Courthouse Is Clubhouse for the Menendez Watchers : Trial: Sympathizers or skeptics, they suspend everyday lives and gather daily to follow the fate of the brothers.

They’ve been called groupies, fanatics, voyeurs. “People think we’re just these nutty girls who want to have sex with Erik and Lyle,” says one, shaking her head.

They’ve been sneered at by smug reporters, derided as gullible, pathetic hangers-on. But the Menendez-watchers, an informal, predominantly female club that meets most mornings at the Van Nuys Courthouse, hold their heads high.

“We,” says one woman proudly, “have heard more than the jury.”

Every high-profile trial has its looky-loos, especially if the charge is murder. The Night Stalker drew a standing-room-only crowd. So did the Hillside Strangler. And now the trial in the killings of Jose and Kitty Menendez by their sons have lured an unusual group to the drab courthouse hallways, all hoping for a seat in the courtroom or at least a glimpse of the action.

One regular, who called herself simply Theresa, was in the original pool for the Lyle Menendez jury, was excused and just kept coming back. Another, Sherman Oaks makeup artist Joan Villarreal, says her own experience as a battered wife made her come to the courthouse after the Menendezes alleged that they had been sexually abused by their parents. She has rarely missed a day since.

Judy Spreckels, a Beverly Hills native who once helped Elvis Presley answer his fan mail, has become the case’s unofficial historian, compiling news clippings in two indexed binders that have come to be known around the courthouse as “the bibles.” Several reporters have purchased copies--for $85 or more--to use as reference material.

Gender is one thing that sets these observers apart. Hard-core court-watchers usually tend to be men, often retirees, who hop from trial to trial like repeat offenders. But these loyal Menendez-watchers--some of whom have competed for as few as six available courtroom seats every day for months--are mostly women who had never been to a trial before.

There is something different about this case, they say--something that has made it worth their while to take time out from school, work and children to bear witness to the brothers from Beverly Hills.

Dominick Dunne, who is covering the trial for Vanity Fair magazine, has a theory about what it might be: “The fact that the defendants are young, handsome and used to be rich has a certain appeal,” he said.

And then there’s vulnerability. The defense attorneys’ portrayals of “the boys” as victims have clearly struck a chord among some of the trial-watchers. One elderly woman wanted to bring them homemade chicken soup. Several others, like a 38-year-old businesswoman who regularly commutes three hours from San Diego, have sent some of the thousands of letters of support received by the brothers.

“Lyle Menendez’s testimony changed my life. . . . And I do have a life,” the San Diegan said Friday as she waited to hear if Lyle Menendez’s jury would reach any conclusions. Like some of the regulars, she was reluctant to give her name for fear of being “exploited.”

But she had no hesitation relating that, when the brothers described being tormented by their parents, she heard the ring of truth. “I believe in them and I wanted to stand alongside them,” she said.

To Marybeth, a Valencia mother who put her two young children in day-care for the first time in order to attend the closing days of the trial, the belief in the brothers is a leap of faith. And she thinks it’s no accident that more women seem to make that leap than men--who find it easier, she says, to dismiss the brothers’ accounts as self-serving lies.

“Not wanting to be made a fool of, that’s an issue for men more than women,” she said. “If you open your heart and allow (the brothers’) emotions to come in, and then you find out they’re lying, you would feel like a sucker. . . . You can’t ever trust yourself again.”

Marybeth believes the brothers’ dramatic account precisely because some parts of it are so incredible. “I looked at it closely (asking myself) ‘Is that real emotion? Is that something you could make up in jail?’ ”

Her conclusion: “They didn’t want their parents to die. They just wanted to live.”

But not everybody in the courthouse crowd buys the brothers’ story.

Villarreal, the makeup artist whose own experiences with abuse impelled her to court, says she greeted the testimony of Lyle and Erik Menendez with an open mind. The more she’s heard, however, the less she’s been able to swallow.

“Lyle? His testimony was Laurence Olivier,” said Villarreal, 48. “I think it’s a bunch of b.s.”

Villarreal wanted first-degree murder convictions for both brothers and considers the mistrial in Erik’s case a “travesty.” She makes no attempt to disguise her contempt for the court-watchers who express pity for Erik Menendez--and it is he, she points out, not his older brother, who has attracted the bigger following.

“Nobody is really interested in poor Lyle,” she said. “The fan club in all this is going to Erik because Erik is more pathetic. He can’t cope. He’s been deprived. That’s what (his supporters) say. Honey, it’s the twilight zone.”

Just as Villarreal sets herself apart from the pro-defense observers, Spreckels--the unofficial case historian--tries to keep a polite distance from all other spectators. Spreckels, 62, is a veteran court-watcher--she has been attending Los Angeles-area trials off and on for 46 years. Procedure, not personalities, is what keeps her coming back, she says. And it is a point of pride with her that she will not align herself with one side or the other.

“I never discuss the outcome,” Spreckels said. “I like the courtroom atmosphere, the discipline, the points of law, the brilliance of people coming up with the better lie and telling it often enough to be believed.”

For all their differences of opinion, the Menendez-watchers share much in common. All refer to the lawyers in the case strictly by their first names--as in “Leslie (Abramson, Erik Menendez’s attorney) threw a fit.”

When court is not in session, they can be found in the second-floor cafeteria, staking out window seats in order to keep their eyes on the action outside.

“There’s one of our jurors,” they can be heard to say, nodding toward a man or woman they’ve sighted at the main entrance below. To pass the time, they argue points of law, tossing around terms such as “honest but unreasonable belief” and “implied malice,” often continuing debates conducted among the lawyers and the judge without the jury present.

At times, they have been joined by tourists and day-trippers. One young man from Texas stopped by when he was in Los Angeles visiting colleges he hopes to attend. A group of flight attendants on a stopover from Washington, D.C., stuck their heads in as well.

But only the faithful kept coming, on exciting days and dull ones. Whether it is scholarly interest, romantic fantasy or eagerness for attention that pulls at them, they dutifully place their purses on the conveyor belt, walk through the metal detector and stake out a spot in line. Maybe today, they’ll see a bit of history. Maybe today, some of them say, their presence will do some good.

They speak of it as an obligation--one that is likely to demand their presence when Erik Menendez is tried again.

“Once I commit,” Spreckels said, “ . . . I don’t miss anything.”