The Imprint Ch. 09: Boundaries

About to come, I had less than a heartbeat to flip her on her back, spread her legs and enter her. Kissing my chest, 'Becca asked, "How did you end up sharing my bed?"

"Oh, you were very much unsure of my talents," I reminded her, "But when I explained that case is an explosive claim against defendants, you and your employer a hospital. Both believe themselves to be gods. I ended up as your lawyer by offending the Greater God. For this, I was cast by 'inexorable chains' from the paradise of the first - tier firm to the `lake of fire' in solo practice defending you."

I didn't understand how she could laugh, giggle and tease me while I was inside her. "Quite an answer."

I sighed, "I lost my comfortable perch at REMPH, SPARKS & HARKER for having the nerve to suggest that God the Hospital offer to settle the Wrongful discharge claim."

"Fuck them with kindness?" `Becca teased me.

"I'd have taken the plaintiff," I insisted, "by surprise and portray her as an opportunist before a judge sympathetic to the hospital, a major local employer. I was declared a heretic," I cautioned `Becca, "but you while the Greater God is unwilling to toss a few quid to defuse Ms Ehrlich's case, it will readily offer you as a sacrifice to preservation of its divinity."

"Fuck me," `Becca, brushing my nose with her finger and grasping my wrist, teased me.

"Holding hands?" I questioned.

"At heart I'm an old-fashioned girl," `Becca replied. "And I have proof. I never even gave you the key to my apartment. You come at my invitation only when I'm home."

I chuckled. 'Becca bubbled over with witty and suggestive double -- entends.

"Technically," I observed, "we hadn't moved in together. When you're away, I stay elsewhere in my own rented room. You've never said where you go on those two days a week you're out of town. And I never asked."

In the deposition room, my reverie was broken when Mr Remph tapped by wrist to alert me to the arrival of Erica Ehrlich. Tall, gaunt Ms Ehrlich entered the deposition room dwarfing her young red-haired lawyer who walked behind her, carrying his file. A glaze covered her eyes, the skin on her face was drawn. Her cheeks were hollow. With a deep sigh, she took a seat.

After Ms Ehrich was sworn, I explained the rules of the examination, "I'm Sam Pauling, attorney for Dr Barton whom you have sued in this action. We may be discussing some eh--difficult subjects. If you need a break at any time, please say so."

Receiving a nod, I resumed. "You just nodded. I presume that means you understand. However, during my exam, all answers must be verbal. Now, I'm going to bring you back to a few minutes before sunset on Friday October 25th last year. Do you remember where you were and what you were doing?"

"I was laying, naked on the ground on Central Avenue," came the response. Asked to describe the area, Ms Ehrlich thought for a second before answering, "Dresden after allied bombers visited might have looked more livable."

The answer brought a round of laughter to the room. Even Erica's cadaverous cheeks blossomed into a smile. Hmm, I noted Erica Ehrlich loves to be the center of attention.

Weeks ago in my private conference with a named partner Mr Remph in my old cubicle at REMPH, SPARKS & HARKER, I explained, "Posturing is a technique. We naturally wouldn't admit fault, but we would be able to distract the attention of the audience from the explosive aspects of the plaintiff's case," I held up the pictures, "to the natural antipathy to claimants as opportunistic, money grubbers."

In the deposition room, my examination continued. "Immediately before you found yourself on Central Avenue," I asked Ms Erickson, "where had you come from?"

"From my car?" Ehrlich answered.

Under his breath, Mr Remph muttered, "This is going to be a long day. Stick with her Sam."

After sparring with Ehrlich in the course of the next two hours over every question, I summed up her answers, "Let me understand you, you got off work in the hospital at 5PM, Correct?" Receiving a yes, I proceeded with my next question, "You got into your little red car downstairs in the Hospital Parking lot, maybe at 5:10PM." Receiving a Yes, I asked, "you were parked in Dr Barton's parking spot, Right?"

Peppered with OBJECTION to every question, I advised the attorney that the deposition was going slow and I was prepared to drag him back here tomorrow. "It's going slow, because your client is being as what polite society might call `cheeky.' Here we say vague, hesitant and evasive. I'm giving her the opportunity to tell her story. If she'd prefer not to, I'm entitled to a dismissal." Turning to Ms Ehrlich, I posed, "Next Question: You were allowed to park in Dr Barton's spot at the Hospital, Correct?"

