The Day The Music Died 1

What is with this category that I keep returning to it? From no lesbian stories in my repertoire at the beginning of the year to this being my third. I guess I can safely say it's because of you readers and the great feedback you give me. I hope you like this offering as well.

This story features the character of Heather from my "How To Catch a Falling Star" story, though you don't need to have read that to understand this storyline.

The first half of this story is not entirely fictional. It is a sad truth, one that happens quite often.

DISCLAIMER –

This story has scenes of angry sex, fisting, biting, blood play and spanking.

A huge vote of thanks to my evergreen editor, NaokoSmith, who has the onerous task of supplementing my awful knowledge of food and wine. Another vote of thanks is due to my new editor RuzieD.

"If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end; if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair."

- CS Lewis

* *

Heather Franklin sat at the edge of the bed, admiring the crack of dawn outside her balcony. A crimson tinge spread over the horizon, slowly swelling in the middle as the curve of the rising sun made its appearance. The middle of the red line crested and rose, heralding the brilliant yellowish sun at the start of its daily trudge across the sky.

She looked back at her crumpled bed to see a girl asleep, peacefully curled up. Her face was hidden under a mass of black curls. Her naked body was partly covered in the sheets. She lay on her side. Her soft, undulating skin rose and fell with every breath. The previous night, she had been wild and adventurous with a few tricks that impressed even Heather. She had made Heather's body respond in ways it had not done in a while.

She had no name. Heather had not known her before the previous night and wouldn't see her again. It was the unspoken understanding between them from the moment Heather saw her at the bar.

Heather took a long drag before dropping her cigarette to the floor. She stomped on it and rubbed the ember out.

"Coffee, cab fare and that will be that," she murmured under her breath, summarizing her usual relationship.

New day, new pussy, same old routine.

* *

There was a sense of agitation within the glass walled building of Griffin, Markham & Wiley. Heather noticed how her fellow associates, paralegals and secretaries stared at her. Their eyes followed her to her desk. She sat down and turned on her screen, trying not to think of the myriad questions swirling in everyone's minds. She had become a celebrity of sorts after her relationship the past year with one of the most well known faces in the media.

But that time had passed, Heather was very much in the present. She put the distractions of her new found stardom behind her to knock several seemingly unwinnable cases out of the park.

"Ms Franklin, come this way please."

She looked up and saw her boss, a Junior Partner, holding the door to his office open. Inwardly, she sighed, her mind immediately trying to foresee what sexual favour he was looking for this time. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she walked over with a drag in her usually brisk stride. He closed the door behind them.

"I wanted to tell you that your excellent work has come to the notice of the higher ups here and they are ready to offer you promotion to counsel," he said evenly.

"Oh!" exclaimed Heather, surprised and elated in equal measure. "When do I see my new office?"

Her boss smirked and shook his head disdainfully. "Heather, Heather... Heather, you're always so eager to grab the next opportunity that comes your way. It's what makes you such a good lawyer. The offer is ready. All it needs is my approval, since I am your immediate boss."

"I'm sure I've earned my due from you," she said with a caustic tinge in her voice. "On my knees no less."

"That you have," he nodded. "But I have one last thing I want you to do."

He pushed a file across the table towards her. She looked at him, bemused.

"You have a case for me?"

"I do," he affirmed. "It is one of the firm's most well known clients. I think you've heard of Lincoln McCarthy."

"The music producer?" Heather asked. "Who has he raped this time?"

"

Allegedly raped

," reprimanded her boss. "But yes, there has been another case of aggravated sexual assault registered against him."

"Allegedly my foot," snorted Heather. "He's done it plenty of times before and paid off the victims before the matter reached court."

"Careful, Heather. You should believe in the innocence of the man you're going to represent."

"What's there to represent?" she shot back. "There will be a settlement conference where the

alleged

victim, her lawyer and I will come up with a sum of money for her, she will sign a few non disclosures and I'll be home in time to watch Californication."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple this time," her boss said. "The matter is a bit more delicate."

