Tracey: The statement showed over $600 million.

There was a slight uproar in the courtroom that quickly ceased.

Prosecutor: Can you repeat the amount for the court, Ms. Bodden?

Tracey: Six hundred million three hundred thousand dollars to be exact.

Prosecutor: Please continue.

Tracey: It was very late, and I was tired. I caught a taxi and arrived home about 11:00 pm. I opened a bottle of wine to relax, drew a bath, and while the water was running, I started to prepare a light dinner. I returned to the bathroom, undressed, and entered the tub when the apartment doorbell rang. Since it was the bell upstairs, I assumed it was my neighbor on the floor . . . Ellen.

Prosecutor: Why would you conclude it was Ellen, Ms. Bodden?

Tracey: We have a doorman downstairs, and he announces our visitors via the intercom. Not to mention, I have very few visitors from within my building.

Prosecutor: Continue, please.

Tracey: So I put my robe on and walked over to the door. I intended to let Ellen know we would not be able to visit tonight. However, as I approached the foyer, two men were already walking into the apartment.

Prosecutor: Did you know either of these men?

Tracey: Oh no. And they weren’t men. I should say savages! (Tracey slowly transformed to an uneasy emotional state throughout the remainder of her testimony.) I attempted to run to the phone to call 911, but one of them grabbed me. He tied me to my kitchen chair. They ransacked my apartment. I was brutally beaten and raped until I was unconscious.

Prosecutor: Did the intruders ever say why they were there?

Tracey: They asked me for the location of the money Jasper stole from their uncle.

Prosecutor: Who did they say was their uncle?

Tracey: One of them said his uncle was Antonio Ignacio.

Prosecutor: Ms. Bodden, I am sorry for what happened to you. As difficult as it will be, we need for you to recount very specifically the events that evening.

Jasper: Objection, Your Honor. Relevance? The alleged assault does not have any direct bearing on my charges. Also, these men were not convicted nor even arrested for the alleged assault she described. Therefore, no proof that a rape or assault had even occurred.

Prosecutor: Your Honor, the rape and assault help to explain Tracey’s state of mind during the events leading to the disclosure of the bank account information, which the defendant is charged with embezzling.

Judge: Did the defendant report these events to the police?

Prosecutor: Yes, Your Honor.

Judge: Overruled. I’ll allow testimony of the details of the alleged rape and assault.

Prosecutor: Ms. Bodden.

Tracey: One of them was more concerned with locating the bank account information. He threw down a couple of my bookcases and broke several picture frames. He searched my computer drives, and of course, he found nothing. While he was in another room I use as an office, which is separate from where I was tied up, the other animal fondled himself in front of me. As a result of the wrestling and struggling earlier, my robe was partially open, and he was like a wolf dog, groping himself and timing his physical attack on me. (Tracey cried.) My hands were tied. I continued to attempt to break loose, but it was impossible. My mouth was taped. I couldn’t scream. He threw me onto my living room floor and brutally raped me. By that time, he had punched me in the face many, many times. My lips and nose were bleeding. He raped me over and over again. In between, he beat me again and again. He eventually broke my nose. I later learned that I had to have six stitches to repair my lip, eight stitches in my vaginal area, and fourteen stitches to repair my anal area and rectal wall.

Jasper looked at Tracey without emotion.

Prosecutor: I’m very sorry, Ms. Bodden. (He poured a glass of water for Tracey. She tried to regain her composure.)

Tracey: I was unconscious for a while, so I’m not sure what happened during that time. They awakened me . . . I believe they splashed water on my face and continued their demands. At that point, I told them where they could find the information. The file was in my briefcase in the foyer.

Prosecutor: Ms. Bodden, did you see these intruders again?

Tracey: No.

Prosecutor: Thank you, Ms. Bodden. No further questions.

Judge: Any questions from the defense?

Jasper: Yes, Your Honor. (Jasper approached Tracey in a stern manner.) Do you know how these men got into your apartment building?

Tracey: No, it is still a mystery to me. (She innocently replied.)

Jasper: You did mention you have a doorman, correct?

Tracey: Yes, yes, I do.

Jasper: Did the police find any evidence of a break-in? picked lock? busted door?

Tracey: Surprisingly, no.

