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fear.
    Janie was enormously relieved when her parents told her that they knew of her situation and that she could count on their
     support and love. It was vintage Abe—perceptive, direct, proactive, and right. Emma was proud of how her father had cut through
     everything so quickly and helped her friend.
    Indeed, this uncanny ability to see through complexity and cut to the chase was one of Abe’s great strengths as a lawyer.
     His working rule was that every complex problem had a simple and obvious solution. And so far it had proved to be a good rule
     for Abe. He never obsessed over issues. He reasoned, he decided, he acted, and he didn’t look back. And if he sometimes wondered
     whether he was guilty of oversimplification, he quickly reassured himself: not a great vice for a busy trial lawyer.
    Both Abe and Emma were news junkies who channel-surfed their way through the network morning news shows while dressing and
     leafed through the newspapers while in the bathroom. Emma was just about to begin the morning Ringel ritual of discussing
     the headlines when Abe preempted her.
    “Did you hear about Joe Campbell being arrested?”
    “Yeah, it’s all over the news. It’s about time they did something to athletes who think they’re God’s gift to women.” Wait
     a minute, Emma thought to herself. Here she was, sitting across the table from a bona fide expert on a topic that Jon, her
     main love interest these days, was bound to want to talk about, and she was wasting time making a political point on a man
     who wouldn’t even understand it! Wake up, girl!
    She placed a respectful look on her face. “Do you think Campbell’s arrest will get him suspended?” Jon would just die if Campbell
     weren’t able to participate in the playoffs.
    “No, I don’t think so. Even the NBA has to live with the presumption of innocence, and in this case it seems more than a mere
     presumption.” He was comfortable now, warming up to a more impersonal subject. “I imagine the league will assume it’s just
     another frustrated groupie crying rape because the ballplayer didn’t ask her out again, or another gold digger looking for
     a pot of cash at the end of a rainbow.”
    “That’s not fair, Dad. It’s just another example of your Jurassic attitudes toward women. Have you ever stopped to consider
     the possibility that Campbell might actually have raped this woman?”
    Abe realized he wasn’t going to get out of this conversation without another lecture. “All right, maybe,” he said, “but I
     find it hard to believe. I mean, the woman had been out on a date with him, not once, twice. You read about that, right? And
     why would Joe Campbell have to force a woman to have sex with him? He’s got groupies following him around wherever he goes.
     You can’t very well rape a groupie.”
    “Daddy, that’s ridiculous. Anyone can be raped, even a prostitute. And it doesn’t matter if she knew him—if they had two dates
     or ten. We’re not talking about sex, Dad, we’re talking about violence—you should know that.”
    “Well, maybe,” Abe said grudgingly, yet without really believing it. “Campbell gets all the violence he needs driving to the
     hoop. Have you watched him recently, since Oakley sprained his ankle? He’s banging more bodies on the boards than the power
     forwards.”
    “You just don’t get it, Daddy.” For a moment Emma’s expression turned thoughtful, serious, as though she were in touch with
     a feeling he could never totally appreciate or understand. Maybe it was true what Rendi said, that all women were born with
     the precognitive experience of being raped—“gender memory,” she called it. Whatever the case, Abe wasn’t about to ignore his
     daughter’s opinion, even though he didn’t believe for a minute that Campbell had raped the woman.
    “I get it all right. Remember, I belonged to a fraternity once. I knew some guys who could be real assholes when left alone
     with a