"Did he finally lose it and fuck a minor?" she asked disinterestedly. Her boss took a deep breath and looked into her eyes.

"I find your cynicism and general misanthropy very... disconcerting, but intriguing at the same time. No, it is an adult, but she refuses to settle. She wants to take this thing to trial and have a jury find Mr McCarthy guilty."

Heather flipped through a few more pages of the file. Without looking up, she asked: "So I'll start preparing for trial then?"

"No no," said her boss. "Mr McCarthy's label has some new albums launching next month and this publicity will not help his sales. He wants the case to go away before it lands in front of a judge."

"But you said she wants a trial."

"I want you to talk her out of a trial. You're the right person to do that because of your image with the media right now. Also, our case gets more credibility if a woman handles it. That would certainly keep the bleeding heart feminists at bay."

"I'm sure representing a rapist will do wonders for that image," she said, rolling her eyes.

"

Alleged

rapist," her boss reminded her. "Remember that. Now persuade this misguided woman to accept the money offered and I will add my recommendation to your promotion."

"What is she thinking?" said Heather, shaking her head and looking through the file. "She actually expects to get justice from our judiciary? That's like expecting Wall Street to suddenly embrace honesty."

"Again, I find your general cynicism rather disturbing. You know how to dissociate yourself from your client. It certainly helps."

"Comes with practice. What do you expect me to do here?"

Her boss leaned over, until their eyes were inches apart. His wrinkled lips parted and he said in a steely tone.

"Whatever it takes."

* *

Heather sat in the cool conference room. The air was chilly, the steel and glass setting repelled any human warmth. She flipped through the pages in her case file once more, making sure she knew what to say.

She rose to greet the two people who entered. One of them was a well known Assistant District Attorney, Joshua D'Angelo. A woman accompanied him, short and slender in build. Her face betrayed no emotion, but did show a hint of a bruise near the corner of her mouth. Her green eyes looked at Heather, trying to estimate her.

"Mr D'Angelo, have a seat. I take it that this is Ms Cahill."

"This is Fiona Cahill," Joshua affirmed. From the moment he saw Heather on the other side of the table, he knew his job was going to get harder given how she was the darling of the media only a few months back.

"Ms Cahill, my name is Heather Franklin and I'm representing Lincoln McCarthy against the state of New York with respect to the charges you levelled against him. You testify that you have come to this deposition on your free will?"

"I have," the woman said in a small voice. Even though it was soft, Heather found herself taken aback by the steadfast courage in that voice. This woman would not back down in the face of adversity.

"I know this is hard for you, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened last Wednesday," said Heather, preparing to take some notes. "Every detail you can remember."

Fiona let out a small sound somewhere between a sob and a gasp. She looked at Joshua earnestly, as if praying he would intervene and stop her from saying it. He placed a comforting palm on her shoulder and nodded gently. She took several deep breaths before she began.

"I was at Mr McCarthy's main recording studio on West 41st street in Midtown. He watched as I recorded two songs. I could tell he was not happy with my singing that day because he kept yelling at me for dropping notes and missing words. After I finally got both songs done, he asked me to come to his office so he could discuss some finishing touches on the album and then..."

Fiona stopped. She clenched her eyes shut and balled her hand into a fist. The memory seemed to overwhelm her senses, suddenly sending her back to that day in Lincoln McCarthy's office. Concerned, Joshua moved to calm her, but she waved his hand off, determined to give her account.

"He pushed me down on the ground. I was too scared to move and he was on top of me. I tried to push him off, but he was so heavy. He had a look in his eye of rage and he held my arms over my head with one hand. He used the other to unzip himself and pull aside my underwear and then he raped me."

This was the breaking point of her strength. Fiona collapsed on the table and held her head in her hands. She did not break down, but her fingers clutched her hair tightly, trying to rip out the vile memory coursing through her neurons. Her head throbbed and blood pounded in her ears. Heather pushed a glass of water in her direction. All three of them waited until she calmed down and drank some of it.

"Mr D'Angelo, I've seen all the forensic reports and witness testimonies. I don't think your case is nearly as strong as you think."

