Margot continues, “But he was funny, as I said. And I felt overwhelmed when I came to L.A. He became a bit of a safe space.”
I think of Damon, avoid glancing at him.
“And when was the first time you learned of his infidelity.”
I swallow hard. Damon beside me looks over, and we make eye contact. It’s charged, a plug smashing into a wall socket.
“It was five months in.”
He courted her extravagantly, then was cheating on her almost immediately, and then ongoing for the next twenty-four years?
“What were the circumstances that first time?”
“She was a model. I found that very, I don’t know, insulting. The idea of being cheated on by my forty-two-year-old boyfriend of five months with an L.A. runway model. A text came up on his phone while he was in the shower. A... picture. It turned out he had a thing for collecting pictures.” She speaks with certainty, a factual retelling of events she is equally sentimental about and detached from.
“What was Joe like when you confronted him?”
She exhales a hard breath. “Glib. He downplayed it, told me it was nothing.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Confused. But also, it sort of was what it was. I accepted it as part of my life with someone like him.”
I venture a quick sweep over the jury. Is Margot doing enough to win them over? Is she doing enough to winmeover? Coming into the trial, there was no need. I was already on her side. But I can’t unlearn all the damning things that have come out since then. How could these thingsnotmake me question her?
“And how many more times did this happen throughout your time with Joe? Where you found out about other women in his life?”
“There were fourteen that I know of.”
A light gasp echoes from the far corner of the courtroom.
“This is why I’d choose the bear,” juror number twelve, Kate, mumbles behind me.
How many affairs did my father have? There were six I knew of, though I’m positive there were more. He never remarried after my mom, which I took as a selfless act on his part.
“What number was Tenley?” he asks, and I wonder why this matters.
“Number twelve, I believe.”
Durrant Hammerstead hangs his head as if in mourning. Then, “On the topic of Tenley, I have to ask, since the prosecution seems quite fixated on it,” he says almost apologetically. “Margot, do you know anything about the tarantulas in her backyard?”
Margot huffs. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t even dignify that with a response.”
“Yes, well, here you must,” he says with a broad smile in an attempt to minimize his scold. Margot assures us she does not know anything about tarantulas generally nor about the ones specifically from Tenley’s backyard, and I’m growing frustrated with Durrant Hammerstead and his line of questioning. But then, finally, I see where he is going.
“In any of those instances of Joe’s affairs, did anything ever grow... concerning? More concerning than just the idea of your husband’s potential indiscretions?”
I hold my breath, anticipating something headline-inducing.
“Yes. There are three I can think of. The first was two years into our marriage. She was a fitness influencer,” Margot says with a flippant eye roll. I wince, knowing how hard Margot has been working throughout this trial to come across as kind, poised, humane. Sure, she can be crass and even a bit bullish on the show, but it makes her unapologetically successful. And the unequivocal star of the franchise. How easily all her hard work could be undone with the slightest lapse of composure here, now. Margot continues, “I came home from a lunch to find her scrawling all kinds of foul words across the windows of our home with red paint.” Margot gives an impassioned shudder.
“That must have been awful.”
“It was. When she saw me, she just walked off casually down the driveway. She only stopped to tell me, ‘I could have him.’ ”
“Did you or Joe ever press charges?”
“No.”
