Chapter 17
Seventeen
-MILO-
Imagine the irony. The most social-worthy image I could post is sitting in a courtroom wearing a top hat, a tutu, and ballet slippers. But Grayson popped his phone away and has proudly placed his handbag onto the table in front of us. He looks at me and shrugs, as if everything is going to be okay.
There’s nothing about this predicament which feels right, yet it would if I could snap a photo.
A selfie gives power to rise above any situation.
I’m tempted to ask him to take the picture but I’m embarrassed.
I’m never out of my depth. Or at least not until I was naked or a tiger helped me defecate.
And right now, Grayson is gazing at me like he needs support.
I do too. We’re both in this together.
He notices someone. A middle-aged woman on the jury just waved at him, discreetly.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“The grand dame of the magic realm.”
His answer puts me at ease, and although I can’t remember her name, I recall the conversation Grayson and Penelope had about her. This woman will have a better chance at getting us out of this mess than they will.
“I said, stand.” The judge isn’t happy.
I shoot up, causing Grayson to stand just as quickly. Penelope rises casually.
“What’s the meaning of making a mockery of my courtroom?” The judge points directly at me as my outfit is the most ludicrous.
“In their defence...” Penelope sways. She looks nauseous.
That grand magic realm dame is frowning, trying to get Grayson’s attention. I nudge him so he notices, but Grayson mistakes my poke as a sign to speak up.
“In our defence, your honour...” he utters, his nerves apparent.
“Yes?” The judge’s eyes bulge like an ogre’s.
“In their defence, your honour...” An old grey-haired woman marches to the front of the judge’s desk. “They are exercising their right to free expression—”
“Who are you and who asked you to speak?”
“I’m Rose from the Coips movement.”
“The what movement?”
“Coips.”
An older man stands. “Clothes optional in public spaces.”
“And who asked you to speak?” the judge barks.
The man unbuttons his shirt. “It is my right as a free citizen to speak when I like and”—he is topless—“dress how I like.”
“Security, take this idiot—”
“You can’t.” Penelope really does look pale. “Burt is a witness.”
“That nincompoop?”
“Hey,” Rose cries. “Respect your elders.”
“Respect my courtroom.”
A security guy helps Burt put his shirt back on. Another escorts Rose back to her seat.
There are reporters at the back, recording, while some jot notes on their pads. And many interested parties are seated behind us, yet besides Burt and Rose, I have no idea if the rest have relevance in this case.
The judge has so much attitude you’d swear he’s working through pain, like a migraine or haemorrhoids. His cruel mouth gives him the look of a dictator, keen to lock up anyone who disrespects the legal process.
The jurors are all so different, and that woman I can’t remember the name of is the elegant one of the lot.
A classic grey streak weaves down her long dark hair, obviously styled by a gifted hairdresser.
Although with her talents, maybe it was fashioned by a spell.
And while I can’t see her waist, I’m certain her burgundy jacket is part of a trendy suit.
“Now...” The judge checks his notes. “Milo, is it?”
Oh shit. He’s addressing me.
“I can’t hear you,” he says.
“Yes, it’s Milo.”
“Yes, it’s Milo, what?”
“Yes, my name is Milo, your honour.”
“Why are you underdressed?”
“Ah, like Rose said, I’m expressing...”
“Expressing what? Your need to enact Swan Lake?”
“Your honour,” Grayson says on my behalf, “someone stole Milo’s clothes, and as we’re both thespians, we raided the slim pickings from our theatre company.” Grayson covers his nose for some reason.
“But no one stole your clothes,” the judge points out.
“He’s wearing a dress in solidarity,” Penelope blurts, spitting her words.
“Are you drunk, Ms Penelope Worthington? Are you also dishonouring my courtroom?”
She responds with a whimsical smile, which keeps getting wider as she’s clearly lost for words. This isn’t good.
“Sit,” barks the judge. “Will the prosecution rise?”
A tall thin man in a tan suit stands alongside a woman in a salmon-coloured dowdy dress with an oversized bow under one shoulder.
This is the person I should have sized up first, but I was overwhelmed by the court.
She is the only person who disapproved of our nudity.
Our sudden defiant act of being clothing-optional in a public space, even if it was prompted by a sneeze.
“Who is your first witness?” the judge asks.
“I call Milo to the witness box.”
My heart just did a nosedive. Sheepishly, I totter to the stand. This type of real-life shit is what I’ve avoided until now. Having a rich mum who can bail me out of situations, who also bought me my apartment and looks after my finances, keeps me on an even keel.
Although, the way she’s looked lately, I doubt she’ll be around for too much longer. I want to stay angry at Grayson, because Mum’s weirdness is clearly his fault. But he just spoke up for me. Just like a parent.
Someone shoves a bible in my direction. I’ve seen enough police shows to know what to do.
The judge glares like an executioner. “Do you swear to tell the whole truth so help you God?”
The response is caught in my throat.
“I didn’t hear you.”
I cough. “I do.”
“Sit.”
“Your name is Milo Miller. Correct?” The prosecutor is deadpan, and creepy.
“Yes.”
“Are you familiar with nudity laws, Mr Miller?”
“A little.”
“Do you know it’s wrong to be nude in public?”
“I object,” cries Grayson, already on his feet.
“That is not your call,” the judge barks.
“I’m speaking on behalf of Penelope, our lawyer.”
