The change from high school to college had really disappointed Candace Wharton. She'd been 1979 Prom Queen at Steinmetz. Nobody at Circle, except for a few high-school classmates, knew she existed. Well, the teachers did, sort of. Some of them called roll every class instead of putting your face with your name. Hell! Teachers at Steinmetz who had never had her in a class had been able to recognize her in the halls. Her current professors were divided into those who knew who she was when she was in class and those who didn't. When she went to Prof. Janowski's office to ask him about the paper he'd assigned in English, he asked her what class she was in -- what class of those he taught.

She'd been an okay student in high school; she didn't get many A s, but she didn't get any F s, either. She had been able to get into Circle, after all. But so had all of her college classmates, and necessarily some of those were at the bottom of the class. She wasn't quite at the bottom. Her lowest midterm had been a D in history. Still, the work was harder than in high school, and the teachers didn't care. Well, she was a worker when she had to be, and she would pull that grade up.

The studying wasn't fun, and there was virtually no social life to compensate. The administration tried, she had to admit. There were basketball games; there were even dances. She was a commuter, though, and so were most of the other students. She came to class, ate lunch, attended more classes, and went home. Between classes, she sometimes studied in the library. In good weather, she'd tried to lounge around outside the oh-so-elegant campus buildings. Often, some guy would come by and start a conversation, but few of those guys attracted her. The good weather, though, was a thing of the past. And, whatever she did, it didn't put her in a group doing that.

She went to a basketball game, and it was fun while it lasted -- more fun because the Flames won. But, aside from the company of the entire cheering crowd, she was alone while she watched it.

She hadn't gone to a dance without a date since her freshman year, and this was the first dance to which she'd ever driven herself. Before she'd turned 16, her dates had licenses. Well, she was a freshman again, and going stag. Once she got there and found parking, it wasn't so bad. The song playing at her arrival soon ended, and she was asked for the next one. She didn't sit down until she was tired, and then she declined a dance invitation.

The neatest guys seemed to be taken, but most of the ones who asked her were perfectly acceptable dance partners. Except for one guy who looked fine but had two left feet, she avoided the others by politely declining. Late in the evening, a guy came up who was much more than acceptable. He towered over her, and not only because she was sitting down.

"Jerry," he said.

"Candy."

"What are you drinking?"

"Root Beer."

"Want another?" She was only half-way through her glass, but she certainly wanted him to buy her another.

"Please."

He came back with a root beer and a Coke, set them down, and took the chair opposite her. His head was still above hers, and his knees touched hers. It wasn't flirtation; he just had a lot of leg to put under the table. Everything about him was long. Even his hair was shoulder length. It was also red.

They talked for a bit, and she discovered that they were both business majors. Well, he was a junior, and she intended to major in business. He asked her for the next dance. It was a fast one, and she appreciated seeing his moves. There was a lot of him, but he moved gracefully. At the end, he thanked her for the dance, but they were clearly parting then. She saw him dancing twice later. She was with different partners both times, but he was with the same girl.

She might get the car for Saturday-night dances, but she had to ride the bus to class. After her Economics 101 lecture Wednesday, someone called her name. She looked, and it was Jerry. His clothes weren't so stylish as he'd worn to the dance, and he was wearing a headband, but his height was unmistakable.

"Hi." They got to the side of the hall so they weren't blocking traffic.

"Hi. Have a class next hour?"

"No." She actually didn't, but she'd have gladly cut class to talk to Jerry.

"Want a coffee?" So he bought her a coffee. He asked her her phone number. She gave it, and her full name.

"Jerry Lambert," he responded.

"Hey! I've seen you play." And she should have guessed earlier, from his height if nothing else. He was only a junior, but he was a starter for the Flames. "You dressed different at the dance." Duh! What a stupid comment.

"Yeah. I only wear the uniform on the court." He thought the comment was stupid, too.

"And I was way up in the back. Still..."

"That's okay. Anyway, I enjoyed dancing with you on Saturday, but I was with a girl, you know." He owed his date some attention. Assuming his date was the girl he saw him dancing with, she deserved some attention, too. Why was he talking with Candy now? But she enjoyed the talk. She also enjoyed that a couple of guys greeted Jerry while they were having their coffee. If nobody at UIC knew who she was, they damn-well knew who she was with.

"Look," he said finally. "I have to get to class." Well, she did too. She gave him a minute after he got out the door, and then hurried to her American History section. She was late, but that earned her only glare from doctor Hunter. Her attendance was well over the average, let alone the requirement. Hunter called on her as soon as she was settled, and she couldn't think about Jerry until the class was over.

If the anonymity had lifted slightly, it still gave her problems. If this had happened a year ago, she would have hinted at it to a dozen friends until they pried the whole story out of her. As it was, only a few people she knew from high school were going to UIC, and more than half of those were boys. She finally called Teri.

"Guess who took me for coffee this afternoon."

"Tom?"

"He went out of state -- U of Kentucky. No, it was Jerry Lambert." Dead silence. "He's a basketball starter."

"Oh. I should follow the games more. What is he like."

"Tall."

"Well, duh!" All the basketball team were tall, but Jerry was really tall.

"And he looks good and dresses nice. He wears his hair long, not really long. He's a redhead who wears a head band. Dances well, too."

"Today? You danced this afternoon?"

"No. Saturday night. We danced then, and we happened to see each other this afternoon."

If she had to tell Teri why she should be impressed, she did sound impressed after the explanation. Still, Teri hadn't been a close friend, and the old bunch were all over the map. The news wouldn't spread. Even so, somebody knew she was no longer a wall flower. Actually, somebody else knew. Jerry certainly knew who she was; he'd even asked for her number. She never, though, expected him to use it. Still, the phone rang Friday night. Mom called her to the phone.

"Candy? This is Jerry."

"Why, hello." She didn't want to sound too eager, but juniors on the team were probably used to freshman girls sounding eager.

"How you doing?"

"Just great. And you?"

"Couldn't be better. Look, there's another dance Saturday. Not tomorrow. November 6." There was a silence. Sounding eager was one thing. Accepting before he invited her was another. "Would you like to go?"

"Why, thank you."

"Pick you up at 7:00?"

"Thanks again."

"And where is your home?" She told him the address and how to get there. She had a date. She had a date with a junior! She had a date with a basketball team member!! And basketball was more important at Circle than it had been in high school. There was no football team.

'Why me?' she asked herself. She had no doubt that she was pretty, but pretty freshmen hadn't had dates with juniors in high school, certainly not juniors who played on a major team. Well, she'd known college was different in many annoying ways. This seemed to be one very good difference.

She told her parents the next night at dinner. Jerry had called too late to mention it at the previous dinner.

Dad was less pleased than she was. "Tell him to come in. I want to talk to him."

"Oh, Dad! I'm in college now." Dad thought she was an infant.

"Why don't you want me to meet him. Is he white?"

"Of course."

"Well, all you said was basketball." White guys played basketball, too. Although the team she'd seen had been mostly black.