Jasper: Just for the record, what floor are you on?

Tracey: I’m on the twenty-sixth floor.

Jasper: Are there any fire escapes in your building?

Tracey: No, there are not.

Jasper: (He walked over to the jurors and looked at each one of them as he asked Tracey the questions.) To be clear, Ms. Bodden, didn’t the police report indicate there weren’t any signs of forced entry and that it was possible you knew these men and allowed them inside of your apartment?

Tracey: They wrote something along those lines in their police report, but that was speculation.

Jasper: (He turned around and loudly shouted.) Your Honor, I submit a copy of the police report which states and I quote, “We conclude that there was no evidence of a break-in suggesting the defendant’s door was voluntarily opened.” (Jasper faced the jury.) So, Ms. Bodden, to summarize, there was no evidence of a break-in or forced entry, and you live in a skyscraper without any means of scaling walls?

Tracey: Jasper that is an idiotic remark.

Judge: Ms. Bodden, please refrain from addressing the defense beyond the realm of the question. And, Cunningham, watch the cynicism.

Jasper: How long have you known the two men who you invited into your apartment?

Tracey: (Confused.) Excuse me?

Prosecutor: Objection. I already established the witness did not know the men.

Judge: Sustained.

Jasper: Were you conspiring with these two men on the alleged money in question?

Tracey: Of course not. Jasper, what are you asking?

Jasper: As an investment banker, are you aware of ways to transfer money from one client account to another?

Tracey: That’s a common request as we execute transactions in the market.

Jasper: Are you aware of ways to transfer funds to Swiss accounts?

Prosecutor: Objection, Your Honor. We never specifically mentioned Swiss accounts. How did the defendant know about that?

Judge: Overruled.

Jasper: Are you aware of ways to transfer funds to Swiss accounts?

Tracey: Of course. The country is irrelevant. The funds transfer process is largely the same.

Jasper: (Jasper started to aggressively question Tracey with badgering speed.) Tracey, did you invite these men to your apartment for the typical orgies that you and I engaged in for years?

Tracey: What? Jasper, are you turning this—

Jasper: Please answer the question.

Tracey: No. You’ve never even been to my apartment!

Jasper: Tracey, were you conspiring with these men to launder money, and the situation had gone awry that night?

Tracey: No. Absolutely not!

Jasper: If you weren’t, why didn’t you tell the alleged intruders where the bank account information was located as soon as they asked?

Tracey: I don’t know.

Jasper: You don’t know? These men allegedly terrorized you, raped you, battered you, yet you still chose not to hand over a simple folder with information that supposedly didn’t belong to you?

Tracey: (Stuttering.) I can’t explain . . . You are twisting it . . . I was protecting you . . .

Jasper: No, Ms. Bodden, I CAN explain. You invited two of your conspiring associates to your apartment on the night in question. By your own testimony, they did NOT forcefully enter your dwelling. By your own testimony, you bathed and had a drink before they arrived and came to the door with only a loosely tied robe . . . likely in preparation of having sex with these men, which you customarily did with me. I know how much money you charged me. How much were THEY paying you for a twosome?

Prosecutor: Objection, Your Honor.

Judge: Sustained.

Jasper: (He ignored the judge.) Were you particularly lonesome and horny because I was imprisoned, and you needed TWO men to compensate in my absence?

Prosecutor: OBJECTION!

Judge: Sustained. Last time, Cunningham!

Jasper: Were you having dinner and drinking wine with your guests, and the orgy got heated?

Tracey: No, it didn’t happen that way.

Jasper: Did these men become more aggressive than you anticipated?

Tracey: No, it didn’t happen that way.

Jasper: Come clean, Ms. Bodden. Those men weren’t there for any bank account information. Am I correct, Ms. Bodden?

Tracey: (Now crying.) That . . . is a lie! Jasper, how could you—

Jasper: (Now shouting.) I’ll ask you, Ms. Bodden, did you embezzle client monies and, as my investment banker, attempt to frame me and my dead partners for these transactions?

Tracey: (Tracey was bewildered. She was now crying uncontrollably.) You filthy liar! I can’t believe you are making it appear as though I have done this! Those men raped me, and you knew they would. You didn’t care! You never loved me! You were using me all along!

