Supreme Ambitions

by David Lat

  “How am I doing?” I asked Harvetta, as I drove her Honda slowly down South Grand Avenue.

  “Well, you haven’t killed anything yet, so that’s good.”

  “I’ve never killed anything while driving!”

  “Other than the brakes on this car. We’re not in the parking lot anymore, so be careful.”

  I drove along for a few more blocks, at a slow and cautious pace.

  “You can go a little faster,” Harvetta said. “We’re about to be passed by that old lady. In a walker.”

  I pressed my foot to the gas pedal. The car zoomed forward with unexpected force.

  “Audrey, you just blew through a stop sign! Pull over.”

  I brought the car to a stop in front of a graceful white colonial and turned off the engine.

  “You seem distracted,” Harvetta said, turning to her left to look straight at me. “Even more spacey than usual while driving. What’s up?”

  Even though we didn’t see each other that often, Harvetta had an uncanny ability to read me.

  “I have some good news, but it’s also making me nervous. I have a clerkship interview with Justice Keegan in two weeks.”

  “Shit, that’s awesome! Congrats, girl!”

  She held her right palm up toward me. After a second or two, I realized what she was going for and high-fived her.

  “I’m excited but anxious. His clerkship interviews are supposed to be rough, like an intellectual hazing.”

  “That was how my interview with Justice Wilson and his clerks went,” Harvetta said. “They quizzed me on everything from the history of the 14th Amendment to scienter requirements for the securities laws. It was like an intellectual dick-measuring contest. But I survived it, so you can too.”

  “Wait,” I said, feeling a tightness in my chest. “You had a clerkship interview with Justice Wilson?”

  “Yup. And I got the job! I hope you get the Keegan clerkship. Then we can clerk and hang out in D.C. together!”

  “Hold on—you got a clerkship with Justice Wilson?”

  Harvetta nodded. So she was the unnamed TTT grad and state-court clerk who snagged the last Wilson clerkship.

  “Remember when I asked you to look over my résumé because I was applying for ‘government stuff’?” Harvetta asked. “I was applying for SCOTUS clerkships. I got a call from his chambers about a month ago. I had the interview two weeks ago, and I got the offer a few days ago—Justice Wilson’s last clerkship slot for the next few years.”

  “How come you didn’t mention this earlier?”

  “We haven’t seen each other much lately. And I didn’t want to jinx it. And, you know, it’s just a job—a job I think I’m gonna love, because I love reading and thinking about the law, but just another job.”

  “A Supreme Court clerkship is not ‘just another job,’ Harvie,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “It’s immortality. It’s acceptance. And it’s incredible that you got it!”

  Harvetta’s eyes narrowed.

  “You seem so … surprised. What do you mean by ‘incredible’?”

  Uh-oh. Had my tone revealed my surprise—my shock, even—at Harvetta landing a Supreme Court clerkship? I’d had no idea that SCOTUS clerkships were even on her radar. Had any graduate of McGeorge Law ever clerked for the high court?

  “Oh, well, I just didn’t know that you had applied,” I said, trying to pick my words carefully, despite the distracting tightness in my chest. “It’s just, you know, you’re not the typical … Your background is …”

  Harvetta frowned.

  “You don’t need to finish that thought,” she said, holding her pointer finger aloft and waving it in angry circles, like a buzzing bee. “I know the shit that you and your co-clerks talk about people like me. ‘Oh, she went to a TTT law school.’ ‘Oh, she’s clerking for a fucking state court judge.’ Well, here’s something you should know: I love the law—I live, eat, sleep, and shit the law—and I’m pretty fucking awesome at it.”

  I remembered the first time I met Harvetta, sitting by the pool reading the Stanford Law Review.

  “And that’s what Justice Wilson looks for in his clerks,” she continued. “Smart people who love the law. And luckily for me, he knows that smart people who love the law can be found everywhere. He’s not like Justice Keegan, who’s super-ass old and buys into all that conventional-wisdom bullshit about pedigree and prestige. Justice Wilson wants diamonds in the rough. He knows that not all smart people go to Harvard and Yale. Or clerk for federal rather than state judges.”