As it was, Jerry came to the door for her. Dad invited him inside where he could get a good look at him while she was coming downstairs, but he didn't try to set any curfew. Jerry's car was a compact, and he really had to scrunch down to get in. The front seats were as far back as they could go.

"I could move your seat forward if it bothers you. Last passenger was a team member."

"It's fine." Well, he wasn't going to try to get her into the back seat, at least. She wouldn't have been comfortable; he wouldn't fit with the door closed. Probably he was thinking something similar.

"Car's a compromise -- too big for my wallet, too small for my height." She smiled, and he started the car. At least he had a student-parking sticker. They didn't have too far to walk to get to the dance. He took the first dance and plenty of others. He did leave her for a couple of dances and suggested that she might want to accept other offers. That wasn't how they'd done it at Steinmetz, but she was in college now. She sat out two dances; they sapped her energy if they didn't sap his. Of course, it didn't compare with what he had to do on a game night. She danced with other guys, too. During one of those dances, she saw Jerry with another girl. It wasn't the one he'd been dancing with two weeks ago.

He came back to her however, and asked her for another dance. She liked that better than the high-school habit of guys assuming that bringing you entitled them to a monopoly. They were standing on the floor after that dance when the band struck up a slow tune.

"Last dance," Jerry said. "You dance the last dance with the guy who brought you."

"Of course." He held her close, not too tight, but close enough that she could feel his erection against her chest. It wasn't the first one she'd ever felt during a dance, but it was higher on her body. She was 5' 8", and, while she didn't go out with boys unless they were taller than she was, she'd never gone out with a guy who was this tall.

"How tall are you, anyway?" she asked while they were walking back to his car.

"Six-six. It's too much for the car; it might be too little for the NBA." Then, when he'd handed her into her seat and was crawling into his own, "Dear as I love the school, school events are dry. Want to go back for a nightcap?"

"Sure." Just where was 'back'? Still, she hadn't planned on limiting him to a kiss on her doorstep, and they couldn't make out in this car. He sure couldn't make out in this car. It was a first date, but she was in college. She was no longer the date everybody wanted, the date that could restrict boys to proper manners. Even in high school, less popular girls had made out on first dates.

He drove to an apartment house, and they climbed the stairs to the top floor. He led her into a large living room.

"Bloody Marys all right? I don't have much choice."

"They would be fine." She wasn't much of a drinker, anyway. It was mostly what she was served. She sat down while he went into the kitchen. She heard a fridge door open and shut. He came back with 2 glasses and a large can of tomato juice.

"Look, the vodka is in my room. The rest of the guys are coming back soon, and you don't want to be out here when they do." So she followed him into his room. This was small, but there were 2 chairs and a tiny table. The bed was made, and the room was reasonably neat.

He took her coat and hung it in his closet along with his own. The chairs were next to each other with the table a long reach away. He poured the tomato juice into both glasses, got a bottle of vodka out of a dresser drawer, and poured with what she felt was a lavish hand. He handed her her glass and sat down to her right. Now she saw why the table was so far away; his knee almost bumped it as it was.

"I trust the guys," he said. As if on cue, she heard the apartment door. There was a high-pitched voice. Not all of the people coming in were guys. "Still, I keep the booze in my room."

He waited until she put her glass down to kiss her. The guy knew how to kiss, and he waited until she'd had another sip from her glass before his hands went to her blouse. He knew what he was doing with the blouse, too, and with the bra. When they broke from that kiss, she drank thirstily. The salty drink didn't really help, but her thirst was more from her excitement than from lack of water. She'd had two root beers at the dance. When she put the glass down, he refilled it. Again, he seemed to be pouring more vodka than she would have chosen. Still, she was a college woman; she didn't want to act like a high-school girl.

As she'd gone to a dance, she was wearing a skirt. As he was a great kisser and she was a college woman now, his hand was up her skirt. He wasn't the first guy to get that far, but he was certainly the most skilled. When she climaxed, she almost peed on his hand. She'd have to do something about that.

"Look... I have to..."

"Yeah. It's through the kitchen. If the door's closed somebody's inside. Leave the door open when you leave." She put her blouse and bra on before going. She didn't see anyone in the living room or kitchen, but she did hear voices from behind closed doors. When she was done in the john, she left the door open. As she was coming back, she heard some rhythmic squeaking from one of the other rooms. She blushed and hurried to Jerry's room. He'd turned the overhead light off and a bedside lamp on while she was gone. The bed was now covered with just a sheet. He also seemed to have removed his shoes and put on slippers. He handed her her glass, full again, when she got back.

"I might as well make my visit now, too," he said. He went out, closing the door behind him. When she sipped the drink, it tasted even stronger than last time. When he got back, he reached out a hand instead of sitting down. When she took that hand, he pulled her up and into a kiss. His hand on her back pulled her tightly against him, and she could feel his erection between he boobs. He must have felt the boobs against him, too. He turned her around and began to kiss the top of her head. His hands were on her buttons. Well, there were better places for those hands.

"Let me." She took up the unbuttoning, and his fingers played with her nipples through blouse and bra. When she had unbuttoned the blouse, she pulled it out of her skirt. He unhooked the bra. She took them both off and placed them in his outstretched hand. He put them on top of his dresser.

"Now." He kissed her head again while his large hands cupped her boobs. The palms were rough, and they excited her nipples. He took another step back from her. "Look up." She bent her head back, and he kissed her nose and then her mouth from behind. While their tongues met, he began undoing her skirt. That was too far.

When she reached down to stop him, he sat down on his bed and lifted her into his lap. Normal kisses were much more exciting than having their heads upside down. For a while, his tongue explored her mouth while his hands explored her upper body. He loosened the skirt attachment more, and his hand slid down over her stomach to lodge inside her panties. From that position, he couldn't reach the critical parts, but his fingers played with her pubic hair.

Soon, he laid her down on the bed while he knelt on the floor and kissed her boobs. His hand was back up her skirt, and she climaxed again.

"Your good skirt's getting all wrinkled," he said. He tugged on the waistband. "Lift up." Well, his hand had been there already, why was she trying to block his eyes? When she lifted her seat off the bed, though, he pulled her panties and pantyhose down with the skirt.

"No. You shouldn't." She brought her hands to cover her groin. He put her skirt on top of the dresser and went back to the pantyhose which were nearly around her knees. He pulled off one leg and then the other. "Didn't you hear me? You shouldn't." He pulled her panties off before answering.

"Now, don't pull back. You're beautiful." He leaned over her. At least, when he was kissing her he wasn't looking at her. They kissed for the longest while. When he moved from her mouth, he was still kissing -- down her neck, down to her boobs. Then he sucked on a nipple while he stroked her again. Without the cloth in between, he could touch her clit directly. She climaxed again. He moved his kisses to between her boobs.

When he moved up to her mouth again, she felt his skin against her boobs. He'd taken off his shirt. The pants were against her legs, though, so he wasn't naked. Still, this was going way too far. She was in a boy's bedroom, in his bed, naked with him half naked. And this was a first date. She started to push him away by the shoulders, but she felt nothing except his muscles tensing. She couldn't shift him; he could probably slam dunk her weight.