Judge: Please calm down, Ms. Bodden, before I have to remove you from the stand.

Jasper: By your own testimony, you allowed the events in your apartment to continue, and eventually you gave the men the information they were supposedly looking for?

Tracey: It was rape! I was brutally beaten!

Jasper: Why didn’t you give them the information before the beating, or after the first slap, or first punch, or the second punch? Or how about maybe after the first rape, second rape—

Prosecutor: (Sounding somewhat defeated.) Objection, Your Honor.

Judge: Overruled. However, Cunningham, allow her to answer. Propose one question at a time.

Jasper: Ms. Bodden, simple question, if you claim you didn’t have a vested interest in the money, why didn’t you submit to the request of these men immediately?

Tracey: I was thinking about us . . . our future. (Jasper looked at her as though she had lied.) I’m not sure.

Jasper: (He corrected her.) Yes . . . you are sure. You were protecting your own financial interest. Those bank accounts were yours, Ms. Investment Banker!

Tracey: They were not, and you know it.

Jasper: Ms. Bodden, did you, by your own testimony, plan to murder my wife?

Tracey: It was your idea. I foolishly loved you. You said we would be together—

Judge: Ms. Bodden, please do not direct your comments to the defendant. I know it’s difficult, however, limit yourself to answering the question posed.

Jasper: I’ll ask you again. Did you, by your own testimony, plan to murder my wife?

Tracey: Yes.

Jasper: No further questions.

Laura’s mother, who was sitting in the middle of the courtroom for Tracey’s entire testimony, stood up and shouted, “You got everything you deserve for being with a monster like him. You’re a thief and a whore. At least you knew the type of animal you were dealing with. A liar, cheater, and murderer. Laura had no idea what type of man she was in the midst of. At least you’re alive. You plotted to murder my daughter. She never stood a chance. She never stood a chance . . . ,” she sobbed. The courtroom erupted with shouts. Someone in the courtroom yelled out a profane name.

“Tracey, you bitch!”

The judge pounded his gavel and shouted, “Order, order. Court Officer, please remove Ms. Brockton.” Jasper returned to his chair quite pleased with the courtroom unrest and disdain for Tracey that her testimony generated.

Judge: Any re-examination by the prosecution?

Prosecutor: Yes. (He approached Tracey very closely.) Tracey Bodden, did you steal, embezzle from, or defraud any clients including the law offices of Cunningham, Gates & Waddell at any time?

Tracey: No, I did not!

Prosecutor: Were you savagely raped in your apartment by two men who you did not know on the night in question?

Tracey: (She cried again.) Yes, I was.

Prosecutor: Ms. Bodden, did you ever tell the defendant that the accounts were Swiss bank accounts?

Tracey: No, I did not.

Prosecutor: If the defendant hadn’t known about the file you lifted from his desk, do you know how the defendant would have known the accounts in question were held in Swiss accounts?

Tracey: Because he put the money there!

Prosecutor: Ms. Bodden, has the defendant ever been to your apartment?

Tracey: No, he has not.

Prosecutor: Thank you, Ms. Bodden. No further questions.

Judge: Does the prosecution have any additional witnesses?

Prosecutor: Yes, Your Honor.

Judge: We will adjourn for lunch and resume at 2:00 pm.

During the lunch break, Tracey approached Laura’s mother.

“May I speak with you, Ms. Brockton?” asked Tracey.

“I have entirely nothing to say to you, young lady.”

“Please, let me explain.”

“I sized you up at Laura’s wake. Your testimony was all the explaining I needed to hear from you.”

“I just wanted to clarify that the situation . . . the circumstances . . . were far more complex than it appears.”

Laura’s father overheard, approached the two women, and intervened.

