binge and quantum makeover for what was supposed to be a simple dinner for two.
Millie lowered the dress and considered her body. It wasn’t so bad, was it? She was not thin nor heavy, though she would have preferred a little less in the thighs. Her lower body seemed to have developed a mind of its own lately, issuing dissenting opinions to her desire for firmness. The treadmill and basketball helped, along with a sensible diet. But she knew she would never be one of those middle-aged women who could wear bicycle pants to the market with impunity. Not that she would ever do it. But the option would have been nice.
She had never considered herself pretty; reporters were fond of describing her “dignified” face. What exactly did that mean? A face to be etched in the side of a mountain? Terrific. Right up there with Teddy, Tom, Abe, and George.
She wished now she had said no to Senator Levering. What on earth had she been thinking? Going out with a United States senator? One who had a reputation with the ladies? How could she have let herself get into this?
She remembered vividly the last time she went on one of these gruesome social rituals called a date. It was a memory etched in stone, like the words on the Supreme Court building. It was only her second time being asked out by a boy. She’d said no the first time. But this time it was Marty Winters, the second smartest kid at Santa Lucia High. She, of course, was the first, and that was one reason she didn’t get asked out.
She had actually liked Marty, had been drawn to him, unlike any other boys she had met. Growing up brilliant made her extremely self-conscious and withdrawn in a way that worried her parents. She had never given boys a serious thought – who would ever find her appealing? – until Marty.
They went to the movies. Romeo and Juliet was the big sensation. Marty had placed his arm around her the moment the coming attractions started and did not remove it until Romeo and Juliet were quite dead. She knew Marty was in more than a bit of arm pain after the movie, but she didn’t mention it.
He took her to a burger place afterward. They saw some kids from school, who made a few cracks about Marty and Millie sittin’ in a tree. Marty made a joke that put them to shame, and she thought then that she was in love. He was almost handsome, in a scholarly sort of way. His acne was clearing up and she could see him inventing things someday.
She remembered the music that night. The radio in the restaurant played “Hey Jude” by the Beatles. And then Herb Alpert’s “This Guy’s in Love with You.” She made a girlish wish that Herb Alpert was singing about Marty.
Marty did not drive her home. Instead, he took her up to The Rim. She didn’t protest, though she was so nervous she almost threw up. The Rim was a mountain road that offered a great view of the valley. It was a make-out place, of course, where the kids always went. Where she never went.
She hoped Marty wouldn’t do something wrong. She would allow him to kiss her, though she didn’t know how to kiss. She had spent the afternoon kissing the side of her fist, trying to get the pressure to feel right.
And Marty did kiss her. A lot. Too much. She tried to turn her head away and he kept twisting it back with his hand. But that wasn’t the bad part.
The bad part happened when she would not let him put his hands on her chest, when she said, “Let’s stop, huh?” He reeled back like he’d been slapped.
And then Marty Winters told her that she was ugly and he was doing her a favor, and none of the boys liked her because she was so ugly and smart, and she’d never have a boyfriend and why didn’t she just dry up and blow away?
Millicent Mannings Hollander, dressed up in her home in Fairfax County, remembered how she had almost burst out in tears. How unfamiliar feelings pushed up in her like flood waters behind a dam, and how her mind – the one thing she had always been able to rely upon – fought them back for her and forced her not to cry. Not in front of Marty then, and not alone in her room when he dropped her off.
And not in front of her mother when she had asked about the date. Millie simply turned her emotions inward, forming the start of a rock-hard interior.
That hardness had held her together through the death of her father, working to get through college, and finishing first in her law school class. It had given her a steadiness and strength that served her well as her career took her from teaching constitutional law at Boalt Hall, to the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals, and finally to the Supreme Court.
During her career she’d had occasional offers to date but turned them all down. She had determined not to seek the intimate companionship of men. If she was to be married at all, it was to the law.
So why was she doing this now?
In truth, she had been feeling somewhat odd for a few months now. She could even pinpoint the start of it – the argument in the late-term abortion case. Because of her vote, the law outlawing the procedure had been declared unconstitutional. But the graphic nature of the operation had been emphasized by the attorney for the state. Ever since that afternoon she had felt moments of uncertainty. Not so much with her decision – based as it was on her reading of the law and precedent – but on the whole idea that such an issue should arise at all in a civilized society.
But the right of women to control their bodies was the primary value she upheld, and she would stick to that. She just wished she’d stop being bothered by a particular case.
That must be it, she suddenly decided. The senator is a diversion I am hoping will put me back into equilibrium. That’s unfair, to him and to me. This was a bad idea.
She went to the phone to call Senator Levering. He’d left his direct mobile number. What would she tell him? Headache? He wouldn’t believe her, but that was not important. She could not go through with this. It was, aside from everything else, silly. She was too old for dating. Besides, she had David McCullough’s John Adams biography waiting for her, and that would be enough. Books had always been enough.
She picked up the phone and started to dial. Then she heard the doorbell.
9
Senator Levering said, “You seem a bit edgy, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
He sat facing Millie in the back of the limousine. She was on the side, near the wet bar, castigating herself for being so transparent. This is just a dinner with a man, a senator, an ally, she told herself. Don’t be such a baby.
“I’m a little rusty at this,” Millie said.
“It’s like riding a mule,” Levering said. “Nothing to it if you hang on. How about a drink?”
“Do you have 7-Up?”
“I was thinking Perrier-Jouet ’95.”
“Sounds French and imposing.”
“It’s only the finest champagne this side of the moon.”
“Why not?” A bit of celebration was in order, wasn’t it? A chief justice appointment didn’t happen very often.
The senator fished the bottle of champagne from the ice bin. “What shall we talk about? The Takings Clause?”
She laughed a little, and it felt good. “If that’s your passion,” she joked.
Levering removed the cork and poured the champagne into two flutes. “I am a man of many passions,” he said, handing her a glass. He clinked his against hers. “To our new chief justice.”
“Perhaps,” Millie said.
