Free Criminal That I Am by Jennifer Ridha Page B

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    After he’s done with the receiving line, Cameron Douglas’s father walks toward me and extends his hand. In returning the gesture, I give him a quick once-over. I’m struck by how he simultaneously manages to resemble his son but also look so different. Their facial features are exact replicas, as though someone has copied the father’s face and pasted it onto the son. But Cameron has fair coloring, and his father’s looks are darker, more distinguished. Cameron is built like a natural athlete—tall and broad—but his father’s build is that of an actor: smaller in person than what appears on-screen. And while Cameron exudes a rugged masculinity, his father’s appearance is more manicured, almost delicate.
    My stargazing is cut short by the reality of the circumstances. Cameron Douglas’s father signs the bond and then indicates that he would like to talk about what happened in court. I internally cringe. This conversation is not going to be an uplifting one.
    Co-Counsel is quietly explaining what happened in court when a man inserts himself into the discussion, joining the circle as though he has something to add. He introduces himself by name to Cameron Douglas’s father and asks what he is doing in the courthouse today.
    Cameron Douglas’s father looks wary but is polite. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
    â€œI’m with the New York Post ,” the man says.
    So much for a closed courtroom.
    Without looking at one another, we three briskly make our way into the courthouse elevator. Co-Counsel presses a floor at random, so that we can go anywhere else.
    In the elevator, Cameron Douglas’s father is not pleased. “Great,” he says. “Now his bail application is going to be all over the papers.”
    I’m stupid enough in this moment to open my mouth and speak reassuringly. “Actually, we asked that the entire thing be sealed,” I say. “So, it can’t become public.”
    He flashes me a look of derision. “Oh, really , Jen?” He yells in a manner that can only be described as dramatic. “You’re going to tell me that this isn’t going to become public? Please!”
    His angry outburst strikes me as so out of place that I actually begin to look behind me in the elevator to see if he is talking to someone else. When I realize that this is directed at me, I am at first insulted and then, quite frankly, a little starstruck. I think: Yes, why don’t you please explain to me how a sealed document works, you asshole. I guess playing a lawyer in a string of shitty movies means you know more than an actual attorney.
    But then I find myself thinking: How did he know I go by Jen?
    I escape my head long enough to speak. “They can’t just do that,” I finally say. I can hear my voice shaking, and I hate myself for being as intimidated as I am. But my confidence in respect for the judge’s order is unwavering. “It would be illegal for someone to make this public.”
    At this, Cameron Douglas’s father says nothing, but crosses his arms and looks angry.
    By the time we exit the elevator, we are met with a small group of reporters. A U.S. Marshal offers to escort us into the witness room of one of the nearby courtrooms so we can speak in private. Co-Counsel begins to explain once again what happened in court. I notice that he is trying to put a positive spin on things, just as I had done moments before in the elevator. I bite my lip as he speaks, silently praying that he does not step on the same grenade that I did.
    But he does. Cameron Douglas’s father, like his son, seems to have an extraordinarily sensitive bullshit meter and is not shy when it has been activated. He wants to know why his son is still incarcerated afterCo-Counsel assured him that he wouldn’t be. He also wants to know why Cameron remains a sitting duck in prison when he has dutifully cooperated with