Christopher Buckley - Supreme Courtship

The FBI rose. “Thank you for your time, Justice Cartwright.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for your time, sir.”

One of the agents hung back as the other left, and said, “Ma’am?”

“Yes?” Pepper said warily, this being when the detective typically says, I was just wondering about that bloodstain on the carpet and this dented silver candlestick on your mantel…

“Just wanted to say, Courtroom Six was my all-time favorite show. Aces. Just aces.”

Pepper said, “Well, thank you, Agent…”

“Lodato. Joe.”

“Thank you, Agent Lodato.”

He closed the door. Pepper looked over at the TV. FOR: 66, AGAINST32. MEASURE APPROVED.

Well, she thought, Vanderdamp was still almost ten points behind Dexter. Maybe the situation would… self-clean. But the thought didn’t do anything to help her stomachache.

PRESIDENT VANDERDAMP had insisted on spending election night at his home in Wapakoneta, where, indeed, he hoped to be spending the next four years and the four after that, verily unto the end of time.

Charley had informed him, “It’s going to be a long night.” The election was “too close to call.” Pollsters, having called the last three presidential elections erroneously, were being uncharacteristically demure and refusing to predict the night’s outcome other than to say it was going to be “a real nail-biter.”

The President had told his doleful campaign manager, “I go to bed at ten most nights, Charley. Tonight will be no different.” He had written out his concession speech, congratulating “President-elect Mitchell” on his victory and promising “the best transition in history.” It had fallen to the speechwriter to draft an acceptance speech that someone would have to read if victory came after ten p.m. The speechwriter, morose over his principal’s defiant hopes of losing, had typed the words, “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, I am free at last,” then deleted them in favor of some boilerplate about “a new beginning.”

THE LAST WEEKS of the campaign had been peculiar even by American political standards. The ratification of the Twenty-eighth Amendment, limiting U.S. presidents to a single four-year term, had had the perverse-or inverse-effect of creating sympathy for President Vanderdamp. The day following the vote in Texas, Vanderdamp’s poll numbers spiked to within two points of Dexter’s.

This put the Mitchell campaign in the awkward position of having to say that even if President Vanderdamp did win, he would not be able legally to take office. The implicit message being: So you might as well vote for us. The trouble was, So you might as well vote for us is not the clarion cry the American political ear craves.

And so, that first Tuesday in November, an anxious nation took a deep breath, went to the polls, stared at the levers, check boxes, and chads, scratched its head and went, Gee whiz…

FORMER SENATOR MITCHELL spent election night on the set of POTUS, with-as it were-both his First Ladies, Ramona and Terry. The two ladies had effected a temporary truce but looked as though they might, at any moment, go for each other’s jugular with drawn nail files. This improbable yet iconic trio made for irresistible photo-opera. One TV commentator said it took President Clinton’s 1992 quip -elect one, get one free-to “the next level.”

President Vanderdamp, true to his word and athwart the implorings and protestations of his campaign staff, thanked everyone and went to bed shortly after ten o’clock. It was a testament to the man’s peace of mind and strength of character that he actually fell asleep by eleven; as well as testament to the sleeping pill he took. He did not bother to notify his military aide to alert the Joint Chiefs of Staff to the commander in chief’s somnambulance.

Shortly after one a.m., the President was awakened by the First Lady, gently nudging his shoulder.

“Um?”

“Donald?”

He knew-knew right away from the look on Matilda’s face.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said.

Donald Vanderdamp took another sleeping pill. Let the enemy attack. At this point, Armageddon would be a mercy.

VANDERDAMP NARROWLY WINS REELECTION; POTENTIAL CHAOS OVER TERM-LIMIT AMENDMENT; SUPREME COURT INTERVENTION SEEN AS ‘INEVITABLE’

President-unelect (as he was being rudely called in quarters of the blogosphere) Dexter Mitchell surveyed his options.

The important thing, he knew, was Do not concede defeat. As Winston Churchill had said, “Never, never, ever give in.” Now that he had a mantra, he needed a strategy. Bussie Scrump said it was vital to keep his face out there in public, so Dexter, flailing, was trotted out for a press conference the day after the election. Adamant though he might be that he was the legitimate heir to the presidency, he decided not to start naming his new cabinet quite yet. Anyway, the press was interested in other aspects.

“Senator, are you planning to sue?”

Good question. But-whom, exactly?

“No. I mean… we’re not… we’re examining all aspects of it. We’re all… Look, everyone’s doing their best… it’s a confusing situation. Yes. Yes. But I’ve-”

“Senator, is it true that you’ve hired Blyster Forkmorgan?”

“No, no. No. Well, we’ve… there have been discussions but no-”

“Reuters reported ten minutes ago that you’ve hired him to fight your case.”

“My case doesn’t need fighting. Look, it’s quite clear that President Vanderdamp is constitutionally prohibited from taking office next January. I don’t need Mr. Forkmorgan to make that point.”

“Then why have you hired him?”

“That’s as far as I’ll characterize it for the time being. Look, he’s an authority on this sort of… a distinguished legal mind. Yes. Very distinguished. Why wouldn’t I want to consult with him?”

Why not indeed? Blyster Forkmorgan, Esquire, was to the Washington legal establishment what the tiger shark is to the aquatic kingdom. The mere announcement by a corporation that it had hired (the ironically nicknamed) “Bliss” Forkmorgan was often enough to scare off a litigant, or even the Justice Department. He’d clerked at the Supreme Court (for Earl Warren), been state prosecutor, U.S. Attorney, U.S. Solicitor General, and Attorney General. In recent decades, he had been in hyper-lucrative private practice, occasionally lured forth to act as special prosecutor, an announcement generally made to the rumble of kettledrums. Over the years he had brought down: a vice president, twelve cabinet members, two governors, eighteen congressmen, four senators, fourteen Mafia dons, and twenty-eight CEOs. Federal penitentiaries teemed with his successes. He’d argued sixty-six cases before the Supreme Court and won fifty-four of them. He was the Man to See, if you could afford the $2,500 per hour fee.

If Dexter’s answers at the press conference were ambiguous, so, at this point, was everything. Even the Secret Service was at a loss whether to withdraw Dexter’s protection, now that he had, technically, lost the election. President Vanderdamp quietly and graciously gave orders for it to be continued until the situation clarified. To that end, Hayden Cork picked up the phone the moment Ohio put its favorite son over the top on Election Night and, his voice barely above a croak, whispered, “Mr. Clenndennynn, please.” Graydon, ensconced aboard the private 757 of the emir of Wasabia, had already heard the news and had instructed the pilot to turn around and fly back to the U.S.

His arrival at the White House was impossible to keep secret. It triggered a thousand camera shutters. A virtual computer game of questionable taste appeared on the Internet casting Clenndennynn (“White Knight”) and Blyster Forkmorgan (“Dark Knight”) in “Supreme Conflict.” The White House press secretary calmly noted that Mr. Clenndennynn was a “trusted adviser” and that it was “perfectly natural” that he should “provide counsel at this”-she groped for the blandest possible word-“juncture.” “Crisis” might have been more apt, technically. The country was in an uproar. The stock market had plunged nearly 2,000 points in three days, forcing a trading halt. When it reopened the next day, the bell was rung by the U.S. Vice President, a neutral enough entity, who gave a cheery little speech about “continuity,” whereupon the market plunged another 700 points. Alarmingly, military blogs hinted that “various elements in the Pentagon” were “unhappy” about the developments.