“Do you know a man by the name of Dan Whitman?” Mr. Anton, Richard’s attorney, asked.

“Yes, Dan is a friend of mine,” I answered.

“Where is Dan presently?”

“Dan is in prison presently,” I said, knowing exactly where he was going with this line of questioning.

“And what is Mr. Whitman doing time for?”

“I don’t know. It had something to do with ticket scalping or something.”

“Isn’t it true Dan Whitman is in prison for conspiracy to commit murder?”

“I object!” my attorney interrupted. “I’m not going to allow my client to answer that question. That has nothing to do with this child custody case!”

Seymour Winston was my attorney. I had sought his legal assistance on the advice of Dan Whitman, as Dan had known Seymour for years. He respected him as much as I did. Dan was not the criminal they were trying to make him out to be, or at least, the Dan I knew wasn’t. He had been involved with the Rams’ owner’s husband, selling tickets to the Super Bowl. Tax evasion and other accusations prompted his arrest. I don’t know all the details of the case, but evidently they had enough evidence to convict him.

“I think it has everything to do with this case, counsel. It establishes the kinds of characters your client associates with,” Anton retorted.

“Well, excuse me,” I interrupted. “Dan Whitman happens to be very close and very good friends with Ronald Reagan. If he’s good enough for Ronnie, I’d think he’d be good enough for me.”

Mr. Anton looked lost for words. Seymour looked surprised and a little self-satisfied. A slight grin broke out on his face as he waited for the opposing counsel’s comeback. Mr. Anton wasn’t prepared for what he’d heard; he paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“Well, that’s a matter of opinion,” he said, and immediately changed the subject.

“Does Dan really know Reagan?” Seymour whispered.

“No, but what are they going to do, subpoena him?” I answered with a coy smile.

Seymour burst into laughter. Richard and his bald-headed attorney looked over at our table curiously.

“You really threw him for a loop. Whatever made you think of that?”

“I just thought about Dan. He does walk with royalty. Just think of all the people he associates with, Seymour. He’s tight with many of the stars from his producing days. He’s college educated and well respected. That jackass was trying to convince the judge that he’s a low-life criminal. It just got to me. You know as well as I do that’s not who Dan is, but how do you make the judge see that? I don’t know, Seymour. It just came out.”

“Well, keep it up and we’ll win this case.”

“Do you really think so?”

“It’s different today than it used to be, Georgia. The court always used to lean toward the mother, but today they look more at the whole picture. The judge will analyze your lifestyles. Richard is married. He’s retired, which means he can be in the home all the time. He can afford the private schools and the tutors. You, on the other hand, are on location a lot. You’re not married. Right now Richard appears to be the more stable of the two of you. We have to prove otherwise.”

“Seymour, many single mothers work. We have to work. I don’t have anybody paying my bills. How do I provide a home for my son if I don’t work? The judge certainly has to take that into consideration.”

“You should’ve gone to court when you divorced Richard. I can’t believe you walked away from that situation with nothing. Do you realize you probably could have gotten ten thousand a month in child support? You wouldn’t have to be a working mother right now. I was amazed you didn’t go after it.”

“Seymour, we’ve already gone over that. I just wanted to be happy. A court battle would only put my life on hold. I didn’t care about Richard’s money. I knew I could survive; I always have. I didn’t need him or his money.”

“But look what it’s costing you now. It’s a catch-twenty-two. I don’t know how it’s going to come out. All I’m saying is, they’re leaning more and more toward the fathers these days, especially in California. I just want you to prepare yourself emotionally if it goes that way. In the meantime, you need to think about his history with drugs.”

“Why do these kinds of trials always have to get dirty? Just the simple fact that Richard’s mind is warped is reason enough for the judge to see my son is better off with me. Richard just gives Dustin money and lets him do whatever he desires. He doesn’t spend quality time with him, whereas I take him camping, I take him fishing, I get him involved in sports. That’s usually the kind of things dads do. I may work, but my time with Dustin is quality time. I give him me. Richard gives him money. Richard doesn’t know how to love. He buys people; he buys love—that’s all he knows. The judge has to see that.”

“I know you’d like to keep this clean, but it just can’t happen that way. You saw what they were trying to do to discredit you. He’s insinuated that you’re an alcoholic and a drug addict; he’ll try to use that to counter his own affliction. Is there anything he can say in that regard to give his accusations any merit?”

“No. I can’t do what I do for a living and take drugs! I’m a believer in living on the edge, but that’s a good way to drive over it. I rarely drink as much as a glass of wine when I’m on location, Seymour. It’s absurd!”