"You must be joking, Ms Franklin," he retorted. "We have Mr McCarthy's sperm recovered from within Ms Cahill. She has bruises around her inner thighs and groin consistent with forced entry and there were witnesses who heard them having an angry argument outside the recording room just prior to her going to his office."

Heather turned to Fiona who resumed looking in her direction.

"I have statements from some people at the studio that you and Lincoln McCarthy were in a sexual relationship. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is."

"Was this the first time you had sex in his office?" said Heather, leaning forward.

"No it wasn't," came the reply from Fiona who had clearly determined to keep her voice level.

"So you had sex in his office before and walked out happy. What went wrong this time?"

"I didn't want it this time," Fiona replied, louder than she had intended. "He pinned me down and forced himself on me."

"Did you say anything? Did you scream for help?"

"I did at first, but he threatened to hurt me even more. I was too scared after that."

"His secretary was sitting right outside his office and she didn't hear anything."

"That's not true," Fiona said angrily. "Lincoln has scared her and everyone else there into silence."

"A good theory maybe, but not one you can back up with any evidence," said Heather in her dry voice. "No one in the building claims to have heard you screaming for help."

"What are you suggesting, Ms Franklin?" said Joshua, suddenly concerned.

"I think Ms Cahill realized that Mr McCarthy was going to drop her from his label and decided to have sex with him in his office just so that she could frame him for rape to get even."

"How dare you..." seethed Fiona, but Heather remained calm on her side of the table. Joshua looked at Heather for a few long moments before speaking again.

"We still have the medical evidence and the bruising."

"You bring one doctor and I'll bring ten and they'll discredit everything from your chain of custody to your testing procedures," said Heather plainly.

"We also have Ms Cahill's testimony."

Heather looked at the agitated woman across the table with a half smile on her lips.

"You're going to testify in open court?"

"Yes," she said evenly. "I'll do what it takes to bring him down."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Heather asked. "... because I will bring up several issues during my cross examination and you might not like it."

"What issues?"

"I know much more about you than you imagine possible, Ms Cahill," said Heather in a deathly calm tone. "I know you had an affair with your high school teacher for grades. I know you use drugs. I know everything."

Fiona Cahill and Joshua D'Angelo sat still. Heather's smile grew wider and she began the speech she had been preparing.

"This trial won't be pretty, Fiona. I will bring out your sexual history, your past boyfriends who will tell the court how much you liked it rough, your affairs with married men and every other thing you're ashamed of."

"You can't, Ms Franklin. Have you forgotten about rape shield?" gasped Joshua.

"I think I can get the right judge to waive rape shield," continued Heather. "And my firm is very good at getting the right judge."

She turned her attention back to the trembling Fiona.

"Your family, your friends and the media will be there. Do you really want me to parade your dirty little secrets in front of them? Because I will. I will expose you for the promiscuous, vindictive sycophant you are and ensure everybody on the jury hates you by the time I'm done. The only thing you will get from the trial is a nightmare and the condescending looks of strangers wherever you go. This is not something you can ever run away from."

There was a pause as the two people over the table from her caught their respective breaths. Heather went on.

"I honestly don't know if Mr McCarthy really raped you inside his office, but I promise you it will be nothing compared to what I will do to you inside the courtroom. You can give up any hopes of ever hearing a guilty verdict."

Heather pushed a document across the table. Fiona picked it up shakily and browsed through it.

"Now, I realize your family has financial troubles. Your father's hospital bills are piling up and your mother is about to be evicted from her apartment due to many overdue months of rent. You have some crippling college loans to pay off as well, right? One million dollars would solve all your problems, leave you enough money to buy back your old house from the bank and you'll still have most of it left over. If you accept this offer, the case goes away and you get the cheque for a million delivered to your doorstep by tomorrow. It's either this or the nightmare I mentioned earlier."

Heather let her statement hang in the air. The room was eerily silent. Heather and Josh looked keenly at Fiona, trying to discern her reaction. She looked down for a few seconds before raising her eyes to them. Sparks flashed in her eyes and a vein popped in her temple.