When he tried to kiss her again, she turned her head. He kissed her neck until she wiggled. Then, slowly, he kissed down to her left boob. As he sucked the nipple, his hand went between her legs. She tried to close them, but his legs were in the way.

"No, Jerry. No, don't. I should go. Stop it!" He didn't seem to hear her, and soon she was responding. When he left her nipple, she almost objected. He kissed across to her right boob, though. She felt her legs fall to the side, and her excitement grew. He kissed up to her face. She kept her head turned, but he licked her ear. When he moved higher in the bed and his finger left her clit, she almost objected again. Then it was back, or a little lower. No! That wasn't his finger. When she slammed her legs together to protect herself, they met his naked hips.

"No, Jerry. You can't. I've never..."

"You haven't? I'm first? Relax. It will feel better."

"No! Stop!" But he didn't stop. She felt him pushing against her pussy lips and then between them. She tried to wiggle away, but he was holding her right shoulder -- pulling her down the bed towards him. His cock was one hell of a lot wider than a Tampax, but it was going in.

"Please don't." He paid no attention. She felt herself being filled. There was no great pain, but it was damned uncomfortable. She felt full, but he kept going in. When he stopped, he raised his head and shoulders off her.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked. She turned her face to look at his.

"It was bad, and it still is. Get out. Get off! Let me go!" His face looked pleased, not contrite, but he began to move out. She had hope for one second before he drove in again, hard. She pulled her hands up where they could push him away. When that didn't work, she made fists and pounded against his shoulders. He didn't even seem to notice. Instead he drove in and out, faster and faster.

"God! You're tight." He was holding her shoulders. His face and upper body were barely moving, but she could feel his groin slap against hers hard and fast. Then he slammed against her even harder and stay there. His face contorted, and she could feel him pulse deep within her.

"Wasn't that better," he asked after a minute. He rolled off and lay beside her.

"No. It wasn't better. It was horrible." She didn't know when she'd started crying, but she could hear the sob in her voice and feel the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Well, I told you to relax. It's better for both of us if you relax." They were both silent. "Anyway, do you want to clean up before I take you home?" She got up and reached for her clothes. "I've got a robe here, if you want to wash first."

She wore the robe and took the clothes into the bathroom. She washed there, both her face and her pussy. When she came out, he was in the kitchen -- fully dressed. He handed her her coat and went into the bathroom himself. After the toilet flushed he came out. They put on their coats and walked to the car in silence. Neither spoke until they were close to her home.

"You sure it was your first? I'm not calling you a liar, but I didn't see any blood on my cock or the sheets." She didn't know what to say. She got out at her house and snuck in. Luckily, Mom and Dad were asleep. No wonder, it was nearly 2:30.

She woke at 10:00 and hurried to the bathroom. As she came awake while sitting on the toilet, she remembered the night before. Then she hoped that it had been a nightmare. But it hadn't; she was sore all over but especially down there. Her head ached, and her stomach was sour, too. She showered for the longest time, trying to get herself clean, but the dirt was inside. He hadn't only dirtied her pussy, he'd dirtied her life. She went back to bed and didn't get up until Mom called her to lunch.

"And how was the dance?" Mom asked.

"Just fine." She couldn't remember deciding not to tell Mom, but she was quite determined to keep her secret.

"Really," Dad said, "you think you're a big girl and don't need a curfew, but that was too much. It was nearly 1:00 when I went to sleep, and you were nowhere around. What time did you get in?"

"Something around 2:30."

"Well, that's too late. Next time you date him, I want to talk to him first."

"I'll never date him again."

"Well?" The conversation continued, but she didn't tell them anything. She took care of the dishes and then escaped to her room on the excuse that she had homework for the next day. She did, in fact, have assignments that she hadn't completed. but she only opened her economics book and stared at it while her thoughts churned.

'Why me?' she asked herself. What had she done wrong? How could she have stopped him?

Okay, she shouldn't have gone out with him in the first place, but would any girl -- any girl in the entire college who wasn't going steady -- have turned him down. She shouldn't have gone back to his apartment, but the car was impossible, and simple, chaste kisses at the end of dates were more 1929 than 1979. She should have told him to leave her skirt alone, maybe even to leave her bra alone. But when she had told him to stop, that hadn't done her any good. If she had said it earlier, would it have stopped him? At what point?

She shouldn't have taken that much booze, but she had said 'no.' She hadn't succumbed because she was drunk. She'd fought back, but had lost because he was stronger.

What, realistically, could she have done differently? She had no answer to her problems. She slept that night, although she had nightmares. She got up at the usual time, got the bus at the usual time, went to class. She had to talk with someone, and she couldn't talk with a man.

The teacher of the discussion section of Economics 101 was a woman, Prof. Pierce. Her only other woman professor was the American History lecturer, and Prof. Levin didn't know her name, didn't even take roll. Besides, she had Economics on Mondays. She stopped on her way out or the class.

"Prof. Pierce, could I speak with you?" Pierce stopped immediately and looked at her. She couldn't talk here! "Privately?"

"Now?"

"Please!" Now that she'd started, she couldn't bear to have this conversation ended. She would never get up the nerve to talk with anybody else.

"Well, my office should be private this next hour. Let's go there." They headed up the stairs. Prof. Pierce seemed to think she knew where her office was. She should -- they told you their office locations and hours on the first day of class -- but she didn't. Well, she could follow. "Candace, isn't it?"

"On the roll. I'm usually called Candy." They got to the top floor and walked down a hall. They could see people in a few offices with open doors on either side, but there was nobody in the hall itself.

"What did you want to talk about?" Prof. Pierce asked. Candy was still silent until Prof. Pierce stopped and turned to her.

"I think I was raped," she whispered.

"Shit!" But Prof. Pierce said nothing more until she got to her office and opened the door. There was a man sitting at one of the two desks.

"David," Prof. Pierce said, "could we have the office for the next hour? Could you do that in the library?"

"Well, I need to do something else in the library. Anything for you, Carolyn." He got some papers together and left, closing the door behind him.

Prof. Pierce went to the other desk. Instead of sitting down, she half leaned against it - half say on it like she did so often during class. "Tell me about it."

"Well, it was a date. Jerry Lambert, you know him?"

"I know of him."

"He took me to a dance Saturday night. It was a University dance. We went back to his room after. We made out, drank some. We were making out on his bed. I told him to stop, but he didn't listen."

"And you had sex with him?"

"Yeah. At least he had sex with me, in me."

"Had he stopped when you asked him on previous dates?"

"This was our first date."

"Shit! Well, you have a mama to tell you to not to go back to the guy's apartment on first dates. I don't have to tell you that." Suddenly, Prof. Pierce sounded like another girl who had some experience, not like the authority figure who stood at the front of the room for Econ. 101.

"I feel so stupid."

