Supreme Courtship (13 page)
“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
?”
“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.’
*
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?”
W
hy 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 . . .”
“What?” Silvia said.
“Mediocrity.”
“I don’t find her so mediocre.”
“Me, neither.”
“People.
People.
Let’s all just take a deep breath. . . .”
But by day three of the Cartwright hearings, it was clear that the air was going out of—not into—the members of the Senate Judiciary Committee. Senators who had dared to ask even mildly snarky questions of Judge Cartwright were receiving death threats—the kind that specify what caliber bullet will be used. It was abundantly, pellucidly clear that the people wanted Judge Pepper. Even President Vanderdamp’s approval ratings had shot up—by almost ten points.
“President Vanderdamp,” the
Financial Times
commented wryly, “finally appears to have done something politically astute—almost certainly by accident.”
After the unhappy caucus had huffed and stomped its way out of Senator Mitchell’s office, Dexter summoned his chief of staff, a man named Pickerill.
“What was that stuff the Russians used on the ex-KGB guy? The radioactive poison. Do we have any? A few drops in her water pitcher . . . What a catastrophe. Anything from the Riders?”
“There is something, but it’s—not much.”
Dexter had been praying for some eleventh-hour smoking gun, but the Wraith Riders had come back from their investigation, shrieking and neighing and wailing, with empty hands. Pepper Cartwright had not had an abortion; had not dated anyone named bin Laden; had not distributed pamphlets calling for the overthrow of the U.S. government; snorted cocaine; called anyone by a racial epithet. She’d sniffled through the final scenes of
To Kill a Mockingbird
. There had been a brief, giddy moment of hope when it was learned that Cartwright and Bixby’s housekeeper was Nicaraguan, but it had been cruelly dashed when it turned out they were legally sponsoring her for a green card and citizenship.