The Court (30 page)

“Does the Chief Justice know about this?”

“Yep. And he understands the tactics too. He told me that good old Judge O'Malley flew in this morning because he knew the President will be making an appearance here at two o'clock. The Chief says that as soon as O'Malley latches on to the President, shakes his hand, and reminds him that he need look no farther than Judge Joseph Michael O'Malley, then he'll hit back for the National Airport and fly out again. This is just a part of his continuing campaign for the job.”

“That's bizarre.” Alexander watched O'Malley skillfully shake a dozen hands as a cluster of people passed by him.

Grant chuckled. “Hey, he's a judge of the second highest court in the land, and that's part of the technique that got him there. It may not be dignified, but it apparently works.”

“He's a clown!” Alexander turned away in disgust and began walking toward the Court offices. Grant followed along and caught up to him.

“Ben, I thought you would be amused. I'm sorry if that offended you.”

Alexander stopped. “Floyd, whoever gets that job will be making decisions that will profoundly affect every American, even our national way of life. Damn it, think of the important issues coming up in just this term alone. If the Court absolves that nun, suicide clinics will spring up all over the country. The police case will affect hiring practices across the nation. My God, don't they realize the new man will be the one who will make the key decisions? I just can't believe that the act that clown is putting on back there would help qualify a man to assume such tremendous power.”

“You missed a few key cases,” Grant laughed. “Freedom of the press, that's a big one this term. The Chief is really interested in that one. And the Marchall Industry case, that could blow General Motors and most of the other giant companies right out of the water.” He shook his head. “But what the hell, this term is no different than most. The Court picks only the key cases to hear, the life and death stuff, it's always been that way.”

“But with a split Court,” Alexander said, “this vacancy becomes crucial. The new man will actually decide most American law, at least until the Court shifts to one side or the other. God, there must be some way to keep creeps like O'Malley from getting in.”

Floyd Grant shrugged. “I don't know if you can properly call him a creep. The American Bar Association found him fully qualified, at least they did the last time, when the woman was finally selected.”

“Then there's something very wrong with the system of selection, it shouldn't come down to a political pick.”

Grant sighed. “Oh, I don't know about that. It would finally work out to be a political choice no matter what system you chose, except maybe a lottery. The Court is part of the political process, and there's usually too much at stake to ignore politics. Besides, the next man will be faced with the most crucial decision in the world, at least from one point of view.”

“Oh?”

Grant laughed. “Hell, yes. He will either keep you on or fire you. That's the important decision. You know what I'd do if I were you?”

“What?”

“I'd go back there and get in line. Then when you've worked your way up to O'Malley, buttonhole him and get a commitment from him to keep you on.”

Shock registered on Alexander's features, then he slowly smiled. “Floyd, why don't you go take a flying fuck at yourself?”

Grant pretended dismay. “These imitation Grecian walls may tumble down in presence of language like that. Oh well, it was just a suggestion. But I can see from your attitude that you lack the chutzpah to become a Supreme Court justice, or, for that matter, even a member of a lower federal court.”

Alexander laughed. “I think you're right.” He thought about the man at the coffin, grasping at passing hands. “In fact, I know you're right.”

*   *   *

Jerry Green had been busy. He interviewed another professor recommended by Whittle. The man was the dean's neighbor. It proved to be a fruitless contact. The professor, an engineer, equated virtue with cut lawns, snow removal, and neat garbage. The dean scored high on all three counts, therefore, the professor counted him as an exceptional man, clearly qualified for anything good the universe had to offer. The neighbor only had contact with the dean at the annual block cocktail parties. He said he was favorably impressed by the dean and his wife, describing them as well bred and dignified.

Green presumed “well bred and dignified” probably meant they were a pair of stuffed shirts. But so long as the lawn was cut and the garbage neat this neighbor would have forgiven anything.

Green called the law school to inquire if arrangements had been made to meet the dean. They had been waiting for him, and this time he received royal treatment. He had a three o'clock appointment, and the dean's secretary almost purred as she suggested that if Mr. Green wished to meet someplace other than the law school, the dean would be quite agreeable. Green had the feeling that the dean might be listening in, at least to her end of the conversation. She was overdoing it a bit, as if playing for an audience. The news accounts would have alerted the dean. He would be ready.

Green informed the woman that the law school would be just fine and he would be there at the appointed time. The secretary sounded so absolutely thrilled that Green knew the dean was listening. Pentecost knew the prize and he wasn't about to allow anyone to muck it up for him with a display of the wrong attitude, at least that was Green's speculation.

Green felt he now had a fairly complete composite mental picture of the man he was yet to meet. Both from the FBI check and his own sources he had discovered no hint of possible criminal or erratic behavior. There were no unexplained lapses in the dean's history that might have suggested a period of drying out or a stay in mental hospitals. No drugs. Judging from all the evidence gathered, there was nothing psychiatrically questionable about Dean Roy Pentecost. Green mentally checked off that part of his general investigation as complete. However, it was still subject to revision when he finally met the man. He had a sense about people, an uncanny gift for sniffing out hidden drunks and broken souls. He supposed that was the real reason he had been selected for this job. But despite all the information he had gathered, much of his appraisal would still depend upon the face-to-face encounter.

The dean's personal life was as clean as a whistle. He lived for his career and it seemed, based upon investigation, that nothing else was of any real importance to him. Certainly not his wife. They had no kids. Green wondered if the dean knew about Mrs. Pentecost and the young professor. He supposed that he did, and if not about that particular man, he probably sensed the unfaithfulness. Green wondered if he might be reading into the dean's supposed attitude a reflection of himself and his own situation. Perhaps he was. In any event, Mrs. Pentecost was discreet and the problem was not the kind to raise alarm bells that might obstruct appointment.

