With the practiced skill of a fly caster, Melanie flings her head to the side and whips the blonde tresses that have slid over one eye, back out, past her shoulder.
Hemple is looking through some documents, a quick conference with Laurel, a cupped hand to one ear, client to lawyer.
At the counsel table with his own attorney, Jack smiles encouragement to his young bride, like she’s doing a standup job.
Hemple is back to the witness in the box.
‘Now earlier you testified that Mrs. Vega had a drinking problem?’
‘I’m Mrs. Vega,’ says Melanie.
Hemple looks at her. ‘The first Mrs. Vega,’ she says. Laurel’s lawyer refuses to concede the point.
‘Is this correct? Did Mrs. Vega — Laurel Vega — have a drinking problem?’
There are mean little slits for eyes from Melanie.
‘Like a fish,’ she says.
“I think your words were, ‘She always had her head in a bottle.’ Is that what you said?”
‘That’s what I said.’
‘And what exactly does that mean?’
‘An expression,’ says Melanie.
‘I see.’ Hemple paces a little in front of the witness box for effect.
‘So you didn’t really mean that she actually put her head inside a bottle.’
A pained expression from Melanie, like give me a break. ‘I meant she was always drunk,’ she says.
‘Always drunk?’ Hemple jumps on it.
A face from Melanie. If the lawyer likes this answer so much, maybe she should change it.
Hemple doesn’t give her the chance. The first canon of the courtroom. Never talk in absolutes.
‘So if she was “always drunk,” that means that in all the times that you saw Laurel Vega you never saw her sober?’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘Well, you just said she was always drunk.’
‘Most of the time.’
‘Ah. So she wasn’t drunk all the time, just most of the time?’ says Hemple.
‘Yes.’
‘So we’ve gone from someone who “always has her head in a bottle,” to someone who is always drunk, to someone who is drunk just most of the time.’ Hemple waltzes a few steps over in front of the bench. ‘Sounds like a picture of the recovering alcoholic,’ she says.
No reply from Melanie. Hastings appears to be dozing up on the bench. Good point, but no score.
Hemple moves on to a Capitol Christmas party last year, at which Jack disappeared with Melanie, leaving Laurel with the office help.
‘Might someone who saw you drinking at the party say that you had your head in a bottle?’ says Hemple.
‘I wasn’t falling-down slobbering drunk,’ says Melanie.
‘And Mrs. Vega was?’
‘Yes.’
Hemple shakes her head as if to say are we going to have to do this again?
‘Fine — and how many times did you see Mrs. Vega actually fall down at this party?’
Exasperation from Melanie, a look like ‘picky, picky.’ ‘Okay, so I didn’t see her fall down.’
‘I see. Just a little more license?’ says Hemple.
‘Call it what you want. The lady was a lush. On her ass,’ she says.
‘Another of your sayings?’ asks Hemple.
Wary of having to define the anatomy or describe the posture, Melanie does not respond.
‘Were you sleeping with Mr. Vega at the time of the Christmas party?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Why? Because it was not memorable or because by then you’d done it so many times with the Petitioner that you can’t keep them straight?’
‘Objection, your honor.’
‘Withdrawn.’
A quixotic look from Melanie, a spark of light in the eyes, then an expression that could kill.
‘She did drugs too,’ she says. This little gratuity is added to her testimony like the last dollop of frosting on a crude cake.
‘Objection, your honor.’ Hemple’s now taken up the chorus.
‘That’s a lie and you know it!’ Laurel’s halfway out of her chair. ‘I’ve never done drugs,’ she says.
‘Some people call it an illness.’ Melanie ignores her, smiling into the growing rage that is Laurel’s face at this moment. This last added as a flourish for credibility.
‘You’d know about illnesses, wouldn’t you?’ says Laurel. ‘My husband picked you up at a cocktail party like some communicable disease.’
‘Former husband,’ says Melanie.
The judge gavels them to silence. Laurel sits down and turns to look at me, a face of anger I have not seen before. Perhaps it is a measure, her own assessment of how this case is going. I lean across the railing and tell her to calm down. She is now clearly hurting herself, giving credence to Jack’s shrinks and their weasel words about instability.
‘And you personally saw this … drug use by my client?’ says Hemple.
A look in Melanie’s eye like maybe she could say yes and wing it. But what to do about the details? Where and when? Who was there? And what they were doing when Laurel was doing drugs?
‘No. I didn’t actually see it. But I heard about it enough times to know it’s true.’ With this Melanie looks at Jack, sitting with their lawyer at the other counsel table. The smile between them removes any doubt as to the source of this information.
‘Move to strike, your honor.’ Hemple bears down. Not that it will do much good. Jack will repeat all of this, the dirt as to drinking and drugs, when his turn comes. No doubt whatever Laurel swallowed or inhaled Jack had bought and probably shared. ‘The reporter will strike the last answer,’ says the judge.
‘Now,’ says Hemple, as if she is finally getting down to it, ‘let me ask you: In the five months that you’ve been married to Mr. Vega, and in the time before that when the two of you were busy consenting as adults. During this period how many times did you actually see or meet Laurel Vega?’
‘We met …’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Four … no, three times.’
‘That’s all?’
‘It was enough,’ she says.
‘You didn’t find these meetings pleasant?’
‘No.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ says Hemple.
‘Objection.’ Jack’s lawyer is up again.
‘Sustained. Get to the point, counsel.’
‘The first time you met Mrs. Vega was she drunk?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘You do remember the first time you met her?’
A long sigh from Melanie. ‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell the court the circumstances of that meeting?’
‘It was at Jack’s home …’
‘The home he then shared with his wife, Laurel, and their children?’ Hemple would like to paint Beaver Cleaver running across the lawn with his school books strapped by a belt, while Melanie was busy humping their old man upstairs.
‘Yes — it was at the home.’ Melanie looks at Hemple like maybe she’d like to meet this bitch in the alley outside after court.
The lawyer is all sweetness and smiles.
‘And would you please tell the court what you were doing when you first encountered Laurel Vega in her home?’
A look from Melanie, something between anger and a trainstruck deer. ‘We, ah … We were in the living room …’
‘ “We” meaning who?’
‘Jack and I,’ says Melanie. ‘And she came in.’ Melanie nods toward Laurel at the counsel table.
‘You mean Mrs. Vega, who was then Jack’s wife?’