“Well, the film business is known for heavy drug users. Have you ever been in the company of these people when drugs were in use?”

“No . . . Well, there was one time that did happen.”

“When was that? I want all the details. I don’t want to be caught off guard.”

“It was around midnight when I got to the Santa Monica airport. The production company had chartered a jet to fly us to the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah—”

“What were you filming?”

“A commercial for Volkswagen.”

“Was that the one where the car blasts through the paper barrier and does a three-sixty?”

“Yes.”

“I remember that one. So then what happened?”

“There were about nine of us in the crew who weren’t flying commercially. We waited in the plane until two o’clock in the morning before the director finally showed up. I was getting impatient. I’d worked all day and planned on getting some shut-eye on the plane. We were scheduled to be shooting by sunrise.”

“You’ve got a pretty unusual occupation. Why were you leaving at such a late hour?”

“Some key people, including myself, had other obligations we had to fulfill. With the conflicting agendas, it was too late to catch a commercial flight and make it to the Volkswagen location on time. The director’s shoot lasted longer than anticipated, leaving us all with no time to rest before we had to start working again. I was going to try and get at least an hour of sleep. That never happened.”

“Is this where we get to the incriminating part?”

“Well, it’s not really incriminating, Seymour, but you wanted to hear the extent of any drug history with people in the business.”

“Is Richard aware of this incident, or does he know anyone who was there?”

“I don’t know. He might.”

“Okay, go on.”

“As soon as the director boarded, he put the stereo on full blast, making it impossible to sleep. He pulled a bottle of vodka from his bag and began pouring everyone a drink. He was sort of a rebel—not your typical director. I had never really dealt with that kind of behavior in the film business before, believe it or not, at least not to that extreme.”

“Go on.”

“Well, after everyone was pretty inebriated, the cocaine came out. I couldn’t believe I was watching them all snorting this stuff like it was going out of style. It turned into a frenzy. They were dancing in the aisles.”

“What were you doing all this time?”

“It was impossible to sleep, and I couldn’t beat ’em, so I joined ’em.”

“You indulged?”

“Not in cocaine, but the director refused to take no for an answer with the vodka. He poured me a drink and I nursed it the whole way. And that’s about the extent of it, Seymour.”

“How the hell did these people manage to work after that?”

“They couldn’t. It was a total disaster. We got off the plane and went directly to the location. When the sun came up, the heat really intensified their hangovers. The camera never rolled; it was a wasted day. We had to hustle like hell the following day to catch up. There were still a few shots we never got to.”

Seymour looked at his watch. “We’d better get back.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Have you ever taken drugs?”

“Yes.”

“And when was the last time you took drugs?” he prodded.

“I can’t give you an exact date, but it was before Dustin was born, and he’s eight now.”

“You never took drugs with Jay Willard?”

“Absolutely not! I don’t touch drugs,” I answered.

“Miss Durante, do you work with helicopters?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel this is dangerous?”

“No.”

“So, you don’t think what you do for a living is dangerous?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Was Dar Robinson one of your drivers?”

“Yes, he was.”

“Was? Would you like to tell the court what happened to Mr. Robinson?”

“I object! It’s irrelevant,” Seymour interrupted.

“Your Honor, I’m trying to establish that Miss Durante has no regard for her own life, so how could she care for a child when—”

“That’s ridiculous!” shouted Seymour.

“Overruled. Answer the question,” the judge instructed.

“Repeat the question?” I said, stalling for time, trying to figure out where he was going to take this.

“You said Dar Robinson was one of your drivers. Does that mean he is dead?”

“Yes, Dar is dead.”

“How did he die?”

“He died in a motorcycle accident.”

“Was he working when he died?”

“Yes, he was.”

“What was he working on?”

“A movie called Million Dollar Mystery.”

“Will you explain the circumstances surrounding his death?”

“Well, I wasn’t there, but Pat told me—”

“Who is Pat?”

“Pat McGroarty, another one of my drivers who was working on the job with Dar.”

“Okay, what did Mr. McGroarty tell you?”

“He said that they had already done the shot and they were—”

“What do you mean? What was the shot?”

“It was a chase scene.”

“Is that driving at fast speeds?”

“Not necessarily. They can undercrank the camera to make it look like they’re driving faster than they actually are.”

“Was that the case here?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

“Okay, continue.”

“They had already passed the camera, from what I understand. They were slowing down to return to their number one position to shoot another take. For some reason, Dar must have hit the soft shoulder and lost control of the bike. No one knows for sure, since he was the last in line. No one actually saw what happened. He went over the embankment and was impaled on a sage-brush limb.”

