Supreme Courtship

“Oblatively, no, Justice. However, from a pro tanto standpoint, I would say that-”

“Uh-uh. No way. Not in Delaware,” Justice Santamaria grunted. “And in case you were thinking of citing Mi

Santamaria sat back heavily in his chair, which emitted an authoritative squeak.

“I wasn’t going to adduce Mi

Justice Plympton, who by now had had enough of Silvio’s theatrics, ventured into the turbid water. “I’m a little confused,” she said, “perhaps even a mite troubled by your invocation of Greenox v. Pesterson Hydraulics…”

Pepper’s cheeks flushed. She felt like a chickadee that had alighted on a branch with eight owls. Eight horned owls. While she could pretty much make out the references-her clerks had prepared a detailed bench memo for her-it was just all so darn… boring, really.

She thought, Here we got an idiot bank robber suing the maker of his gun. What I could do with this on Courtroom Six.

She looked over at JJ. It was clear he didn’t have the foggiest idea what they were all talking about. How could he? Should she say something? On her first day? Some justices waited weeks, months, years, before saying a word.

Justice Haro had jumped in.

“I don’t have any problem with Greenox,” he was saying to the lawyer. Justices rarely if ever address one another in oral argument. “From my review, I’m not satisfied Mr. Swayle was even aiming the gun at Deputy Fogarty. So absent mens rea, you’d have concommittant diminuendo of ballistico ad hominem. Unless,” Justice Haro shrugged with transparent insincerity, “I’m being obtuse.”

Justice Santamaria shot his fellow justice a sidelong glance of withering contempt.

Satisfied that his rhetorical question had carried the day, Justice Haro continued. “Not that that’s relevant in quem particularem insofar as the functionality of the firing pin is concerned. Which, really, is neither here nor there. But let me ask, was the firing pin manufactured by Rimski? Or was that outsourced to some… sweatshop?”

“No, Justice Haro,” the lawyer said, delighted, “the firing pin was manufactured at the New Haven facility. By nonunion labor. You’ll recall, per Sikorski v. United Strutfitters Local 12, that Rimksi was in judicare.”

“Um,” said Justice Haro, as though he had been reminded of a fact translucently well known to himself. “So clearly there’s no in remoto aspect here?”

“None whatsoever,” the lawyer said triumphantly.

Chief Justice Hardwether leaned forward into his microphone and said softly, “You seemed to go out of your way not to adduce Persimmon v. Aberdeen Wheelchair.”

There was a slight but perceptible intake of air in the hall.

The lawyer smiled demurely. “I had a feeling you were going to bring that up, Mr. Chief Justice. I reread Persimmon. But try as I might, I could find no iteration of quem protesto.”

Hardwether curled the side of his mouth, not unpleasantly, in a sort of Oh-come-on-now-do-I-really-look-like-I-just-fell-off-the-turnip-truck? look. “Did you read as far as page 653 before declaring moral victory?”

The lawyer froze. “I… believe… yes…”

“Then you’re well aware that quo warranto has no provenance here, absent guided direction.”

A sound went through the court like a hundred snakes slithering across the marble floor. Hardwether had just scored a palpable hit! You could hear the muttering: Declan may be hitting the sauce, but he hasn’t lost his edge.

“You have me there, Mr. Chief Justice,” the lawyer conceded, his face reddening, “but might I tempt you with Ordpurvis v. Sioux Falls Hydro-Electric.”

By now Mo Gotbaum was on the third verse of “Born to Be Wild.” Herself, Pepper felt like the Norwegian painting of the guy silently screaming.

Chief Justice Hardwether continued, “You could try. But I would stipulate, if I were you, that the South Dakota Circuit Court went out of its way in Ordpurvis to point out that in its view it was a clear-cut case of interrebus quod aspecto and that it had absolutely zero bearing per res sciatica. Now,” he said, the picture of a reasonable man, “if you want to go that way, I’d say take a look at Shrump v. Hartsdale Motorworks-”

“Could I just say something here?” Pepper blurted.

Everything froze in the Great Hall of the United States Supreme Court. Time stopped. At which point Pepper, with dawning horror, realized that all eyes were on her.

Oh. My. God, she thought. First time out-first time out-and she had just interrupted a fellow justice. And not any justice. The Chief Justice. Way to go, girl. In the hierarchy of no-nos, that was right up there with vomiting on the Pope during High Mass at St. Peter’s. She wanted to shrink inside her robe like a turtle.

Justice Hardwether, somewhat taken aback, nodded faintly and said, “Yes, Justice Cartwright. Of course.”

Whereupon Pepper’s mind suddenly went as blank as a crashed computer screen. She pressed every button, but all she could see on the screen was a blinking icon that said, YOUR HARD DRIVE IS EMPTY.

“I…” she tried, “with respect to”-she couldn’t even remember what case they were discussing-“… there is… it seems to me to boil down to quem… I mean, quasi… modo…”

A deep and terrible silence came over the Great Hall during which the sound of subatomic particles coming together would have been louder than clashing cymbals.

Justice Santamaria leaned forward into his microphone and said to the lawyer, “It’s an interesting point and one, to be honest, I hadn’t considered. So, Counselor, do you think Quasimodo v. Notre Dame Bellringers Guild has application here?”

The Great Hall erupted with laughter. It filled the marmoreal space like helium. Never in the memory of the eldest present Court watcher had there been such a spontaneous explosion of levity. Justice Hardwether, struggling himself not to join in, finally tapped his gavel to restore decorum.

PAIGE PLYMPTON came to Pepper’s chambers, where the newest justice had been having a good sob.

“My first oral argument,” Paige said, “I became so befuddled that I kept referring to Gideon v. Wheelwright.”

Pepper dabbed at her eyes and stared blearily.

Paige added, “And of course it’s Gideon v. Wainwright. Well, my dear, let me tell you, ‘mortified’ is no mere expression.”

“Thanks, Paige,” Pepper said, honking into her tissue, “that makes me feel a whole lot better.”

The next day’s Washington Post brought a predictable harvest of shame: a story in the Style section about the TV Justice’s first day of oral argument. It was illustrated with a still photograph from the movie The Hunchback of Notre Dame, with Pepper’s face superimposed over Maureen O’Hara’s offering a sip of water to Quasimodo.

There was a second serving of crow, this one in the form of a headline:

DEXTER MITCHELL (FINALLY) BECOMES PRESIDENT CONNECTICUT SENATOR TO STAR IN NEW TV SERIES

Pepper’s eyed widened as she caught a familiar name in the second paragraph.

Buddy Bixby, producer of TV’s “Courtroom Six” and other reality shows, today confirmed that he has offered Senator Dexter Mitchell (D-Co

Bixby said that he became interested in casting Senator Mitchell during the Pepper Cartwright hearings.

“I’ve been in this business long enough to know talent when I see it,” Bixby said in a telephone interview from his Manhattan office. “He’s got it-intelligence, looks, and credibility. He’s been there and done that. He’ll make a completely believable president. Who knows where it could lead,” the producer said with a laugh, “look what happened to the last person I discovered.”