“Ms. Bodden, you have directly and indirectly caused distress and grief to my family. It doesn’t matter to the outcome of this trial how ‘complex’ things were during your affair with Jasper. I was a lawyer and a judge for nearly thirty years combined. I’m familiar with the farce I saw up there today, but a jury likely will not. Do you know what ‘clean hands’ are, Ms. Bodden? The jury does not view you as having clean hands. You plotted to murder my daughter, and whether or not you performed the deed is a distant secondary issue in the juror’s minds. However, in my opinion, Jasper’s influence was far too great even for a well-educated professional woman like you. Personally, I don’t know whether or not you would have committed such a dreadful deed. But my opinion is irrelevant to the outcome of this case. There are two things that are as plain as day. My daughter is dead, and Jasper Cunningham may not get held accountable. My advice to you, Ms. Bodden, as you walk away from this case and, hopefully, Jasper Cunningham, choose your relationships more wisely in the future. Men like him are not as rare as you would hope.” Mark Brockton put his arm around his grieving wife, and they walked down the court corridor.

Tracey was speechless and frozen for a minute. She slowly walked over to the bench in the court hall and sat down. She contemplated how influential and persuasive Jasper had been with her. She thought about her first marriage and the humiliation and hurt those circumstances had caused. She reflected on the irreparable emotional damage her ex-husband inflicted on her coupled with resulting in her inability to have children. A man whose bisexuality was unveiled in a heart-wrenching observation. All of her life, she had been smitten by intellectual, handsome, powerful men who offered hope. She now realized that all of her relationships with men only offered false expectations engulfed in lies and deceit.

Although Mark Brockton was long gone, Tracey finally uttered, “Thank you, Judge Brockton.”

Tracey stood up, and as she walked down the corridor, she noticed a face she had seen before. It couldn’t be, she thought. What timing . . . what an uncanny occurrence! she thought. She could not forget his face. It was her ex-husband’s lover Craig. Tracey had only seen him briefly on the day she arrived home in her apartment in North Carolina interrupting her husband’s lovemaking session a few years ago. He was walking with two men, all of whom appeared to be attorneys.

The timing of running into Craig was fate, she thought. Tracey wondered whether Craig might still be in a relationship with Matheson and could lead her to him. She wanted to speak with Matheson. After the events of today, she wanted to gain the closure that never happened. Tracey increased her pace and slipped into the same elevator car that Craig had entered as the door closed. The men on the elevator spoke about a case they had acquitted earlier that day. As the elevator doors opened, Tracey exited first but slowed her pace to allow Craig to walk past her. She followed Craig as he left the building. He said good-byes to his colleagues and walked toward the subway station. Tracey was unclear what she would gain by seeing Matheson, but she continued to follow Craig.

Tracey followed Craig onto the IRT train to Chambers Street. He got off and caught the local train to Christopher Street in Greenwich Village. He exited the subway and walked down to Bank Street with Tracey a short distance behind. Craig approached a three-story brownstone townhouse and placed a key in the door and went inside. Tracey was determined to see whether Matheson would enter the building. She sat at a coffee shop across the street with a view of the building. After drinking two cafe lattes, Tracey started to come to her senses.

How do I even know whether this man is even still in a relationship with Matheson? I must be crazy, she said to herself. She grabbed her purse and exited the coffee shop and attempted to hail a taxicab. She saw a cab stop in front of Craig’s building to let off a passenger and a child. She ran to catch the cab, and as she approached, she saw it was Matheson with a young girl about seven years old. Tracey immediately changed her mind. She didn’t want to see Matheson anymore. Why was she even there, she thought. She had moved on with her life, and obviously, he had done the same. Hoping he had not seen her, she quickly turned around and started to walk the other way toward Hudson Street, but it was too late.

“Tracey?” Matheson called out. She turned around and looked at Matheson. This was indeed the man she once loved, she thought. He was even more handsome than she had remembered. The young girl ran up the front stairs of the townhouse and waited.

“My god, Tracey, is that really you?”

“Matheson, my goodness. What a surprise.”

“What are you doing here? in New York? on my street of all places?”

“I live in New York. Uptown,” she nervously replied.

“You are in New York? How long?”

“Well, ever since we split up. How about you?”

“Same here. My goodness. I guess great minds think alike.” They smiled somewhat uncomfortably. There was a long pause.

“It’s good to see you, Tracey.”

“It’s good to see you too, Matheson.”

The young girl was crossing her legs on the porch steps and shouted, “Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Ring the bell. Daddy Craig is upstairs.”

Tracey’s eyes opened wide. “Daddy?” she asked.

“Yes, would you believe it? Craig and I adopted Lisa a year ago.” He looked at Lisa lovingly. “She is everything to us.”

