Supreme Ambitions

by David Lat

  I glared at him. He stepped inside my office, closed the door behind him, and sat down.

  “I mean, you still look hot,” he said, flashing that killer smile of his. “Just not as hot as usual. Are you okay?”

  “I’ve had better days. I had a little too much to drink last night. And now I have a hangover—which is the last thing I need right now, given all the work I need to do. I have to finish drafting the Geidner opinion, which the judge wants to finalize and circulate early next week. That opinion needs to be perfect, since it’s a huge case and Judge Deleuze is just waiting to slice it and dice it in dissent. And I need to prepare for my interview with Justice Keegan, which I can’t believe is taking place a week from today. I feel like I’m going out of my mind.”

  “Relax. Everything is going to be okay.”

  James looked so calm, and so handsome, and for some reason I just hated him in that moment.

  “Relax? Relax? Don’t patronize me. Are you working on anything as big as Geidner right now? Or do you still have your hands full with that little Indian law case of yours?”

  “I happen to find federal Indian law quite interesting.”

  “And what about my interview with Justice Keegan? It’s in one week! Do you have an interview for a Supreme Court clerkship?”

  “No, I do not. I do not have a SCOTUS clerkship interview. And I’m not working on a blockbuster case like Geidner. But there’s no reason for you to lord it over me like that.”

  Was James acting insecure? Resentful of my success?

  “Well, I do have a SCOTUS clerkship interview coming up,” I said. “And I haven’t done anything to prepare. Lucia read every single opinion from the last term, as well as all the major opinions of Supreme Court history. And she did a full day of mock interviews with former Keegan clerks too—eight hours!”

  “Who’s Lucia again?”

  “Lucia Aroldi. The Polanski clerk. She’s in D.C. today for her interview with Justice Keegan.”

  Bringing up Lucia reminded me of the kiss. And even with a cloudy mind, I could still feel guilt.

  “How do you know this Lucia? I’ve never said a word to any of the Polanski clerks. They’re kind of cliquish. Or maybe they just never get to escape from that prison of a chambers.”

  “She and I have been … hanging out. We went out for drinks last night, actually.”

  “She went out drinking with you last night? And now she’s in Washington interviewing with Keegan?”

  “She flew out on the redeye. She didn’t have much of a choice—Judge Polanski doesn’t like his clerks to miss work.”

  “Going out drinking, then jumping on a redeye for a Supreme Court clerkship interview the next morning. That doesn’t sound like the greatest idea … Why are you smiling?”

  “I’m smiling?”

  “You were. Now you’re not. But a second ago you had a big grin on your face.”

  Was I grinning? If so, why?

  “Look, James,” I said, “we need to talk.”

  “Um, isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”

  “No. I mean talk. Like really, really talk.”

  Now he looked less relaxed. He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees.

  “Okay. Go ahead. Let’s talk.”

  “Whatever there is—or was?—or is between us, I think we should put that … on hold.”

  James tilted his head to one side, quizzically.

  “To be honest,” he said, “although I think we acknowledged certain feelings, I don’t think we had really started acting on them. So I’m not sure there’s anything to put on hold.”

  “Well, to the extent that there’s anything to be put on hold, let’s put it on hold.”

  “That’s … very lawyerly of you. Okay. Fine.”

  I paused and put my face in my hands. Why was my head hurting so much? And why was I being so difficult? The anger I felt toward James just a few minutes ago had turned into anger at myself.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to be a bitch. I just have a lot on my mind right now.”

  “I know you do,” James said. “And you’re not yourself right now. And it’s freaking me out a little. I’m blaming this on the stress you’re feeling over Geidner and the Keegan interview. But when all this is over, let’s talk—like, really, really talk.”

  29

  “Back from DC. Dinner?”

  Ugh. I had received the text from Lucia hours ago but had not yet responded, instead immersing myself in revisions to my Geidner draft. I was torn about seeing her: dying to hear how her interview with Justice Keegan had gone, but not eager to discuss what had happened between us on Thursday night.

  But I knew I didn’t want to do dinner.

  “Really swamped, can’t do dinner. But would like to catch up. You here at the courthouse?”

  Since we both had company in chambers—Amit was around, and so were Lucia’s fellow Polanski clerks (of course)—we agreed to meet in the main courthouse library. It would be deserted on this Sunday afternoon, but it was mostly empty even during the week. In the digital age, legal research had moved online, making physical libraries somewhat obsolete. But I still loved law libraries for their stately quiet and for how they embodied the majesty of the law, contained in endless rows of case reporters. I could see why these beautiful books, in brown and gold and black and red, were now being used to decorate Brooks Brothers stores and high-end hotel bars.

  The library of the Richard H. Chambers Courthouse—originally the hotel dining room, back when the courthouse was the Vista Del Arroyo resort—was especially gorgeous. Several large plaster columns supported the high, beamed ceiling, from which hung wrought-iron chandeliers straight out of a medieval castle. At the far end of the room, arched windows admitted plentiful sunlight and offered sweeping views of the Arroyo Seco canyon.

