Free West of Paradise by Gwen Davis Page A

corruption.”
    *   *   *
    There was a quietly impassioned closing plea from William Arnold, about a man’s home being his castle, sanctified, with those who are invited in as friends honoring that autonomy. “Now he has no place to hide,” Arnold said. “Sarah Nash has pillaged his sanctuary, taken from him an altar where he could speak as a penitent to a priest, the privileged relationship, the trust that is implicit between friends. He trusted her.
    â€œLike one of the Indians who don’t want you to take their picture because it will rob them of their souls, he has had his soul violated. Secrets he wanted to share only with his intimates, published without his permission and with her assurance that he would be protected. She has taken his most precious goods, his privacy, his very identity, and put them out in public. A betrayal all the more shocking because she masqueraded as his friend. But this was how she planned it from the beginning. And for his humiliation, his hurt feelings, this fraud, he should be compensated, though no amount of money can ever restore what she has taken away.
    â€œThere was between these two people an implicit contract, a solemn oath. Sarah Nash was not simply Norman Jessup’s friend, she was his supposed ally. And she betrayed him. A similar case, MacDonald versus McGinnis, was tried before a jury here in Los Angeles. A journalist betrayed a convicted murderer, promising he would take his part if given access to personal material. Instead, he turned against him. The lie, the betrayal, was reprehensible, even though people condemned what that murderer might have done.
    â€œI tell you this because no matter how liberal or enlightened you may be, there is still a tendency to discriminate against a homosexual. But surely no matter what his style of life, or acts, they cannot match those of a convicted murderer. And yet this murderer had been betrayed. He had an understanding, an implicit contract, and he was betrayed. As Norman Jessup was betrayed.
    â€œThere are no moral judgments in play here. There is simply a question of one’s word. When a witness touches that Bible and swears to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, if he lies it is perjury. When a trusted friend swears she will honor and respect … well, I have but one word to describe it.” Arnold teetered on the brink of speaking, and then fell onto the word, almost gasping it. “Judas.”
    He was silent for a long moment. “I ask you to award my client ten million dollars.”
    *   *   *
    The judge gave his instructions. The jury returned with its verdict.
    â€œWe find for the defendant,” the foreman said. They awarded Norman Jessup nothing.
    *   *   *
    Afterwards in the almost deserted courtroom, as Arnold packed up his exhibits, sorrowfully drawing strings around mounted blowups of documents, Jessup sat ashen-faced in the corner of the first row. “I can’t believe it,” he said, his voice grating. “I just can’t believe it. She ruined my life, and it costs her nothing.”
    â€œIt cost her her lawyer’s fees,” Arnold said. Remarkably, his hair was not yet white, and the pomade he used to slick it back and down made it seem as dark as it had been in his long-ago youth, when he’d gone into law because he thought it meant justice.
    â€œI could have strangled her, calling me Normie like that on the stand. By a nickname. Like she really had affection for me.”
    â€œIt’s over. Let it go.”
    â€œI should have won.”
    â€œNo question about that. It was as good a closing argument as I’ve ever given. I have something at stake in this, too. I don’t like to lose. But in the long run the jury believed she didn’t damage you. Homosexuality is openly accepted in the civilized world.”
    â€œHa!” Jessup