'Why, thank you, Senator.'
The senator downed his drink then held the empty glass in the air until he caught the waiter's attention.
'So, Scott, as long as you win this case and pass the FBI's criminal background check, you're number two on the list.'
Scott felt the smile drop off his face. 'Number two? '
'Behind Shelby Morgan.'
'The judge on my ex-wife's murder case?'
The senator nodded.
'Does she know I'm number two?'
'Yep.'
'Well, that should make for a fun trial.'
The senator smiled. 'Like being in bed with a feral hog… except she's better looking.'
Scott now saw himself entering the Ford Fenney law firm.
'Sorry, Scott, but I owe her.' The waiter delivered another cocktail. 'That's politics.'
'A federal judgeship isn't about politics, Senator.'
'Since when? Now don't go naive on me, Scott. You and I both know, everything is politics. The Supreme Court decided-actually, six lawyers decided-that there's a constitutional right to an abortion-where's that in the Constitution? They made it up, to suit their politics. Then five lawyers on the Court said 'public use' in the Fifth Amendment actually means 'public benefit'-like James Madison didn't know the difference between 'use' and 'benefit'-and the government can condemn your home for a fucking football stadium if it'll generate more taxes. That's not law, Scott, that's politics.'
The senator shook his head.
'Constitutional law is the greatest hoax ever perpetrated on the American people. But both parties love it because a Supreme Court decision trumps democracy. You don't have to convince a majority of three hundred million people that you're right, just five lawyers. Five fucking lawyers and you win your political victory.'
He sipped his drink and shook his head again.
'One thing I've learned in Washington, Scott-everything is politics. Why do Democrats want to grant citizenship to twelve million illegal Mexican immigrants? Because they care about those poor people? No. Because they want twelve million more Democratic voters. Politics. Why do Democrats want a government-run health care system? Because their voters are gonna get free health care, our voters are gonna pay for it. Politics. How much we pay for corn, milk, beef, steel… politics. How many miles to the gallon our cars get… politics. How much pollution we breathe… politics. Who sits on the federal bench… also politics.'
Scott felt like the moderator on Meet the Press.
'The deal works like this, Scott: Texas senators pick our federal judges, New York senators pick theirs. Someone tries to go around us, we 'blue-slip' the nominee, he never gets a committee vote much less a floor vote.'
'What's a blue-slip?'
'Veto, same as being black-balled at a country club. Means the home-state senators can block any judicial nominee for their state. Without blue-slips, the Senate would descend into chaos. Blue-slips keep things orderly.'
'If not democratic.'
'Democracy happens every six years in the Senate, Scott. Rest of the time, politics rules. Which is good for you.'
'Why?'
'Because I voted for Roberts' assault weapons bill.'
Ron Roberts was the senior U.S. senator from Texas.
'He wants to ensure that every American citizen has the unfettered opportunity to buy an assault weapon at a gun show-how stupid is that? He's pro-guns and pro-life and doesn't see the irony. But now he owes me, said I can pick our next federal judge. You're my first choice, but I owe Shelby.'
He didn't specify the debt.
'Politics.' The senator finished off his drink. 'We'll hold off on the background checks until Buford dies. That would look unseemly, I think.'
The senator ordered another drink.
'I don't like it anymore than you, Scott, having to put Shelby up for federal judge.' He exhaled heavily. 'I guess we can both hope she did something stupid when she was young and fails her criminal background check.'
TWENTY-ONE
Scott arrived back at the beach house just as Bobby was leaving in the Prius.
'How'd it go with the senator?' Bobby asked through his open window.
'I'm number two for the job… behind Judge Morgan.'
'You're shitting me? Can this case get any weirder?'
'I have a feeling it can. Another ice cream craving?'
'Mint chocolate-chip. I'm running a tab at the 7-Eleven.' Bobby's ice cream runs had become a nightly occurrence. 'Between diapers and ice cream, I didn't know how expensive a pregnant woman could be.'
'Use a condom,' Boo said.
' What? '
'If you have sex with Mother.'
'I won't.'
'Use a condom?'
'Have sex with your mother.'
Scott had climbed the back stairs and gone directly up to the girls' bedroom to tuck them in. He found them huddled together reading a novel about vampires in love. They no longer required his reading services at bedtime. He missed it. They were growing up too fast, and sex ed had only accelerated the aging process. So he had made a deal with them when they had become a single-father family: they could talk to him about anything, ask him any questions they wanted, and he would always tell them the truth and never get mad. They took him up on the deal on a regular basis. Fifth grade had brought a lot of questions about sex. He had learned not to overreact.
'She had sex with that dead man, Mr. Fenney. And he had sex with those other women-'
'Were you two eavesdropping?'
'Unh-huh, we sure were, Mr. Fenney.'
'If you have sex with Mother, it's just like you're having sex with all the women the dead man had sex with, Ms. Nelson said so in health class.'
'AIDS, Mr. Fenney.'
'Why were you eavesdropping?'
'I need to know,' Boo said.
'Know what?'
'If Mother killed her boyfriend.'
'She didn't.'
'That's what she said, but she lied to us before.'
'She's not lying about this, Boo. And I'm not going to have sex with her.'
'You used to.'
'When we were married.'
'Do you want to again?'
'Get married?'
'Have sex with her? It would relieve your stress.'
'So you don't have a heart attack, Mr. Fenney.'