  When I arrived, Lucia was already there, sitting underneath the “Chicago Clock”—an 800-pound, wall-mounted clock that had been salvaged by Judge Chambers himself from a demolished courthouse in the Windy City. Seeing her sitting below the massive clock made me think about time—how we use it, how quickly it passes—and how little I had left to prepare for my own interview with Justice Keegan.

  As I approached, I wondered how we would greet each other. The answer: awkwardly, with a clumsy half-hug that captured all of the weirdness between us. Sitting down, with the distancing feel of a table separating us, was a relief.

  “So,” I asked, trying to sound like a curious friend rather than an anxious rival, “how did your interview with Justice Keegan go?”

  “Not well.”

  “I bet everyone comes out of there thinking that. You’re just being hard on yourself. How could it have been that bad? You went in so well prepared!”

  “And so hungover. First, I showed up late.”

  Yikes. She showed up late to a Supreme Court clerkship interview.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, catching the frown I had tried to suppress. “I’ve never been late to an interview. But of course I’m late—maybe just five or ten minutes, but still late—to the most important interview of my life.”

  “It can happen to anyone. How did the interview go once it got started?”

  “Not well. I was so hungover, had a huge headache, and couldn’t remember anything. I confused Marbury v. Madison with McCulloch v. Maryland. The justice was giving me a strange look, which was unnerving me, until finally he just interrupted me and said, ‘Are you sure you don’t mean Marbury?’”

  “It sounds like just a slip of the tongue …”

  “Even a 1L at the worst law school in the country knows the difference between Marbury and McCulloch. Mortifying. But I guess it could have been worse. At least I didn’t throw up on him.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. But Lucia wasn’t joking.

  “I saved the near-vomiting for my interview with the clerks,” she continued. “They were ganging up on me, four on one, about substantive due process,
and I was flailing, and suddenly I felt this awful welling up from the top of my stomach, and I realized: holy shit, I’m about to puke. I had to excuse myself in the middle of the interview—which looked terrible, like I couldn’t handle the heat of their questioning—and run to the ladies’ room, where I vomited. Audrey, I puked in the bathroom of the Supreme Court of the United States.”

  “Wow.”

  “I didn’t come back until 15 minutes later. I spent several minutes staring at myself in the bathroom mirror and also sniffing at myself, fearing I had gotten vomit on my suit. When I came back, I knew it was all over. They had hardly any more questions for me. My interview with the clerks lasted for maybe an hour—it’s supposed to go on for two or three hours, but it was clear after an hour that I was not Keegan clerk material, so they cut it short. And I was fine with that, because by then I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I tried to explain that I wasn’t feeling well that day, and they seemed somewhat sympathetic, but we all knew the truth: it was a debacle.”

  We sat silently for a few moments. There wasn’t much point to my trying to reassure her. She was convinced that it hadn’t gone well—and it sounded like she was right. I felt a complex mix of emotions: sadness for her dashed hopes of a Keegan clerkship, guilt over my role in dashing those hopes, excitement for my improved odds of a Supreme Court clerkship, and guilt over that excitement.

  “Lucia, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, sighing. “I’ll get over it. I just need time.”

  “No—I mean, I’m really sorry. For any role that I might have played in all of this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were hungover because you went out drinking the night before. With me.”

  “That was my own choice—and my own fault. It was my idea to go out for drinks in the first place.”

  “But I shouldn’t have encouraged you to drink more. We shouldn’t have had that whole bottle of wine.”

  Lucia gave me that intense stare of hers, the same one she subjected me to when we first saw each other in Judge Stinson’s chambers, and placed her hand on top of mine.

  “I have no regrets about that wine,” she said. “It gave me the courage to share my feelings with you. Which is another reason the Keegan interview was tough for me; my mind was … elsewhere. How do you feel about me?”

  Guilty. But I didn’t say that.

  “It’s … complicated. The other night was … intense. I’m still processing it all. I need some time. Can we talk in a week, after I get back from D.C. myself?”

  Lucia couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m holding you to that. We’ll talk in a week. Good luck with your Keegan interview.”

  And she seemed to mean it. Which only made me feel worse.

  30

  At the conclusion of the Monday morning meeting, Judge Stinson asked me to stay behind after everyone else left—supposedly to discuss the Geidner draft opinion, which we were about to circulate, but I suspected she had other matters to discuss as well. It felt a little awkward, but not very awkward; it was clear by now that I was the judge’s favorite clerk.

  “So, Audrey, how is Geidner coming along?”

  “Very well, Judge. I should have a draft for you later today.”

  “Very good. So we should be able to send that out before you leave for Washington. When are you flying out again?”

  “Thursday morning.”

  “Excellent. So that will get you into D.C. by Thursday afternoon. Be sure to get a good night’s sleep before the Friday morning interview.”

  “Absolutely,” I said, thinking about how I wouldn’t make the same mistakes as Lucia.

  “This interview is obviously your highest priority right now. After we send out the Geidner opinion—I’ll try to turn around your draft quickly—you should shift all your efforts to interview prep. Everything else can wait.”

  “Yes, Judge.”

  “Although … I don’t want to jinx you, but this job is really yours for the taking.”

