Dirty Law

We both ordered the chicken and waffles (mine sans chicken), eating in silence for a bit. The day had spoken enough for the both of us. I reached for the water I’d ordered, a far cry from the whiskey I’d drunk to oblivion nearly a month before, and swished it around in my mouth, pondering. Not much time had passed, yet it felt like eons. It was nice to sit and have a meal with Law, just the two of us. It almost felt normal. So of course something had to interrupt.

“Breaking news as more information sheds light on the late Becca Riley’s allegations.” Law and I both set our forks down, our attention now held by the small TV set in the corner of the bar. A newswoman talked about Morris while information about him scrolled across the scene. It was a national news station, meaning Morris’s scandal was no longer local.

“Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Matthew Jameson has just released a story,” the newswoman continued. “In it Jameson alleges that not only are Riley’s accusations true, but that the accusations of one Nami DeGrace are also true. If you’ll remember, we did a brief story about her. She was a volunteer on his campaign some months ago and accused Morris of sexual harassment.” I scoffed. I had accused him of rape, but that was a nice spin. I glared at the blonde, somber-looking newswoman, wishing I could reach into the TV and slap her. Did she not realize the people she reported on were actually real? Instead I swallowed the bile building up in my throat and listened as she went into more detail.

“Jameson goes on to detail some quite shocking things that, if they are true, will not just mean resignation for Senator Morris, but quite possibly jail time.” Appetite now lost, I stared transfixed as the news story unfolded. Law appeared just as hypnotized as me.

“The Morris campaign, still reeling from the pushback from their senior campaign manager’s suicide, has yet to comment on Jameson’s allegations. Do you have anything to comment, Allison?” The screen split in half and another woman appeared who had cropped blonde hair and a perfectly made up face. I immediately recognized her as one of the reporters who had lynched me. I remembered her calling me a slut and liar only months before.

“Thank you, Candace. It’s clear to see that Senator Morris’s career is over. What is more interesting, though, is whether or not this new information will bring about formal charges. I’ve heard talk on the hill that formal sanctions are in order, but we’re still not sure if he will do any hard time, as they say. One thing’s for certain, Candace: I wouldn’t want to be him right now.”

A ridiculous commercial about hot dogs came on, which made it easier to turn my mind away from the news that had just broken. Slowly Law and I turned our attentions back to each other.

“Wow…” I said at last.

“I told you Jameson was more than the snapshot you saw.” Law’s words weren’t t

inged with any arrogance or smugness. If anything, he sounded remorseful. We both knew that by breaking the story, Jameson would face repercussions. Most likely, he would be ostracized from the community. He might even need to move.

“Yeah…” I took another breath. “I guess I just…” I tried to find the words, but I was totally without. “I just, I mean you hope for something to happen, and then it happens. I don’t know what to feel right now.”

Law reached across and held my hand. “You’re in shock.”

I nodded. “I’m in shock but I’m also…uncertain? I don’t know if that’s the right word. I feel like I should be more happy, you know? I should be ecstatic, but I just feel…numb.” Law squeezed my hand and I lifted my eyes to his, grateful for him and his comfort. No sooner had my mind eased than my phone started to buzz. I looked at it like it was a venomous snake.

“What?” Law asked, removing his grip from mine.

“It’s my phone.” I picked it up, eyeing the unknown number. “It’s ringing.”

Law still didn’t understand. “And?”

“You, Tony, and Jameson are the only ones with this number.”

Law raised his brows, indicating his interest, but shrugged. “Maybe it’s a wrong number.”

“Maybe…” I let the phone ring itself out and then set it back down on the table. Our chicken and waffles were cold now. The night was growing longer and people were starting to leave, but I felt like Law and I were just getting started. Even though it was nearly ruined, I still wanted this night for us: a semi-normal dinner. Just as I was settling back into the booth, a notification appeared.

“What is it?” Law asked.

“A voicemail,” I replied, stupefied. I hadn’t had a voicemail in nearly a year. I picked it up and pressed play.

“Hey Nami, it’s Effie—” I hung up as soon as I heard my ex-best friend’s voice on the receiver. Law perked up, watching my reaction.

Before he could ask, I explained, “It was Effie, my old friend. She stopped talking to me when the media started covering me. All of my friends did…” I looked away. It still hurt thinking about how all of my “friends” couldn’t be arsed to listen to my side of the story, much less believe me.

What hurt the most, though, was Effie. I’d known Effie since the third grade. We’d witnessed each other’s first kisses; we’d held each other through our first breakups. She had been there when my parents died and had held my hand at the funeral.

She was more than my best friend. She was my sister.

And then she was gone from my life. All it took was a rumor blown way out of proportion. I went to her a day after the rape. I gathered all my strength to tell her I had been raped and that Morris had forced himself on me. At first she was the same old Effie. She held me as I cried. She promised we would make the police believe my story.

Then two days later the news started running my story. They painted me as a liar. They pulled every bit of information they could about my past and twisted it into a believable fiction. I called Effie for support, but she didn’t answer. I kept calling and calling until she finally picked up and said, “Look, Nami, I can’t keep supporting your delusions. Get help.” She hung up and that was the last I heard of her. I didn’t believe it at first. I couldn’t. How can you believe that your best friend, your sister, just abandons you after over a decade?

I knew I should have moved on. I’d moved on from everything else. I’d thrown yogurt in her face! Still. It’s one thing to move beyond the noxious, black tar that’s got you sinking, and another to give up hope in the sister that used to keep you tethered.

Law reached over and rubbed my back, helping me finish the story. I smiled gratefully at him and said, “I don’t know why she’s calling me now.”

“She probably saw the news,” Law offered.