"You think you can quantify what happened to me with money?" she screamed. "I was RAPED. No amount of money will ever make me whole again."

"We don't need to talk any more," said Joshua, helping Fiona to her feet. "I will see you in court and report you to the Bar for intimidation."

"Go ahead," drawled Heather. "The head of the New York Bar plays poker with my boss on Sundays."

"You are disgusting, Ms Franklin," he spat out vehemently.

"So I've been told, Mr D'Angelo," she said with a smile. "I've learnt not to take offence."

Heather waited till the hurried footsteps disappeared around the corner before banging her fist on the table. Every time she thought her self-esteem could fall no lower, her firm proved otherwise. There were no words to possibly describe how much she hated her miserable existence, twisting the justice system for the rich and powerful. A seething mass of words and thoughts hid quietly underneath her stoic façade.

* *

"You couldn't talk her out of a trial?" said Heather's boss disbelievingly.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's hardly a setback though. I've seen the file and know exactly what to do. Her case is shaky at best and it will eventually come down to he-said-she-said. All we need to do is make sure this case falls before one of our pet judges."

"You're missing the point," continued her vexed boss. "If the media gets a hold of it, they will have a field day. It will take weeks before it dies down and the damage to his sales will be done."

"Just tell our media contacts to be on the lookout for such a story and quash it before it makes it to the front page," she shrugged nonchalantly.

"What about social media? How do we control that wild beast?"

Heather paused for a moment to consider her options. She had a fairly good idea how much damage a stray rumour on the net could do. Perception is the new reality.

"We'll just have to make a new offer and hope she takes it," reiterated her boss. "Otherwise we could be staring at a public outrage."

"No we don't," said Heather suddenly. "I know what to do."

Her boss listened spellbound as she explained at length her plan. His eyes grew wider with every word - and also at how Heather seemed unruffled by the audacity and unethical implications of her brainchild. By the time she finished, he was simply gaping.

"Ms Cahill wants a media circus, she will get one," finished Heather, as calmly as if she had just finished making plans for lunch.

The biggest obstacle to corporate law was a conscience and Heather Franklin had all but killed hers.

* *

Heather pulled her hand back off the steering wheel and punched her horn. The loud sound blared out and lost itself in the cacophony outside. Four lines of cars covered the roads leading to an infernal intersection where an SUV and a minivan had decided to lock fenders, blocking everyone behind them. The police were trying their best to get traffic flowing smoothly again. Every irate driver along the length of Amsterdam Avenue kept their horns perpetually pressed to let out their frustrations.

Heather's Alfa Romeo inched forward and stopped again. She leaned back on her plush leather seat, enjoying the finest traffic snarl New York had to offer. The cool air from her AC coupled with the soundproof glass kept her in a bubble amidst the madding crowd. She felt a serene sense of accomplishment. From the lofty heights of the city's most powerful law firm, she got to play God with people's lives. That kind of power is intoxicating.

A few cars cleared up in front of Heather and she moved hers a few feet forward. Through the window of the car beside her, she saw a late 30s woman take out a Marlboro. The woman fished all around her console for a lighter, accidentally dropping it. She sighed and dove down. Amused, Heather opened her window, reached out and knocked against the passenger side glass. The woman looked up to see a stranger holding out a lighter. Gratefully, she slid down her window and stuck her cigarette out. Flint rolled and there was a small spark. Heather took the opportunity to sneak out an Ultra Fine blend of her own and light it. The two smokers looked at each other, sending long trails of smoke into the air.

"Slow day, huh?" said the lady, taking a long drag.

"You have no idea," Heather replied. "This traffic looks like it will never move."

"Well that's Amsterdam Avenue for you. We might catch a break after Cathedral Parkway. The rush hour traffic is thinning over there."

"What do you do for a living? Traffic expert?"

"Corporate PR," the lady said, dropping ashes on the road. "More of a consultant to companies on how to fool the public into thinking they're saints."