bartender for a third and drink a toast to Ned, whom I loved and lost, then to Brent and to my beloved Mike. I begin to understand the expression “feeling no pain.”
“Don’t drink that too fast now,” says the young bartender, handing me a refill. Even though his face is blurry, I see that he’s a parking valet from the basement garage, disguised in a tux.
“You can’t fool me, I know who you really are. Anthony from the garage, right?”
He laughs. “I can’t fool you, Miss Dee.”
“Doing double-duty, huh?”
“I got a choice, Miss Dee. I can look at pretty ladies or I can park a bunch of big cars. It’s a no-brainer.”
“We’re traveling incognito, Anthony.”
“In what, Miss Dee?”
Suddenly, there’s a deep voice beside me, murmuring almost in my ear. I look over and it’s Golden Rod, glass in hand. He looks blurry too, even though he’s standing very close. “What did you say, Judge Gold…Van Houten?” Hearing the sloppiness of my own words, I set down my glass.
“I said, that’s a very nice dress.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s a peasant dress, isn’t it? Did you get it in Mexico, or someplace else more exciting than Philadelphia?”
“There is no place more exciting than Philadelphia, Judge.”
He laughs and traces the gathered edge of the dress with an index finger. “I like the embroidery at the top.”
Dumbly, I watch his finger touch my chest, just above my bare breasts. “You shouldn’t do that. I’m Mike’s wife, and I’m not wearing a bra,” I blurt out.
Golden Rod looks stunned. Simultaneously, I realize that I’m too drunk to be here. I look around the room for Judy, but it’s out of kilter. All I see are cockeyed three-piece suits. I mumble a good-bye to the startled judge and make my way to the door.
But my escape route is blocked. Bitter Man’s standing right in front of the door, talking to Jameson. The mountain talking to the molehill. I walk as steadily as I can toward them. “Excuse me,” I say slowly. It’s an effort to talk. My head is spinning.
“Miz DiNunzio,” says Bitter Man. He holds a plate with a mound of shrimp carcasses on the side. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
Jameson tips forward on his toes. “You shouldn’t be, Judge Bitterman. Mary’s our star. Her rise in the past year has been positively meteoric.” His voice is full of undisguised jealousy. He must be drunker than I am.
“I really should go, Timothy.”
“Don’t be so antisocial, Mary.” Jameson reaches out and grabs my arm roughly. “Tell Judge Bitterman how you’re going to make partner this June. Tell him how your mentor is going to ram you down our throats.”
“Timothy, I don’t know what-”
He squeezes my arm. “Isn’t that a nice word, Judge Bitterman? Mentor. It could mean anything, couldn’t it? Teacher. Friend. Confidant. Counselor. Do you know the origin of the wordmentor, Judge?”
For once, Bitter Man is speechless. He shakes his head.
“Mentor was the friend of Odysseus, to whom the hero entrusted the education of his son, Telemachus. Isn’t that interesting? Did you know that Mary has a very special mentor too? A very powerful mentor. Sam Berkowitz is Mary’s mentor. He takes very good care of Mary. Right, Mary?”
“Timothy, stop it.” I try to wrest my arm away, but Jameson’s grip is surprisingly strong.
“What do you think, Judge? Do you think it’s Mary’s sharp analytical skills that Mr. Berkowitz so admires? Or do you think it’s her superb writing ability?I had both of those things, Judge, but our fearless leader did everything he could to blockmy partnership. So tell me, what do you think she’s got that I haven’t?”
Bitter Man looks from me to Jameson.
“You know, don’t you, Judge? You’re a brilliant man, but I’ll give you a hint anyway. Mary’s a merry widow. Avery merry widow.”
Bitter Man’s mouth drops open.
I can’t believe what Jameson’s saying. It’s outrageous. “I worked to get where I am, Timothy.”
Jameson yanks me to his side. “I know you did, Mary. A big, strong man like Berkowitz, I bet you take quite a pounding-”
“Fuck you!” I shout at Jameson. I wrench my arm free.
Bitter Man’s eyes narrow. His face is red, inflamed with anger. “Mary, you didn’t!”
I can’t take the fury from his face, I couldn’t convince him in a million years. I feel dizzy and faint. Heads turn behind Bitter Man, looking at us. I have to get out. I lunge for the door and run to the stairwell. I stagger down it in tears, leaning heavily on the brass banister past Lust and Envy. By the time I reach Gluttony, I’m feeling sick. From embarrassment. From alcohol. From sleep deprivation. I collapse into my chair, and my head falls forward onto a cool pillow of stacked-up mail.
32
He is seething.
His lips are moving, though I can’t hear what he’s shouting at me. He’s shaking, he’s so infuriated. His face, almost womanish in its softness, is twisted by rage.
We are alone, he and I. It’s dusk, and his office is empty and dim. The secretaries have gone home, as have the others. The room is cold; he keeps the thermostat low. He has to set an example, he says.
There are photos of him, with other men who set examples. Richard Nixon. Chief Justice William Rehnquist. Clarence Thomas. Beside the photos are bookshelves filled with books, lots of books, all about the law. Legal philosophy, legal writing, legal analysis. One book after another, in perfect order. And rows and rows of golden federal casebooks, their black volume numbers floating eerily in the half-light: 361, 362, and 363. He has an entire set all to himself. He is a man of importance, a legal scholar.
But he is so angry. Raging, quite nearly out of control. I’ve never seen him this angry. I’ve never seen anyone as angry as Judge Bitterman on the day I quit.
Why is he so mad? I did one article, that was all we agreed to, I say to him. I don’t have time to do another.
You used to have time! he shouts.
I don’t anymore. Things have changed.
It’s a young man, isn’t it?
I don’t answer him. It’s none of his business. I am in love, though, with Mike.
Miz DiNunzio, let me quote you one of the most profound legal thinkers there was. The law is a jealous mistress, and requires a long and constant courtship. It is not to be won by trifling favors but by lavish homage. The quotation is Professor Story’s, Miz DiNunzio, not mine. A jealous mistress. It means you can’t have it both ways. It’s your young man or the law. You have to choose.
I already have, I say to him.
That’s when it dawns on me, half in a dream and half out of it. I know why Bitter Man was so angry. His speech about the law being jealous was bullshit. He was hiding behind the law, using it as a smokescreen. I didn’t see through it then, but I do now. It was Bitter Man who was jealous, crazy jealous, of Mike. It’s almost inconceivable, but it makes sense.
I awake with a start.
Bitter Man is standing over me, stroking my hair with a peaceful smile. “Hello, Mary,” he says softly.
“Judge?”
“You are so precious to me, my dear.” His cheeks look like they’re about to burst with happiness, like an overfed baby.
I look around, panicky. My office door is closed. Everyone’s at the reception, three floors above.
His swollen underbelly presses against my chair. “I’ve cared for you ever since the first day you came to work