"Don't blame yourself. Blame the prick." Now she sounded even more like another girl. "Who did you tell?"

"You're the first one."

"Shit!" They both were silent while Prof. Pierce digested that information. "Well, you should tell the cops. I don't know whether campus security or the Chicago Police."

"I couldn't."

"Well, I was saying 'should.' I feel your frustration." It wasn't frustration; it was shame. "Well, how about a states attorney, a prosecutor? I know a guy." Prof. Pierce looked at her until she nodded.

Prof. Pierce got what had to be some kind of phone directory for some organization out of her desk drawer. She picked up the phone and dialed. She waited a long moment.

"Eric? This is Carolyn Pierce. I've something related to your job. Could you call me at home after 5:00? Thanks." She turned back to Candy. "He's probably at work, but he'll get that message. Look, do you want to talk more?"

She did, but she didn't. She started to shake. Prof. Pierce put her arms around her. She turned in her arms and cried on her shoulder. After a bit, Prof. Pierce was patting her back. It took her a long time to straighten up and stop crying.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"The rape was Saturday night?" She nodded. "How often have you broken down in tears since?"

"That might have been the first time."

"Well, there is nothing wrong with crying now. You probably should have cried earlier. You going to be okay?"

"I don't know."

"Take the chair." Prof. Pierce gestured towards the desk chair, and she sat in it. Prof. Pierce remained leaning against the desk, which put her back to Candy. Candy tried to get her life together, not too successfully. She looked around the desk. There were two small, framed snapshots of some young boy. In both pictures, he was running on grass.

"Who is he?" she asked finally. Prof. Pierce turned around. Candy gestured at the pictures.

"They." Prof. Pierce lifted one and looked at it. "This is Paul. The other one is Johnny. Twins, fraternal twins. Mine." Yeah. Now Prof. Pierce was turned this way, she could see the wedding ring on her finger. "Johnny, John Maynard Pierce, was born first and was two ounces heavier then. Paul, Paul Anthony, is now a few pounds heavier and half an inch taller. I love them dearly, but I'm surrounded by males."

Prof. Pierce talked about her life, and Candy found the distraction oddly comforting. Finally, there was a knock on the door.

"You guys done in there?" Prof. Pierce looked questioningly at her, and she got up.

"I think we are, David." They went out together. "Indeed," Prof. Pierce said, "I have a class coming up. Can you give me your phone number?" She wrote it out and gave it to her.

She was late for the American History lecture. She slipped into the back of the room, but she didn't learn any more than if she had cut it. Had she been right to tell Prof. Pierce? Could Prof. Pierce do anything? Was she committed to telling the cops? Would the cops do anything if she did? Would it be all over the school? Would it get back to her parents? Why did she go to Prof. Pierce? Why, for that matter, had she gone back to Jerry's apartment with him? Damn it, that had been a first date. She could have asked him to take her straight home.

She didn't learn anything that day; she didn't even get any clearer on those questions. She convinced herself that Prof. Pierce had forgotten her as soon as they had parted, although she had seemed quite sympathetic when they were talking. And, she admitted to herself, she'd seemed even more sympathetic when she had cried all over her shoulder. And how much would Prof. Pierce remember when they were in class on Wednesday? How much would she say?

That evening, though, Prof. Pierce called.

"Look. The guy I called says that you shouldn't waste time. Can you come by my house tomorrow? As soon after 6:00 as you can make it?"

"Sure." She wasn't at all sure. To be honest, she wasn't at all ready to talk about this. Prof. Pierce gave her the address. It was in Evanston.

"You on the CTA or driving?"

"I take the bus." If she needed the car, Dad would ask why. She'd rather walk to Evanston than tell him about the rape.

"The easy way is by the Skokie Swift, and that's none to easy. You can get to Howard?"

"Sure."

"Take the Skokie Swift to Skokie. From the station, take the Dempster bus east." She continued the directions.

That morning on the way out the door, Candy told Mom she wouldn't be home for dinner. "I've got an appointment with a professor." Then she left. She always left in a hurry, and Mom didn't call after her for reasons. She attended her classes, if she didn't pay a hell of a lot of attention during them. She hung out in the library until 4:45. She was on the EL until she got to the Skokie station. Crain was a block south of Dempster, and she got to the Pierce house earlier than 6:00. Still, it was too cold to hang around. When she rang the bell, Prof. Pierce took a few minutes answering the door, but she ushered her in immediately.

"I'm sorry," Candy said. "Three ELs and a bus. I couldn't judge the time."

"Quite all right. Tell me your last name again."

"Wharton."

"Freeze!" That was directed at the boys running around. Indeed, Prof. Pierce turned around to face them before shouting. The boys stopped and stared at her. "This is Miss Wharton. And, no, she's not a baby sitter. Mama's going to be home all night. That one..." she pointed, "is Johnny. That one..." she pointed at the other boy, "is Paul. They may now move, but only one foot at a time." The boys walked over to them. "Give me your coat," Prof. Pierce said to her.

"Hi, Paul." He was bigger and his hair was lighter. They didn't look like twins, but she was quite clear that she'd never be able to describe one accurately enough to distinguish him from the other. She put her gloves in the coat pockets, took off her coat, and handed it and her scarf to Prof. Pierce.

"You're not a baby sitter?" Johnny asked.

"No. I'm not."

"For which she can thank God. She's an economics student in college. Why don't you show her your books while I get dinner ready?" So they showed her a couple of picture books. She was trying to decide whether she was supposed to read the books to them when the outside door opened.

"Well," said a big man dressed like a businessman. "We have a guest. Do you want to introduce her to me?" The boys stood mute.

"I'm Candy Wharton," she finally said.

"Miss Wharton," said one of the boys. She could tell them apart by eye when they were both standing still. Their voices sounded alike to her.

"How do you do, Miss Wharton? I'm Bill Pierce." He took off his overcoat and suit coat and hung them both in the closet. "Now, if you'll excuse us for a moment, these two boys are the wrong side up."

The observation looked a little clearer a minute later. Both boys ran to him and he picked one up and held him upside down. The other boy -- she'd lost track again -- was trying to tickle both his father and his brother. Both of them were fending him off. Both boys were giggling. After a couple of minutes of this, he set one down and went after the other. That one tried -- none too sincerely -- to escape, but his brother cooperated in the capture. When he was upside down, the giggles turned to shrieks.

When the bell rang, she was about to offer to get it. Mr. Pierce walked to the door without asking her. He didn't even set the boy down.

"States Attorney's Office," the man at the door said. "We have reports of serious child abuse here." He walked in already unzipping his parka.

"Well," Mr. Pierce said, "they abuse us horribly, but nobody here is serious. This is," now that the newcomer could see her, "Miss Wharton."

"Eric Stewart. I'm sorry for the humor. I didn't know you were here yet. I'm Paul's godfather as well the position you've heard about." He must be the States Attorney. Actually, he'd said that at the door, even though the context had been a joke. He hung his parka in the closet without his host's invitation. Clearly, this was a man who had been here before.