  I nodded vigorously and let Harvetta continue.

  “As for my unusual background, that was a plus for him too. Justice Wilson is a black conservative; so am I. Justice Wilson grew up poor, in a single-parent household; so did I. We totally bonded during our interview. And when I interviewed with his clerks, and started schooling them on the ratification debates over the Fourth Amendment and the legislative history of the Fair Labor Standards Act, it was a done deal.”

  “I’m sorry, Harvetta. I didn’t mean to offend you …”

  “You have a lot to learn, girl. And not just about driving.”

  That afternoon, I went into chambers to resume work on the Geidner opinion. After working for several hours, I decided to take a break and called Jeremy—who was, of course, also at work. I wanted to tell Jeremy the news about my interview with Justice Keegan; I knew he’d be pissed if he heard about it through the law-clerk grapevine first. I dialed his internal extension at the courthouse.

  “Hey, it’s me. Busy?”

  “Of course, my dear. It’s a Saturday afternoon in the Gottlieb chambers, and there are progressive causes to be championed.”

  “Can you spare a few minutes from cause championing?”

  “I can spare a few—but just a few, because the judge will be editing one of my opinions soon, and I need to sit there as he goes through it.”

  “Okay, meet me outside in front of the courthouse in five.”

  I arrived downstairs before Jeremy did, as always, and seated myself on one of the benches in the garden. I could smell the perfume of the white roses and feel the warm sun on my forearms. Despite having spent so much time inside it, the beauty of the Richard H. Chambers Courthouse and its gardens never got old for me. Even though lawyers and judges worked with words, airy and abstract things, we had done a fine job of appropriating societal resources to build magnificent temples of the law for ourselves.

  “Hello, Miss Audrey!”

  Jeremy and I exchanged a quick hug as he sat down next to me.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked.

  “I have some exciting news to share. I’m interviewing with Justice Keegan in two weeks.”

  His face lit up like Christmas. I thought to myself: that’s how I should have reacted when Harvetta told me about her Wilson clerkship.

  “Oh. My. God! Congratulations!”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I wanted to share the news with you myself, before you heard about it through the law clerk rumor mill.”

  Jeremy cast his eyes down for a moment, pausing in thought.

  “Do you have something to share with me, Jeremy Silverstein?”

  “Your mention of the law clerk rumor mill reminded me: I have some info you might want to know.”

  “What is it?”

  “I heard it a few days ago and I’ve been going back and forth over whether to tell you. If you didn’t also have a Keegan interview, maybe I wouldn’t tell you, because it would just demoralize you. But since you do have a Keegan interview, it’s actually relevant.”

  “Spit it out!”

  “So one of my co-clerks is a Harvard Law grad. He’s friends with another HLS grad who clerks here in Pasadena with us. And she’s also interviewing with Keegan this coming Friday—for his last clerkship, apparently. Which he wants to give to a woman, if possible.”

  “So who is it? Stop keeping me in suspense!”

  Jeremy put his hand on my knee. This could
not be good.

  “Lucia Aroldi. The Polanski clerk.”

  Lucia Aroldi—the frosty, fashion-challenged HLS grad I had seen in Judge Stinson’s waiting room on the day of my interview. I had seen her around the courthouse over the past few months—not that often, because Judge Polanski’s clerks seldom left chambers—and she was never friendly.

  “Lucia Aroldi—crap,” I said, feeling slightly light-headed. “Excuse my French, but—crap, crap, crap.”

  “Yeah, I know, she’s a beast. No offense, Miss Audrey, but since she’s coming out of the Polanski chambers, Lucia would be the odds-on favorite here. You know that Judge Polanski is the top feeder judge in the country—and that he has sent lots of clerks to Justice Keegan.”

  “Yes, Jeremy. I am well aware of his track record.”

  “And you know that Lucia was a Marshall Scholar.”

  “Yes, Jeremy.”

  “And you know that she was the first woman to win the Fay Diploma in a decade.”

