Deadlock

3

When she could stand the silence no longer, Millie walked, una

His clerk, whose name was Russell something, looked as if a terrorist had walked in. His lips moved in a soundless expression of something like shock.

“I’ll let myself in,” Millie said.

Riley looked up from his desk with a bit of the same expression as his clerk. He held his pen in midair as Millie plopped herself down in a chair. She saw on his desk the Latin phrase he loved to quote: Vincit omnia veritas.

“We have to talk,” she said.

Riley looked at the clock. “I’m preparing for argument.”

“I have to know something.”

The justice lowered his pen.

“I have to know if any leak has come out of this chamber,” she said.

“Leak?”

“Information. Inside information.”

“I don’t follow you.” He seemed cagey, like he must have been back in the courtrooms of Wyoming.

“Tom, we’ve been through a lot together over the years,” Millie said, her throat tightening. “I hope that counts for something, even though we look to be on opposite sides now.”

“Go on,” Riley said.

“Someone got to the media with my conversion.”

“You think it was me?” Riley tossed the pen on the desk.

“Maybe not intentionally – ”

“At all!” he snapped.

Millie paused, sudden regret in her heart. This was a man who had been like a father to her, a mentor, an inspiration. That they were even having this conversation was tragic in a deeply personal way. But she had to ask the questions. She had to clear the air in the Court, or she could not hope to lead it.

“If you are telling me you had nothing to do with it,” Millie said, “that’s good enough for me.”

“I’ve said all I’m going to. Now if you’ll excuse me we both have work to do.”

Millie felt dirty somehow. Like filth had been dumped into these hallowed halls, and everyone was walking in it. That saddened her most of all. That the Court, the institution she loved with all her heart, should have come to this.

“I’m sorry,” Millie said, rising. “I just hope we can find a way to be civil with each other.”

Riley held his pen but did not move it. His eyes bore into her. “Millie, I don’t like this any more than you do. But what is happening here is, in my view, a disaster. Impeachment! Do you understand what that means?”

“Of course, I – ”

“I’m not sure. And I’m not sure there aren’t grounds. Your religion is going to influence your decisions.”

Millie rocked back, a little stu

“It already has on Establishment,” Riley continued. “Will it continue on into other areas? If it is, you are not the same justice the Senate confirmed.”

“Tom, we both know a judge has to get to the meaning of the law as closely as possible while recognizing his biases.”

“Answer the question, please,” Riley said.

“It’s not that simple, is it?”

“Let me give you a hypothetical then. You have always upheld a woman’s right to choose. You know we have cases in the pipeline that will test that. Are you going to rule like a Bill Bonassi now?”

A ripple of anger spread through Millie. “Why is everybody trying to nail me down?”

“Because if you change your mind on that issue, the country will be torn apart.”

This truly was the heart of the issue. Millie had known Tom Riley for ten years, had joined him on most decisions, and knew he took the long view of the law. With abortion rights being the central moral question for society, Riley had long argued – and she had agreed – that its threads must be handled gently or there could be social upheaval. If Millie held a different view now, it was possible that the Court could radically alter its past decisions by way of a new 5-4 slant. That was what Riley was asking.

“I haven’t seen a specific case yet,” Millie said. “The time will come, I’m sure.”

“Come on, don’t duck this. Do you still believe that right is Constitutional?”

Did she? All of the arguments from her days in law school, on the Court, in briefs and at orals, came rushing back to her. For a moment it all seemed a jumble, a thicket she had no hope of fighting through.

“I’ll word my question another way,” Riley said. “Do you believe a fetus has the rights of a person?”

“Tom, until I get a case – ”

“Let me help you. You know that verse in the Bible, the one we always see in amicus briefs. It’s from the Psalms, I think. It says something to the effect that God knits babies in the womb. And there are other Bible quotations about God knowing people before they exist. I suspect that’s what Bill Bonassi believed.”

Millie’s head was starting to feel the grip of some huge fist. “I find this offensive, Tom.”

“Are you telling me you are the same today as you were last term? Or any previous term?”

“I am a different person in some ways – ”

“At the core, Millie. You have had a religious conversion. Are you saying that won’t affect you at all?”

“I don’t know!”

“And if it does, what will that do to our reputation?”

Millie’s stomach twisted. Riley’s logic was solid, as always. His ability to foresee the consequences of laws made him one of the most insightful of the justices. His insight cut like a knife.

“One thing has not changed,” Millie said. “I care just as much about the Court as you, Tom. And I am not going to let politics influence what I do here. I will fight this bogus impeachment business. And I will continue to do what I think is right as a judge.”

“I am going to fight back,” Riley said. “I – ” He seemed then, for the flicker of a moment, to break down. But his face clamped back any emotion. “That’s enough,” he said.

Millie wanted to say something, but could find no other words. She stood and walked out. The loneliness Millie felt on the way back to her chambers was overwhelming, a cavernous feeling of loss. Even Rosalind, her clerk, seemed to have put up, if not a wall, a veil. And Paul had resigned. At least Rosalind had said she didn’t want to leave Millie in the lurch.

“Ready for argument?” Rosalind asked. “I have the briefs and bench memo ready.”

“Thank you, Rosalind.”

The young woman nipped at her bottom lip with her front teeth. “It didn’t help, did it?”

“What didn’t help?”

“Talking to Justice Riley. I saw you go in.”

“No, not much.”

The clerk nodded, concern on her face. Millie put a hand on her shoulder. “I know it hasn’t been easy on you,” Millie said. “And I am truly sorry. But I want you to know how grateful I am that you’ve stayed. It means a great deal to me.”

Rosalind nodded.

“Come on,” Millie said. “It’s time to get to the bench.”

4

Hardball.

Sam Levering played hardball, played to win, always had. He was never sorry, though sometimes he felt a little pang when an opponent went down in flames. He felt a little sorry for Millie Hollander. The photos that the smarmy reporter took, and the insinuations about her love life, were almost below the belt. Almost. But it had to be done. And he still had A

There was also something arousing about hardball. Whenever he hit one out of the park, as he’d just done with Hollander, he found his libido returning to youthful levels. At such times he wanted two things. A drink and a woman. The former would be sour mash whiskey. The latter could be just about anyone. Tonight it was a blonde named Sondra.

The Capitol building’s nearly one hundred “hideaway” offices were virtually unknown by the public, roped off from tourists with snapping cameras. Marked only by door numbers, many of the hideaway offices had gilded crystal chandeliers, floor-length mirrors, fireplaces, and frescoed walls. They were ostensibly for members of Congress to escape the demands of their regular offices. But Levering had discovered the real use was far more personal. LBJ, when he was Senate Majority Leader, had made legendary use of them for his “hideaway honeys.” What was good enough for a president, Levering reasoned, was good enough for him.