They ate at one end of a dining room table which could easily have seated a dozen. Overlooking the table was a large picture of Prof. Pierce in academic robes holding a much smaller pair of twins. Nobody brought up why she was here at all. When the dinner was over, Mr. Pierce gave each of his boys an enthusiastic hug and kiss. The kiss for Prof. Pierce was much milder, but Candy thought she saw him squeeze her butt. He went off to a 'finance meeting.' Everybody else seemed to now what that was. Prof. Pierce started clearing the table. Candy got up to help her.

"You don't have to..."

"Please!" She didn't know Prof. Pierce well, but this Stewart guy was a total stranger, a total stranger who would be digging into her most private memories. Anyway, Prof. Pierce shrugged her shoulders. Cleanup consisted of getting the dishes from the table to the sink and then, rinsed, into the dishwasher.

"Look," Prof. Pierce said when they were finished. "You have to talk with Eric, and I have to get the boys to bed. I can stay up there until you call. I've intruded on your privacy enough. Or..."

"Please. I want you there." She really didn't want to talk about it at all, even less to a strange man. If she had to, she wanted Prof. Pierce there.

When they went to the living room, That man was on the couch between the boys reading one of their picture books to them. She and Prof. Pierce sat and watched them for a few minutes. Prof. Pierce looked at her watch.

"Time for bed. Give Uncle Eric a kiss." Then, while the boys did, Prof. Pierce looked at her with raised eyebrows. Oh! Should they give her a kiss, too? Well, right now, this was the age of boys she wanted kissing her. She nodded. "And give Miss Walton a kiss, too." They came over, Paul in front of Johnny. They were standing still, and she remembered that Paul was the larger. She bent over, and Paul gave her a shy kiss and an enthusiastic hug.

"Nighty-night," he said.

"Good night, Paul."

"Nighty-night." This followed Johnny's kiss.

"Good night, Johnny." They started climbing the stairs at a creep.

"She wants me down here before the conversation gets serious." Professor Pierce started up the stairs with a swat for the butt of the lower boy. They climbed a little less slowly.

"Well," Mr. Stewart said when they had both listened to the sounds from upstairs for a minute. He cleared his throat. "Without getting into anything substantial, maybe I could get some background. You're a student of Mrs. Pierce?"

"Yeah. Freshman Economics."

"You're a freshman?"

"Yeah."

"18?"

"19. I had my birthday this September. You're a states attorney?"

"An assistant states attorney. The States Attorney is Carey. Illinois is divided into judicial districts, most of them covering more than one county. Cook is nearly half the state, population-wise, and the district court is about the largest court of first instance in the nation. The States Attorney's office handles all the prosecutions for any criminal cases in the county, not counting federal prosecutions. We go from parking tickets to murder. There are one hell of a lot of us, and we mostly specialize. I don't handle..." There was a long pause. "That is to say, I prosecute traffic cases." There was another long pause. "When I'm not in the office, I sing in the church choir with Mrs. Pierce and am godfather to Paul." They sat for another minute of silence.

"What other courses do you take?" he finally asked. She got through her courses and her high-school background. When they heard Prof. Pierce coming down the stairs, he got up.

"Look, you want her present. Do you want her close?" That sounded like a good idea. "Why don't you and she take the sofa while I get a chair?" He carried a chair from the dining room while she walked over to the couch. Prof. Pierce sat down beside her.

"Look," Stewart began, "this is painful. I know it. But it's not going to get less painful with more delay." Another pause. She may have nodded. "Mrs. Pierce tells me that you were raped. Tell me about it."

"I was stupid..."

"You were, are, a college freshman. That's not being stupid; it might be being less cautious than an older woman might be. That's not the point. Where were you? Who was with you? What did he do? Start where you want. If I need more details, I'll ask for them." Well, it wasn't easy, but he seemed to be trying to make it easier.

"I was at a dance with this boy. He had taken me there on a date. On the way home, he invited me to his apartment for a drink. I said yes. Anyway, one thing led to another. We were making out. I wanted him to stop, but he wouldn't."

"Did you tell him to stop? When?"

"When he took my panties off, and my pantyhose. He ignored me. Then, later, I found that he was naked, too. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't."

"He wouldn't stop?"

"No."

"You told him to stop?"

"Yes."

"There was intercourse? He was inside you?"

"Yes."

"Okay. That's rape. Unless, of course, you're married to him."

"I'm not."

"I didn't think you were. It's just the law. If you don't like that, write your state legislator. Anyway, you've been saying 'he.' What was his name?"

"Jerry Lambert."

"BMOC," Prof. Pierce put in.

"Like Prof. Pierce says, he's important." She reached out to touch Prof. Pierce. She started crying and found herself in Prof. Pierce's arms.

"Look," Stewart said after a while, "I'm not the enemy."

"I didn't say you were."

"No, but Mama Bear was protecting you from me. Anyway, this isn't the end. Did you report this to the police?"

"No."

"Well, you're going to have to tell this all over again. At least you'll be telling it to a woman. Can I make an appointment for you?"

"If you have to."

"Look, I repeat. I'm not the enemy. This MF, Jerry, is. Nothing's going to happen to him if you hide yourself away. We're not putting you through this because we're evil. He's putting you through this because of what he did and because that's the only way that he'll suffer at all.

"Anyway, I know the woman at the States Attorney's Office you should talk to. I don't know whether she's on trial tomorrow. How do I get in contact with you? And when? Are you going to be home tomorrow?" Could she be? She wasn't getting anything out of classes anyway. But she didn't want to be home for Mom to nag.

"I don't want to be home. I haven't told Mom."

"Well, sometime, you'll have to. Why don't you give me your phone number, and when you'll be home tomorrow. We'll assume an appointment sometime Thursday. I'll call you tomorrow night with the time and the room number." She started to write down her phone number. "You know the County Building? It's really the same building as City Hall, only we have the east side." She gave him the paper she'd written her phone number on.

"Take my work phone, too," he said. He handed her a card. "That way, if you call me in the early afternoon, you can learn the appointment without my calling you and raising questions at home." They sat there for a minute.

"Anyone want more desert?" asked Prof. Pierce. Her stomach didn't really feel happy about what she had forced down already. "Somehow," Prof. Pierce said, "I don't think this is the night to suggest a few hands of gin rummy." Yes. The evening was over. She should go.

"You have been awfully kind already," she said.

"I could drive you home," Mr. Stewart said.

"Really, I can..."

"I won't take it personally if you would rather ride in the back seat. You have a damned good reason to be off men, but don't think of me as a man; think of me as a driver." Well, her fears might be real, but they weren't sensible.

When they reached the car, she headed toward the front passenger door. The back seat was less scary, and he'd offered it, but she had to deal with her nerves some time. Actually, as she gave him directions, she reflected that she would have been more scared standing on a lonely street corner waiting for the bus.

"You really can tell the kids apart?" he asked. "Or was that a lucky guess?"

"I can tell them apart when they're both present and standing still. Can't you?"

