Christopher Buckley - Supreme Courtship

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In bestselling author Christopher Buckley's hilarious novel, the President of the United States, ticked off at the Senate for rejecting his nominees, decides to get even by nominating America 's most popular TV judge to the Supreme Court.
President Donald Vanderdamp is having a hell of a time getting his nominees onto the Supreme Court. After one nominee is rejected for insufficiently appreciating To Kill a Mockingbird, the president chooses someone so beloved by voters that the Senate won't have the nerve to reject her-Judge Pepper Cartwright, star of the nation's most popular reality show. Will Pepper, a vivacious Texan, survive a Senate confirmation battle? Will becoming one of the most powerful women in the world ruin her love life? Soon, Pepper finds herself in the middle of a constitutional crisis, a presidential reelection campaign that the president is determined to lose, and oral arguments of a romantic nature. Supreme Courtship is another classic Christopher Buckley comedy about the Washington institutions most deserving of ridicule.

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Pepper stared. She took the two pieces of paper, folded them, and slowly tore them into small pieces which she dropped into a wastebasket.

“For a moment there,” Crispus said, “I thought you were going to make origami.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, walking to the door.

“It’s been most eventful here since you arrived,” he said. “A strange energy seems to have descended upon our little temple and taken roost amid the pediments. You’re not by any chance a witch, are you? A succubus, perhaps, sent by the Evil One to bring about the End of Days?”

Pepper shrugged. “I wouldn’t rule it out at this point.”

Thirty seconds, Mr. President.”

“Thank you.” For once, the President did not do his vocal exercises.

“Ten seconds…”

“Good evening. I…”

No further words issued from the presidential orifice. The pause continued, elongated, as everyone in the Oval Office, even the Secret Service agents, exchanged fraught glances. Given the tumult of the preceding days, anything was possible: a nervous breakdown, a stroke…? A technician nervously examined the teleprompter. No malfunction was evident.

Seven seconds went by-an eternity when a U.S. president is going completely blank in front of a live TV audience estimated at a billion people worldwide. The lapse would quickly come to be called Seven Seconds in November. [28]

“…”

The President’s eyes were looking distantly off to the side, not at the teleprompter.

Hayden Cork, standing off to one side, looked on in something like frozen horror. He wondered, should he summon Dr. Hughes, the presidential physician?

Bringing eternity to a close, the President smiled gently and said, “Let me start over. This is one heck of a situation we find ourselves in, isn’t it?”

At this moment, Hayden Cork realized, God in heaven-he’s improvising.

“And I accept my share of the blame for it,” the President was saying, words not found on the teleprompter.

Graydon Clenndennynn nudged Hayden: What on earth is he doing?

Hayden gave an exhausted shrug that seemed to say: I don’t know. I have no idea. But I’m going to kill myself after this, so it really doesn’t matter.

“After the Congress passed this term limit amendment,” the President said, “I got angry and decided to run, on the principle that I didn’t think it was right to alter the U.S. Constitution just for petty political revenge. I thought a point needed to be made. I did not expect to win. But… now, here we are. For whatever reason, you elected me to a second term.

“At the same time, thirty-eight state legislatures ratified the amendment-with, I must say, impressive speed. That amendment, now having the force of law, bars me from taking office for a second term.

“And so we find ourselves in… a very American sort of situation. Darned if you do. Darned if you don’t. The question is, where do we go from here? Where… do we go from here?

“Now, in the last few days, I have consulted with a lot of very smart people. Constitutional scholars, experts, professors, former attorney generals-you name ’em, I’ve probably heard from them. About the only thing they agree on is that it’s all scr-it’s a confused situation. So the question is how to unconfuse it. At this point we need a little clarity. Clarity. As much clarity as we can lay our hands on.

“Now, the only other thing that all these wise folks agreed was that at this point, it probably makes sense to turn to the institution that was, in some ways, invented for just these situations…”

Pepper, watching on TV, closed her eyes.

The President sighed. “The Supreme Court. It wouldn’t be the first time that the highest Court got involved in deciding a presidential election. So it’s not as though we haven’t been there before.

“But I know, I know, somehow it doesn’t seem a satisfactory way to deal with it… asking nine people to decide, when more than a hundred forty million of you took the trouble to vote.

“So,” the President continued, “my inclination was to resign. To resign the office of President, and go home to… Ohio,” he said longingly, “and to turn it over to Vice President Schmidtz, who would, constitutionally, become President. That, at any rate, was my plan.

“But as it turns out, that would not necessarily solve the problem. Because when this proposal was made to Senator Mitchell, his representatives indicated that it was not a satisfactory solution. I imagine you will be hearing from him directly, but I think it is fair to summarize his position as follows: he feels that the presidency ought to be his. By default.

“And so the situation remains unresolved. Or at least not solved by my saying good-bye and going home.

“So that’s where we are as of now, my fellow Americans. I just wanted to let you know where we stand. And to tell you that I’m trying to do my best. I really am. But whatever happens, don’t give up on America. It’s still a great country. It’s just a little confused at the moment.

“Good night. Sorry to interrupt your TV shows. God bless.”

MOTHERFUCKER,” Dexter said. “Cocksucking motherfucking cocksucker…”

They had watched the President’s televised address in a suite purposefully and strategically situated in the Hay-Adams Hotel, directly across from the White House. It was Bussie’s idea. Send the signal: We’re here, and we’re moving in on January 20. Deal with it.

Bussie and Blyster Forkmorgan and the other lieutenantry of Team Mitchell let the Senator continue with his frothing expostulations. It reminded some in the room of the possession scenes in the movie The Exorcist. At one point it was feared the Senator might put his foot through the television, no doubt an expensive one.

“… cocksucking…”

A few frozen moments after the President had indicated his willingness to resign, Bussie had murmured, “We’re fucked, Dex.” The language in the war room that night could hardly be called elevated.

Ignoring Dexter’s ongoing spasms, Blyster looked over at Bussie and said mildly, “Was it your impression that he was improvising? He didn’t seem to me to be reading from a text.”

“Whatever it was,” Bussie said, “we got problems.”

“Yes. But a case, still.” He looked at his watch. Right about now a courier would be arriving at the Clerk of the Court’s office at the Supreme Court to file the brief for Mitchell v. Vanderdamp.

“… motherfucking…”

“How long,” Blyster said, “does he go on like this?”

“Dex?” Bussie interjected. “Dex? Senator?”

“What?” Dexter said in midfoam.

“You want to get back to work? We need to respond. They’re waiting on the roof.” The television networks had permanent tents on the hotel roof, the White House serving as backdrop; especially apt here.

“Oh, I’ll respond. Cocksucker!” Dexter glowered at the now-muted TV. An anchorman was talking to a coanchor. Both had moist eyes.

“They’re crying! Look at them! You pussies! Don’t you see? It was an act! That whole fucking thing was an act!”

“Perhaps a sedative?” Blyster said to Bussie.

“I need him awake. It’s great energy. Just needs harnessing.”

“He’s putting out enough energy to light Cleveland,” Blyster said, rising and putting on his coat. “Well, I have to be in court tomorrow. Bussie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let him call the President of the United States a cocksucker on national television.”

Bussie nodded wearily.

CHAPTER 30

So,” Chief Justice Hardwether smiled wryly, “are we granting cert?”

The remark drew a rare collective laugh from the justices around the conference table.

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