by David Lat
“Excellent. That’s all I need to know.”
We merged onto the 110 going south, where the traffic was moving along nicely—not surprising, given the mid-morning hour. The smoothly moving traffic reduced the judge’s sudden braking, which reduced my nausea—a relief to me, since throwing up inside her Jaguar would not enhance the judge’s opinion of me. As we drove, we made small talk—catering complications for an upcoming party she was hosting, her daughters’ latest successes in violin and soccer playing, and the difficulty of finding a good nanny who was also willing to be paid on the books. Part of me wanted to ask the judge about what she thought of yesterday’s Geidner argument—and, most importantly, how Judge Hagman had voted at the panel’s conference—but I had the sense that Judge Stinson was deliberately avoiding the subject.
In about half an hour, we arrived in Beverly Hills—my first time in the world-famous city, despite having been in Los Angeles for months now. As we drove past the Electric Fountain, which I recognized from the movie Clueless, and then along the legendary Rodeo Drive, I openly gawked at the palm-lined streets, intimidatingly glitzy boutiques, and sidewalks so immaculate you could let a baby crawl on them. Judge Stinson mercifully opted for a garage with valet, sparing me the agony of watching her attempt to parallel park, and we started walking down the avenue.
“Welcome to Beverly Hills,” said the judge, gesturing toward Rodeo Drive’s center divider, planted with a profusion of impossibly iridescent flowers. “Can you smell the floral perfume in the air? This place has spoiled me for the mall.”
“I have a feeling I’m not in Woodside anymore,” I said, imagining how my mother would react if transplanted from Queens to where I now stood.
“You’ve come a long way, baby,” the judge said. “And so have I. My mother couldn’t have afforded a keychain from one of these stores.”
We arrived at the Giorgio Armani shop, whose square glass facade, consisting of many smaller glass squares, made it look a little like an Apple store. But once inside, there was no mistaking it for anything other than an ultra-luxurious fashion boutique—especially given the greeting extended to the judge. We were barely inside the store when a tall, athletic woman, boasting a halo of short, perfectly golden hair—a natural blonde, or the best dye job ever—rushed over to us.
“Judge Stinson! So lovely to see you! And is this your sister?”
Shameless flattery—but delivered so earnestly, one couldn’t help but admire it. The judge laughed.
“Peggy, this is Audrey, one of my law clerks. Audrey, this is Peggy, who makes sure that I look fabulous underneath my robes.”
“It’s a pleasure,” said Peggy, shaking my hand with a salesperson’s enthusiasm. “Are you really a law clerk? You’re too gorgeous to be a legal nerd!”
Even though I recognized her effort to butter me up as a potential client—I couldn’t afford anything in this store, but she didn’t necessarily know that—I still blushed at the praise.
“But I suppose that could be said of Judge Stinson here too,” Peggy added. “And I was just reading the other week, she might end up on the Supreme Court?”
The judge politely demurred, but I could see she was pleased that even a layperson like Peggy knew about Judge Stinson possibly becoming Justice Stinson.
“Your Honor,” Peggy said, “if you wind up on the Supreme Court, you will be the most stylish justice by far.”
“With all due respect to the justices, that’s not a high bar,” Judge Stinson said. “There’s a reason they all wear black muumuus!”
“Well, Judge, you have nothing to worry about—your dresses and suits are ready. Shall we take a look?”
Peggy escorted us back to a large and elegant salon, then left to get the judge’s garments. Another salesperson, a petite Asian woman who looked about my age, asked us if we wanted anything to drink. I declined, fearing I’d spill whatever I got, while the judge requested a Pellegrino.
“Here we are,” Peggy said, returning with two garments in each hand. “Which would you like to try first, Your Honor?”
“Let’s start with the suits and work our way up to the dresses.”
First the judge tried on a dark charcoal suit with a skirt that fell below the knee. She looked magnificent—because of course she did.
