I didn’t have very good control of that household, but it was my responsibility. I take the blame.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bill Warneke muttered.
“Is that your gang back there? The ones you’re sticking your neck out for?”
She turned and glanced at them. She nodded.
“Stand up,” she instructed them. “All of you. Yes, all of you.” Slowly, one by one, they came to their feet. Mike stood first. “Mr. Vaughan?” she questioned.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Can you vouch for any of this story your wife is telling the court?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” he said. “We let the house get to be a real trash heap.”
The courtroom laughed. Bill Warneke sat down at the table and began to massage his temples.
“Do any of you want to step forward and take responsibility for this crime?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bobby said. “It was somebody I knew put it there.”
Barbara Ann almost cried. Why couldn’t he just let her handle it?
“Your Honor,” Matt said, “it was one of my friends, I think.”
“No it wasn’t,” Billy said. “I think it was someone I know.”
“Your Honor, it was me. One of my friends,” Joe said.
Barbara’s eyes began to glisten. “Your Honor,” she said, “you can’t blame anyone but me. I was in charge of that household. I should have monitored everyone coming and going better than I did. I blame myself.”
The judge began writing. Without looking up, she asked, “You’re back at home again, Mrs. Vaughan?”
“No, ma’am.”
The judge’s head snapped up in surprise.
“I’m staying with friends,” Barbara Ann said. “That house has gone to ruin because one person just can’t do it all. And I work full-time, too. They can fend for themselves—that’s what they seemed to want. At least that’s what their total disregard for household responsibilities showed me.”
“We’re setting it right, Your Honor,” Mike said.
The judge lifted her eyebrows. Clearly she was doubtful.
“I haven’t seen it since I left, Your Honor,” Barbara Ann said. “I’m not up to it yet. I mean, I’ve seen the kitchen after they thought they’d cleaned it. Believe me, it’s not that I’m overly fussy.”
“When are you going to view it?” the judge asked.
Barbara Ann took a deep breath. “When I’m stronger. Right now I’m missing them all a little too much to be as tough as I want to be on this issue. It’s very important to me. I don’t want to get suckered into doing it all alone again…just because I miss them and love them.”
“I see. So, just out of curiosity, what do you intend to do if you see your old house and find it has not improved?”
“Well, if I have somehow lost my mind and my resolve, I suppose I’ll move back in and clean it up. If, on the other hand, I still feel as strongly, I’ve been thinking about a small, tidy, inexpensive apartment—where there are no greasy rags thrown in the washer with my lingerie.”
The judge smiled. “I wish you luck, Mrs. Vaughan. Now, back to this other matter.”
“I should have called the police, I know. I never thought they’d catch me with it before I could turn it over to them. What an idiot. I couldn’t imagine that anyone would ever think I could be a drug dealer.”
“Oh, they come in all shapes and sizes, my dear Mrs. Vaughan. Your story is compelling, but we still have the matter of six pounds of cannabis—”
“Cannabis?” Barbara Ann asked.
“Marijuana. Weed. Hemp. You with me here?”
“Oh. Yes.”
“We still have the matter of six pounds of marijuana for which you are charged with possession.”
“Your Honor, we have filed a motion for dismissal based on illegal search and—”
“Oh, give me a break, Mr. Warneke, it was sitting on the seat behind her and the officer could see it when he ticketed her. That’s probable enough for me. Now, as to the matter of possession, if we could have a change of plea to guilty, I think the prosecutor could be convinced to accept a sentence, Mrs. Vaughan, and save the state a little money.” Breath was inhaled all over the courtroom. “Five hundred hours of community service, which can be served by any or all members of your family.”
“Your Honor, this is felony possession,” came the very first input from the prosecutor.
“I know what it is. She was obviously not try
ing to hide it. I might feel differently if the officer had found it in her trunk. But I believe Mrs. Vaughan found it in a freestanding unlocked building on her property. I’ll even go so far as to write a codicil to her sentence so that if she’s ever before this court again on any kind of drug charge, misdemeanor included, you can safely assume she’ll be hung out to dry. Done?” The judge rapped her gavel. “Mrs. Vaughan?” she asked. “Come here a minute, will you?” Barbara Ann approached the judge. “I have three sons, Mrs. Vaughan. They are now aged twenty-nine, twenty-six and twenty-three. They are largely survivable.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Your Honor. Thank you very much.”
