Deadlock

They went to the movies. Romeo and Juliet was the big sensation. Marty had placed his arm around her the moment the coming attractions started and did not remove it until Romeo and Juliet were quite dead. She knew Marty was in more than a bit of arm pain after the movie, but she didn’t mention it.

He took her to a burger place afterward. They saw some kids from school, who made a few cracks about Marty and Millie sittin’ in a tree. Marty made a joke that put them to shame, and she thought then that she was in love. He was almost handsome, in a scholarly sort of way. His acne was clearing up and she could see him inventing things someday.

She remembered the music that night. The radio in the restaurant played “Hey Jude” by the Beatles. And then Herb Alpert’s “This Guy’s in Love with You.” She made a girlish wish that Herb Alpert was singing about Marty.

Marty did not drive her home. Instead, he took her up to The Rim. She didn’t protest, though she was so nervous she almost threw up. The Rim was a mountain road that offered a great view of the valley. It was a make-out place, of course, where the kids always went. Where she never went.

She hoped Marty wouldn’t do something wrong. She would allow him to kiss her, though she didn’t know how to kiss. She had spent the afternoon kissing the side of her fist, trying to get the pressure to feel right.

And Marty did kiss her. A lot. Too much. She tried to turn her head away and he kept twisting it back with his hand. But that wasn’t the bad part.

The bad part happened when she would not let him put his hands on her chest, when she said, “Let’s stop, huh?” He reeled back like he’d been slapped.

And then Marty Winters told her that she was ugly and he was doing her a favor, and none of the boys liked her because she was so ugly and smart, and she’d never have a boyfriend and why didn’t she just dry up and blow away?

Millicent Ma

And not in front of her mother when she had asked about the date. Millie simply turned her emotions inward, forming the start of a rock-hard interior.

That hardness had held her together through the death of her father, working to get through college, and finishing first in her law school class. It had given her a steadiness and strength that served her well as her career took her from teaching constitutional law at Boalt Hall, to the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals, and finally to the Supreme Court.

During her career she’d had occasional offers to date but turned them all down. She had determined not to seek the intimate companionship of men. If she was to be married at all, it was to the law.

So why was she doing this now?

In truth, she had been feeling somewhat odd for a few months now. She could even pinpoint the start of it – the argument in the late-term abortion case. Because of her vote, the law outlawing the procedure had been declared unconstitutional. But the graphic nature of the operation had been emphasized by the attorney for the state. Ever since that afternoon she had felt moments of uncertainty. Not so much with her decision – based as it was on her reading of the law and precedent – but on the whole idea that such an issue should arise at all in a civilized society.

But the right of women to control their bodies was the primary value she upheld, and she would stick to that. She just wished she’d stop being bothered by a particular case.

That must be it, she suddenly decided. The senator is a diversion I am hoping will put me back into equilibrium. That’s unfair, to him and to me. This was a bad idea.

She went to the phone to call Senator Levering. He’d left his direct mobile number. What would she tell him? Headache? He wouldn’t believe her, but that was not important. She could not go through with this. It was, aside from everything else, silly. She was too old for dating. Besides, she had David McCullough’s John Adams biography waiting for her, and that would be enough. Books had always been enough.

She picked up the phone and started to dial. Then she heard the doorbell.

9

Senator Levering said, “You seem a bit edgy, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

He sat facing Millie in the back of the limousine. She was on the side, near the wet bar, castigating herself for being so transparent. This is just a di

“I’m a little rusty at this,” Millie said.

“It’s like riding a mule,” Levering said. “Nothing to it if you hang on. How about a drink?”

“Do you have 7-Up?”

“I was thinking Perrier-Jouët ’95.”

“Sounds French and imposing.”

“It’s only the finest champagne this side of the moon.”

“Why not?” A bit of celebration was in order, wasn’t it? A chief justice appointment didn’t happen very often.

The senator fished the bottle of champagne from the ice bin. “What shall we talk about? The Takings Clause?”

She laughed a little, and it felt good. “If that’s your passion,” she joked.

Levering removed the cork and poured the champagne into two flutes. “I am a man of many passions,” he said, handing her a glass. He clinked his against hers. “To our new chief justice.”

“Perhaps,” Millie said.

“So shall it be written,” Levering said. “So shall it be done.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Yul Bry

“Ah yes. Pharaoh. Is that how you see yourself?”

Levering slid back to his seat which did, indeed, look like a throne. “I see myself as a man of the people, Millie. May I call you Millie?”

“Certainly.”

“But some of us are called by fate to positions of great power. You. Me. Yul Bry

Millie smiled. “Didn’t he drown in the Red Sea?”

“Not Yul,” Levering said. “A survivor, like me. In this life we have friends and enemies, Millie. The trick is to know your enemies, treat ’em like friends, then stick ’em when they’re not looking.” He said the last with a wink, but Millie felt he was deadly serious.

“Where are we going tonight?” Millie asked.

“Thought we’d drive around a little,” said Levering. “Take in the city lights. Talk. We’ll end up somewhere.”

He drank the rest of his champagne, then poured himself another glass. Millie had the distinct feeling Levering had had a few drinks before picking her up.

“Tell me about yourself,” Millie said. If this was going to be a date, she was going to treat it like one.

“You’ve read the papers,” Levering said.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Indulge me with a summary.”

“The particulars are I’m divorced, have a…” He hesitated. “A son.”

She perceived in him a desire to talk, and waited patiently. It was the first time she had seen any sort of vulnerability in his face.

“You’ve read about my son, I’m sure,” Levering said. “He ran off some time ago, joined a religious thing. We – his mother and I – tried to get him out of it. He went back to it about five years ago, and I haven’t spoken to him since. How’s that for confession?”

“I’m sorry,” Millie said, wishing she could say more. But she was not used to intimate talk with men. Or women, for that matter. Not even Helen.

“No need to be,” Levering said. “You have a personal religion, Millie?”

The question caught her off guard. “I believe in the law,” she finally replied.

“Well said. Hey, take a look at that.” He pointed out the tinted window. Millie recognized the lights of the Jefferson Memorial. It was, for her, the prettiest of the major memorials in the city.