in the air.
“I’m afraid the C.J. would agree with that,” Truitt said. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to being the new kid on the block. I was playing basketball with Justice Braxton yesterday, and he started calling me ‘Junior’ just to mess up my jump shot. Did you know there’s a basketball court above the courtroom?”
She nodded. “The highest court in the land.”
“Right again. You seem to have a feel for this place.”
And for me. What am I going to do? She’s almost too good to be true.
Lisa watched him squeeze the old football, seemingly lost in a private thought. “You speak very fondly of your football team,” she said, “even though…”
“We were really abysmal,” he said, finishing her sentence.
“But winning wasn’t everything to you, was it?”
“I haven’t thought about it much, but you’re right. We lost ten games in a row before beating Furman. I loved the game and I loved my teammates, even though we were probably the worst team in the history of college football.”
“No,” she said in mock disbelief.
“You can look it up,” he said, but of course she already had.
“In 1974, we were shut out five games in a row by a combined score of two hundred and ten to zero,” Truitt said. “North Carolina, Oklahoma, Penn State, Maryland, Virginia, and Clemson.”
“Wow, is that some kind of record?”
“Maybe. We even lost to William and Mary, and I suspect Mary could have done it all by herself.”
She laughed, knowing he’d used the line many times before. She was turning the tables on him, becoming the interrogator. “What did you learn from all the losses? About life, I mean.”
“No one’s ever asked me that,” he said, seeming to think it over.
C’mon, Sam. Every man I’ve ever known loves to talk about himself.
“The value of hard work, patience, and discipline,” he said after a moment. “That to win you have to sweat and sacrifice and put the team first and even if you do all of those things, you may still lose, but that it’s no disgrace to lose with honor. Most of all, I learned that you’ve got to play the game within the rules, and that surely goes for life, too.”
The rules. Max Wanaker makes his up as he goes along. Sam Truitt follows the ones engraved in the marble.
The phone buzzed just as Truitt was telling how he got the nickname “Scrap” and how the little-used kickoff team was called the “Scrap Pack.”
“The chief says you’re to come to his chambers right away,” Eloise said over the speaker.
“Tell the chief I don’t work for him,” Truitt replied.
“No, sir!” Eloise screeched over the intercom. “We’re not going to start off seeing who’s got the biggest bulge in his briefs. I’ll tell him you’re in conference and will be there the instant you’re free.”
The intercom went dead, and there was a moment of silence as interviewer and interviewee tried to remember exactly where their conversation had ended.
“That’s probably the only time anyone will catch you quoting Justice McReynolds,” Lisa said.
“You picked up on that?” Truitt asked, astonished. “That’s a really arcane bit of Court trivia.”
He looked at her with something approaching awe, and Lisa smiled.
“Back in the 1930s,” she said, “Chief Justice Hughes left a message with McReynolds’s secretary. ‘Tell the justice to come to my chambers at once, and wear his robes.’ McReynolds responded with… well, just what you said. ‘Tell the Chief I don’t work for him/”
“McReynolds was a real misanthrope, a racist, and a bigot,” Truitt said. “But you probably know that, don’t you?”
“I know he wouldn’t appear for the Court photo because he didn’t want to be in a picture with a Hebrew. That’s what he called Brandeis.”
Showing off now. Put a lid on it, Lisa.
“That was him. And you’re right. It’s the only time I’ll quote the bastard.” Truitt glanced at his watch. “Whoa. We’ve been at it for nearly two hours.”
Sensing that was her cue, Lisa said, “I want to thank you so much for your time, Justice Truitt.”
“I’ve enjoyed this. I really have,” Truitt said. He paused a moment, as if she shouldn’t leave just yet.
Sam Truitt couldn’t pinpoint the moment he changed his mind about Lisa Fremont, couldn’t even say exactly why he had. She was smart and savvy, and they seemed to have great synergy, and he was tired of interviewing candidates. There was such a relaxed nature to their conversation, he felt as if he had known her forever. So without ever actually consciously deciding, Truitt reached the conclusion that she’d be perfect. He would hire her despite her great looks, though he didn’t think his wife would buy that for a second.
What is he thinking? Lisa wondered. Am I overstaying my welcome? Should I curtsy and head for the door?
“Once the session begins,” Truitt said, breaking the silence, “I’m afraid there won’t be time for what Elly would call ‘high-falutin’ gabfests.’”
As if I already had the job.
“And from now on,” he continued, “it’s just plain ‘Judge.’ That’s what Vic and Jerry call me. Ask Elly for the forms you’ll need to fill out, then get ready to roll up your sleeves.”
Omigod! What did he say?
“You mean I’m hired?”
“Didn’t I say that? No, I guess I didn’t. I must have thought you could read my mind.”
“That would be a pretty good attribute for a law clerk,” she said, beaming. “I’ll work on it.”
“Along with about a thousand cert petitions.” He stood and extended a hand. “Welcome aboard.”
For the second time that day, Lisa Fremont shook his hand, and their eyes locked. This time his expression seemed to come from a deeper place, and for a moment, she felt he was trying to look deep inside her. At the same time, he clasped both hands over hers. There was nothing inappropriate about it, nothing sexual, overt or otherwise. It seemed to be a gesture of comradeship, a recognition that they were about to spend the next year together embarked on a great adventure.
Wow! I did it. I’m a clerk on the Supreme Court of the United States. Me! Lisa Anne Fremont from Bodega Bay. And Max didn’t do it for me.
She allowed herself just a few seconds of elation. Then the realization set in. She wasn’t just Sam Truitt’s law clerk. She was also working for Max Wanaker and Atlantica Airlines, petitioner in one of the biggest cases of the new term. In legal jargon, she had a major conflict of interest. Her job was to subvert justice, not to achieve it. She tried not to think about the cruel paradox, which threatened to ruin the moment.
She focused a businesslike smile on Sam Truitt. In the past two hours, she thought, they had learned all about each other. Or had they? She’d already known him. And he only thought he knew her. For a moment, looking into his blue-gray eyes, she thought there was a glimmer of recognition, that he saw through the gaps in her resume and in her life, that somehow he glimpsed the abyss that separated who she had been from who she had become. But if he had sensed anything wrong, why had he hired her?
She broke eye contact, and he released her hands. “Thank you, Judge. I’ll try to live up to your expectations.”
“You and me both,” he said, laughing, giving her a warm smile. Then his voice dropped nearly to a whisper and his brow furrowed. “Lisa, we have a chance to do wonderful work here. Not just to resolve individual disputes, but to set the tone for civilization, to draw boundaries for conduct, to define fundamental rights and responsibilities, and to right wrongs. We’re the conscience of society and the buffer between the government and the governed, striking the balance between the state and the individual. We protect against anarchy on the one hand and dictatorship on the other. Our job is to breathe life into that glorious two-hundred-year-old document they keep under glass a few blocks west of here. God help me, I hope we’re both up to the task.”
Lisa stood in stunned silence. What could she say? Oh, I’m sure you’ll combine the wisdom of Solomon with
