The Friday morning sun is a welcome sight as juror Shelley Merman cracks the blinds within the jury room. The clock reads 11:50 AM. Deli sandwiches have just arrived for the group which graciously welcomes its first break since resuming deliberations at 9:00 AM. Ten jury members remain in the room for their half hour lunch break. The morning session has been very productive, although occasionally contentious, and some are optimistic that they can reach a verdict by day's end.
"Well, we're basically at 11 to 1 now." Rudy Roberston summarizes as he pops open a can of root beer. "I like our chances of finishing this thing up today and gettin' back to our lives again." Several fellow jurors nod their heads in agreement. "We really shouldn't be talking about this now, you know." Lorenzo Sanders notes as he empties a small bag of tortilla chips onto his plate. "Not unless all twelve of us are present."
Several half-hearted groans follow Sanders' proper observation. Julie Craig cracks a smile. "Lorenzo's right." she concedes. "Let's enjoy this while we can. After all, we're missing the right two!" Laughter ensues throughout the ranks. The mood is definitely lighter minus the presense of the foreman, Burt Napier, and his perpetual sparring partner Ida Baxter. Stanley Wallach glances briefly at Sister Carolyn Blake before speaking up. "Forgive me for my candor sister," Wallach requests, "but it figures that the b#*&% and the tyrant are the only smokers among us. Those two deserve each other!"
*****
The Gotham City courthouse is a venerable old structure built a few years before the Civil War. The building is a frequent subject of ridicule from those in the legal profession who must conduct their regular business within its walls. Although majestic in its outward appearance, the courthouse is largely lacking in practicality. Sure it has been renovated periodically with such advances as electricity, running water, telephones, and centralized heat and air conditioning. Nonetheless, it is an anachronism which remains the hub of the Gotham City judicial system due solely to tradition.
The courthouse is a public facility; hence smoking is prohibited throughout. Clerks, bailiffs, visitors, witnesses and even lawyers are fully expected to adhere to the non-smoking policy. Judges enjoy an unofficial reprieve from this regulation, provided their smoking is restricted to their private chambers. The only other exception, also unwritten and unofficial, pertains to sequestered juries. Precluded from leaving the building, such jurors are permitted to light up during breaks in trial or deliberations.
The accommodations for smoking jurors are ridiculously meager, due both to the limitations of the courthouse and the reluctance of the court to readily encourage and facilitate a technically illegal practice. As they have for the past week, Ida Baxter and Burt Napier find themselves secluded within a moderately deep, but narrow room. Originally it had been a walk-in coatroom for judges, lawyers and other dignitaries. Now, this back room serves as a storage area for mostly useless relics, as well as a hiding place to stash the smokers.
Throughout the trial, Napier and Baxter have found themselves sharing this erstwhile cigarette refuge. It was obvious to both from the beginning that their personalities were largely incompatible. Conversation was thus brief and mostly non-existent. Each just puffed away, seemingly unaware of the other's presence.
The room seems even smaller now as the two stand as far away from one another as their restrictive confines permit. Ida stares at the floor as she slowly savors this latest nicotine rush. Originally a social smoker, she has gradually escalated to nearly a pack a day. Napier is a three-pack-a-day man. Making up for lost time, he has already breezed through four cigarettes while Ida is still on her first. The foreman groans as he seeks to light up yet another. An early morning moment of carelessness had caused him to spill his coffee all over his person. Although very fortunate to avoid burns, he now realizes that he may have suffered a worse fate. His last book of matches bears coffee stains and remains damp to the touch. Despite his frenzied efforts, matchstick after matchstick fails to light.
"Here." Baxter unexpectedly intervenes. Napier turns towards his fellow juror and she tosses him her lighter. "A lot easier than matches." she observes. Burt grudgingly nods at the young businesswoman. "Guess I'm just old-fashioned." he shrugs as he returns the lighter after successfully igniting his cigarette.
