Christopher Buckley - Supreme Courtship

President Vanderdamp nodded gravely in agreement.

“We were on the fourth fairway. This thunderstorm came up suddenly. They do, down there. She said, ‘You go hide under those trees, honey, I’m just going to take my swing.’ And then there was this…” Pepper’s voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry,” the President said.

“She was the twelfth person that year in the U.S. to be killed by lightning on a golf course. I read that in the newspaper, along with a hundred stories saying it wasn’t lightning at all, but part of the-don’t you know-conspiracy.”

“Can’t have been easy.”

“It’s a funny country sometimes, that way. Some people just refuse to accept the obvious. Daddy didn’t take it as a conspiracy, though. He took it as prima facie evidence of just where the Almighty stands on the subject of golfing on the Sabbath. He gave a sweet eulogy. Turned out he had kind of a talent for public speaking. Maybe it came from all the Bible study. He quoted from her favorite Shakespeare sonnet. The one that goes

‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alternation finds…’

“Anyway, he waited until we got home and then had what they called back then a nervous breakdown. A serious nervous breakdown. So they came, took him off to-they called that in those days either a rest home or the happy farm. I went to live with my granddaddy-Daddy’s father-JJ. He’s a retired sheriff. He pretty much raised me, really. Sweet old bird, but tough as boots. Ready for ghost number three, sir?”

“Go on,” said the President.

“Well, they were big on electroshock therapy at that particular ‘rest home.’ Daddy came home three months later. For a while there he mostly just sat there drooling and staring at the TV, even when it wasn’t on. I overheard JJ telling someone-I remember clear as anything-‘They musta put enough electricity through that boy to run a freight train from here to El Paso.’ JJ’s full of lines like that.

“Anyway, Daddy eventually stopped drooling. He announced to us one night over fried chicken that he had a whole new meaning in life-to give witness to the Word. JJ just rolled his eyes and said, ‘Pass the biscuits.’ But Daddy was serious. He bought an old warehouse with his savings, fixed it up as a church. Called it the First Sabbath Tabernacle of Plano. For a crucifix, he mounted Momma’s golf clubs. They had gotten, well, fused by the lightning. That was,” she sighed, “kind of vivid for me.

“He started giving witness to the Word and pretty soon had himself a congregation. This was back when cable TV was starting up and they needed something to fill the air with, so they put him on. His Hour of Power was called Halleluj’all-still is. You may have even heard of it. He’s the Reverend Roscoe. Pretty soon he was a big deal. His church has twelve thousand pews. He gives a big annual barbecue. The governor comes, all the state politicians. To be honest, I think it’s his private jet they like. It’s called Spirit One. He lends it out.

“Anyway, while Daddy was getting himself famous as a minister, I hung out with JJ. He’d take me down to the courthouse and jail, taught me how to shoot. I’m good with pistols. Guess I shouldn’t say that too loud in case your Secret Service folks are listening. But it was JJ insisted I go East to school. He wanted to get me out of Roscoe world. He took a dim view of all that holy rolling stuff. I went to this boarding school in Connecticut. All the girls were named Ashley or Meredith. I was out of my social depth, but the other girls hadn’t talked to murderers in jail and most didn’t know one end of a pistol from another. And they couldn’t blow perfect smoke rings, either. And that’s about it. The rest you got from Google. You serious about all this?”

President Vanderdamp, who had been staring intently, said, “Yes. Absolutely. It’s an unusual situation, I grant you. But I think you’re just what it calls for.”

Pepper said, “I have the feeling this is a joke and I’m the only one who isn’t in on it.”

“I offered the Senate two of the most distinguished jurists in the country and they blew their noses on them.”

“And I’m the next hanky?”

“No. You’re the next associate justice of the U.S. Supreme Court, if we play our cards right. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a TV star. Someone called you the ‘Oprah of our judicial system.’ People love you.” He chuckled. “And I for one can’t wait to see the look on Dexter Mitchell’s face. He won’t know whether to…”

“Shit or go crazy?” Pepper said.

“Really, Judge,” the President said. “Such language, in front of the President.”

Pepper said, “You’re the politician, not me. But it seems to me this thing could backfire on you, and you’ve got a reelection coming up.”

The President said, “I’ll let you in on a little secret, but it has to remain a secret. Understood?”

“Yes, sir, I can handle that.”

“I’m not going to run again.”

Pepper stared. “Isn’t that unusual?”

“It shouldn’t be. I said-going in, and you can look it up on Google-that a president who doesn’t spend four years fretting about reelection can accomplish far more than one who does, who spends every second of the day worrying about his approval ratings. As you can see,” he smiled, “I have not spent the last two and a half years trying to win popularity contests.”

“No,” Pepper said. “I suppose not.”

“They hate me up there on Capitol Hill. Why? Because I keep vetoing their spending bills. Why, they’re so mad at me they’re even rounding up votes for a constitutional amendment to limit presidents to a single term. Just to get back at me! Great heaven. It’s like passing Prohibition to keep one person from drinking. And meanwhile, of course, stringing up my Supreme Court nominees from lampposts. Well, don’t get me started on the subject of the United States Congress. But,” he patted Pepper’s knee and grinned, “they won’t find it so easy to string you up. So, Judge Cartwright. Ready to serve your country?”

“Is there a less ominous way of putting that?”

“It does sound ominous, doesn’t it?”

“Could I think about it?”

“Yes. Of course. But I’d appreciate an answer by Monday.”

“You couldn’t make it Friday, could you? I’ve got a dilly of a week. We’re going into Sweeps Week and…” The President was staring at her.

“Young lady,” he said, “I come bearing a very considerable gift, not an offer of a lunch date.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to sound unappreciative. It’s just, I have this hard time deciding things.”

“You’re a judge. Your job is to decide things.”

“See, I’m a Libra.”

The President stared. “You might want to leave that out at the hearings.”

The army deposited Pepper back at the Thirtieth Street heliport by five that afternoon. After the silence of the Camp David bowling alley, the bustle and roar of crepuscular Manhattan felt vibrantly reassuring. She decided to walk the couple of miles back to the apartment, wanting to think things over and postpone the inevitable moment of evasion with Buddy. The President had asked her not to discuss it with anyone.

“Even my husband?”

“Is he discreet?” the President asked.

“He’s a former TV newsman.”

“Oh, dear. Then especially not your husband. If this thing leaks, it’s over before it’s even begun. The first time the public hears of this, you need to be sitting next to me in the Oval Office.”

Pepper thought about discussing it with Buddy, but his record on discretion was anything but reassuring. And she had a hunch that he was not going to take this news well.