helped Mary look for a parking place in the visitor’s lot.
“Everett, are you going to visit that girl?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Who’s we?”
“Mary and me.” I unfolded myself out of the Subaru. “My sister, Mary. She came to see me today at the hotel.”
“Did you tell Gray what you’re doing? Because, from a legal standpoint, you need to be very careful about what you do as it relates to that girl.”
“Endora, I’m so sick of doing what Gray says, what you say, what the record label says, what the fans say…”
“Listen, honey. I know you’re stressed out—”
“Did it ever occur to you that some people don’t live with this kind of stress?”
“Everett, your sister’s not brainwashing you, is she?”
“Maybe that’s what I need, Endora. A good brainwashing.”
“Well, she’ll be just the one to do it, I’m sure.”
“I gotta go. We’re walkin’ in.”
“Everett, you need to make that show tonight. Thousands of people have been waiting for this night for months. They need you. They need the freedom you have to offer.”
“I’m not free, Endora.” I tried to keep my voice down. “I’m a prisoner!”
Turning around to glance into the audience in Miami-Dade County courtroom B-3, I noticed Donald Chambers, my guard friend from the detention center, seated toward the back of the court in his street clothes. I guessed Donald to be close to fifty years old, about two hundred pounds, with curly grayish black hair and sideburns. He appeared to be alone.
After starting out wearing suits the first few days of the trial, I gradually dressed a bit more casually, today wearing khakis and a navy dress shirt.
Before emerging into the public eye this morning, I checked myself in a mirror in the holding area. My hair was combed neatly. It was cut slightly above my shoulders and was still dark brown, except for a few white hairs at my temples and sideburns, which I usually trimmed when I wasn’t in jail.
Brian Boone, wearing navy slacks and a camel-hair blazer, paced in front of the witness stand where Twila underwent her second day of questioning.
“I’m sorry, Miss Yonder.” Boone walked away from the witness. “How many years did you say you’ve known Everett Lester?”
She smirked. “I told you I’ve never met Mr. Lester.”
“Oh, wait a minute. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I just assumed that, since yesterday you said that Mr. Lester was, and I quote, ‘unstable, insecure, a loser, and a drug addict,’ I assumed that you knew my client.”
That made me smile.
“Your Honor.” Frank Dooley stood up. “My client told the court yesterday that she never met Mr. Lester. Now…Mr. Boone is harassing the witness and attempting to discredit her. Let’s get on with the cross-examination, shall we?”
“Good idea, Counselor,” Judge Sprockett said, looking bored with it all.
“Miss Yonder,” said Boone, not fazed by the chastening. “Do you know how much money Endora Crystal was paid by Mr. Lester?”
“I know she was on a monthly retainer. The last time we talked about it, I think she made close to fifty thousand dollars.”
“Fifty thousand a year?”
“No, fifty thousand dollars a month,” she conceded.
“That would mean that Endora made about six hundred thousand dollars a year from Mr. Lester. Does that sound about right?”
“Your Honor.” Dooley stood slowly, calmly. “We object based on a complete lack of relevance. What does Miss Crystal’s salary have to do with anything?”
“Where are you going, Mr. Boone?”
“Your Honor, for background and context, I felt it important that the jury realize how much money Endora Crystal was making from my client, not to mention her other clients. It was an exorbitant amount. And I believe it may have played a part in her continued, excessive interest in my client.”
“What do you mean, excessive?” Dooley fired at Boone, then swung to Judge Sprockett. “Your Honor, come on.”
“All right. Enough
“Everett, are you going to visit that girl?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Who’s we?”
“Mary and me.” I unfolded myself out of the Subaru. “My sister, Mary. She came to see me today at the hotel.”
“Did you tell Gray what you’re doing? Because, from a legal standpoint, you need to be very careful about what you do as it relates to that girl.”
“Endora, I’m so sick of doing what Gray says, what you say, what the record label says, what the fans say…”
“Listen, honey. I know you’re stressed out—”
“Did it ever occur to you that some people don’t live with this kind of stress?”
“Everett, your sister’s not brainwashing you, is she?”
“Maybe that’s what I need, Endora. A good brainwashing.”
“Well, she’ll be just the one to do it, I’m sure.”
“I gotta go. We’re walkin’ in.”
“Everett, you need to make that show tonight. Thousands of people have been waiting for this night for months. They need you. They need the freedom you have to offer.”
“I’m not free, Endora.” I tried to keep my voice down. “I’m a prisoner!”
Turning around to glance into the audience in Miami-Dade County courtroom B-3, I noticed Donald Chambers, my guard friend from the detention center, seated toward the back of the court in his street clothes. I guessed Donald to be close to fifty years old, about two hundred pounds, with curly grayish black hair and sideburns. He appeared to be alone.
After starting out wearing suits the first few days of the trial, I gradually dressed a bit more casually, today wearing khakis and a navy dress shirt.
Before emerging into the public eye this morning, I checked myself in a mirror in the holding area. My hair was combed neatly. It was cut slightly above my shoulders and was still dark brown, except for a few white hairs at my temples and sideburns, which I usually trimmed when I wasn’t in jail.
Brian Boone, wearing navy slacks and a camel-hair blazer, paced in front of the witness stand where Twila underwent her second day of questioning.
“I’m sorry, Miss Yonder.” Boone walked away from the witness. “How many years did you say you’ve known Everett Lester?”
She smirked. “I told you I’ve never met Mr. Lester.”
“Oh, wait a minute. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I just assumed that, since yesterday you said that Mr. Lester was, and I quote, ‘unstable, insecure, a loser, and a drug addict,’ I assumed that you knew my client.”
That made me smile.
“Your Honor.” Frank Dooley stood up. “My client told the court yesterday that she never met Mr. Lester. Now…Mr. Boone is harassing the witness and attempting to discredit her. Let’s get on with the cross-examination, shall we?”
“Good idea, Counselor,” Judge Sprockett said, looking bored with it all.
“Miss Yonder,” said Boone, not fazed by the chastening. “Do you know how much money Endora Crystal was paid by Mr. Lester?”
“I know she was on a monthly retainer. The last time we talked about it, I think she made close to fifty thousand dollars.”
“Fifty thousand a year?”
“No, fifty thousand dollars a month,” she conceded.
“That would mean that Endora made about six hundred thousand dollars a year from Mr. Lester. Does that sound about right?”
“Your Honor.” Dooley stood slowly, calmly. “We object based on a complete lack of relevance. What does Miss Crystal’s salary have to do with anything?”
“Where are you going, Mr. Boone?”
“Your Honor, for background and context, I felt it important that the jury realize how much money Endora Crystal was making from my client, not to mention her other clients. It was an exorbitant amount. And I believe it may have played a part in her continued, excessive interest in my client.”
“What do you mean, excessive?” Dooley fired at Boone, then swung to Judge Sprockett. “Your Honor, come on.”
“All right. Enough
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