"I was Dr Barton's roommate," Ehrlich responded, "I worked part time at the hospital and I drove her to work at 6AM."

I released an exhausted sigh when Mr Remph objected to the answer as unresponsive. I had just gotten Ms Ehrlich to open up. Shooting Remph a warning glance, I read shock off his face when I reproved him, "Give Ms Ehrlich the courtesy of allowing her to answer the question. Yes, the charges present sensitive issues to defendants who see themselves as having acted out of purely selfless humanitarian motives, but propriety requires I accord Ms Ehrlich the respect of hearing her out."

When the banter between Ms Ehrlich's lawyer and Mr Remph died down at Mrs Adam's insistence that she could not record everybody talking at once. I shook my head and exchanged smiles with Ms Ehrlich. I locked glances with Ms Ehrlich when both of us looked up at the old tick tock clock on the wall ticking away the time. Was she flirting with me? Maybe. Regardless, Ms Ehrlich was enjoying herself. She loved being on stage.

"Roommates?" I asked in a suggestive voice.

"Yes," Ms Ehrlich's response came as a sharp rebuke, "Becky eh -- Dr Barton knew how to create boundaries."

"Boundaries?" I queried.

A smile peered on Ms Ehrich's lips. She suppressed a snicker, "Boundaries which set her apart in her sublime Goddesshood."

I smiled back and nodded. Ms Ehrlich saw Dr Barton correctly. We studied each other carefully. The same thought crossed each other's mind at the same time. Ms Ehrlich and I had been both bowed to render Dr Barton homage in the form of cunnilingus but neither had received oral from her.

I broke our link by proceeding to the next question. "So, you reached Sparks Place at the top of the hill at about 5:30, thereabout?" I prodded.

"Yes, in rush hour traffic," Ms Ehrlich responded, "Even knowing how to wheedle your way up the hill, it could take 20 minutes. I was supposed to meet Becky. We were headed out to dinner."

"OK," I grabbed Mr Remph's forearm and shook my head to signal him not to object. "Now, I have some photos that I'd like you to look at."

The photographs were laid before Ms Ehrlich. Mr Remph and Ms Ehrlich's lawyer leaned forward to study her reaction. An hawkish expression filled Ms Ehrlich's face as she studied the photographs. Was she intrigued? Showing no emotion, Ms Ehrlich, tapping the photo with a long fingernail, acknowledged, "that's me, laying on the sidewalk -- on Central Avenue near the corner at Sparks Place."

"Do you know how you came to be lying face down?" I was inviting her to tell the whole story. Mr Remph was itching to object, but I grabbed his arm and shook my head.

Without emotion, Erica, holding the picture in her hand, recounted, "I turned the corner. Two people--a short fat man and a tall, thin woman--I," Erica suppressed a chuckle, "nicknamed them Dr Fat Prick and Dr Skinny Bitch. Both in scrubs -- a drab, yucky greyish green -- knocked me to the ground. I was jabbed with a needle."

Denying that she knew either of the assailants or the type of drug used in the injection, Ms Ehrlich recalled, "I couldn't move but I wasn't knocked out."

"Ok," I posed the next question, "when you landed on the ground where you face up or face down like in the pictures?"

"I was face up -- face down came later. Dr Fat -- Prick pulled my top up, sat on my belly, and cut my sweater and bra off -- At my AA cup size," Ms Ehrlich reflected, "I should be pleased or Maybe it's the only one single time Dr Fat -- Prick ever got lucky enough to whip a bra off anything other than an inflatable dolly."

"And you're sure it was the male in scrubs," I prodded her, "who held up your bra like a prize and tossed it aside?"

"I felt him go erect," Ms Ehrlich snickered, passing the photos back to me, "Doctor -- patient privilege I suppose. Dr Skinny -- Bitch cut off my slacks. I was pissed. They were new."

In responding to my observation that she seemed remarkably bemused, Ms Ehrlich explained, "I found my roommate Becky hmm--Rebecca -- eh Dr Barton standing over me, screaming `Oh my god. It's Erica!' I thought it was a joke."

"A joke?" I pushed for more details.