  “Yes, Jeremy. She was tacky enough to mention that in her law clerk orientation bio—along with her ‘future plans’ for ‘world conquest.’”

  “This is why I didn’t want to mention the news to you. I knew you wouldn’t take it well.”

  I stood up from the bench, dislodging Jeremy’s hand from my knee, and turned around to face him.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said, starting to pace back and forth. “I’m glad you told me. I should know who I’m up against. Even if I’m David and she’s Goliath.”

  “Well, maybe David versus Goliath isn’t a bad comparison,” Jeremy said, a half-smile playing across his face. “You might have a better shot of toppling Lucia than you think.”

  “Really? You think I can somehow beat out the top graduate from Justice Keegan’s alma mater for a clerkship with him? He’s a Harvard Law grad himself, and he loves to hire Fay Diploma winners. I’m toast.”

  “On paper, yes, she’s a perfect fit with Keegan. But I’m not so sure that she … would fit so well in his chambers, in terms of what he’s looking for.”

  “Why wouldn’t she? He’s looking for a clerk who’s brilliant. She’s brilliant. He’s looking for a woman …”

  “And so is she, according to my gossipy co-clerk.”

  “Are you saying—Lucia is gay?”

  “That’s what people at HLS speculated. She didn’t date in law school—too busy studying—but people called her ‘Lesbia Aroldi’ behind her back. And all the other LGBT clerks here think she’s one of us too. I don’t mean to propagate stereotypes, but she does look rather butch, doesn’t she?”

  “That is true,” I said, recalling her mannish haircut and masculine swagger.

  “So if Keegan is looking for that ‘civilizing’ female influence in chambers, I’m not sure Lucia fits the bill. And given how old and conservative he is, and how outspoken he is about the ‘homosexual agenda,’ I don’t think he’d love to have a lesbo in chambers either.”

  “But we’re not sure about this, right? And even if we were, there’s not really anything that I can do about it, is there? I’m not about to go in for my Keegan interview and out her—‘Oh, you should hire me because the other woman you’re interviewing is a big old lesbian!’”

  “Oh no, you wouldn’t dare out a gay person,” Jeremy said. “You and your boss just want to deny us our constitutional right to marry. How’s Geidner coming along?”

  I stuck my tongue out at Jeremy and mock-kicked his shin.

  “It was the people of California who voted against gay marriage, when they passed Proposition 8. And the fate of Prop 8 is now in the hands of three federal judges.”

  “One of whom wants to sacrifice the rights of gay Americans on the altar of her boundless personal ambition. Who wants to uphold Prop 8 in a barn-burning opinion that will raise her profile among social conservatives and advance her candidacy for the Supreme Court.”

  “You’re being unfair. Judge Stinson might not agree with you on gay marriage, but I can assure you—based on months of working with her closely—that she’s a good person and a good judge. There’s a reason she enjoys such an excellent reputation as a judge. There’s a reason she’s being considered for the Court.”

  “Well, I can think of several reasons she’s being considered. She’s Asian. She’s a woman. She’s young. And she’s a hack.”

  “And so is your boss—a results-oriented judge who twists the law to advance his political agenda. But you don’t see me going around saying that.”

  “Actually, you just did. And you and Stinson said as much in Hamadani, when responding to our dissent and the en banc call.”

  “So is that what this is about? About you being a sore loser over how Judge Stinson and I trounced you and Judge Gottlieb in a high-profile case?”

  “No, what it’s really about is you being blinded by your own ambition—just like your boss. You can’t—or won’t—see Stinson’s failings as a judge, because she’s your ticket to a Supreme Court clerkship. You’ve hitched your wagon to her star—and you won’t unhitch, even if the star turns out to be an ugly-ass asteroid.”

  “Say what you will about Judge Stinson, but she’s gorgeous. Even a gay man like yourself should be able to see that.”

  “Jeez. Is that what you’re reduced to—defending your boss because she’s a judicial hottie? Even though she’s a lazy judge who, as you’ve admitted to me before, depends heavily on her clerks and barely edits what you write for her?”

