Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(32)
“I’m not a liar,” she said defiantly.
“I know you’re not. Lauren, do you know what the saddest part of the whole process will be?”
She looked at him but didn’t answer.
“I guarantee you your privacy will be violated. Your friend, the lawyer, she’s a member of a firm, right? The firm has partners who will want to know about this potentially high-profile case. They’ll take the three pages in front of you and expand it to thirty. Numerous associates will work on it. Legal secretaries will print and copy the document. Can you really trust all of those people to keep their mouths shut?”
“Mr. Carter, I have nothing to hide. Maybe the lawyer I talk to will tell me I should be getting more.”
“Lauren, I want to help you. Please don’t make me do this.”
“Do what?”
Trying to appear reluctant, Carter walked back to his desk, pulled a file from the center drawer, and sat down. He was pleased that his desk chair was higher than the ones at the conference table. It gave him the opportunity to look down on Pomerantz.
“Lauren, do you know the meaning of the word ‘consensual’?”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Somebody warned you against being alone with Matthews, but you went anyway. Didn’t you?”
“I explained that to you.”
“I know you did. While we’re at it, explain to me again how you stopped in the makeup room before you went to see him. You wanted to look attractive, right?”
“I wanted to look my best.”
“Attractive? Your best? I’m sure you’ll have no trouble explaining the difference between those terms.”
“You’re twisting my words. I told you what happened.”
“That’s right. You told me just like you’ll tell your lawyer, who will prep you for the first of a series of depositions where you can tell your version to the lawyers who’ll represent REL and Matthews.”
“It’s not my version!”
“It is your version, and I’m sure Mr. Matthews’s explanation regarding what happened will differ significantly from yours.”
“Don’t forget, Mr. Carter, I have the tape.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”
“I’m sure Mr. Matthews did not consent to your taping the meeting in his office. It might be inadmissible.”
“That’s ridiculous. People tape phone calls all the time.”
“Phone calls are treated differently. When a person is in his office, there is an expectation of privacy. You violated that presumption. Look, Lauren, we’re bogging down, we’re jousting back and forth on fine legal points. I’m trying to spare you being put through the wringer.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“Really? How about I give a little preview of what’s ahead of you if you go to war with Mr. Brad Matthews and REL News. And I guarantee you, it will be a war. Will that be okay, Blue Skies?”
“What did you call me?” she asked, a shocked look on her face.
“Come on, Lauren, that’s the screen name you use on the dating service Tinder. You used the same name two years ago when you were on Bumble. Correct me if I’m wrong. Isn’t that the dating site set up to have the woman make the first move? Have you always taken an aggressive approach to dating?” It had cost Carter $2,500 for his army buddy who worked at a credit reporting agency to compile and send him Pomerantz’s MasterCard bills for the previous five years. He had given Carter the name of someone who could access the records of everyone she had communicated with when she was using the dating apps. Fifteen hundred dollars was his fee for what he deemed a rush job.
“No response to that question? Let’s try another one. Tell me, Lauren, after exchanging a series of messages with a Mr. Douglas Campbell, who resides at 524 East 86th Street, you stopped using Bumble and went off the grid. Is this Mr. Campbell’s cell phone?” He read the number. “Would a search of your text messages to him reveal any really racy ones? And I hope you didn’t send him any explicit photos. God only knows how embarrassing that would be.”
His army buddy who was at Verizon had provided her cell phone history over the past three years. When they’re not together, lovers typically call each other between ten o’clock and midnight. The cell phone information had cost him another $1,500.
“That has nothing to do with what Matthews did to me,” she said, lashing out. “Besides, I’m not stupid. You’re not allowed to put my past on trial.”
“You’re absolutely right, Lauren, that would not be permitted if this were a criminal trial. If that’s the route you had wanted to go, you’d be talking to a cop, not me. God forbid things go that far. In a civil case both sides are afforded more latitude. Way more. Your side would use all the ammo it could find to portray Mr. Matthews as a monster. And the finest legal talent money can buy will put your life under the microscope and find anything they can to rip you to shreds. I’m a run-of-the-mill labor lawyer. Working on my own, I found all this stuff in a few days.
“I’m sure you followed the Brett Kavanaugh circus. People in bars, people sitting at home having dinner, discussing which one is truthful and which one’s a liar. Is that how you want to be remembered? Even if you win, you’ll lose.”