"Yes, Rebecca, hmm Dr Barton was getting even with me." Under prodding, Erica claimed, "A Friday night, a year or two ago I was home--in my room when I got a frantic call from my roomie, eh Dr Barton--She needed me to pick her up nearby. She pled with me to leave my engine running. When I got to the apartment. I found her on a bed naked curled up next to a naked man -- a foreigner. I laughed at her."

"Laughed?" I was trying to flush out the details.

"It was grotesque," Ms Ehrlich described the scene, "Becky's leg was draped over his body. Becky was angry that I hadn't brought her clothes. I found a sheet, draped my coat over her shoulders and whisked her to my car. Fortunately, the car's heater worked that night."

"And you thought Becky, eh--Dr Barton, was getting even?" I pressed her to elaborate.

"In the car, Becky--Dr Barton told me," Ms Ehrlich replied, "she was totally aware -- from the moment the drug hit her. She was carried to a bed, laid face down." Reaching for the photos, Ehrlich tapping her index finger on the photo, emphatically asserted, "like you see here in the photo of me on Central Avenue."

Prodded, Ehrlich continued, "Becky told me. Long narrow female fingers yanked off her pants. Rough male hands peeled off her top was peeled off. `Stripped naked,' Becky cried, `I knew what was going on but didn't care.' Her classmates were playing a prank. For them, all in good fun, I suppose. Becky cried and I -- I laughed at her."

"There came a time when you realized for you laying on the sidewalk was not a game," I prodded Ms Ehrlich.

"Hmm," Ehrlich wondered for a second considering her answer, "Becky was standing over me with a fire rescue man -- a guy named Bob, I think. I knew this Bob was a rescue fireman from his faded blue utility uniform," Ehrlich paused. I resisted the impulse to interrupt. Shaking her head, Ms Ehrlich completed her account, "Becky inquired after my purse. Bob, the rescue person, sneered, `You been around hospitals long enough not to ask such a question. We need to scoot.' Bob and Becky decided to leave and to call in the emergency anonymously. Becky rode off in the rescue wagon. I was left on the street."

"And Dr Barton just took off?" I asked.

"Becky did protest and urged Bob to wait for help to arrive," Ms Ehrlich recalled, "But left with Bob because she needed a ride home. I guess Becky gathered I wasn't able to drive her to dinner."

Mr Remph wanted to object, but a nod from me waived it off.

"Not that night I gather," I noted dryly. Looking down at my notes, I resumed, "How did you end face -- down?" I prodded her, "Did you try to get up?"

"I was lying on the ground face up, for I don't know how long," Ms Ehrlich looked at the photos as she spoke, "The rescue vehicle returned. This Bob feller hopped out with his bag. He took some swabs and cleaned me up, combed my hair, took pictures with a flash -- I was blinded."

"Go on," I wanted to get the story.

"Then Bob flipped me on my back. I was swabbed down; my hair combed. Then he lifted my hips and stuck it inside. Later after this Bob took off, the police arrived and I was transported to the hospital."

Mr Remph made some inquiries into a treating psychiatrist. "Erica has no difficulty talking about the incident. She speaks of it as if it happened to someone else. Though there was a period of intense depression and inability to perform in her last year of law school, her manner of dealing with the incident, speaking of it clearly and in a detached manner does not easily fit into the post-traumatic stress model."

"You did graduate?" I followed up.

"Yes, I went to work in a women's center where I help women who've gone through similar experiences," Ms Ehrlich responded.

"Most commendable," I observed, "one last question before I close this deposition." Ehrlich looked at me attentively, "You said you thought this was a prank. Did you think Becky--eh Dr Barton was getting even with you?"

A reflective look crept across Ms Ehrlich's face. "Yes, I gazed upon the body of a naked Goddess and laughed."

After the deposition, I ran over to see `Becca in her office at the hospital. I was bubbling over with an idea. Even advice of a delay from Barton's petite secretary Sherry, seated like a sentinel at a desk in front of eh-Dr Barton's office, that there'd be a delay did not dampen my enthusiasm. Oh, I usually picked up `Becca downstairs at the barrier when she got off from work. Hopping in my car, she'd tease me, "Cheap date, hmm."

I hadn't taken notice of her spacious, though sparsely furnished offices on those rare occasions when I came upstairs to pick her up from her office. Sunlight streaming in from full length floor -- to -- ceiling windows in Dr Barton's private office and an adjacent office illuminated the rooms. "You practically need sunglasses to work in here." My remark drew a smile from freckle faced Sherry.

