Page 117 of Notorious

I kiss him. “That went well.”

He whistles. “It’s amazing.”

A few weeks later, I’m sitting in the Santa Monica Courthouse with Johnny as the lawyers ask questions of potential jurors. All of us are dressed up in suits, Johnny included. Danny and August look stylish and competent, but there’s tension at the edges of their eyes. The stress of prepping for trial is surely getting to them.

I know it’s gotten to Johnny. I wish I could do more to help him. He’s been waking up with nightmares again, and I don’t know if it’s from remembering the event or from anticipating the trial. There’s just so much uncertainty.

“No matter what happens,” I whispered to him last night, “you’re getting a chance to tell your truth. It’s important that you do this.”

“I guess,” he said, sounding unconvinced.

“No, it is,” I insisted. “And you know it.”

It takes an inordinately long time to pick a jury, and when the judge announces a short break, Johnny murmurs, “I don’t think I’m imagining the amount of weird looks and open hostility I’m getting.”

Unfortunately, I think he’s right. “I don’t think they like Gary much, either, so at least that’s a plus,” I say.

“Hmm. Could be.”

Gary Pinkerton can’t seem to keep his mouth shut, no matter how many times his lawyers shush him. If I want to strangle him, I can’t imagine what Johnny wants to do to him.

“Either way, this is going to be hard on them. We’re taking them away from their lives so that they can decide your case.”

“Now I feel even worse.”

“No,” I say. “This is how our society works. Jury service isn’t fun, but it’s an important civic duty.”

“I s’pose.”

The day gets worse, though, when we hear each side’s opening statement describing the case and what the jury is going to hear. Listening to Danny outline what happened to Johnny is awful. It’s even worse when the defense gets up and lays into Johnny, portraying him as a greedy porn star who complains about having to do his job.

Regardless, at the end of the day, I gather Johnny up in a hug. “You’re doing the right thing. You’ve got this.”

I’m worried about him, though. This is going to be a rough ride.

A little while after we arrive home, there’s a knock on the door, and I accept a fragrant bag stamped with the name of Johnny’s favorite barbecue place.

“I thought you’d want some comfort food after being in court all day,” I say, after the delivery guy leaves.

Johnny looks like he wants to cry. Instead, he grabs me, holding me tight. “Thank you. That’s mighty thoughtful of you.”

Around two in the morning, Johnny starts thrashing and screaming like he did the first night here.

I don’t want to touch him until he wakes up and knows where he is, so I turn on the bedside lamp and gently call his name.

“The system. It’s letting me down,” he whispers, holding me tight.

“The only way out is through,” I whisper back.

“I have all these fucking thoughts,” he says. “Like I want to go find the gun.”

Panic hits me hard, even though I know the gun is safely locked up. “Thank you for telling me, but I’m not going to let you do that. Can you please promise me you’ll stay alive for the next twenty-four hours?”

“Yeah, precious. I promise.”

“Do we need to stop the trial and send you to the hospital?”

“No,” he whispers.

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