"That's the easy part. And they're seldom standing still, as you might have noticed. I can tell them apart. It's just that lots of people can't. After all, I'm Paul's godfather. I can't wait 'til the boys see the movie. I'll hear about it then. As I said, the hard part is getting them to stand still."

"You seem to have had no problem getting to stand still -- sit still --for their books. Prof. Pierce seems proud of them." And she seemed to trust Mr. Stewart with them, too. That might be a recommendation.

"She is. She has been from their birth, if also a tiny bit overwhelmed. You saw the picture?"

"Yeah."

"She wrote her dissertation while carrying twins. Bill is proud as punch about that accomplishment -- those accomplishments. Bill was notorious in the church for cuddling other people's babies. Then she gave him two of his own. He hasn't quite given up other people's infants, but he is still a hands-on parent. I may tease him about abuse, but the boys not only love him, they love his treatment of them."

"Yeah. He was holding them upside-down when you came."

"Carolyn -- you call her Prof. Pierce, don't you?" At a nod, he continued. "Prof. Pierce would really prefer a little less roughness. The boys love it, though. They try to get me to pick them up that way. I don't trust my strength enough. They're head down over a floor, and they wiggle like mad. Theologically, I'm supposed to have a special relationship with Paul. Actually, I try to treat both the boys equally."

They went on like that for the rest of the ride. They had two points of contact, and she was grateful that he didn't bring up the other one. The nearest parking space was a half block from her house, and he walked her to the bottom of the porch steps. He didn't stand beside her as she got her key out, and that reassured her.

She called him from a phone booth a little after noon. He gave her the time and office location for her appointment the next morning. It was with a Miss Murphy.

When she got to the States Attorney's office, they directed her to Miss Murphy's office. There was a cop, a woman cop, outside her door. Miss Murphy ushered her in an offered her coffee.

"No thank you. Has Mr. Stewart told you what I told him?"

"Some of it. Why don't you tell me from the beginning?" She went through the whole thing for Miss Murphy. She went back and described her interaction with Jerry at the previous dance. Miss Murphy led her through the whole thing from there. She asked specifically if it had been her first sexual experience.

"And did you report it to the police?"

"No. I told you that."

"Well, you should now. Officer Curran, the woman outside, will take your statement. Do you know precisely where the apartment house is?"

"No."

"But it's in Chicago?"

"Yeah. He drove me there and home from there. I'd have known if we were going far out."

"Okay. We can locate his apartment. It's just that it's a jurisdictional matter, and I don't want you having to report it yet again to another department." Well, she didn't want to repeat it any more, either.

Officer Curran was sympathetic and her questions were fewer. She didn't want to know all the details, merely enough to identify the man. She did ask about the location, though.

"You think it's picky of us, don't you? But before he gets to court, he's entitled to a specific charge, and that charge must list the place in which the crime was committed. All the cop shows where the brilliant detective catches the criminal genius? Well, I've never met either. Some geniuses are criminal, I guess. I've seen college professors charged with rape. Still, no criminals are geniuses. No. Crime prevention is just a matter of plugging along. Anyway. somebody will talk to this Jerry guy. Not me, a detective. There used to be a detective doing my job, but Miss Murphy thought a woman was more important than rank."

"I'm glad." Then she went to a McDonald's until it was a reasonable time to go home. She didn't hear anything further from the States Attorney's Office. At first, she thought that they had done nothing. Soon, though, she found that the police had contacted Jerry. She heard his voice from behind her Monday.

"Bitch! What did you tell the cops?"

"Nothing but the truth." She would have been more explicit if they couldn't be overheard.

"That wasn't the truth, bitch. You were crawling all over me. You begged for it." He obviously didn't care that they could be overheard.

"That's not true. You raped me."

"You begged for it. You think I can't get all the pussy I want?"

She broke away, but she started to notice kids whispering about her before or after class. It kept up for the rest of the week. That Friday night, she told Mom everything. Mom called in Dad and had her repeat it.

"Well," Dad said, "you shouldn't have led him on."

"Led im on? What did I suggest? Not one damned thing. I should have said 'no' earlier. I know that, but when I did say 'no,' he didn't stop. He didn't even notice."

"Well, you say that's not the story he told."

"Of course it's not. He'd be in jail if he'd told the truth. Don't you believe me?"

"We raised you to behave right. We raised you to tell the truth." And so they had, but they didn't believe her when she did. She went to her room and hid. She thought about dropping out, but the semester was practically over. Anyway, even with the whispering, the University was a shade less of a turn-off than home.

That Saturday brought another worry. It should have been her period. Could she be pregnant from one sex act, one rape? By Sunday she'd convinced herself that this was one worry too many. She had missed periods before. She'd missed them or they'd been late during times of stress, and this had been the time of highest stress in her life.

"Might I see you after class, Candy?" Prof. Pierce asked at the end of Economics class Monday. She stayed after, and Prof. Pierce took her to her office. The other professor wasn't there.

"How is it going?"

"Fine."

"Really?" Well, no. She didn't even expect to be believed.

"Worse than I can say. Jerry has been to see me, and people are talking about me, and I told my parents, and they don't believe me." She broke into tears. Prof. Pierce held her and let her cry. "I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm sorry, too. And I'm mad as hell. But you don't have anything to apologize for. Look, do you have any support network? any group who are standing up for you?"

"No. My family isn't, and I don't know anybody in school. And I used to in high school, but they all moved on and went our different ways." That didn't sound too clear. She was suddenly glad that Prof. Pierce didn't teach English.

"How about church?"

"I don't go much." Which meant that she'd refused when Mom tried to take her along last Christmas Eve. Her parents went every Easter and Christmas Eve, but the Christmas Eve service was too childish for her.

"You don't have any objection to going?"

"No." She suddenly remembered that Prof. Pierce and Mr. Stewart both sang in a church choir. Was she going to suggest something like that?

"Well, let me give you an address. Meet me there 11:00 Sunday. Better make it 10:45. You have to have somebody in your corner. Fucking University isn't in your corner. Probably too late to stop payment on your tuition check." Prof. Pierce seemed to know something more.

"Are they making trouble for you?"

"Look, don't worry about me. I'm an assistant professor. I have a publication record that shines in the department, and they don't have anyone else to teach Regional Economics. If they want to come after me for a lousy basketball player, they're biting off more than they can chew." This sounded like they were doing something to her, and nothing Candy could do could help it. Or, maybe she could.

"Do you want me to withdraw the charges?"

"They were true, weren't they?"

"Yes." Did Prof. Pierce think she'd lie about something like that?

"Then the worst thing you could do would be to withdraw the charges. In the first place, I don't think they're pursuing the case. Jerry already has destroyed you enough. Don't let him destroy the rest of your life. If you cave to him, then you're saying that he can go along and rape anyone he wants to. As for me -- and you shouldn't be thinking of me; you have greater problems -- but as for me, it's better that I went to bat for a student who was raped than that I went to bat for a student who lied about being raped."

"Well, that's what he's saying."

