When We Were Bright and Beautiful(71)

“But it’s so simple.”

“Yet so effective.” DeFiore pockets another sandwich. Looks at Billy. “And often true.”

*

Back in the courtroom, Anderson can’t wait to get started. As soon as McKay says go, the DA is up on his feet and talking, as if no time has passed. “What is the defendant’s secret? What had him so anxious? What made him so angry?” He pauses to let us get our bearings.

The judge cuts him off. “I’m sorry, Counselors.” He nods at DeFiore. “We have to adjourn. An issue has come up this afternoon that demands my full attention.”

Are you kidding? I want to shout.

Anderson is annoyed; McKay has ruined his big reveal. “Your Honor, can we just fin—”

“Court will resume in the morning.” The judge strikes his gavel.

Dazed, I walk out, so nervous I’m numb. As Lawrence hightails the car to the hotel, I sit in the backseat like a robot. “So, it’s weed?” I ask Billy. “The secret?” I poke him. “Weed?”

His eyes are closed. He nods.

“But weed doesn’t make people violent; how can that be the secret?”

“The DA will say anything,” Lawrence calls out. “Don’t worry, Cassie. It’s nothing. If it were, Peter would’ve told us.”

He’s right; of course, he’s right.

At dinner, I go through the motions. I pick up my fork, chew, swallow, and try to ignore the screams in my head. Afterward, alone in my room, I get stoned and drown in loud music blasting through my AirPods. How will I survive three weeks of this?

In court the next morning, Anderson is champing to begin. He hustles, back and forth, near the jury box, a linebacker eager to annihilate the home team.

“What is the defendant’s secret?” he asks, quoting himself from yesterday. “What had him so anxious? What made him so angry?” A long pause. “The defendant, a twenty-three-year-old student, a world-class athlete in the prime of his life, has”—another pause—“erectile dysfunction, a condition more common in a seventy-year-old man. He has watched pornography since he was a child. Now, he is so addicted he cannot sustain an erection without it.”

Nate nudges me, smirks. For the first time in months, we connect. Porn? That’s it? The whole world watches porn. I am so relieved I almost laugh out loud.

I told you not to worry, Lawrence texts. You really can trust me.

Seated beside me, Lawrence reads my screen then squeezes my arm. “I swear,” he whispers.

For the next two hours, Anderson lays out the State’s evidence. But rather than drive home the most damning details from the sheriff’s and EMT’s reports, he focuses instead on the science behind porn addiction: why videos are so dangerous, how technology feeds on the brain, how watching porn predisposes young men to dehumanize women.

“You will learn that the defendant sees his first pornographic video at age seven. You will hear evidence that he continues to watch, compulsively, for the next sixteen years. Witnesses will testify that by the time he meets Diana Holly, he is watching pornographic videos for hours at a stretch. This behavior disrupts his schoolwork, social life, and extracurricular activities. He stops tutoring. He is kicked off the track team. He is deeply depressed. He watches more than eighteen hours a week. He is caught in a cycle of binge-watching, shame, attempts to quit, and relapse. You will hear from the State’s expert how pornographic videos came to rule the defendant’s life.”

I glance at Eleanor. She appears unimpressed by this. So does the jury. Earlier, they were hanging on Anderson’s every word; now they shift in their seats. One guy is dozing; another is scrolling through a phone hidden inside his notebook.

My confidence surges. The DA’s presentation is lackluster and one-note. He uses too many words to say what he means and repeats the phrase “pornographic videos” to the point of distraction. Even as he bashes Billy into a pulp, even as he graphs Billy and Diana’s relationship from flirtation to violence, even as he walks the jury, moment by moment, through the alleged rape, Anderson can’t hold the room.

Finally, McKay cracks his gavel. “We’ll adjourn for lunch.”





41


IN THE AFTERNOON, IT’S OUR TURN FOR OPENING STATEMENTS. DeFiore has implored us to take every day as it comes, but the second he stands up and buttons his jacket, I know we will win. Once again, he’s pulled himself together. He’s no lumpy, dumpy mobster; he’s Peter DeFiore, Esquire, polished in his courtroom blues: a well-fitted navy suit, a navy tie of appropriate length, and heirloom cuff links. While Anderson relied on hysteria and theatrics, DeFiore zeroes in on evidence. He is measured, thoughtful, and persuasive.

Watching DeFiore address the jury, I wish Haggerty were here, if only to relish the shock on his know-it-all, Ichabod Crane, lemon-sucking face when Billy is acquitted.

“Despite the district attorney’s assertions,” DeFiore begins, “this case isn’t about money, power, or privilege. Nor is it about violence. So, what is it about? Well, let’s start with the evidence we know to be true. The facts both sides agree on, and witness testimony supports. Fact one: Billy Quinn and Diana Holly had an intimate relationship. Fact two: this relationship started in June, the summer before their junior year at Princeton University. Fact three: the couple ended this relationship in December, six months later. Fact four: the couple kept in touch, sporadically, between December and March. Fact five: Diana invited Billy to a party on the evening of March 24. Fact six: the couple engaged in sexual intercourse on the evening of March 24.