Tracey was in shock. “I’m happy for you.”

The front door opened, and Craig stepped out in a gray jogging suit and slippers. Lisa ran past Craig into the building. Craig briefly watched Matheson speaking with the woman he could not recognize from afar. He closed the door and returned upstairs.

“So what are you doing in the village?” Matheson asked Tracey.

“I was visiting a friend up the street,” she lied.

“Really . . . small world. Which house? I may know him or her.”

Evasively, she replied, “Oh . . . around the corner. I’m just walking to the subway. I changed my mind when I saw the taxicab.” Attempting to change the subject, she said, “It’s such a quiet block and a nice crisp day.”

“Yes, it is.” There was another long pause. They silently stared at each other. Tracey was emotionally drained from the full day of testifying, and apparently, it showed on her face. Matheson, on the other hand, looked as if he had just done a photo shoot for the sexiest male magazine.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, I had a terribly exhausting day today.”

“Would you like to relax and get a drink? There’s a quiet bar two blocks away.”

“No . . . I should just get home and rest.”

Matheson was persistent. “For a quick one?”

Tracey was glad he seemed interested in spending time with her. “Sure. That would be nice.”

“Let me just bring my briefcase and Lisa’s book bag upstairs. Would you like to come up?”

“Oh, heavens no. Did you say your partner’s name is Craig?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure whether Craig would be agreeable.”

“Believe me, it’s not an issue.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Oh, come up. I insist. You can meet Lisa.”

They walked up to the second floor. The entire floor was Matheson and Craig’s apartment. The apartment door was deep rich mahogany. The floors were dark hardwood with twelve-foot-high ceilings and huge windows accenting the contemporary furniture in the apartment. The television was on with a very low volume in the living room. Craig was in the kitchen cooking dinner, and Lisa was in her bedroom.

“Craig,” Matheson called out, “you will never believe who I met outside.” Craig was washing lettuce under running water. He knew Matheson was speaking but couldn’t clearly hear his words. He turned off the water faucet, grabbed a dishtowel, and entered the living room while drying his hands. He walked toward Matheson and Tracey. He recognized Tracey.

Matheson’s voice was filled with excitement. “Craig, this Tracey . . . my ex-wife. Tracey, this is Craig Cambridge. Tracey, I’m sorry, what last name do you go by now?”

Tracey was too embarrassed to tell Matheson that she kept his last name after the divorce.

“King.”

Craig reached out and shook Tracey’s hands. Craig was stunned.

“Tracey, it’s a pleasure.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well.” They were both cordial each thinking about the circumstances in which they first met in North Carolina.

“I didn’t know you were bringing company, Matt.”

“Actually, I ran into Tracey downstairs. She was visiting her friend up the block.”

Craig smiled at Tracey uneasily. “Oh . . . I see,” Craig replied.

Matheson scurried into his bedroom, pulled off his tie as he listened to Craig and Tracey’s conversation.

“Do you live in the city?” Craig asked.

“Yes, uptown. I’ve been here a couple of years now. Not many friends though. I’ve been somewhat of a recluse. Quite frankly, there isn’t much time given my hours at the investment bank.”

“You’re a banker?” asked Craig.

“Yes, a partner at Dale, Walton & Pierce.”

“How impressive. What industry do you cover?”

“I create investment solutions for financial service businesses, such as consulting and brokerage firms. I also facilitate merger and acquisition deals. How about you?”

“I’m a senior partner at Cutler & Haig law firm in midtown.”

“Even more impressive,” she remarked.

“Not at all,” he replied.

Matheson was pleased and excited to see Tracey again and to hear she had a successful career. He reached for his car keys clearly planning to do more than just go up the block for a drink. He thought he might need to take Tracey home that evening. His exuberance appeared like a teenager who was going on his first date. Lisa came out of her bedroom.

“Daddy Craig, may I have a snack before I start my homework?”

“Dinner will be ready soon, sweetheart,” Craig replied.

“Daddy Matt, are you going somewhere?”

“Yes, I met up with an old friend today, and we are having a drink this evening.” Craig was surprised to hear since Matt had not yet told him that he and Tracey were going out.

“Lisa, this is Ms. Tracey.”