“Was there an ambulance on the set?”

“There was earlier, but they had released it.”

“Why was it released?”

“Because they had done a stunt earlier in the day and didn’t feel it was needed for the remaining shots. Dar didn’t die doing a stunt. It was a simple shot.”

“Do you often have ambulances on the set?”

“Yes, at times.”

“Why would they have an ambulance there if you don’t think what you do for a living is dangerous?”

“It’s part of our contract; it’s mandatory.”

“Well, Mr. Robinson died doing a simple shot. I find it hard to believe doing something so simple could cost you your life. Do you care about your life, Miss Durante?”

“Yes.”

“Can you explain why you have chosen your occupation?”

“No, it’s just what I do.”

“Was your company contracted by a Japanese oil company to shoot a commercial?”

“We’ve worked for several Japanese companies. Which one are you referring to?”

“The one where the A-4 jet crashed less than a quarter of a mile from the crew and the picture vehicle.”

“Yes.”

“Was the pilot killed on that job?”

“Yes.”

“No more questions.”

What I could tell about the present was considered hearsay. I knew he was still doing drugs; I had lived with it long enough to know the signs. But that didn’t count—I had to prove it. I did not keep up with his life or his friends in order to be able to shed any light on his present shenanigans. Five years before, I would have had no problem proving it. Only now did I regret not going to court when we were divorced.

“Miss Durante, did you leave your son when he was a few months old and run off to New Zealand?”

“I object!” Seymour blurted.

“Sustained. Rephrase the question, Counsel.”

“Did you leave Dustin and go to work in New Zealand when he was only a few months old?”

“Yes, but he was well cared-for.”

“Oh? And who took care of him while you were gone for two weeks?”

“Richard and our housekeeper, Marina.”

“Can you tell me then, Miss Durante, why you think Richard is such an unfit father, when you can go off for two weeks and leave Dustin in his care? Didn’t you allege he was heavily into drugs at that time?”

“Marina was quite capable. I didn’t have to worry with her.”

“Your Honor, I’d like to call the next witness,” Anton announced.

The pain in my heart was agonizing as Toni walked into the courtroom. She avoided making eye contact with me as she took the stand. Picking at her lips—a nervous habit she had acquired when she was younger—she waited for Anton to begin.

Between Richard’s and Jay’s contemptuous attitudes toward me, Toni was being sadly manipulated. Jay sat in the back of the courtroom, giving her moral support. He was on the list to testify, too. Seymour brought this fact to the judge’s attention, and Jay was asked to leave. Toni stiffened and shifted in her seat. Her eyes flickered all over the courtroom, not knowing where to focus.

I was faced with a choice: Which of my children did I save? No mother should ever be in that position. Seymour could tear her apart on the stand, if he were to do his job, but how could I let that happen? I flashed back to my day on the stand after I had been raped. They had tried to turn it all around and make me look at fault—not so much different from what was happening now. I could not let that happen to Toni. Too much damage had already been done to her psyche. Whatever it was she was coerced to say would just have to be. All I could do was hope that the damage could be repaired. The pain of this moment was too much for me to bear. I hid out in my shadow. It was all happening to Georgia Black, not to me. I was safe now.

“Since I was nine or ten, I guess.”

“How old are you now, Toni?”

“I’ll be eighteen in October.”

“Has Richard been a good father to you?”

“Yes.”

“Is he a good father to Dustin?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever seen Richard use drugs?”

She looked over at Richard. “No.”

“That’s a lie, Seymour,” I whispered to him. “She used to steal cocaine from his drawer. That’s how she got hooked to begin with! I can’t believe she’s doing this.”

Toni still had not looked in my direction. I glanced at Richard and caught him nodding at her in encouragement.

“How old is your boyfriend, Jay?” Anton continued.

“Twenty-seven.”

“Isn’t it true that Jay was also your mother’s boyfriend at one time?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if Jay ever spent the night at your mother’s home when Dustin was present?”

“Objection. That’s hearsay,” Seymour interrupted.

“Sustained,” replied the judge.

“Toni, is it true that your mother’s second—or was it the first husband? How many times has your mother been married?”

“Objection. That’s been asked and answered.”

“Sustained.”

“Did your stepfather, your mother’s second husband, molest you, Toni?”

“Yes . . . he did.”

Tears began to well in her eyes. As soon as I began to react, Georgia Black took charge, and I was quickly under control.

“How old were you when that took place?”

“Fourteen.”

“Was your mother married to Richard then?”

“Well, it was toward the end. They were still living together . . . but I don’t know if you would call it a marriage.”