I was still highly animated when `Becca wandered in. I mechanically rose to greet her. Her dark mid - calf dress fluttering, the tail of her white lab coat flapping,

'Becca angrily swept right by me into her private office. Passing by me without a flicker of recognition, `Becca slammed the door shut. Sherry looked at the closed door. A look of shock came over Sherry's face. Over Sherry's protest, I rushed to the door and entered.

Dr Barton was by her window. Tears welled in her eyes but she refused to cry. Turning to me, she barked, "Why don't you bend me over my desk and take me from the rear, like you always wanted to?"

"The way you're dressed," I responded linking arms with her, "it'd be like screwing a nun."

`Becca and I turned toward the door to see a smiling Sherry in the doorway throwing the door shut. "Interesting," `Becca commented, "in the convent school's shower, girls, returning from a weekend home, would boast about what they did and show off bite marks on their tits. They'd accuse me of wanting to become a nun. `Who'd want to fuck you?'"

"I do," I swayed with her.

`Becca's look turned distant; her tone, impersonal, "I trust you meet my former roommate this morning. Ironically, I had to remind Dr Regina Windham, the hospital president, of the impact of that lawsuit," there was a pause, was she rethinking her words, "-- eh in dealing with a personnel issue."

"I had an idea. It might bring the case to an end," I was excited, "I believe Ms Ehrlich likes being the center of attention."

"Like most lawyers," 'Becca thought aloud, "my former roommate is potentially an HPD -- NPD cross-over. The histrionic disorder loves drama, the narcissistic personality runs on an inflated ego and complete lack of empathy for others."

"Hmm, imperious and inconsiderate, the making of a good doctor," I returned the compliment, "Police discarded Ms Ehrlich's report. They wrote off the incident as a sorority prank of some kind."

"That's hearsay, isn't it?" `Becca was not impressed

"True," I agreed, "However, her hospital chart says Ms Ehrlich had a barbiturate in her blood. The barbiturate was related to Sodium thiopental, truth serum."

"Hmm, a side effect of withdrawal from that drug can be hallucinations," Dr Barton acknowledged. "I see where this is going."

"Ms Ehrlich's psychiatrist," I continued, "says that Ms Ehrlich has objectified the alleged incident in a manner inconsistent with post-traumatic stress disorder."

"So?" Dr Barton prompted me.

"I need a doctor who can back up the hypothesis the police formed," I told Dr Barton, "Do you know a psychiatrist or psychologist with a background in toxicology?"

"Why not go to your insurer to find such a specialist?" 'Becca asked.

"The fewer who know about this until I'm ready to spring my motion to dismiss, the better," I replied tartly, "Besides the person who jabbed you and left you naked on a bed owes you a mighty big favor. Don't you agree?"

Dr Barton looked shocked. I could read the surprise off her face. How did I know that the classmate who stabbed her with a syringe in immature hijinks was a psychiatrist with a toxicological background? I continued, "A former pharmacist, a female with `long narrow fingers', no doubt, swept up into med school through PAP--the push ahead program?"

"Anything else?" Dr Barton asked.

"The medical report you obtain should conclude that `An Histrionic -- Narcissistic personality, drama queen, under the influence of a barbiturate which can produce hallucinations cannot render a reliable account,'" I insisted, "Even her medical, psychiatric evidence is not consistent with the incident Ms Ehrlich describes."

"A tall order," Dr Barton grimaced. "So, you know what really happened. How do you defend the guilty party?"

I took a deep breath. If I acknowledged I knew but got some details wrong, then Dr Barton would realize that I'm bluffing. I simply smiled. "At this point, it doesn't matter. Does it? In court, what really happened no longer matters; before the bench, what counts is my presentation: what I can make it seem like it happened."

"Where does that leave us?" Dr Barton asked.

"At the moment, I've work to do," I ended the discussion, "I'll pick you up usual time, 5PM?"

And our life continued. In our nights together, `Becca became bossier. After dinner, `Becca ordered. "Into the bedroom, clothes off, lay flat on your back, lights out. I want to watch you get yourself ready and whip up six solid inches and plant that thing inside me."

And our relationship continued to evolve.