The White House was aware of Pentecost's background. They knew he wasn't a true scholar, despite his teaching credentials. His gift was organizing. And he could handle people. He could be a cloying bootlicker or a petty tyrant, depending on the need of the moment. But he was effective. His legal writings demonstrated no great ability, but on the other hand they didn't espouse any radical theories, nor would they embarrass or trouble anyone. Pentecost looked good politically, and that was the primary consideration. Green speculated that the dean would be a much better candidate for a cabinet post or an executive position than for the judiciary. His talents were undeniable, but they would be of little use on the high court. Still, he could obviously handle the job, although his real talents woulds be wasted.

The decision would turn on Green's judgment of the man, the real man. The President wanted to take no risks on this Supreme Court appointment. He wanted a man who would appear to be a scholar and above petty politics, but he damn well wanted a man who would commit himself on one important case and who would honor that commitment, taking that secret with him to his grave.

Green wondered at how he could delicately put the proposition, and what kind of answers Pentecost might make. The exchange would be vital. It would be, he knew, an elaborate dance between them, each watching the other, each feeling for what might be expected, probing for weakness—it would be an intellectual fencing match. And it promised to be interesting.

But Green, despite the importance of the task ahead, found his mind wandering, disturbed by thoughts of his own life problems. And the storm centered around Regina Kelso. It was most unsettling. He had never before questioned what he considered to be the holy calling as a partner in Harley Dingell. That partnership had been his own personal Holy Grail, and he had searched for it and found it. It had never before even occurred to him to question its value. But that was before the snowy nocturnal walk with Regina. Green realized that he was coming into that age when men did begin to question their life aims, themselves, and their desires and dreams. He wondered if his thoughts didn't merely reflect the expected midlife turmoil, but he knew the answer wasn't as easy as that.

There was a world beyond the confines of Harley Dingell, a world full of people, challenge, promise, and even love. In Washington, knowledgeable people might mentally genuflect in the presence of a Harley Dingell partner, but as far as the rest of the country was concerned he was just another lawyer. The firm's power and importance mattered only to a very select circle.

What had seemed so important became less so when considered in the light of a more normal existence. Still, Green thought, a man couldn't just walk away from a life's conquest.

On impulse, he called the School of Nursing. Regina was in her office.

“How about lunch? I have to be at the law school at three, but I'm free until then.”

She laughed. “It's after one o'clock. This is the mid-west, Jerry. We eat at noon. Besides, I'm in the middle of grading some exam papers. And judging by some of these answers, these nursing students are being financed by the funeral industry.”

“How about a cup of coffee? You can watch me eat. It's one of life's more amusing experiences.”

She giggled. “Do you remember the lemon pie thing when we were kids?”

It had been a high school pie eating contest that had ended up as a Keystone Kop pie throwing riot. He had emerged that day covered from head to foot with pie filling.

“I still eat the same way, just as dainty as ever. Come on, you can leave the papers of your young butchers for later. One quick cup of coffee?”

She relented. They met at a new cafeteria near the School of Nursing. In the days when Michigan State had its own farms and provided meat and produce for the campus the food was as good as anywhere in the world. However, that had changed, at least in this cafeteria. Green munched on a typical mass-produced sandwich—a hamburger with more cereal than meat—and a salad of wilted lettuce topped with an undersized pear half. He didn't care, he was happy.

The years again seemed to slip away as they both laughed over things triggered by the memory of the pie contest. Some of the students glanced over at them, obviously dismayed by older people making a noisy spectacle of themselves.

“What happens after you talk with the dean?” she asked. He noticed that Regina had carefully avoided prying into his purposes for being on campus. He knew that took control, and he respected her for it.

He pushed the half-eaten pear away. “My business here will be decided on his answers to some questions. I won't know what I'm going to do until after we talk.”

She bit her lip, displaying a rare nervousness. “Will you be going back to Washington directly?”

“Maybe.” He was going to say more, but stopped when he sensed that she wanted something.

“Needless to say, Jerry, I've thought a great deal about what we discussed, about us, about you and me.” She laughed, but there was a hollow, almost forced sound to it. “I've practically thought of nothing else.” She looked down, as if ashamed of that fact.

“I meant every word, Regina. I admit it was a lovely, magical night, but I honestly meant everything I said. And don't concern yourself about the divorce. That's been coming for quite some time. I suppose Carol and I could never really find the time to bother about it, that's all. I know that sounds very blasé, but it's also the truth.”

She nodded without comment, then looked up at him. “You talked about romance, Jerry. And I told you I have a dream, just like most other single women my age. It would be nice to live a sort of Fred Astaire—Ginger Rogers existence, a wonderfully happy dance, but you and I both know that life just doesn't permit that sort of thing.” She slowly shook her head. “Happiness, God, how many definitions that word can have.”

“Regina, if I started divorce proceedings now it wouldn't take very long. My wife wouldn't oppose it, that's just not the sort of thing she would do. She really wouldn't care. I'd be free in a matter of months.”

“And would you chuck it all, Jerry? Would you kiss your law firm goodbye and come live with me?”

He wanted to answer, but somehow he couldn't seem to form the words. He just stared at her.

“It could be nice, Jerry. Oh, there would be problems, but it could be pleasant, a coming together of two people, a true happiness.” She looked down at her coffee cup. “I wouldn't even insist on marriage.” She laughed quietly. “Although I'd have a hell of a time explaining that to the children.” She looked at him.

He paused, looking away. “Well, I suppose anything is possible. But it's more complicated than it appears, Regina. If you came to Washington to live.…”

Her smile was a bit wistful. “I read somewhere, I guess in a women's magazine, that no man on earth would leave a career for the sake of a love affair, and no woman on earth would not. However, I think they really meant only unattached ladies.”