“Hello, Ms. Tracey.”

“Hello, Lisa. How are you today?”

“I’m fine.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m six and a half.’

“My, you’re a big girl and very pretty too.”

“Thank you.”

“What grade are you in?”

“I’m in the first grade. My teacher’s name is Mrs. Rich. I like her a lot, but the class laughs at her when she burps.”

“Lisa, that’s not polite,” said Craig.

“But it’s true. After lunch, she constantly burps.”

“OK, OK, that’s enough,” Craig chuckled.

“I can read, write my name, and I play the violin, and I take ballet.”

“That’s tremendous, Lisa,” said Tracey. “Perhaps one day I’ll see you play the violin at Carnegie Hall.”

“You sound like Daddy Matt. He says the same thing to me.” Tracey looked at Matt.

“Get your homework so we can finish it before dinner,” said Craig. Lisa exited the room.

“Tracey, can I get you anything, a glass of juice? water?” asked Craig.

Matheson excitedly replied for Tracey, “No . . . no. We’re leaving now.”

Craig seriously asked, “Where are you two going?”

Tracey was about to respond when Matheson interjected, “I’m not sure yet.”

At the same time, a news story appeared on television reporting on Jasper’s trial. As an attorney, Craig’s attention quickly focused on the broadcast. He raised the volume of the television.

The reporter continued, “Today in the case of Jasper Anson Cunningham, we heard testimony by his former lover Tracey Bodden, who you see walking from the courtroom earlier today.” The television displayed footage of Tracey entering the courthouse with reporters following her. Matheson now focused closely on the television with Craig. “Ms. Bodden testified today that she plotted to murder Jasper Cunningham’s deceased wife, Laura, with the defendant. She also testified that she had known about the hundreds of millions of dollars the defendant is accused of embezzling, yet she chose not to bring this information to the attention of the authorities months ago. Furthermore, Ms. Bodden accused the defendant of being responsible for an alleged rape and beating that occurred at her apartment while Jasper Cunningham awaited trial. This trial has more acts than a soap opera. Back to you, Bill.”

Craig lowered the volume of the television. The room was silent. Tracey was mortified. She stood numb. Craig and Matheson were also in shock. They looked at Tracey puzzled. In their brief re-acquaintance, Tracey conveyed so many lies.

“It didn’t happen the way they reported it,” Tracey desperately responded.

Matheson was speechless. His previous exuberance had withered. He placed his car keys down on the coffee table and sat in an armchair in a daze. Craig felt a need to break the silence.

“The Cunningham trial is quite a sensational story. Tracey, as a trial lawyer, I’m fully aware of the power of the media.” Matheson remained silent.

“Look, I should leave,” Tracey remarked and quickly headed for the apartment door. Craig glanced at Matheson who was staring blindly in thin air and decided to follow Tracey. She turned around and said to Craig, “It was nice to meet you. I apologize for coming up.” Tracey looked over at Matheson on the chair. She wanted to say something but didn’t know what to express.

Craig said, “I’m sorry for Matt’s behavior.”

“No, don’t be. I’m totally embarrassed. I shouldn’t have been here.” Forgetting where she was and to whom she was speaking with, Tracey broke down in tears. “This is all a nightmare! Everything . . . my whole life is ruined!” Craig awkwardly hugged Tracey as she wept on his chest. “I can’t go back to my job. Not after today. My credibility, my reputation, my career, dear god, I’m ruined.” Tracey sobbed, weak and distraught. Suddenly, she realized she was embracing Craig and said, “Oh my goodness, I apologize. I don’t even know you. I need to leave. I’m so sorry.”

Matheson heard Tracey’s heartfelt anguish. It was difficult for Matheson to conceive that Tracey had found herself in this quagmire. The pristine Southern housewife he once loved was now entangled in sordid affairs, including rape and murder conspiracies. What had gone so negatively wrong in her life that her judgment was so skewed? Had it been a result of their relationship? Was he somehow responsible, even in part, for the dreadful turn in her life?

Craig was closing the door behind Tracey, and she headed down the flight of stairs when Matheson sprung out of his seat.

“Tracey . . . Wait!” Matheson met her in the hallway.

“Let’s go have that drink and talk.”

