quietly. “You ain’t got but one choice. You
let your man down, and he walks outa your life.”
Rachel gaped at her. She hiccuped and choked back the sobs. Her chest heaved; she
ran her hand under her runny nose. For a moment, Rachel looked far younger than four-
teen. She looked like a little girl.
When Hazel suddenly nodded in satisfaction, as if something had pleased her, Rachel
ran to Danny, flung her arms around him and sobbed against his rigid back. “Don’t leave
me!” she cried. “I’ll do anything you say, Danny! Just don’t leave me!”
He turned around, smiling. “That’s my baby,” he said. He took her in his arms and
kissed her. Then he said, “I know it’s hard for you, in a new town and all. So I tell you
what. I’ll come back on Tuesday and take you to see the Alamo. Would you like that?”
She nodded and clung to him.
“Okay, I gotta go now. Me and Bonner have something on. Hazel here will take care
of you.”
“But Danny…” Rachel whispered. “With…with other men?”
He touched the end of her nose. “I’ll tell you a secret. The easiest way to get through
it is to close your eyes and pretend it’s me doing it to you. Will you remember that?”
Rachel stared up into his compelling gaze, into those lazy, deceptive eyes that seemed
to have some sort of power over her, and she felt herself nod.
“I’ll see you Tuesday. We’ll make a special day of it, just you and me. We’ll go into
Little Laredo and we’ll eat the best tortillas and beans you’ve ever tasted. How’s ’at?”
He kissed her again and left.
Rachel was aware of little of what happened next. A young Mexican girl named
Carmelita appeared and took Rachel upstairs, explaining that they were to be roommates.
She showed Rachel the bathroom and showed her how to insert the sponge that Hazel
demanded all her girls wear, and then she was left alone.
The knock on the door, a few minutes later, was so discreet that it sounded ludicrously
out of place here, even to Rachel. She heard herself say, “Come in,” and stared at the man
who shyly entered.
He gave her a nervous smile and began automatically to take his clothes off. When he
was naked (years later she would still recall those spindly legs, the limp penis), he said,
“Don’t you want to get undressed?”
Rachel moved in a dreamlike way. The blouse and pedal pushers, the cotton under-
wear, torn in places. Then she remembered what Danny had told her. She lay back, stared
up at the ceiling, and opened her legs.
The customer was considerate enough to turn out the light, and then she felt the bed
dip.
She closed her eyes. A tear tumbled to her pillow. Danny, her heart cried. Danny…
7
When the judge said, “I find for the defendant, Mickey Shannon,” the plaintiff shot
from his chair and shouted, “You won’t get away with this, you little shit!”
And all hell broke loose in the courtroom.
Mickey Shannon, the famous rock star, was angry and coiled to spring. But Jessica
Franklin laid a hand on his arm, keeping him seated. She kept him in his chair while the
judge banged his gavel for order in the court. Then, making sure the hotheaded young
Mickey wasn’t going to jump up and go for the guy who had just called him a shit, Jessica
rose and, in the midst of the pandemonium, called out in a voice that rang over the
crowded courtroom: “Your Honor, I request an immediate restraining order, keeping Mr.
Walker away from my client.”
The plaintiff ’s counsel stood up and shouted, “Your Honor, I object!”
The photographers and reporters jammed into the courtroom were having a field day.
This was one of those delicious celebrity trials that made for sensational headlines. But while
internal dissension seemed to be breaking up the plaintiff’s team—with lawyer and client
locked in murmured but heated argument—Jessica Franklin had her side under control.
Which was a miracle, considering what a quick temper
let your man down, and he walks outa your life.”
Rachel gaped at her. She hiccuped and choked back the sobs. Her chest heaved; she
ran her hand under her runny nose. For a moment, Rachel looked far younger than four-
teen. She looked like a little girl.
When Hazel suddenly nodded in satisfaction, as if something had pleased her, Rachel
ran to Danny, flung her arms around him and sobbed against his rigid back. “Don’t leave
me!” she cried. “I’ll do anything you say, Danny! Just don’t leave me!”
He turned around, smiling. “That’s my baby,” he said. He took her in his arms and
kissed her. Then he said, “I know it’s hard for you, in a new town and all. So I tell you
what. I’ll come back on Tuesday and take you to see the Alamo. Would you like that?”
She nodded and clung to him.
“Okay, I gotta go now. Me and Bonner have something on. Hazel here will take care
of you.”
“But Danny…” Rachel whispered. “With…with other men?”
He touched the end of her nose. “I’ll tell you a secret. The easiest way to get through
it is to close your eyes and pretend it’s me doing it to you. Will you remember that?”
Rachel stared up into his compelling gaze, into those lazy, deceptive eyes that seemed
to have some sort of power over her, and she felt herself nod.
“I’ll see you Tuesday. We’ll make a special day of it, just you and me. We’ll go into
Little Laredo and we’ll eat the best tortillas and beans you’ve ever tasted. How’s ’at?”
He kissed her again and left.
Rachel was aware of little of what happened next. A young Mexican girl named
Carmelita appeared and took Rachel upstairs, explaining that they were to be roommates.
She showed Rachel the bathroom and showed her how to insert the sponge that Hazel
demanded all her girls wear, and then she was left alone.
The knock on the door, a few minutes later, was so discreet that it sounded ludicrously
out of place here, even to Rachel. She heard herself say, “Come in,” and stared at the man
who shyly entered.
He gave her a nervous smile and began automatically to take his clothes off. When he
was naked (years later she would still recall those spindly legs, the limp penis), he said,
“Don’t you want to get undressed?”
Rachel moved in a dreamlike way. The blouse and pedal pushers, the cotton under-
wear, torn in places. Then she remembered what Danny had told her. She lay back, stared
up at the ceiling, and opened her legs.
The customer was considerate enough to turn out the light, and then she felt the bed
dip.
She closed her eyes. A tear tumbled to her pillow. Danny, her heart cried. Danny…
7
When the judge said, “I find for the defendant, Mickey Shannon,” the plaintiff shot
from his chair and shouted, “You won’t get away with this, you little shit!”
And all hell broke loose in the courtroom.
Mickey Shannon, the famous rock star, was angry and coiled to spring. But Jessica
Franklin laid a hand on his arm, keeping him seated. She kept him in his chair while the
judge banged his gavel for order in the court. Then, making sure the hotheaded young
Mickey wasn’t going to jump up and go for the guy who had just called him a shit, Jessica
rose and, in the midst of the pandemonium, called out in a voice that rang over the
crowded courtroom: “Your Honor, I request an immediate restraining order, keeping Mr.
Walker away from my client.”
The plaintiff ’s counsel stood up and shouted, “Your Honor, I object!”
The photographers and reporters jammed into the courtroom were having a field day.
This was one of those delicious celebrity trials that made for sensational headlines. But while
internal dissension seemed to be breaking up the plaintiff’s team—with lawyer and client
locked in murmured but heated argument—Jessica Franklin had her side under control.
Which was a miracle, considering what a quick temper
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