“It’s perfect,” Peggy said, as the judge studied herself in front of a three-way mirror. The Asian woman nodded in agreement.
“Audrey, what do you think?” the judge asked.
“The tailoring is impeccable,” I said—but not wanting to sound too much like a yes man (or yes woman), I added, “It’s more conservative than what you usually wear, in terms of the color and the cut.”
Judge Stinson beamed.
“That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear,” she said. “I want something that communicates ‘conservative,’ not ‘California.’”
Next the judge donned a bright pink suit in wool crepe with long sleeves and a softly rounded neckline.
“Even better than the last suit,” Peggy gushed.
“Audrey?”
“You look amazing, Judge. The cut is still conservative, but the color is more aggressive.”
“Excellent,” she said. “I want the color to pop. I want it to be a victory suit, a suit that says, ‘Yes, I’m wearing shocking pink, and you can’t stop me!’”
We all laughed. I wondered what occasion the judge was buying the suits for; she already had an extensive collection of Armani, Chanel, and St. John outfits.
After the judge tried on her two dresses—a short turquoise cocktail dress and an elaborate beaded evening gown, both beautiful—the judge turned to me.
“Okay, Audrey, now it’s your turn. Let’s find you a new suit!”
Yikes. I couldn’t afford to buy a suit here. I briefly debated in my head whether I could buy a suit today, to make the judge happy, and then come back and return it over the weekend—but if any alterations were required, that plan wouldn’t work. Feeling the beginning of a blush in my cheeks, I leaned in toward the judge and lowered my voice.
“Judge,” I whispered, “the suits here are, um, a little beyond my price range …”
“Oh goodness, my apologies—I should have clarified beforehand. This suit is my treat.”
“But the suits here cost thousands of dollars, Judge. I can’t accept such a gift.”
“Audrey, you must accept—I’m giving you an order, as your judge. I’ll explain why later, but it’s very important that you accept. Now let’s see what they have in your size.”
Before I could protest further, the judge had summoned Peggy.
“We need to find Audrey a suit,” the judge said. “I’m guessing she’s a size two. I was once a size two. Ah, to be young again!”
The judge herself was only a size four, but I refrained from pointing that out—I suspected she still aspired to be a size two, despite being a few decades my senior.
“What kind of suit are you looking for?” Peggy asked.
“An interview suit,” said the judge. “Classic and conservative. A ‘do no harm’ type of suit. Nothing crazy.”
“Judge, this is Giorgio Armani. We don’t do crazy.”
The judge and Peggy chuckled. I wasn’t sure why I needed an interview suit, but I wasn’t about to argue.
“Audrey, I have just the suit for you,” Peggy said. “It just came in, and it will look incredible on you.”
Peggy rushed off toward the front of the store, the judge followed, and I trailed behind dutifully.
“Take a look at this,” said Peggy. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
It sure was: a classic black suit, with notched lapels, in featherweight Italian wool. It also cost more than $2,000. I felt torn—between desire and embarrassment.
“It’s beautiful,” I said politely. “But the color black—you don’t find it too austere?”
“It can be,” Peggy said, “which is why folks often go for navy or dark gray when it comes to interview suits. But I don�
�t think this will be too severe on you. There’s something about the cut of the jacket and how it comes in at the waist that makes it almost girlish—still professional, of course, but definitely not the ‘I’m going to a funeral’ look. Try it on; you’ll see!”
The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of a three-way mirror in the most beautiful suit I had ever worn in my life. It felt so right—feminine but professional, playful but elegant, classic but not boring. And definitely not funereal (even though, since I had never been to a funeral, I had no idea what funeral dress might look like).
“I overrule all objections, Audrey,” Judge Stinson said, standing behind me and nodding with approval. “It looks sensational.”
I couldn’t disagree. It was perfect right off the rack. No alterations needed.
“Peggy,” said Judge Stinson, pulling out her American Express black card and handing it over with a flourish, “we’ll take it.”
