Christopher Buckley - Supreme Courtship

By the time they left, Buddy was covered in sweat, his heart was going like a jackhammer, and his hands were shaking. He dialed Pepper’s cell phone. She didn’t pick up, since she wasn’t speaking to him. He left a one-word message. [15]

When Pepper retrieved the call some hours later, she was somewhat startled but put it down to Buddy’s general hysteria-a bit too much bourbon, perhaps?-and went back to prepping for the hearings. She was pleasantly surprised when, over the course of the following days, no process server knocked on her hotel door to notify her that her husband was suing her for breach of contract. Maybe he’d just gotten it off his chest with that little phone outburst and come to his senses. Meanwhile…

… Buddy, watching from New York, found himself fascinated by Senator Dexter Mitchell. He knew of course from Pepper that he was Public Enemy Numer One, the main obstacle standing between her and a seat on the Court. He’d seen photos and clips of Mitchell over the years. But up to now he’d never realized just how… perfect-looking the guy was.

Senator Mitchell finished shaking hands and patting shoulders as he made his way to the far end of the dais, where the most junior senator sat. Having come to the end, instead of turning back to his seat at the center, he walked the few steps down onto the committee room floor and made a beeline toward Pepper, who was just then taking her seat at the green baize table facing her inquisitors.

Behind her sat Graydon Clenndennynn, leonine, pin-striped, exuding calm, confidence, serenity; JJ in bolo tie and the white forehead of a man who has lived his life under a burning sun and hat; beside him Juanita, handsomely multicultural; next to her, the Reverend Roscoe, in his trademark white patent leather boots with crucifixes, trying to look relaxed but fidgeting, a purple morocco-bound Bible on his lap.

“Don’t you worry none, Daddy,” Pepper had gently reassured Roscoe going in, “they ain’t gonna get into the Ruby thing. I won’t let them.”

Senator Dexter Mitchell strode toward Pepper, his eyes beaming like halogen headlamps.

“Judge Cartwright,” he said, full of bonhomie, “on behalf of the Committee, let me say, welcome. Welcome. This must be your lovely family here.”

“I’m the godfather,” Graydon said drily.

“Dexter Mitchell. You all must be so proud. Yes. Proud. Reverend Roscoe, sir. Welcome to Washington, welcome.”

When it came JJ’s turn to shake, he extended his hand as though it were strictly on temporary loan.

The cameras followed it all.

“That’s very unusual,” a TV commentator said. “Very. Mitchell never came down to shake hands before. At least I’ve never seen him do it. What does that tell us, Bob?”

“Jim, I think it tells us that Senator Mitchell knows that he has to handle this carefully. Very carefully, in fact. Some feel that Mitchell and his committee members may have overplayed their hands with the previous two Court nominees. And as you know, polls are showing that a striking majority of people favor Judge Cartwright’s nomination. They like this lady. Of course, she’s on TV regularly, so they feel they know her already and that’s a major plus right there.”

“Those polls, Bob-what do they tell us about where we are, that is, as a nation?”

“I guess if nothing else, they tell us that we’ve reached the point-for better or worse-where being a TV personality is a qualification for the Supreme Court.”

“Good news for us, I guess, right?”

Senator Mitchell liked to tap with the handle of his gavel rather than the hammer, signaling that he wielded his authority lightly. He invited Judge Cartwright to read an opening statement.

“Thank you, Senator Mitchell,” she said. “I do not have an opening statement.”

“You don’t?”

“Other than to thank the President for the great-if perplexing-honor of nominating me to this considerable position. And to thank the Committee for considering it.”

The Botox in Dexter Mitchell’s face felt like it was gelling. “You don’t have a statement? It is customary, Judge.”

“I realize that, sir. But I guess at this point everyone pretty much knows who I am and what I’m doing here. Don’t see much point burning up your time yapping on and on about how wonderful I am.”

[Laughter.]

“But I would like to introduce my family. That’s them behind me. This is my daddy, Roscoe Cartwright. You may have seen him on TV. He’s real popular down there. This my granddaddy JJ Cartwright, who used to be a lawman down there. And this is my might-as-well-be grandmomma, Juanita Vazquez. They all three raised me, so if you don’t like what you see, it’s their fault. [Laughter.] I could honestly give a whole opening statement just about how wonderful they are, but why don’t we just get to the grilling. I see you’re all wearing your best barbecue mitts.”

[Laughter.]

Fifteen seconds in and she’s already taken over. Goddammit. Keep smiling.

“Well, Judge, it is unusual-”

“Senator,” Pepper smiled, “with all due respect, this whole blessed thing is unusual.”

[Explosion of laughter.]

“Now, with the Committee’s indulgence,” Pepper continued, reaching under the table, “I brought with me my whole judicial record.” She placed boxed sets of Courtroom Six DVDs on the green baize.

[Wave upon wave of laughter.]

Say something, dammit.

“I think I can safely speak for the Committee,” Senator Mitchell gleamingly grinned, “that this Committee has never looked forward so much to reviewing a nominee’s judicial records.”

[Laughter.]

Thank God. Okay, Mitchell thought. Good. Keep it up…

Pepper said, “I’m happy to have made the Committee’s job more pleasant. Might I respectfully suggest that when referring to any of my distinguished legal cases, that the Committee instead of citing by case number simply refer to ‘season two, episode four,’ and so forth?”

[Laughter.]

“The Committee gratefully accepts your recommendation,” Mitchell said, flexing his maxillofacial muscles to a point approaching pain. “Shall we…?”

“Commence firing?” Pepper grinned. “Absolutely. Fire at will, sir.”

For reasons of self-preservation, Mitchell had decided to invite Senator Harriett Shimmerman of the great state of New Jersey to try to draw first blood. Better, he thought, to let two women have at each other.

Senator Shimmerman was no fool. She was not in the least thrilled by the assignment. Her office had already received an unusual volume of e-mails, letters, calls, and even personal visits from constituents insisting that she vote to approve Judge Cartwright.

“Good morning, Judge Cartwright,” she began, trying her best to sound more like a kindergarten teacher than the fabled “Iron Maiden of Newark” who had sent scores of mafiosi to spend the rest of their lives staring at the ceiling of their cells for twenty-three hours a day in super-max prisons. “You’ve made a number of public statements to the effect that you do not consider yourself qualified to sit on the Supreme Court.” She smiled and made a help-me-out-here hand gesture. “I’m just wondering… should we be disagreeing with you about this?”

“No, ma’am. I stand by my previous statements. Realizing, as I do, that that doesn’t happen a whole lot in Washington.”

[Raucous laughter.]

Senator Shimmerman kept smiling. “Yes, well, welcome to our little town, Judge,” she said. “I wonder if perhaps you might tell the Committee a little about your judicial philosophy.”

“Basically, do your best to keep an orderly courtroom. Make sure everyone abides by the rules. Punish the wicked and acquit the innocent. That’s about it. Want to fast-forward to Roe v. Wade?”