Christopher Buckley - Supreme Courtship

“I… well…” Senator Shimmerman said, glancing at Dexter, who was looking on with a frozen smile.

Pepper said, “I’ve reviewed transcripts of the last dozen or so Supreme Court nomination hearings and they all seem to pretty much boil down to that.”

Senator Shimmerman straightened in her chair. “No. Not at all. I think this committee would like to hear your views on a great variety of topics.”

Pepper gave an unconvinced shrug. “Okay, if you say so. Just trying to save time. We can talk till the cows come home about original intent and strict constructionism, the living Constitution, judicial temperament, the role of the court versus the role of the legislature, what-have-you, and all the rest. I’m happy to do that. I’ve spent the last couple weeks cramming my locomotive with suggested answers Mr. Hayden Cork and his folks supplied me with.”

Hayden, watching on TV with the President, closed his eyes and silently groaned. The President beamed.

“The White House told you what to say?” Senator Shimmerman said.

“Heck, yes. They gave me these briefing books,” Pepper continued. “Great big pile of ’em. Looked like a back-to-school sale at Wal-Mart. You’d need a forklift to carry ’ em all. Anyway, I memorized all the answers. I warn you, though, Senator. They’re pretty darn dull. Seems to me, they were designed to have everyone at home reaching for the channel changer, going, ‘Wake me up if they find pubic hair on any Coke cans.’ [16]But however you want to play it, Senator. This is your rodeo.”

Graydon Clenndennynn smiled.

Senator Shimmerman’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. She looked like she’d been smacked across the face with a haddock.

In the Oval Office, President Vanderdamp purred. “That’s our girl, Hayden,” he said, slapping his desk. Hayden Cork said nothing.

Nineteen senators stared mutely at the nominee.

“Well,” Pepper smiled, “doesn’t anyone have a question?”

Why should I be the one to bring that up?” Senator Pebblemacher of the great state of Nevada said with some truculence to Chairman Mitchell during a fraught caucus of half a dozen Committee senators prior to day three of the Cartwright hearings.

For two days, Dexter had been sending his party’s senators out onto the field of battle. They had all returned whimpering. Hanratty of Massachusetts had tried to nail Pepper for her atheism, to which Pepper had calmly replied, “Well, Senator, perhaps if you’d seen your momma get zapped by the Good Lord when you were nine years old, you might feel the same way.” Hanratty had received so many death threats he was now under Secret Service protection, spending nights at several undisclosed locations.

Bouscaran of Delaware, a former judge himself, had tried to trip her up on technicalities, only to have Pepper correct him on the actual wording of Leegin Creative Leather Products v. PSKS. (Hayden’s people had astutely included it in the briefing book.)

Harmookian of Wisconsin wanted to know if she would have granted certiorari in Gretchen’s Frozen Pike v. Milwaukee Block Ice. Pepper cited three precedents, going back to 1956, where the Court had refused to intervene in similar cases, on the grounds that decomposing fish was simply too revolting to contemplate.

“I only thought,” Dexter said to Senator Pebblemacher, trying to sound magnanimous, “you might like to take a shot at her. It’s a low-hanging fruit.”

“Then why don’t you reach for it?” Pebblemacher said suspiciously.

“I’m holding myself in reserve,” Dexter said.

“What do you think this is? Battle of the Bulge?”

“Yeah,” said Murmelly of the great state of Idaho. “When are you going join the fight, Dexter?”

“All in good time,” Dexter said. “All in good time. People, people. Come on. Let’s keep it together.” He appealed to Pebblemacher. “Jimbo, look, you can’t miss with this one. Her father practically invited Jack Ruby to shoot Oswald.”

“For God’s sake, Dexter, she wasn’t even born in 1963. What the hell’s this got to do with her?”

“I’m not saying she was involved personally,” Dexter said. “But the whole thing stinks. And the mother. Killed by lightning? Don’t you think that’s a little bit too pat? My Riders found someone who says he was in the ER when they brought her in and he’ll swear she was still alive.”

“Proving what?” Pebblemacher said, arms crossing defiantly over his chest.

Dexter lowered his voice. “Well, our information is that they, uh, finished her off there.”

Pebblemacher snorted. “You want to make that case? Be. My. Guest.”

Dexter shrugged. “Suit yourself, Jimbo. Just thought you were a team player. Anyone?”

A half-dozen senators stared back silently at their chairman.

“All right then. But I think we’re missing an opportunity here.”

Dexter turned to Senator Ramos y Gualtapo of the great state of Florida. “Silvia,” he said. “Hit her on the commerce clause. That answer she gave Fritz yesterday on Feinhard v. Moon-she was on thin ice. I could hear it cracking.”

Senator Ramos y Gualtapo gave Chairman Mitchell a dubious look. “I didn’t hear any ice cracking.”

“Well, I think,” Dexter said, tapping the table impatiently with his pen, “that she’s vulnerable on interstate commerce.”

“When are you going to question her, Dexter?” Silvia said.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you worry,” he said calmly. “I’ve got questions for Judge Cartwright. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Yes.”

“Like what?”

“All in good time.”

“You haven’t said boo so far,” said Senator Bloggwell of the great state of Mississippi. “All you do is make goo-goo eyes at her.”

The senators murmured. Murmuring is one of the higher senatorial arts.

“You let her run over Harriett,” said Senator Manxzen of the great but not spacious state of Rhode Island. “Wearing cleats.”

“Harriett Shimmerman is as tough as aluminum siding,” Dexter said. “She didn’t need any help from me.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Senator Ezratty of the occasionally great state of North Carolina. “Is that why I found her sobbing in the cloakroom?”

“No, no, no, no,” Dexter said. “That was on account of her dog. It got cancer. Leukemia. Some fatal dog something.”

“That was last week.”

“Well, maybe the dog had a relapse. Look, people. I am going to hold Judge Cartwright’s little piggies to the fire, don’t you doubt it. In the meantime, I don’t think any useful purpose would be served by…”

“Telling us what you’re going to ask her?” Senator Ramos y Gualtapo said.

“No, Silvia. By broadcasting our strategy,” Dexter said. “Let’s get it together, people. She’s got us all running around in nineteen different directions.”

“Well, unless you come up with a smoking gun, Mr. Chairman,” said Senator Murfledorken of the great but somewhat pointless state of North Dakota, “I might as well tell you I’m going to vote for her.”

The senators murmured superbly.

Dexter shook his head. “Ralph, that is so… not helpful.”

“Would you like to see my mail?” Murfledorken replied. “I can’t get in the door of my office it’s piled up so high in the hall. My Web browser crashed last night from all my e-mail. I’m not going to commit hara-kiri over her. She seems all right to me. If you want to know the truth, I like her.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Ralph,” Mitchell said, “voting for that”-he was about to say woman when he caught Silvia glowering at him-“TV personality. I mean, it would go against every sacredly held principle we’re sworn to uphold. My God. Do you realize this Committee is the only thing standing between the Supreme Court of the United States and…”