"Hmmm ... maybe," Baxter replies, "but I'd say it's more likely that you're just plain stubborn." Napier is surprised by her candor, given their previous reluctance to engage whatsoever in idle chatter. Before he can even voice a response, the feisty Ms. Baxter continues her thought. "You don't exactly fit the hopelessly old-fashioned stereotype, because you embrace some truly forward-thinking ideas." she observes. "But you are headstrong and egotistical. Once you form an opinion, that's it. Finis. And, of course, your opinion is always correct; anyone who dares to disagree with you is just wrong."
"From where I'm standing, you're pretty damned opinionated yourself lady!" Burt shoots back as he uses his nearly depleted cigarette to light another. "You don't know the first thing about me, yet you presume to judge my motivations based upon my actions during this case. You're so far off base with this bull ..."
"Am I?" Ida brazenly interrupts. "You say that Batgirl is innocent. Fine. You expect us to believe that this opinion is based on objectivity rather than personal bias. The others may buy that, but not me. Why? You admire Batgirl, probably a helluva lot more than you even realize. You're drawn to her plight, because you see a lot of yourself in her."
Napier laughs aloud at this notion, but Baxter pushes the issue. "No, you don't dress up in leotards and a cape, but there is a common ground. You're an aggressive personality, Burt. You insist upon controlling every situation and you've never met a risk you weren't willing to take. How can you not glorify the likes of Batgirl? She's the ultimate risk-taker. She goes to the greatest extremes to impose her will upon others. Batgirl has her vision of righteousness and, the law be damned, she forces it upon society!"
The foreman smirks as his detractor rambles on for a few moments more. Napier extinguishes his cigarette, with still an inch of tobacco left, for he wishes to counter Ida's conclusions unfettered. He walks towards her until the gap between them narrows to three feet. Keeping intentionally silent, his eyes slowly pan from head to foot. Burt looks Baxter over for the better part of a minute, deliberately irritating her until she voices a four-lettered objection.
"I disliked you from the moment we met," Burt states, "but it wasn't until just now that I realized that you're nothing but a fraud!" Ida takes great exception to this insult, but Napier stands his ground and refuses to let her get in a say. "Here stands the Ida Baxter, college educated career woman and feminist, with her expensive ladies' suits and silk blouses, kicking ass in the dog-eat-dog world of Gotham City business!"
"I resent your sarcasm," Baxter retorts, "but otherwise the description is on target. I've worked freakin' hard to get where I am. I'm successful, I look the part, I'm not about to apologize for that!"
Napier nods and cracks a slight smile. He folds his arms across his chest to emulate Baxter and proceeds to mimic the presentation of her argument. "You say that Batgirl is guilty. Fine. You expect us to accept that your opinion is based on objectivity rather than bias. Seems reasonable, since a feminist's personal feelings would surely be slanted towards acquittal. Well missy, I don't buy it!"
Ida scoffs at her tormentor as Napier undauntedly continues his unflattering appraisal. "I kept coming back to the same nagging question. Why would a devoted womens' libber so readily accept the guilt of a famous super heroine? By rights you should be sticking up for her. Suddenly it hit me. You're not a true feminist at all! You aren't interested in advancing the cause for women; you're just selfishly trying to better the circumstances for Ida Baxter!"
By now, Ida is incensed and unloads an obscenity laden tirade. She tries to leave the smoking lounge but her path is obstructed by Napier. Before allowing her to leave, the foreman seeks to deliver one more pointed observation. "You don't view strong women like Batgirl or Congresswoman Gordon as role models. You see them as threats. You thrive on the perception that your achievements are strikingly remarkable because you are woman competing in a male dominated society. When Batgirl corrals yet another villain, it pains you. Each political success for Barbara Gordon diminishes you, at least in a small way. Seems to me, you'd very much like to see Batgirl take a massive fall from grace!"
*****
Burt Napier and Ida Baxter return to the jury room, each tight-lipped and scowling at the other. Stan Wallach and Julie Craig had each independently planned a clever wisecrack for the duo, but both think better of it. Any well-intentioned attempt at levity would likely backfire. The goal is to reach a verdict, most preferably before the weekend. There is no sense in further poisoning the already shaky collective mood of the group.
