Dexter sighed manfully once more at the unjustness of female wiles. “Terry? Well, now she’s gone bat-shit. On the other hand, she’s not some jalapeño like Ramona. She’s bat-shit, but logical. She understands that there’s no point in grabbing the wheel of this bus and driving it off the cliff.”
“Have you told her that you are not going to divorce her in order to marry Ms. Alvilar?”
“In so many words.”
“Tell me the actual words you used.”
“I told her, ‘Don’t worry about it. We need to stick together here. Team Mitchell. Team Mitchell.’”
Forkmorgan nodded. “And did she give you reason to understand that she is in fact on Team Mitchell?”
Dexter shrugged. “Well, she was running kind of hot when we last spoke. But she wants to be First Lady, so she’s not likely to do anything to screw that up.”
“No,” Forkmorgan said. “That would appear to be more on Ms. Alvilar’s agenda.”
“I was thinking,” Dexter said, sounding suddenly the politician, “we could offer Ramona a nice ambassadorship. Somewhere warm, Spanish-speaking. She’d be a hero down there. A queen. The Hispanics loved it when she disagreed with me about mining the border…”
Forkmorgan shook his head. “No, I think we’ve made enough promises to Ms. Alvilar for the time being. Not to mention it would be illegal.”
“I wasn’t suggesting it was a perfect solution,” Dexter sniffed.
CHAPTER 29
Dear me, dear heavens, dear… dear,” Crispus said heavily after Pepper had recounted Agent Lodato’s discovery. His eyeballs flickered side to side. “Why do you bring this fifty-five-gallon drumful of squirming worms to me?”
“Who else am I going to tell?” Pepper said.
“Who else? Who else? How about your boyfriend, for one? The Chief Justice. He’s the one who called down the thunder in the first place. Why don’t you tell him? Why is this my business? Re-cu-use me.”
“I can’t tell him,” Pepper said.
“Why not?”
“He might do something about it. Something… injudicious.”
“Whereas I’m just going to rub my fevered brow and ululate?”
“Look, Crispy, help me out here. What do I do?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be hitting any more SEND buttons.”
“Thank you. That’s so helpful.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Crispus frowned and drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. “What would Hammurabi do?”
“Cut off everyone’s head, and call it a day. Is that your advice?”
“Let’s just call it option B for now.” He looked at her with what decoded for Pepper as a mixture of regret and rebuke. This made her, for the first time, think back on Mike Haro’s awkward moment in her chambers, when he’d extended a tentative invitation to come on down to his wine cellar. It came rushing in on her in one, unwelcome wave, that whatever other talents she possessed, men was not one of them. Had she not, after all, accepted a marriage proposal prompted by the launch of a TV show? She stared back at Crispus, thinking, Not you, too? He was saying something to her.
“This seems as good a time as any to ask you, was it the best possible judgment, leaping into the sleeping bag with the Chief?”
“I didn’t ‘leap’ into a sleeping bag with him. But okay. I stipulate maybe ‘judgment’ isn’t the right word, either. Look, Crispy, these things happen.”
“ ‘These things happen’ is, perhaps,” Crispus said, “the biggest intellectual and philosophical cop-out since Pontius Pilate washed his hands.”
“But practical, you have to admit.”
“Oh-urrr.”
“What was that?”
“That was a groan. They happen. Well,” he sighed, “the Rubicon appears to have been crossed. And peed into.”
“Stipulated.”
“What would the Chief be likely to do if he found out about this unfortunate information? Leaving aside your computer skills, it doesn’t appear to speak well of Brother Haro. On the other hand, he was under the understandable impression that you had petulantly instructed him to kiss your behind, which he doubtlessly viewed as poor recompense for having gone to the trouble of finding justification for your-may I say-deplorable vote in Peester.”
“I don’t give a church mouse fart about that. I understand why he was so pissed off. I don’t think justices ought to be leaking all over each other, but I understand why he did it. Over and out. It’s where we go from here. Chiefy’ll go nuclear if he finds out what the FBI found out. He takes that kind of thing very seriously. He’s an ethics wonk.”
Crispus considered. “Well, I imagine the first thing he’ll do is confront Brother Haro.” He held up the incriminating pieces of paper and said, “I must say, I would dearly love to watch him try to explain these away. Thing is, he’s so damn smart, he probably could. All right, so you present these to the Chief, the Chief goes through the ceiling like a helicopter, confronts the Last Samurai, and all this while a very large freight train is approaching our station.” He looked at Pepper. “You have to ask yourself: is this, as your Mr. Shakespeare would say, a consummation devoutly to be wished?”
Pepper stared. She took the two pieces of paper, folded them, and slowly tore them into small pieces which she dropped into a wastebasket.
“For a moment there,” Crispus said, “I thought you were going to make origami.”
“Oh, shut up,” she said, walking to the door.
“It’s been most eventful here since you arrived,” he said. “A strange energy seems to have descended upon our little temple and taken roost amid the pediments. You’re not by any chance a witch, are you? A succubus, perhaps, sent by the Evil One to bring about the End of Days?”
Pepper shrugged. “I wouldn’t rule it out at this point.”
Thirty seconds, Mr. President.”
“Thank you.” For once, the President did not do his vocal exercises.
“Ten seconds…”
“Good evening. I…”
No further words issued from the presidential orifice. The pause continued, elongated, as everyone in the Oval Office, even the Secret Service agents, exchanged fraught glances. Given the tumult of the preceding days, anything was possible: a nervous breakdown, a stroke…? A technician nervously examined the teleprompter. No malfunction was evident.