"That's what he's saying, and the law says 'beyond a reasonable shadow of a doubt.' But as long as he's saying that, we should be saying that he's a liar as well as a rapist.

"Anyway," she continued. "Come there this Sunday. I'll see if I can't get you some support."

It didn't look like much support, but it was more than the rest of the world was offering. She showed up at the church. Mr. Pierce and the boys were there. So was a woman a couple of years older than she was.

"Candy," said Prof. Pierce. "Claire. Claire, Candy. Claire's a friend." Before church began, Wendy showed up with the same introduction. Mr. Pierce took the boys down to the Sunday School before the service began. When they took their seats, it was Mr. Pierce, Prof. Pierce, Candy, Wendy, Claire, from right to left. Another woman slid in beside Claire early in the service. She was introduced as Joan afterwards. The boys came up after the service with a bunch of other children.

People were streaming out, shaking hands with the pastor as they did. Candy didn't know what to do, since the people around her weren't leaving.

"Uncle Eric," Johnny called, and his brother echoed him. Mr. Stewart came towards them wearing a choir robe. He greeted the boys and told them that the back of the church wasn't an appropriate place -- Candy couldn't quite figure out what the inappropriate activity was. Then he turned to her.

"I owe you an explanation. Let me get this robe back to the choir room, and I'll drive you home. I can explain on the way."

"We're taking her to lunch," said Claire.

"Well, I can do that." Suddenly, she had two invitations to lunch. Most of the people who weren't ignoring her for the past week had been telling her how horrible a person she was. Well, Prof. Pierce had obviously set Claire and the others up for the lunch invitation. Besides, she wasn't sure she was ready for being alone with a man yet -- even alone in a car or a restaurant with one.

"You are?" she asked Claire.

"The three of us." Well, that wasn't quite an invitation, but she'd accept it. She hoped that the restaurant wasn't too expensive. But she had begun to carry two tens on her at all times. She wanted to have cab fare if she ever needed it.

"Thanks," she said to Claire. "Sorry," she said to Mr. Stewart.

"You lead," said Joan. "I'll follow in my car. Mickey D's?"

"Why not?" asked Wendy. Well, that wasn't going to strain her wallet.

When she ordered, though, Claire paid her check. They led her to a table which was as secluded as the place offered. Joan followed, having been separated from them by a family that had trailed them in.

"Look," Claire said. "Carolyn told us -- told Joan and me -- what you'd been through. We all belong to the NOW chapter at Northwestern. She said that turning in that prick was a greater contribution to sisterhood than the whole chapter would ever accomplish. Whether that's true, she's right that you're a heroine. She said that you wouldn't want to talk about it. If that's true, we'll talk about something else. If you want to go somewhere, we can all fit in Joan's car."

"I'm part of the chapter," Gwen said, "not of the church. These two told me about it, and I thought that expressing some solidarity was worth a mass."

"Gwen's a student of European History," Joan said. Just why that was relevant, Candy couldn't tell.

They asked her about her classes. She admitted she hadn't been listening in class since it had happened.

"Look," Gwen said. "You decide to catch up and you need help, we probably could help. I may be concentrating on Europe, but I haven't quite forgotten US History. If it's something none of us knows very well, we might be able to get someone else who does. You have some friends." She started to cry, then. Claire patted her back, and the others started talking. They avoided the subject of boys, but she could tell they were avoiding that subject.

The women all seemed to be graduate students. When the meal was over, they decided that Joan would drive the others back and Claire would take her home. Before going out, but in their coats, they shared a hug with Candy in the center. She was in tears again when she left.

"I'm sorry," she said to Claire when they were in the car.

"You didn't do anything to apologize for. Before you start again, though, maybe you could tell me your address." So she did.

With some support, she decided to put her life back together. Partly because the support came from grad students and a professor, the place to begin was her courses. She caught up with her reading in the Economics book. If she was going to participate in one class, it was going to be Prof. Pierce's.

She plowed ahead that week. Certain that people were whispering about her, she was less interested in what little social life was available. She buried her head in her book in the cafeteria and spent free time in the library. She left after the last class of the day, and spent time in her room studying. Mom's disapproval was palpable at home, but that was better than taking two buses after dark.

It was the worst Thanksgiving she could remember. She had trouble getting the food down, and the talk around the table was stilted. It had been hard talking to Mr. Stewart when he'd been a stranger who had come to discuss one subject with her, and they weren't going to discuss that subject until Prof. Pierce was back. It was even harder sitting around a table with her own parents looking for a subject they could discuss.

By Saturday, she was wearing thin. She felt that she needed a recharge of the support. Sunday, she went back to Prof. Pierce's church. It wasn't until she climbed the bleak outside stairs that she realized that she knew almost nobody there. And how many of those strangers had heard of her disgrace? It was all very well for the young women of the NOW chapter to consider her a heroine, but... She was already there, though, and the weather was too cold for her to head back. She continued up the stairs. There was a frighteningly large man standing in the entrance.

"Welcome to Aldersgate." He handed her a bulletin. "Is this your first time?"

"No. I was here last week."

"Oh yes. Carolyn's friend. I'm Dan." Prof. Pierce had been called 'Carolyn' by everybody but her and the twins.

"Candy." But she wasn't really Prof. Pierce's friend, even if Prof. Pierce was one of the few friends Candy had right now. "I'm her student." The guy gave her a close look, but opened the door for her. She didn't see anybody she knew, and she sat in the back on the far right. Joan came in after the service had started.

"I didn't know you'd be here," Joan said. She sat down beside her. As it was in the middle of a hymn, answering the comment would probably be rude to the congregation. That was convenient because Candy didn't have an answer. She hadn't known she would be there either.

When people went down for communion, Joan looked at her.

"I can't."

"Well, by our rules you can. You don't have to." And Joan went down without her.

"How's it been going?" Joan asked after the service. She shrugged, but began to tear up again. "Look Carolyn's in the choir. They'll come up the back. You want to see her, don't you?" Well, she might as well. As Joan ushered her to the front of the church, despite what she'd said. A guy came up to them, or -- really -- to Joan.

"Look, what did I do this time?"

"Nothing this time. Keep up the record. This is a hen party." The guy went off. "Isn't it strange," Joan asked her, "that most lion tamers are men. It seems sometimes that what I go through with guys is great practice." A long pause. "Oops. Sorry." Well she could tell what Joan meant. And she could tell, too, that she'd failed to tame one lion, and Joan knew that.

They went through a door in the front to join a group waiting at the top of some stairs up from the basement. The twins and Mr. Pierce were there.

"Say hello to Miss Wharton," Mr. Pierce said. The twins obediently said hello, if only Paul was looking her way when they said it.

"Hello Paul. Hello Johnny." Johnny looked at her. She could see him recognize her.

A moment later, the boys were tugging at their father's hands and calling "Mama!" Prof. Pierce gave them both a hug when she got to them. Obviously, the elder Pierces didn't want the hug to block the stairs; obviously, the boys didn't care about that. Right after Prof. Pierce saw her and greeted her. Mr. Stewart came up the stairs.