“You lucked out. I could have been childless, in which case your story would have seemed preposterous.” She smiled warmly. “They’re very lucky to have you. I hope they come to realize that soon. See the bailiff for your instructions.”
Barbara Ann turned to see her lawyer’s back as he exited the courtroom. Just as well, she didn’t want to have to deal with him. She went to the bailiff and signed a few papers, promising to carry out her community service and return verification to the court. Her hands were shaking almost too much to sign and lift the papers in her hand.
The next defendant had already been called and addressed by the judge. She was asked about her narcotic possession. She looked like a hooker—fluffy hair, lots of makeup, tight, short skirt, high heels… And gum in her mouth.
“Well, ye see, Yer Honor, ma’am, I have this really, really messy family…”
“Don’t push me,” the judge said.
Barbara Ann’s knees were knocking almost uncontrollably as she left the courtroom. Her family and friends were waiting in the hallway for her and they cheered her and embraced her as she joined them.
“Way to go, Barbara Ann!”
“We’ll do the community service, Mom. You’re not going to have to worry about it.”
“Bobby’s going to do the most, though.”
“The lawyer sure came in handy. Ask for a discount in his fee.”
“What did the judge say to you, Barbara Ann?”
They all stopped talking for a moment and waited for her answer. She looked at each face, her mouth open as if she would speak, but before she could get the words out a lot of things rushed through her mind. The sentences issued to the two previous offenders had been harsh, ruthless. Four months for missing a couple of meetings with a probation officer? Eighteen months for a young, single mother who had requested rehabilitation? If this particular judge hadn’t been the mother of three boys, she could be on her way to jail right now. After all, drug dealers must have a variety of creative stories about how they didn’t really have the drugs they had.
Before she could answer, Barbara Ann fainted.
NINETEEN
By the first week of August the women were editing, revising and reviewing chapters seventeen, eighteen, nineteen and twenty of Gabby’s book. They found the product to be stunning, compulsively readable. Each one was extremely excited about the prospects for its sale and ultimate success. From page one, they believed, the book only escalated in tension and power. These particular chapters were riveting, as had been those chapters in Gabby’s life. Trouble had been brewing for her at home—her ex-husband questioning whether it was fair for Gabby to continue these travels, the children beginning to show signs of needing more of her. The love affair grew only more intense, while the locales had grown increasingly dangerous. Clare and Brandt were beginning to fight about their future together, as, apparently, Gabby and John had been. Each was being torn apart by their own strife in family and work, longing for the other’s passion, fearing to give any more to what could end as only misspent time; an affair that began and ended away from the mainstream of life. Tormented lives, tormented love. It was fabulous.
But the women were tensely arguing each sentence, each paragraph, each scene.
“Okay, hold it!” Eleanor barked, stifling the verbal battle during one of their many story conferences. “The book is marvelous and getting better every day, despite all this bickering. Something else is going on here. What is it?”
No one answered. Sable picked at her nails. Barbara Ann looked off toward nothing in particular. Beth sipped her iced tea, eyes downcast.
“Oh Lord, that’s it. It’s the end.”
“We don’t have an ending for the book that we all agree on,” Barbara Ann said.
“That wasn’t the end I was talking about. None of you can face the fact that we’re nearly finished here.”
“Well, don’t be so bloody hard on us, Eleanor. Even Ceola hasn’t left—and it’s been well over two weeks.”
“Nor have any of us complained that she’s still here,” Barbara Ann said.
“At least you have school to go back to,” Beth said.
“All right, now listen,” Eleanor said. “If we need to talk about all that, then we’ll talk about it, but let’s not let it interfere with this book. It needs to be finished, finished well, and marketed to the right person. Despite our personal problems.”
“It’s hard to imagine what life’s going to be like, that’s all,” Barbara Ann said. “I mean, forget about us, what about Sarah and the baby? David and Ed? Dr. Don? What’s everyone going to do without this place? I think we should all pitch in and buy the house from the kids. Keep it. You know, as our meeting place.”
