Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Another time,” my sister finally says, replacing her cup, “I was dating this guy in LA who’d get super sloppy and offensive when he was drunk.” She looks at the judge. “Yeah, I really know how to pick ‘em, your honor.” She returns to Ralph’s attorney. “So, anyway, he said something outrageously horrible about me while playing pool in a bar, and, unfortunately for him, my brother overheard him, even though I didn’t. And the next thing I knew, my brother was dragging my boyfriend into the bathroom and washing his mouth out with soap.” Miranda snickers and bites back a smile. “Everyone in the bar who’d heard the comment said it was really gross and Caleb was totally justified. One person even told me Caleb let the guy off easy. I never found out exactly what he’d said, though, so . . . ” She shrugs. “I wish I knew, honestly. Sounds like it was juicy.”
I hang my head, feeling sick. All these stories, told in rapid succession, make me sound like a goddamned, unhinged lunatic. I don’t think my sister is making it clear enough all these stories happened years apart. Also, I haven’t done that kind of shit in a very long time, other than when I slapped Trent, of course. But besides that, the last time I hit someone was when I punched Violet’s now-husband, Dax Morgan, years ago, in the face. Thanks to Miranda, however, I’m sure the judge thinks this kind of violent behavior is a daily thing for me.
“Anything else?” Ralph’s attorney asks. “Anything at all?”
“That I’ve personally witnessed? No, that’s it, I think.”
Shit. The way Miranda said personally, it’s going to make Ralph’s attorney ask—
“Does that mean you have second-hand knowledge about even more violence perpetrated by Caleb?”
Yep. That.
Paula objects before Miranda responds, thankfully, and much to my relief, the judge sustains the objection and instructs Ralph’s lawyer to move on.
“Your honor,” Ralph’s attorney whines. “Miss Baumgarten is well known to be close friends with a woman whose husband got punched in the face by Mr. Baumgarten—”
“Move on,” the judge says firmly. “Mr. Baumgarten’s propensity to play superhero is now clear and well-documented. I’ve got the gist.”
“No further questions,” Ralph’s lawyer says, looking annoyed.
As Miranda leaves the stand, I look down at my hands on the table again, rather than making eye contact her. That was rough, dude. But, hey, at least, Miranda won’t be forced to yammer on about me punching Violet’s then-boyfriend/now-husband, Dax. So, I guess that’s a good thing. Unlike the other stories Miranda told about me, I can’t honestly say that punch to Dax’s face was justified. In fact, I was dead wrong to do that, as Miranda emphatically told me at the time. In fact, my sister was so furious with me about that punch to her best friend’s boyfriend’s face, she wouldn’t speak to me for weeks.
“Our next character witness is Amy Beretta,” Paula announces.
I take a deep breath. Come on, Amy. After Miranda’s so-called support, I’m going to need Amy to do some serious damage control. She’s my only character witness today, other than Miranda. Amy’s husband, my good friend, Colin, the drummer for 22 Goats, also wanted to testify; but Paula said having a musician from a hugely popular band on the stand would make it seem like I’m throwing my celebrity weight around. Not to mention, Colin was there, personally, unlike Miranda, when I stupidly punched his bandmate, Dax, so putting Colin on the stand and subjecting him to cross-examination about that would be a big mistake for that reason, as well.
My three bandmates, Dean, Emmitt, and Clay, also wanted to testify today, by the way. But they’re even more famous than Colin, so Paula said no way. Plus, they’ve all personally witnessed me being a hotheaded prick too times to count over the years, so whatever good things they might have to say about me probably wouldn’t have been worth it in the end.
“How do you know Mr. Baumgarten?” Paula asks Amy.
“We met when I was assigned to Caleb as his personal assistant during Red Card Riot’s world tour, about six years ago. We’ve been close friends, ever since.”
Under questioning, Amy describes me as loyal, kind, protective, and generous. Someone she knows she can turn to for anything. Someone she trusts completely.
“Have you seen Caleb interacting with his daughter?”
“No, not yet. But I’ve got no doubt Caleb is a wonderful father to her, given how great he is with my son, Rocco, who’s the same age. They were born about a week apart.”
“You mentioned Caleb is protective,” Paula prompts. “Can you elaborate on that?”
“During the time I worked for Caleb, some crew guys got out of line with me, and, unbeknownst to me at the time—I found out later—Caleb came to my rescue and made sure nobody harassed me in any way for the rest of the tour.” On and on, Amy goes, alternately making me sound like her white knight and the second coming of Mr. Rogers. Seriously, it’s all I can do not to stand and shout, “Don’t overdo it, Amy! For fuck’s sake, we have to make this sound believable!” Man, if she truly believes even a fraction of the shit she’s saying about me today, then I guess I’ve been doing something right as a friend, unbeknownst to me.