Supreme Courtship

He was good-looking, in a shiny sort of way. He’d had his front teeth capped. They were now so blindingly white that when he bared them, you could almost hear a little tingg! and see a star of light reflect off the incisor, just like in the commercials. He cheerfully admitted to having Botox injections, and even had a nice line about it: “I need all the help I can get. My job involves a lot of frowning.” He had an attractive wife named Terry, attractive children, and an attractive beagle named Amtrak. (Senator Mitchell sat on the Transportation Subcommittee and fought fiercely for subsidies for America ’s railroads, especially the one that ferried him from Stamford to Washington and back.)

If a computer were programmed to design a president of the United States, it might very well generate Dexter Mitchell. Everything about him seemed, indeed, calculated. And yet for all his qualifications, Dexter somehow added up to less than the sum of his considerable parts. His epic loquacity was not an asset. Successive campaign advisers had tried without success to get him to give briefer answers, but nothing had stemmed the logorrheic tide, the tsunami of subordinate clauses and parenthetical asides, the inexorable mudslide of anecdotage. His campaign “listening tours” were occasions of mirth among political reporters, since it was the people he met who did the listening. Dexter Mitchell would happily express himself on any issue, at any time, at any place.

He had run for president three times. The first time, he raised $12 million and came in third in the Iowa caucus. [3] The second time, he raised $20 million and came in fourth. The third time, he raised $22 million and came in seventh. He was undeterred. Somewhere over the rainbow he heard the people chanting, Mit-chell! Mit-chell! But by now he had begun to acquire a slightly used feel; “certifiably preowned,” as one pundit put it uncharitably.

When he declared his intention to run a fourth time, his wife, now working as a K Street lobbyist representing-as it happened-the U.S. rail industry, replied in no uncertain terms that she would not spend one more weekend, one more day, one more hour, one more minute at some coffee shop in Iowa, pretending to care about ethanol, or indeed any biofuel; or for that matter about the price of wheat, corn, soy, or anything that emerged from the loamy topsoil of the Hawkeye State. Dexter sulked off to the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, to drown his sorrow in feverish multilateral panel discussions on climate change and globalization.

Contemplating his thwarted presidential ambition, Dexter decided that a more sensible-and permanent-avenue to greatness would be to become a justice of the U.S. Supreme Court. And why shouldn’t he? He was ideal for the job. In fact, he asked himself, why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He berated his friends for not having thought of it first.

It was this conviction, along with a refreshing absence of modesty, that had prompted him to call Hayden Cork some months before and request an Oval Office meeting with the President. He gave an equivocal reason, saying only that it was “important and confidential.” The President groaned at the prospect, but agreed.

On arriving, Dexter plunked himself down and said to the President (we know all this from a tape recording in the archives at the Vanderdamp Library): “My information is that Bri

There is a brief, perhaps eloquent, silence on the tape. Then Dexter continues: “Now, why do I propose myself? Frankly, because I think I’m the right person for the job. Why do I think that? I’ve narrowed it down to five reasons. Well, six. Don-if I may-when I first started practicing law over three decades ago…”

The tape continues on for twenty-six minutes. In the background, you can hear the President reaching for an imaginary-and much craved-EJECT button. At several points he tries to arrest the wall of sound with comments like, “I promise to give it the consideration it deserves.” But Mitchell, having only gotten as far as reason number three (paragraph four), soldiers on.

Eventually, a door opens and an aide advises the President that his next meeting is now imminent (an almost certain lie). Vanderdamp’s exhalation after the door has closed on his loquacious visitor is reminiscent of a man who has at long last reached a desperately sought urinal.

The President did not nominate Dexter Mitchell to succeed Justice Bri

CHAPTER 5

It was just after four o’clock on Monday, which gave Pepper less than an hour to give the President her answer.

The day’s taping had gone well. Buddy was in a good mood. She was summoning the courage to introduce the dreaded topic when he said, “You given any more thought to my idea?”

“What idea, sug?” she said.

“The prison,” he said excitedly, as if suggesting they hop on the next flight to Paris.

“Baby, something’s sort of… come up.”

Pepper took a deep breath and explained the reason behind the visit to Camp David. Buddy listened in silence. He looked like a man being informed by his doctor that the MRI had found something.

“I guess he is a fan,” Buddy said.

“It would appear.”

“So,” Buddy said, “what did you tell him?”

“Well, I wasn’t about to tell him anything until you and I had a chance to talk it over.”

Buddy let out what sounded like a sigh of relief.

“What was that?” Pepper said.

“Jesus, you had me going there. I thought you’d accepted.”

“No. But I’d kinda come around to thinking that I might. I need to call him with an answer before five.”

“Well, better call him.”

“Oh, thanks, honey. I really-”

“And tell him you can’t.”

Pepper stared. “Why would I tell him that?”

Buddy gestured, as if the answer were self-evident. “Baby, we’re going into Sweeps Week.”

“Sweeps Week trumps… this?”

“Ah, look,” Buddy said, “Vanderdamp’s a total loser. They’re about to impeach him. Look what happened to his last two nominees-and they were serious guys.”

“If you’re trying to talk me out of this,” Pepper said somewhat coolly, “you’re not going about it the right way.”

“Hey, I think it’s great he asked you. Fantastic publicity for the show. Hadn’t thought of that.”

“Buddy,” Pepper said. “We are not having a satisfactory conversation here.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. You might try something like, ‘Congratulations, honey. Right proud of you.’ ”

“Congratulations. Proud of you.”

“You left out the ‘honey.’ And don’t choke yourself getting too excited.”

“Baby, this makes no sense.”

“That’s what I told him.”

“Did you also tell him you have two years to go on your contract?”

“No, we didn’t really get into that.”

“You can’t just walk away from everything we’ve created,” Buddy said.

“Baby, it’s the Supreme Court. My country’s calling.”

[3] A device to attract reporters to a state that they would otherwise never visit; its secondary purpose is to give the media something to report when the candidates whose victory they have been forecasting for months come in second and third, or not at all.