"So … have we reached a verdict?" Napier deadpans while taking his seat. No one laughs and only two even manage a half-hearted smile. It's going to be a long afternoon.
"Well, we're basically at 11 to 1 now." Rudy Roberston summarizes as he pops open a can of root beer. "I like our chances of finishing this thing up today and gettin' back to our lives again." Several fellow jurors nod their heads in agreement. "We really shouldn't be talking about this now, you know." Lorenzo Sanders notes as he empties a small bag of tortilla chips onto his plate. "Not unless all twelve of us are present."
Several half-hearted groans follow Sanders' proper observation. Julie Craig cracks a smile. "Lorenzo's right." she concedes. "Let's enjoy this while we can. After all, we're missing the right two!" Laughter ensues throughout the ranks. The mood is definitely lighter minus the presense of the foreman, Burt Napier, and his perpetual sparring partner Ida Baxter. Stanley Wallach glances briefly at Sister Carolyn Blake before speaking up. "Forgive me for my candor sister," Wallach requests, "but it figures that the b#*&% and the tyrant are the only smokers among us. Those two deserve each other!"
*****
The Gotham City courthouse is a venerable old structure built a few years before the Civil War. The building is a frequent subject of ridicule from those in the legal profession who must conduct their regular business within its walls. Although majestic in its outward appearance, the courthouse is largely lacking in practicality. Sure it has been renovated periodically with such advances as electricity, running water, telephones, and centralized heat and air conditioning. Nonetheless, it is an anachronism which remains the hub of the Gotham City judicial system due solely to tradition.
The courthouse is a public facility; hence smoking is prohibited throughout. Clerks, bailiffs, visitors, witnesses and even lawyers are fully expected to adhere to the non-smoking policy. Judges enjoy an unofficial reprieve from this regulation, provided their smoking is restricted to their private chambers. The only other exception, also unwritten and unofficial, pertains to sequestered juries. Precluded from leaving the building, such jurors are permitted to light up during breaks in trial or deliberations.
The accommodations for smoking jurors are ridiculously meager, due both to the limitations of the courthouse and the reluctance of the court to readily encourage and facilitate a technically illegal practice. As they have for the past week, Ida Baxter and Burt Napier find themselves secluded within a moderately deep, but narrow room. Originally it had been a walk-in coatroom for judges, lawyers and other dignitaries. Now, this back room serves as a storage area for mostly useless relics, as well as a hiding place to stash the smokers.
Throughout the trial, Napier and Baxter have found themselves sharing this erstwhile cigarette refuge. It was obvious to both from the beginning that their personalities were largely incompatible. Conversation was thus brief and mostly non-existent. Each just puffed away, seemingly unaware of the other's presence.
The room seems even smaller now as the two stand as far away from one another as their restrictive confines permit. Ida stares at the floor as she slowly savors this latest nicotine rush. Originally a social smoker, she has gradually escalated to nearly a pack a day. Napier is a three-pack-a-day man. Making up for lost time, he has already breezed through four cigarettes while Ida is still on her first. The foreman groans as he seeks to light up yet another. An early morning moment of carelessness had caused him to spill his coffee all over his person. Although very fortunate to avoid burns, he now realizes that he may have suffered a worse fate. His last book of matches bears coffee stains and remains damp to the touch. Despite his frenzied efforts, matchstick after matchstick fails to light.
"Here." Baxter unexpectedly intervenes. Napier turns towards his fellow juror and she tosses him her lighter. "A lot easier than matches." she observes. Burt grudgingly nods at the young businesswoman. "Guess I'm just old-fashioned." he shrugs as he returns the lighter after successfully igniting his cigarette.
"Hmmm ... maybe," Baxter replies, "but I'd say it's more likely that you're just plain stubborn." Napier is surprised by her candor, given their previous reluctance to engage whatsoever in idle chatter. Before he can even voice a response, the feisty Ms. Baxter continues her thought. "You don't exactly fit the hopelessly old-fashioned stereotype, because you embrace some truly forward-thinking ideas." she observes. "But you are headstrong and egotistical. Once you form an opinion, that's it. Finis. And, of course, your opinion is always correct; anyone who dares to disagree with you is just wrong."