Everyone looked at her wearily.
“I had no idea you were that scared,” Elly finally said.
The logic behind keeping the house was so pitifully flawed that no one even spoke to it. Beth wasn’t going to be staying in California and had no need for such a place. Even if she could convince herself that she could retreat here with the women every summer, she knew that was not likely to happen. She had no idea what she faced in Kansas City, but she’d somehow make a life there, enough of a life so that she wouldn’t have to run away from it for weeks or months out of every year. Or else why go? Surely it was right that she be back there with her siblings, confusing though they still were to her.
Barbara Ann was afraid that of the three choices she had left herself, none would feed and nurture her spirit the way living with these crazy women had. She could sneak home and find that her house was unchanged, which was what she expected. That would leave her with an apartment of her own, tidy but lonely. Or perhaps her family, finally cognizant of the consequences of discourtesy, had learned something from her absence and could at long last keep house. That should fill her with joy. But it didn’t. Living without the women in her life would be nearly as hard as living without her children had been. Harder, perhaps.
Sable was not anxious to go back to the sparkling, sterile, lonely Hidden Valley manse. Even though Jeff had become a significant part of her personal life, something was lacking in her. She could still the throbbing of what was to come for her when she was with the women. She was headed for change—she knew it—and could face it as long as she didn’t have to face it alone. Perhaps her career as she’d known it was over, her reputation destroyed. She could certainly live happily without fame. But what would she do with herself? Could she write her stories if there was no one to read them? What was to be her purpose? Sable had always been useful. She had always had hard work and a strong mission to fulfill every single day, whether she was putting the caps on hair spray cans in order to feed and care for her child, or getting that book done on time so she could go on tour.
“I’m going to set a deadline for the book,” Eleanor said. “It’s the only thing to do. We’re going to finish it by the end of the third week in August.” She picked up the calendar she used to keep track of their progress on the book. “The twentieth,” she announced. “That’s a Friday. We’ll have the house closed up by the following Monday morning. That gives me a week before school starts…and the rest of you? You have three weeks to decide what you’re going to do. I’ll help all I can.”
“Come on, Elly, don’t be so rigid. Your life isn’t going to change, after a
ll,” Sable said.
“Isn’t it?” she asked, but so softly no one bothered to argue about it. So Elly had school, as she’d had for over thirty years. And her little house. And Ben. But it was not as though the summer had had no effect on her. She was as changed by the whole thing as anyone else. And she faced at least as many uncertainties. She, too, would have to carry on without a place to go, where her friends were always there, loving her unconditionally despite the fact that she was odd and terse and homely and tactless. It would be like saying goodbye to Gabby all over again.
“What are we going to do about seeing each other?” Sable asked.
“Well, you have the room at your place. But we’ll have to plan better—you’re a long drive. Hell, we’ll bang around town here until something feels right. Maybe we’ll get really crazy and meet in Carmel in a beach house for a week every summer. There are many possibilities,” Elly said. “It’s not as though we’ll lose touch.”
“I don’t know why it has to end, abruptly, with the end of summer,” Barbara Ann said. “What’s the matter with it just being indefinite? We’re all at work here. Your commute to Berkeley is only ten minutes longer from here, Elly. Or, maybe Sable and I want to hang out a little longer than the rest of you. Maybe—”
“There are other people in all our lives,” Eleanor said. “It’s time, Barbara Ann. Let’s make it a clean break and let Gabby’s life—the life that isn’t in her books, at least—be over. She was never afraid of dying. She was afraid of not living. And that’s what she’d expect of us. To get on with our lives.” There was silence while each one absorbed the truth to that. Sable nodded. She didn’t know where she was going, but since when had she known? Beth had wanted to have a child and raise it, albeit alone. Now she had to decide how she was going to do that. Barbara Ann knew what she wanted. She was simply afraid that she would find herself in the same frustrating rut, escaping into a package of Ding Dongs when her work and her family became too demanding. “August twentieth. Where is Ceola?”