The Friday Afternoon Club: A Family Memoir

by Griffin Dunne

Our entire table lost it, and heads turned to see what was so funny. Mom laughed so hard tears rolled down her cheeks, and she looked to Dad, maybe remembering what he’d done to Howdy Doody so many years before. I was aware of our table getting a lot of attention, and while the Robin story was funny, I was also conscious our laughter was a form of release, an expression of defiance, a big, loud “fuck you” to Adelson and Katz and the whole awful morning. Once the hilarity died down, our appetites were restored, and we looked once again at the menus. I caught sight of the jury, regarding us from their Last Supper table in shock and disgust. I knew what they saw from their perch: privileged, heartless monsters whose daughter dumped a sensitive boy when she became famous, our grief a put-on because it didn’t conform to what they thought real pain should look like. The nine men and three women were poorly paid for their civic duty but getting the most for their money by sitting in judgment of us both in and out of the courtroom. I knew in that moment that when the time came for them to deliver a verdict, they would deem Dominique’s life to be worth not all that much.