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“How long did this adulterous affair last?”
“Six years.”
“During that time, did you ever tell Jacqueline Blue that you were sleeping with her boss?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It wasn’t any of her business.”
“Fair enough. Let’s talk about the Black Pack. Will you please tell the court what that group is about?”
“It isn’t really an official group or anything. It’s just a bunch of us in publishing who get together for dinner and drinks on Friday nights when we don’t have to work late. I missed a lot of the gatherings because I’m on the road a lot.”
“A bunch of Black people, correct?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“About seven or eight, I guess.”
“The number is eight, Victor. Eight Black people. Why don’t you tell us why the Black Pack came into existence?”
Victor hemmed and hawed. “I don’t . . . uh . . . uh . . . I can’t remember.”
Keith stroked his chin. “Are there any secretaries or mailroom workers in the Black Pack?”
“No.”
“Assistant editors, trainees, interns, receptionists, or support staff of any kind?”
“No.”
“So, would it be fair to say that the eight of you comprise the total number of Black managers working in New York’s book publishing industry?”
“Yes.”
“Was Ms. Blue a member of that group?”
“Yes.”
“Did the eight of you create programs designed to get more Blacks into New York book publishing?”
“No. It was just like . . . a social group.”
Keith pounced. “A social group? Then you didn’t talk about book publishing or the people in it at all. Is that your testimony, Victor?”
“No, we talked about everything.”
“Were white publishing professionals ever invited to these social gatherings?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop lying, Victor.”
Champ said, “Objection! That is not a question.”