  “For someone who has been clerking for several months now, you have a very naïve view of the judicial role. Hardly any judges draft their own opinions—not even justices of the Supreme Court. A modern-day judge is a CEO. She exercises her judgment to make the big decisions. The details can and should be left to us, the law clerks.”

  Jeremy sighed and stood up from the bench.

  “Speaking of those details, duty calls—I need to go over my opinion with the judge. I didn’t mean to be such a bitch and get into a big argument. Congrats again on Keegan—and good luck.”

  “Thanks. I’ll need it.”

  26

  When Monday rolled around, I found it very difficult to work. My mind kept wandering to my interview with Justice Keegan, scheduled for the Friday after the coming Friday, and to the formidable competition posed by Lucia Aroldi. Part of me was glad that Jeremy had told me about her, but part of me was not; I felt that all I could do was stress about it. It was an itch that I couldn’t scratch.

  Finally—without any concrete plan, but feeling that I had to do something—I emailed Lucia at her Ninth Circuit email address:

  Hi Lucia. My name is Audrey Coyne, and I’m also a law clerk for the Ninth Circuit in Pasadena, clerking for Judge Stinson. I’ve heard through the grapevine that you have a clerkship interview with Justice Keegan coming up. Congratulations!

  I’m actually interviewing with the justice as well. Would you be interested in meeting up for lunch sometime this week to chat and compare notes about what we’ve heard about the process?

  Best,

  Audrey

  I received a response from Lucia within minutes.

  Hi. We don’t get a lunch break here in the Polanski chambers—or any break, really—but we have a roughly 90-minute window in the early evening when we are free (when the judge drives home to Santa Monica, before he starts sending us emails and calling us from his home). I use this time to get the coffee that fuels me through two or three in the morning. I could do coffee tonight if you’d be up for it.

  —L.

  We agreed to meet at 6 that evening and drive over to Intelligentsia for coffee—with Lucia driving, since I had neither a car nor a license (just a learner’s permit). I was a little surprised by Lucia’s willingness to meet me, given the “I’m going to eat you for breakfast” stare she gave me when we first saw each other, followed by her general unfriendliness when we’d see each other around the courthouse. But perhaps she had a newfound respect for me now that she knew I was also inter
viewing with Justice Keegan. Or perhaps she, like me, wanted to size up her competition. I thought to myself: be careful, Audrey.

  When I arrived at the courthouse parking lot, five minutes before the hour, Lucia was already there, standing next to her green Subaru Outback. We shook hands—and her grip, dauntingly strong, lasted a few seconds too long. I discreetly massaged my right hand with my left to help it recover.

  “So you don’t drive?” Lucia asked as we pulled out of the parking lot.

  “No,” I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact rather than defensive. “It’s a New York thing. We can get pretty much wherever we want with mass transit.”

  We settled into a minute of silence. I noticed Lucia was a very good driver.

  “So where are you from?” I asked, breaking the silence—which bothered me, even though it didn’t seem to faze Lucia.

  “Oregon,” she said, without volunteering any further details.

  “Where in Oregon? Portland?”

  Because Portland was, of course, the only city I knew in Oregon.

  “Eugene.”

  More silence. Was Lucia trying to intimidate, or just plain awkward?

  Thankfully the trip to Intelligentsia wasn’t long. Lucia parallel parked with ease, and we went inside. We both ordered coffees, except Lucia took hers black, while I added my usual large dosages of milk and sugar.

  “Why do you do that to your coffee?” Lucia asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Add all that milk and sugar.”

  “Because I like the taste?”

  “I drink mine black.”

  “I can see that,” I said, starting to get annoyed.

  We both paused to sip our beverages. I silently admonished myself not to let my irritation get the better of me.

  “So,” I said, as brightly as possible, “are you excited about your interview with Justice Keegan?”

  “Not really. He interviews the winner of the Fay Diploma every year. Obviously I’ll do my best, and accept the job if he offers it to me, but there are other justices I’d rather clerk for.”