"From where I'm standing, you're pretty damned opinionated yourself lady!" Burt shoots back as he uses his nearly depleted cigarette to light another. "You don't know the first thing about me, yet you presume to judge my motivations based upon my actions during this case. You're so far off base with this bull ..."
"Am I?" Ida brazenly interrupts. "You say that Batgirl is innocent. Fine. You expect us to believe that this opinion is based on objectivity rather than personal bias. The others may buy that, but not me. Why? You admire Batgirl, probably a helluva lot more than you even realize. You're drawn to her plight, because you see a lot of yourself in her."
Napier laughs aloud at this notion, but Baxter pushes the issue. "No, you don't dress up in leotards and a cape, but there is a common ground. You're an aggressive personality, Burt. You insist upon controlling every situation and you've never met a risk you weren't willing to take. How can you not glorify the likes of Batgirl? She's the ultimate risk-taker. She goes to the greatest extremes to impose her will upon others. Batgirl has her vision of righteousness and, the law be damned, she forces it upon society!"
The foreman smirks as his detractor rambles on for a few moments more. Napier extinguishes his cigarette, with still an inch of tobacco left, for he wishes to counter Ida's conclusions unfettered. He walks towards her until the gap between them narrows to three feet. Keeping intentionally silent, his eyes slowly pan from head to foot. Burt looks Baxter over for the better part of a minute, deliberately irritating her until she voices a four-lettered objection.
"I disliked you from the moment we met," Burt states, "but it wasn't until just now that I realized that you're nothing but a fraud!" Ida takes great exception to this insult, but Napier stands his ground and refuses to let her get in a say. "Here stands the Ida Baxter, college educated career woman and feminist, with her expensive ladies' suits and silk blouses, kicking ass in the dog-eat-dog world of Gotham City business!"
"I resent your sarcasm," Baxter retorts, "but otherwise the description is on target. I've worked freakin' hard to get where I am. I'm successful, I look the part, I'm not about to apologize for that!"
Napier nods and cracks a slight smile. He folds his arms across his chest to emulate Baxter and proceeds to mimic the presentation of her argument. "You say that Batgirl is guilty. Fine. You expect us to accept that your opinion is based on objectivity rather than bias. Seems reasonable, since a feminist's personal feelings would surely be slanted towards acquittal. Well missy, I don't buy it!"
Ida scoffs at her tormentor as Napier undauntedly continues his unflattering appraisal. "I kept coming back to the same nagging question. Why would a devoted womens' libber so readily accept the guilt of a famous super heroine? By rights you should be sticking up for her. Suddenly it hit me. You're not a true feminist at all! You aren't interested in advancing the cause for women; you're just selfishly trying to better the circumstances for Ida Baxter!"
By now, Ida is incensed and unloads an obscenity laden tirade. She tries to leave the smoking lounge but her path is obstructed by Napier. Before allowing her to leave, the foreman seeks to deliver one more pointed observation. "You don't view strong women like Batgirl or Congresswoman Gordon as role models. You see them as threats. You thrive on the perception that your achievements are strikingly remarkable because you are woman competing in a male dominated society. When Batgirl corrals yet another villain, it pains you. Each political success for Barbara Gordon diminishes you, at least in a small way. Seems to me, you'd very much like to see Batgirl take a massive fall from grace!"
*****
Burt Napier and Ida Baxter return to the jury room, each tight-lipped and scowling at the other. Stan Wallach and Julie Craig had each independently planned a clever wisecrack for the duo, but both think better of it. Any well-intentioned attempt at levity would likely backfire. The goal is to reach a verdict, most preferably before the weekend. There is no sense in further poisoning the already shaky collective mood of the group.
"So … have we reached a verdict?" Napier deadpans while taking his seat. No one laughs and only two even manage a half-hearted smile. It's going to be a long afternoon.