  I felt my pulse quicken, but willed my voice to stay calm.

  “In what sense, Judge?”

  “You may already know this, but you’re the final candidate the justice is interviewing. It’s between you and a young woman from Harvard Law School named Lucia Aroldi, who’s currently clerking for Judge Polanski. I actually interviewed Lucia when she was applying for circuit court clerkships, and she’s very bright. Anyway, for whatever reason, apparently she did not meet Justice Keegan’s expectations.”

  For whatever reason? I knew the reason, having brought it into being.

  “So I think this clerkship is yours to lose,” the judge continued. “If you go in and deliver a half-decent performance, you should get the job. And I know that you’ll do far better than that—you’ll be splendid.”

  She stood up from the conference table, as did I, and she hugged me again.

  “Judge, can I ask you a question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Have you ever … taken advantage of someone’s feelings to get ahead professionally?”

  “Do you mean … have I taken advantage of my looks to get ahead, taken advantage of someone’s attraction to me?”

  “Yes. Have you ever done that? And would you say it’s … ethical?”

  “Of course I have,” Judge Stinson said, laughing. “And there’s nothing wrong with it at all. I actually object to your loaded question, which uses the formulation ‘take advantage.’ That makes it sound unfair, when it’s not. Why not use a word like ‘utilize’ or ‘use’? Have I, on occasion, used my beauty for professional purposes? Of course. And I’ve also used my brain, my work ethic, my connections, and all my other God-given attributes. What could be wrong with that?”

  “Well, if you look at it that way, I guess it doesn’t sound that wrong. But some might say—well, if you play on their emotions, aren’t you using people?”

  “Audrey, should I ship you back to law school?” the judge asked, playfully. “Save your philosophizing for the classroom. This is the real world. This is the legal profession. People use other people all the time; it’s called billing by the hour. Clients use their lawyers, lawyers use their clients, and everyone uses everyone else. You need to use everything in your power to get ahead, because rest assured that your rivals are doing the exact same thing.”

  “And it doesn’t make you feel … guilty?”

  “Not at all. Here’s an example. When I was coming up for partner at Gibson, the head of the litigation department—whose support I badly needed—had a thing for me. I’d catch him looking at my legs during meetings, or he’d make inappropriate comments to me when we were alone. What did I do in response? Did I go running to the managing partner to complain? Of course not; I flirted right back. We never did anything—he was married, I was already with Robert—but we always had this sexual tension between us, which I did everything I could to stoke rather than dispel. And sure enough, when I made partner, it was with his strong support.”

  It wasn’t exactly like my situation with Lucia—this partner was senior, not a peer, and a man, not a woman—but there were similarities.

  “And it was a good thing I made partner, for me and for the firm,” she added. “I was the only woman to make partner at the firm in a three-year span, and the only person of color in a four-year stretch.”

  I nodded and nodded. Judge Stinson was right.

  “As women and as minorities,” the judge said, “we have a duty to rise as far and as fast as we can. Now, I have nothing against white males—after all, I married one—but the upper echelons of the legal profession are still far too white and far too male. When they were coming up the ranks, white males used every advantage they had, including their status as white males. So we as women should use everything we can—including but not limited to our sexuality—as we climb the ladder. As a wise woman judge who has served on the bench for decades told me at the orientation for
new judges, ‘There is no more potent weapon in any profession than a woman with a feminine exterior and a will of steel.’”

  I smiled. A woman with a feminine exterior and a will of steel. That was me.

  “Don’t let guilt hit you just because you’re so close to achieving your dream,” Judge Stinson concluded. “Guilt and self-doubt affect many successful women and people of color. They call it ‘impostor syndrome.’ We wonder if we deserve to be where we are, if we somehow ‘cheated’ to get here, if we got unfair boosts along the way. Get rid of the guilt. When you walk into One First Street on Friday for your interview with Justice Keegan, tell yourself this: ‘I belong here.’”

  31

  I had come to appreciate having a windowless office. The austerity of it all cut down on my natural tendency to daydream and live in the future. Without such distractions as views and weather, my office suspended me in time, allowing me to focus on one thing and one thing alone: law.

  But on Tuesday afternoon, not even my office could control my thoughts. The day after tomorrow, I would be flying out to Washington, and the day after that, I would be interviewing for a clerkship with the Honorable Aidan Keegan, associate justice of the Supreme Court of the United States.

  My office phone rang. I could tell from the display that it was Jeremy.

  “Hi Jeremy.”

  “Hey girl. What are you up to?”

  “Nothing. I can’t concentrate. I’m pretty useless from a work perspective right now.”

  “Well, good thing you sent out that Geidner draft this morning, I guess.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Come on, Ms. Coyne, you’ve been here long enough to know how everything works. People talk.”

  “So what else have your spies in the Deleuze chambers told you?”

  “You’ll be getting the draft dissent in record time. Deleuze is a genius and works fast, and she’s been riding her clerks hard on this—they started working on it right after oral arguments, not even waiting for Stinson’s draft majority. Deleuze wants this issue decided as fast as possible, for the sake of all the gay couples it affects.”