"Miss Wharton," he said when he saw her. He walked over to her and Joan. "I still owe you an explanation. Do you have something else scheduled for this afternoon?" He looked at Joan, who looked at her. She definitely didn't have anything else scheduled. Did she want to talk to Mr. Stewart? Well, she had to stop shivering every time a man looked at her, and this man had driven her home once before. That had been at night, too.

"Well, if you have something to tell me..."

"Wait here. My car's two blocks away, and the weather's miserable." When he drove up, Prof. Pierce told her that it was his car. Even so, he was out of his car and opening the door before she got there. Another car was waiting for the inadequate loading zone in front of that door to the church. He ushered her into the car and walked back to get into his own seat. "Just a second," he said. The car was soon waiting at a red light.

"The short answer is that the office has decided not to prosecute."

"She didn't believe me?"

"Miss Murphy believed you 100%. 'What,' she asked me, 'is there to disbelieve?' What she doesn't believe is that she could convince a jury. And, to be fair to the jury, they're supposed to require evidence beyond a reasonable shadow of a doubt. You say one thing; the perp says something else, and unless all 12 are convinced beyond a reasonable shadow of a doubt, the perp walks."

"Perp?" The women last week were calling him a prick, and she could agree with that term. This was a word she didn't know.

"Sorry. Professional jargon. Per-pet-rat-or. The guy who did it. Anyway, do you eat Chinese?" She ate Chinese. Did she want to eat Chinese with him. Well, Sunday dinner at home would be with people who didn't believe her, and he sounded like he did. But he was going on. "I gave you the short answer. There is a longer one, and you deserve it."

"Well..." Did she want to eat in a Chinese restaurant with him? Her choice was hiding in her room at home. "Thank you." He drove them to the restaurant, seated her, and let her order before continuing.

"Okay. The Perp said it was consensual. Do we believe it? Does Miss Murphy believe it? Not by a long shot, but what lawyers believe and what they can prove are two very different things."

"What should I have done differently?"

"Aside from not going on a date with the guy in the first place? You should have definitely acted on legal advice. If you'd had a lawyer with you on the date, he would have told you that when you said 'no,' you should have screamed it. At least the second time you said 'no' should have been a scream. When you got up and got dressed you should have knocked on all the doors of other apartments and asked them to call the police. You knock on a stranger's door late at night, and they're reluctant to let you in. They'll usually call the police.

"I'll be blunt. You're robbed and you report it the next morning, they'll investigate. You're raped and you report it later, the police are more reluctant to act. In that, for all you waited too long, for all that I'm a weird guy to talk to, you finally got to Miss Murphy. An ASA asks the cops to investigate, and they investigate. And, from her standpoint of course, there's always the chance that the perp will break down. 'I didn't mean to do it. I don't know what came over me. I'm terribly sorry.' The weird thing is that the guys with consciences are serving time while your sort of perp is walking."

"My sort?"

"Well, the guy who attacked you. Others like him. You ever watch a TV show with a murder trial?"

"Yeah."

"Well, in any prosecution, you have to prove two things. You have to prove that the crime occurred, and you have to prove that the defendant did it. Usually, not always, one of those is a piece of cake. The TV shows don't handle the dull part. The guy is blown nearly in half by a sawed-off shotgun. The ASA calls witnesses to testify that the guy is dead and that the death was violent. The defense attorney says, 'No questions, your honor.' Date rape, the issue is whether there was a crime. 'The victim has misidentified my client as the guy with whom she had the date,' isn't likely to fly. You know who you attended the dance with."

"Yeah."

"So, he has two chances. He can claim that no sexual relations occurred, or he can claim that they were consensual. The first has all sorts of possible problems. He doesn't know what you did after you left him. So, the smart perp goes with the second. He might have had legal advice, though I doubt it. Generally, you don't quite tell your lawyer that you did the crime. Most of them know, but you don't tell him."

"If they know, don't they have to tell?"

"Not really. Lawyer-client confidentiality. On the other hand, there are ethical problems with bringing somebody to the witness stand when you know that he is lying. So, you tell your client to not tell you outright. 'If you can produce someone to testify that you were somewhere else when the robbery occurred, that will counteract the eyewitnesses -- somebody who knows you well.' So there is an alibi. You haven't told him to lie about the alibi, but you wouldn't bet on the accuracy, either."

"Sounds cynical."

"Is cynical. Prosecutors play defense lawyer all the time, but we don't like them. On the other hand, they don't like us, either. And the rest of the world doesn't like any lawyer. 'I practice corporate law, but I tell my kids I'm a pimp so they won't be ashamed of me.'"

"You have children?" Not that she was interested, but he seemed to talk more about Prof. Pierce's twins.

"No, and I don't practice corporate law either. That was a silly joke. Sorry." Now that she could see what was the quotation, she could see the joke, too.

"Thank you, Mr. Stewart," she said when she was in the car after the meal.

"Look, as I said, the case isn't going forward, right?"

"Yeah." And what did that mean?

"That means you don't have any business with the States Attorney's office any more?"

"No."

"So, you don't have any business with Mr. Stewart." Aside from his driving her home. Did he want to drop her at an EL stop? "Do you think you could call me 'Eric'?" Well, she could.

"Thanks, Eric." Now what did this mean?

"I know you're not the greatest fan of the male sex, right now. Do you think that you might be ready to go out to eat with a guy sometime?"

"And the guy you have in mind?" It wasn't his godson, though Paul might be ready to date before she was.

"Yeah. I was thinking of me. You already had one meal with me, and I didn't crawl over the table to attack you." Yeah. She didn't trust him, but she trusted him more than most men.

"Is this because you think...?" Jerry had got to her. What did they say about not missing a piece of a cut cake?

"I might not be the brightest guy in the world, but I'm not a total idiot, either. If I were after sex, you would be the last woman in the world I'd pursue. Nuns and married women would be more available. I know that. It's just that you're quite attractive. I feel a total heel pressing you right now. I know I met you for the absolutely wrong reason. But I did meet you. You came into my life. If you're going to go out of it, it's fucking well not going to be because I didn't try." He was silent, and she couldn't think of anything to say.

"Now, I've offended you," he said. No he hadn't. At least one person had heard her story without deciding that she was a bad person.

"Well, no. It's nothing about you. I'm just not ready, yet."

"I'll tell you what. I don't want to be your stalker. That's something that you don't need right now, and I don't think they ever win, anyhow. Sometimes you go to Aldersgate. Why don't I give you my card again. I'll write my home phone on it. The next time you want to go to church, if you want me to drive you to church, give me a call. I'm on trial much of the day, but I'm home most nights, and the answering machine is on the rest of the time." When they got to her house, he did get out a card and write his home phone number on it. Then he walked her to the door.

"Have you eaten?" Mom asked.

"Yes." She went back to hiding in her room and studying. Economics was a struggle, but she tried to work her way through it. She'd been behind in History before the rape, and she was utterly lost now.