“How did you see your stepfather Joe? Did your mother drive you there?”

“She used to send me down there on the train.”

“Did Richard know about your visits with your stepfather?”

“No, Richard didn’t want me seeing Joe.”

“Do you think Richard was trying to protect you by not letting you go to San Diego?”

She paused and looked at the ceiling. Shrugging, she answered, “I don’t know.”

“Why do you think your mother would send you there against Richard’s wishes?”

“She said Joe was all alone since his mother died . . . and I guess she felt sorry for him.”

“Did you ever tell her you didn’t want to go?”

“Yes.”

“And she sent you anyway?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel as if your mother didn’t protect you, Toni?”

“Yes,” she answered, sobbing.

“That’s all the questions I have. Your witness,” Anton said, directing his attention to Seymour.

Seymour rose and slowly approached the witness stand, deep in thought. He reminded me of a big teddy bear. He was about seventy years old, I’d guess, and was short and stocky with a head of thick white hair. He appeared to be a gentle old soul, but I knew a ferocious lion lay under that exterior.

“Hello, Toni. I’m Mr. Winston. I understand how hard this is for you,” he said sympathetically. “Would you like a glass of water?” he asked, handing her a tissue.

“Okay,” she answered, wiping her tear-streaked face.

“Toni, I’m going to have to ask you some questions that may be difficult for you, but I’ll try to make it as easy as I can.” Seymour hesitated for a moment. “When you were going to San Diego to visit your stepfather Joe, you were fourteen, you said?”

“Yes.”

“How often did you visit Joe?”

“Once every couple of months. Sometimes a little more, sometimes less.”

“When you told your mother you didn’t want to go there, did you tell her why?”

“No.”

“Why not? You weren’t a child. You knew right from wrong, didn’t you?” Seymour asked with a gentle tone.

“I guess so,” Toni answered, looking pained.

“And weren’t there times you did want to go?”

“I NEVER WANTED TO SUCK HIS COCK!” she shouted, surprising even herself with her outburst.

A sudden stillness filled the courtroom. The shock of hearing Toni’s pain and anger shot through my heart like a thousand arrows. The agony she had buried so deeply inside made me want to run to her. I wanted to put my arms around her and comfort her as I had when she was little. Her pain was my pain. But we were in a courtroom, not a living room.

When the judge studied my face shortly after, he saw only Georgia Black, who protected and concealed my emotions. That was her job. My emotional side needed to surface now to save my son, but Georgia Black had held the reins for too long, and I no longer knew how to act on my own.

“Seymour, get her off the stand,” I pleaded. “She’s much too fragile to take this.”

“We have to counter this somehow. It’s not looking good.”

“It is what it is. I can’t lose them both.”

Seymour pondered my request for a moment. With a defeated demeanor, he approached the witness stand. “No more questions, Toni. You can step down.”

Toni looked briefly in my direction as she rose from the witness stand. She was as twisted inside as I was. My emotions were a jumble of pain, anger, and hate. Pain for Toni. Anger for Richard. Hate for Joe.

Joe had done a hell of a job destroying my life, even long after he was out of it. He had messed up my head, and now the evil cycle would continue with Toni. And, finally, I might even lose my son.

“What do you think they’re going to show?”

“I have no idea, Seymour.”

“If you can think of anything you haven’t told me, Georgia, now is the time.”

“There’s nothing I haven’t told you. I can’t imagine what this is all about.”

When the videotape was played, a gasp was heard in the courtroom. It came from me. On the screen was a scene from the New Zealand party. All eyes were glued to the television set as the camera focused in on a close-up of my face. There I was, bigger than life, spooning cocaine into my nostrils. I had totally forgotten about that incident. Every eye in the courtroom had converged on me. Silence.

Richard’s attorney had executed his job flawlessly. I guess you get what you pay for. Only the best for Richard Adray.

The judge looked into my eyes and did what judges are paid to do—he judged me. Seymour’s face was a sympathetic mix of disappointment and defeat. I wasn’t trying to hide it; I had completely forgotten about it. But what could I say in my defense now? Nothing. Who would believe me? No one. My credibility was destroyed. The judge’s expression said it all: If she lied about this, then she probably lied about everything.

Richard leaned back in his chair, grinning triumphantly at me. His attorney, a sickening smirk on his face, stood next to the television with his arms folded. I don’t really know what I did; Black handled it.

We all lost a chunk of our lives in the courtroom that day. Richard may have thought he walked out a winner, but life will prove him wrong. When the emotional well-being of children is involved, there are never any winners—only losers.