Page 30 of Things We Do in the Dark
A small smile, followed by a wince. Charlotte’s lip is still raw. “You must have slayed a monster yourself at some point. That, or you have kids.”
“I don’t have kids,” Paris says. “But I remember what it was like to be a kid. And these were the things I would have wanted to hear.”
The woman nods, her tears beginning to flow freely, though she makes no sound. Paris understands this, too. It’s always best to cry silently, so you don’t make things worse.Stop those fucking tears God I hate your face when you cry.
They both turn their heads as an officer appears at the cell.
“Peralta,” he says, unlocking the door. “You’re being transferred to the courthouse. Your lawyer will meet you there.”
“Good luck,” Charlotte says, and touches Paris’s arm.
“You too,” Paris says.
They’ll both need it.
The elevator ride is quick, and this time they go up instead of down, stopping a few floors above the main level. There’s a walkway that connects the jail to the courthouse, and since Paris’s wrists are cuffed, the officer holds her elbow as they pass through.
When they arrive on the other side, Elsie is waiting. No tropical colors for the older woman today. For her court appearance, the lawyer has chosen a pinstriped navy skirt and matching jacket paired with a crisp white blouse. Standing beside her is an attractive young woman in a dark pantsuit, platinum hair in a sleek bun, holding a Nordstrom bag. This must be the junior associate Elsie mentioned the day before. The young woman appraises Paris through her trendy, oversize glasses.
“This is Hazel,” Elsie says.
The two women shake hands, and Hazel hands Paris the bag. “I couldn’t go into your house to get you anything from your closet, but your friend Henry gave me your sizes. You should find everything you need to freshen up in here.”
Elsie fingers a lock of Paris’s hair and grimaces. “Did you bring her a hair elastic, too?” she asks Hazel.
“Oh, I didn’t think—”
“Give her the one in your hair.”
The young associate takes out her bun and hands over the elastic without argument. The officer escorts Paris to a nearby bathroom. Once alone, she carefully peels off the bloodstained butterfly bandage from her forehead, then rinses her face and brushes her teeth. In the bag, she finds a hairbrush with the price tag still on it, and does her best to comb out the tangles in her hair before securing it in a loose bun with Hazel’s elastic. She then locks herself in a stall and sprays her armpits generously with deodorant before putting on her new outfit. Hazel has great taste. The conservative knee-length dress is dove gray and a perfect fit. The modest heels are less comfortable for someone who spends most of her day barefoot, but they’ll do. At the bottom of the bag, she finds a brand-new lipstick. She has the same one at home. The shade is called “Orgasm,” a bold name for a universally flattering color. She swipes it on her lips and then, impulsively, dabs a little on her cheeks.
When she comes back out of the bathroom, Elsie nods her approval. With Hazel in tow, they make their way over to the assigned courtroom, where the lawyer pauses just outside the double doors.
“Whatever happens in there, do not react.” Elsie’s voice is low and firm. “You are quiet, you are serious, you are well-mannered, and you are sad because your husband just died. Got it?”
Paris nods. She doesn’t have to pretend, because she is all those things.
The security guard opens the door. The courtroom is packed, every seat in the spectator area full. It doesn’t look anything like the fictional New York City courtrooms Paris sees on TV, which always appear so opulent, with ornately carved wood and high ceilings. This courtroom is modern and understated, with mid-toned paneling and natural light.
All eyes are on her as she heads down the aisle with Elsie, who keeps a hand on her elbow until the three of them reach the table on the left side of the courtroom. On the other side is the prosecutor’s table, where a man in a well-tailored suit glances over with an expression of mild interest. Quiet conversations hum from all different directions behind them.
Elsie leans in to talk to Paris. “There’s been a new development that the prosecutor believes will cement their argument for probable cause. They won’t tell me what it is, but if there’s anything at all you haven’t told me yet, now is the time.”
There’s a lot Paris hasn’t told Elsie, but now is definitely not the time. “You already know everything.”
“Good.” Elsie squeezes her arm.
Paris and Hazel sit quietly while Elsie reads over her notes. The judge isn’t here yet, so Paris turns around for a quick scan of the courtroom. She has no idea who all these people are, but their conversations pause briefly at the sight of her face. She spots Detective Kellogg at the very back. A few rows away, she sees Henry and waves. The sight of her friend and business partner helps loosen the knot in her stomach, but it tightens again when she catches a glimpse of frizzy brown hair that could only belong to Zoe Moffatt. She and Jimmy’s assistant make eye contact briefly before the other woman averts her gaze.
“All rise.” The bailiff’s voice projects through the wall-mounted speakers.
The room falls silent, and everyone stands as the judge enters. Paris works to settle herself. She can’t let her mind disconnect today. The prosecutor is about to publicly accuse her of murdering her husband, and everyone sitting behind her is here for the show.
The judge’s robes are black and flowy, which does resemble what she’s seen on TV. Paris can’t help but think that this would make a perfect ripped-from-the-headlines episode ofLaw & Order: SVU. Ice-T and Mariska Hargitay are sitting in the back of the courtroom, waiting to see if the dead celebrity’s trophy wife will be officially charged with murder. Diane Keaton could guest star as Elsie. Ed Harris could play Jimmy in flashbacks. And the role of Paris Peralta could be played by…
She feels a pinch on her elbow.
“Wherever you are,” her lawyer hisses, “come back to earth.Now.”