After effusive farewells from Peggy and her assistant, Judge Stinson and I emerged from the store, shopping bags on both arms. I felt like the Julia Roberts character in Pretty Woman after her epic shopping spree.
“So let me tell you about what we have to celebrate,” said the judge, as we walked back toward the garage. “First, Judge Hagman will join us in Geidner in voting to uphold Proposition 8. Judge Deleuze will dissent.”
“That’s great news!”
“Second, Judge Hagman told me privately, after conference, that he was very impressed by your bench memo. This didn’t come as a surprise, given that several of his questions at oral argument were basically taken straight from the bench memo, but it was very nice to hear. You made a difference here, Audrey.”
“Thank you, Judge.”
“Finally, I was so impressed by your work on Geidner that I called up Justice Keegan and told him that he simply had to interview you …”
I stumbled on the sidewalk, but fortunately righted myself before falling on my rear. I did stop and put down the shopping bags, as did Judge Stinson.
“Oh wow, Judge, thank you!”
“Audrey, don’t act so surprised! You’ve earned my highest recommendation. You did superb work on Hamadani, then you outdid yourself with Geidner. I told Justice Keegan about your work on Geidner—which impressed him, not surprisingly, given his previously expressed views on constitutional issues relating to same-sex marriage. And after Amit told me he was withdrawing his applications for Supreme Court clerkships—he said he wanted to go straight into private practice and start making money—that removed any doubt in my mind that you’re the clerk to push to the Court this year.”
“And what did Justice Keegan say?”
“What do you think he said? The Honorable Christina Wong Stinson called to tell him about her best clerk of all time? Of course he wants to interview you!”
The judge reached out to hug me—a surprisingly vigorous hug.
“That’s why I wanted to buy you a new interview suit,” the judge said. “To thank you for all your amazing work, and to get you ready for your interview with Justice Keegan. It’s an investment in your future and mine—my reputation as a judge is enhanced when I send more clerks to the Court. When we get back to chambers, you need to call the justice’s assistant, Mary Katherine, and schedule your interview.”
“Will do, Judge.”
“Also, have Brenda book your plane ticket to D.C. using my frequent flier miles. If you try to buy your ticket now, it would cost a fortune.”
“Thank you, Judge. And thank you again for the suit—it’s beautiful.”
“It’s classic and conservative, perfect for you to wear to your interview with Justice Keegan. Thoreau once said to beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, but from that assessment I respectfully dissent.”
When we returned to chambers, after stopping for lunch at the Polo Lounge, I was hoping to slip into my office unnoticed so I could hide the Armani bags under my desk. No such luck: I bumped into both Amit and James in the hallway outside our offices.
“Well hello there, ‘Pretty Woman,’” James said. “Did Cravath send over a signing bonus?”
“Her name is Audrey, and she’s a shopaholic,” Amit said.
“I can explain,” I said, waving them inside my office. I then told them the whole story of how Judge Stinson conscripted me for shopping duty, concluding with the news about my landing an interview with Justice Keegan.
“Congratulations! That’s awesome,” James said, with obvious enthusiasm (had we been alone, I bet he would have kissed me). “Good luck. You’ll do great. Let me know if you need any help preparing.”
“Congrats,” Amit said, with considerably less enthusiasm. “It’s your last clear chance at a SCOTUS clerkship, so don’t blow it.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked—trying to sound nonchalant, but actually concerned.
“Judge Stinson feeds to only two justices on the Court: the two most conservative justices, Keegan and Wilson. Wilson had one slot left for the coming term, but he just filled it.”
“Who got it?” I asked.
“Some girl clerking for a state supreme court,” Amit said, waving his hand dismissively.
The only state-court clerk I knew was Harvetta. But she had never mentioned to me that she was applying for Supreme Court clerkships.
“Oh, and she graduated from a TTT, too,” Amit added.
“What’s a TTT?” James asked.
“It stands for ‘third-tier toilet,’ and it’s used to refer to lower-ranked law schools,” I explained.