He’s found inner strength while Penelope is about to doze off.
“Then the prosecuting lawyer can speak for herself,” the judge says.
“I’m the prosecuting lawyer,” says the prosecutor.
“Argh. I mean the defence lawyer. She can speak for herself. If she can stay awake.”
“I’m here,” Penelope shrieks. But she lurches forward as if she’s about to barf.
“As I was saying,” Grayson continues, taking several quick concerning glances toward her, “I object on the grounds of nudity in a public place is not in itself, against the law. Such as the theatre—”
“I remember Hair,” Rose yells.
The judge opens his mouth but Grayson raises his hand and to my surprise, he stops the judge from speaking. “And, as you’ve probably seen from the social media posts, we covered our privates.”
“But you didn’t cover your arses,” the prosecutor argues.
“That’s because they’re gifted,” cries Burt. He stands and spreads his hands like he’s showing the size of the fish that got away, but everyone knows that’s not what he’s measuring. “They needed both hands to cover their dicks, so they couldn’t cover their bum cracks.”
“I think your hand gesture was enough to relay what you meant.” The prosecutor looks at me, then at Grayson, then at me, then at Grayson. “Can I rely on Mr Miller speaking for himself?”
“I object.” Penelope tries to stand but hits her legs on the underside of the table, knocking her back onto her chair. She covers her mouth. She better not vomit.
That magic realm juror grunts her disapproval, then gives Grayson and me separate looks of encouragement.
I’m anxious, and fear has a tendency of slowing time.
I’m way out of my comfort zone yet, right now, I’ve got no choice but to take everything in.
The prosecutor’s proficiency. Penelope’s incompetence.
The judge’s mean nature. Burt and Rose’s Boomer conviction.
And Grayson’s assured efforts to argue my case for me.
Summer wouldn’t do that. She’d mock this court so she could be the centre of attention.
But Grayson is here for me.
“Are you going to say something, Mr Miller?” the judge asks. “You’ve just been questioned as to whether you think bum holes are indecent.”
I have several responses and none of them are suitable for a courtroom.
“Bum holes are hidden by butt cheeks,” Grayson argues. “And butt cheeks are seen on primetime television so they can’t be considered indecent.”
Rose claps. “And don’t forget Number 96! Full frontal female nude on television, back in the seventies.”
The judge slams his gavel. I nearly soil my tutu.
“Now listen here.” He bangs his gavel once more. “Public nudity is a serious matter, and I don’t care what you all think—”
Grayson sneezes. Everyone stares at him, then at me. We are both naked, and even his handbag is gone. Rose’s elated grin is a tad too sleazy, while that magic realm woman smiles with approval.
“How did you do that?” The judge glares like he’s about to whack me behind the ear.
I turn to Grayson, keen to escape the judge’s stare. Grayson returns my gaze as if we are the only two people in the room. And I liked being looked at like this.
I feel valued. That’s the best way to describe it. I’m valued.
It’s a far cry from how I felt at that jazzy gay club.
Penelope looks around, notices our state of undress, and gracelessly waves her arm like a toddler learning to use a spoon.
There are pink bits and maroon bits and bits which are bleached.
There are surgery scars and piercings in imaginative places, and tattoos which have lost their edge.
Downstairs hair has been trimmed as creatively as a well-tended garden.
I know because a lot of people have stood in shock, then just as quickly, sat back down again.
A woman is wigless and the judge has lost his toupee.
The dowdy dresser who took us to court is shrieking with shame.
An older lady has her arm across her chest, not letting anything droop, while that magic realm diva is letting it all hang.
One gifted man hasn’t covered himself, and many are ogling him with sordid smiles.
It's noisy. The banging of the judge’s gavel is drowned by voices. Penelope puts her head down for a nap. She’s too smashed to let the racket bother her. Magic realm lady looks her way with disappointment.
I take a sneaky peek at the judge’s junk. For an older guy, he’s packing a punch, but I’m not interested in a daddy. I gaze at Grayson again, holding his attention until we begin laughing.
But we weren’t the first to guffaw. Everyone is chuckling out loud. A release of combined relief. No one is judging because bodies truly come in all shapes and sizes. The evidence can’t be disputed.
“Order,” the judge yells. The commotion diminishes.
I stand. “Order,” I shout too. Rising to my feet was a good idea. I’m getting everyone’s attention with my body. I consider covering my tackle, but others are getting comfortable with themselves, letting their privates be seen. “Order!” I yell again.
“Thank you,” the judge says to me. “Getting out of here is not going to be easy. So if you ring for someone to...” No clothes means no pockets, which means no phones. “We have a problem here.”
Grayson raises his hand. “Does this mean we’re all free to go? Case dismissed?”
The judge sighs. “I guess so.”
“Good, because I was thinking, if the court pays to hire a bus, we can all get taxied home.”
“That’s a very good idea.” He turns to a security officer, who also is well-endowed. “It’s your job to keep us all secure, so you’ll be the one to hire a bus. Use the phone in my chambers.” He uses the bible to cover his calling card and leaves the courtroom.
There are odd murmurings now. People are trying to figure out how they got naked, and where their clothes, and phones, and wallets may be. And I have visions of them knocking on their front doos, waiting for their family’s reactions.
But I return my gaze to Grayson. Oddly confident Grayson. Everyone has their moment to shine, and this was Grayson’s turn to show his true worth.