They walked a few blocks to the Greenwich Village Hotel, Restaurant and Bar. Matheson held out a chair, and Tracey slowly sat down at the table tired and drawn.

“Are you hungry?” Matheson asked.

“No, not particularly.”

“Have you eaten today?” he asked with concern.

“What do you think?”

The waitress approached. “Can you get the lady a cream of asparagus soup and a french baguette to start? We’ll play it by ear from there.”

“Absolutely, sir. Anything for you?”

“I’ll have a Caesar salad, dressing on the side, extra anchovies.”

“Certainly, sir. Any cocktails for the table?”

Matheson looked at Tracey trying to recall what she liked. “Are you still a California Chardonnay lady?”

“That would be nice.”

“We’ll have a bottle of Vintage Reserve California Chardonnay.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Thank you.” The waitress walked off. “Tracey, I had no idea what you had been going through.”

“Please . . . no pity.”

“I am not feeling sorry for you, Tracey.” Matheson realized he chose the wrong words to begin and regrouped his thoughts. “The challenges that you face . . . you don’t deserve. This man that is on trial . . . I can’t imagine the pain he caused you. I know in your heart and soul you thought you were simply doing what was right . . . for the right reasons. You’re a beautiful woman who has gone unappreciated by people . . . by men in your life . . . certainly by me. I should have handled our breakup more maturely. I apologize for how I treated you and the pain it must have caused.”

“Why didn’t you come to me and talk to me about your being gay.”

“Well, I’m bisexual, Tracey,” he corrected her.

“Sorry, bisexual. Why were you living a double life?”

“Quite honestly, I had always known. Like so many other men, I denied my sexuality all of my life.”

“Was Craig the only man you cheated on me with?”

“I’d rather not go there.”

“Well, your response alone has answered my question.” There was a long pause.

Knowing Tracey deserved an honest answer, Matheson replied, “No . . . there were a few other men . . . and a couple of women.”

“You son of a bitch! Was I so bad a wife that you couldn’t see it in you to be honest to me?”

“Tracey, this was not about you. It truly was a result of me . . . trying to find myself. When I met Craig, I found a completeness that I yearned. It was grueling living in deceit.”

“Your promiscuity left me infertile.”

“Oh god, Tracey, I am so sorry. I could never make it up to you.” There was a long pause again. They finished eating, left the restaurant, and walked down Hudson Street. They felt reconnected.

“Don’t misunderstand, Tracey. I loved you dearly. I meant it every time I said it to you. I meant it the first time when we married and even still today. I still love you.”

“What are you saying, Matheson?”

“I’ll confess. When I saw you today, my heart raced. I wanted so much to hug you. I wanted to let you know I never meant to hurt you. I never had a chance to formally apologize. I’m so very sorry, Tracey.” They continued walking without speaking. Tracey stopped and stood in front of Matheson.

“Hold me, Matheson.” They embraced.

“Kiss me, Matheson.”

“Oh, Tracey. I’m in a fully committed relationship. Craig is my spouse. We have a daughter. And I’ve learned from my years of infidelity . . . the pain that betrayal can inflict.”

Tracey was crushed but tried to be proud. “Enough said. It has been a tremendously difficult day for me today. I need to head home.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s time to leave New York City. I don’t have a choice. I may return to Georgia. I’ll be closer to Uncle Harold . . . to visit him more often. He’s all I have now. The South feels safe right now. I may hook up with a small bank down there that hasn’t seen or read about the trial.” She knew any future career in banking would be impossible but chose to remain positive.

“Hey, I’m surprised you never changed your last name.”

“Oh . . . yeah . . . you caught that on the news today, huh?”

“Yes, I did, Ms. King,” he mockingly said. Then he looked at her seriously. “Will you keep in touch?”

“Let’s do that. It would be nice,” she replied. Deep down inside, however, they both knew they would not speak again. But Matheson was hopeful.

“I would like for you to be part of our lives. Especially Lisa’s life. She could use a strong role model.”

“It seems like you both are doing a fine job with her.”

“I’m happy with her development. I’m happy with our family life.” They paused. Tracey wished she could say the same.

“Take care, Matheson.”

“Good luck, Tracey.” They hugged and parted.