“I thought that the justices hired mostly from the elite law schools,” James said.
“Yes, but not Wilson,” said Amit. “Even though he graduated from U. Chicago himself, he has a soft spot for overachieving TTT grads. Last year, for example, his clerks came from Chicago, Harvard, and two low-ranked state schools. He’s weird.”
“Or different,” I said. “That’s why so many people admire him. Not many prominent African Americans have the guts to speak out against affirmative action. Not many judges are so critical of stare decisis. Justice Wilson marches to the beat of his own drummer.”
“No, he’s just weird,” Amit said. “Another strange thing he does is hire clerks years in advance. Now that he’s filled his last spot for next year, he’s done with clerk hiring for the next few terms, because he has that odd practice of hiring years ahead of time and allocating his clerks between the different terms to have a balanced chambers each year—male and female clerks, clerks from top schools and TTT schools. So with Wilson out of the picture, Audrey, your upcoming Keegan interview is really your only shot at a SCOTUS clerkship.”
“But people can apply more than once, right?” asked James. “I’ve heard of people getting Supreme Court clerkships the second or third time around.”
“Yes, but Audrey’s situation is different,” Amit said. “She’s interviewing with Keegan, and Keegan doesn’t interview people twice. He considers himself a good judge of character, so when he passes over a potential clerk after an interview, he doesn’t consider that person again, even if that person reapplies. He’s a grumpy old man, pushing 80, and that’s just how he rolls.”
“How do you know so much about this process?” asked James.
“It’s just a subject I follow. And you hear stuff from people, like law school classmates—word on the street.”
Amit and I made brief eye contact. His explanation to James was truthful, but incomplete. Back when Amit wrote Beneath Their Robes, he covered law clerk hiring as closely as TMZ covers celebrity DUI accidents.
“And what’s the word on the street about what it’s like to interview with Justice Keegan?” I asked Amit.
“It’s intense. You meet with the justice for half an hour. Then you meet with the clerks, who grill you about substantive legal issues, focusing on constitutional law. It’s a brutal four-on-one interrogation that can go on for two to three hours. And they’re also trying to assess your positions on issues, to
see if you’d be a good fit with the justice’s views—as in, are you conservative enough?”
“Yikes,” I said. “That sounds intimidating.”
“It is,” Amit said. “I don’t know how well you’ll do, to be honest. You have to remain calm under stress. I imagine it being like the final round of the National Spelling Bee.”
“Or like the final round of a high school debate tournament, where you often won,” said James, coming to my rescue. “Or the final round of moot court in law school.”
“It’s not all bad news,” Amit said. “You have two things in your favor going into the interview.”
“I do?”
“First, unlike some of the other justices, Keegan doesn’t interview many people. He typically interviews eight to ten people for four spots.”
“Effectively a coin flip,” I said.
“Sure—a coin flip with ridiculously high stakes, the most prestigious and coveted credential a young lawyer can get, the pathway to law firm partnership, high government office, a tenured professorship, maybe even a seat on the Supreme Court itself someday …”
“And what’s the second thing in my favor?”
“You’re a girl.”
“That helps her?” asked James. “I didn’t realize Justice Keegan was known for his feminist views.”
“Actually, the reason he likes female law clerks got him in some trouble with some feminist law professors,” Amit said. “Keegan once said in an interview that, all things being equal, he’ll pick a female clerk over a male clerk because he sees having a woman in chambers as a ‘civilizing’ influence. That remark ticked off some feminists, but if it’s true, it’s good news for you.”
“So be on your ‘civilized’ best behavior, Coyne,” James said.
“Look feminine and conservative,” Amit said. “Wear a skirt.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll even put on panty hose. I’m leaving nothing to chance.”
25
That Saturday, I took a break from drafting the Geidner opinion to take a driving lesson with Harvetta. I had graduated from the high school parking lot to the quiet side streets near the courthouse.