Seven seconds went by-an eternity when a U.S. president is going completely blank in front of a live TV audience estimated at a billion people worldwide. The lapse would quickly come to be called Seven Seconds in November. [28]
“…”
The President’s eyes were looking distantly off to the side, not at the teleprompter.
Hayden Cork, standing off to one side, looked on in something like frozen horror. He wondered, should he summon Dr. Hughes, the presidential physician?
Bringing eternity to a close, the President smiled gently and said, “Let me start over. This is one heck of a situation we find ourselves in, isn’t it?”
At this moment, Hayden Cork realized, God in heaven-he’s improvising.
“And I accept my share of the blame for it,” the President was saying, words not found on the teleprompter.
Graydon Clenndennynn nudged Hayden: What on earth is he doing?
Hayden gave an exhausted shrug that seemed to say: I don’t know. I have no idea. But I’m going to kill myself after this, so it really doesn’t matter.
“After the Congress passed this term limit amendment,” the President said, “I got angry and decided to run, on the principle that I didn’t think it was right to alter the U.S. Constitution just for petty political revenge. I thought a point needed to be made. I did not expect to win. But… now, here we are. For whatever reason, you elected me to a second term.
“At the same time, thirty-eight state legislatures ratified the amendment-with, I must say, impressive speed. That amendment, now having the force of law, bars me from taking office for a second term.<
br />
“And so we find ourselves in… a very American sort of situation. Darned if you do. Darned if you don’t. The question is, where do we go from here? Where… do we go from here?
“Now, in the last few days, I have consulted with a lot of very smart people. Constitutional scholars, experts, professors, former attorney generals-you name ’em, I’ve probably heard from them. About the only thing they agree on is that it’s all scr-it’s a confused situation. So the question is how to unconfuse it. At this point we need a little clarity. Clarity. As much clarity as we can lay our hands on.
“Now, the only other thing that all these wise folks agreed was that at this point, it probably makes sense to turn to the institution that was, in some ways, invented for just these situations…”
Pepper, watching on TV, closed her eyes.
The President sighed. “The Supreme Court. It wouldn’t be the first time that the highest Court got involved in deciding a presidential election. So it’s not as though we haven’t been there before.
“But I know, I know, somehow it doesn’t seem a satisfactory way to deal with it… asking nine people to decide, when more than a hundred forty million of you took the trouble to vote.
“So,” the President continued, “my inclination was to resign. To resign the office of President, and go home to… Ohio,” he said longingly, “and to turn it over to Vice President Schmidtz, who would, constitutionally, become President. That, at any rate, was my plan.
“But as it turns out, that would not necessarily solve the problem. Because when this proposal was made to Senator Mitchell, his representatives indicated that it was not a satisfactory solution. I imagine you will be hearing from him directly, but I think it is fair to summarize his position as follows: he feels that the presidency ought to be his. By default.
“And so the situation remains unresolved. Or at least not solved by my saying good-bye and going home.
“So that’s where we are as of now, my fellow Americans. I just wanted to let you know where we stand. And to tell you that I’m trying to do my best. I really am. But whatever happens, don’t give up on America. It’s still a great country. It’s just a little confused at the moment.
“Good night. Sorry to interrupt your TV shows. God bless.”
MOTHERFUCKER,” Dexter said. “Cocksucking motherfucking cocksucker…”
They had watched the President’s televised address in a suite purposefully and strategically situated in the Hay-Adams Hotel, directly across from the White House. It was Bussie’s idea. Send the signal: We’re here, and we’re moving in on January 20. Deal with it.
Bussie and Blyster Forkmorgan and the other lieutenantry of Team Mitchell let the Senator continue with his frothing expostulations. It reminded some in the room of the possession scenes in the movie The Exorcist. At one point it was feared the Senator might put his foot through the television, no doubt an expensive one.
“… cocksucking…”
A few frozen moments after the President had indicated his willingness to resign, Bussie had murmured, “We’re fucked, Dex.” The language in the war room that night could hardly be called elevated.
Ignoring Dexter’s ongoing spasms, Blyster looked over at Bussie and said mildly, “Was it your impression that he was improvising? He didn’t seem to me to be reading from a text.”
“Whatever it was,” Bussie said, “we got problems.”
“Yes. But a case, still.” He looked at his watch. Right about now a courier would be arriving at the Clerk of the Court’s office at the Supreme Court to file the brief for Mitchell v. Vanderdamp.
“… motherfucking…”
“How long,” Blyster said, “does he go on like this?”
“Dex?” Bussie interjected. “Dex? Senator?”
“What?” Dexter said in midfoam.
“You want to get back to work? We need to respond. They’re waiting on the roof.” The television networks had permanent tents on the hotel roof, the White House serving as backdrop; especially apt here.
“Oh, I’ll respond. Cocksucker!” Dexter glowered at the now-muted TV. An anchorman was talking to a coanchor. Both had moist eyes.
“They’re crying! Look at them! You pussies! Don’t you see? It was an act! That whole fucking thing was an act!”
“Perhaps a sedative?” Blyster said to Bussie.
“I need him awake. It’s great energy. Just needs harnessing.”
“He’s putting out enough energy to light Cleveland,” Blyster said, rising and putting on his coat. “Well, I have to be in court tomorrow. Bussie?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let him call the President of the United States a cocksucker on national television.”
Bussie nodded wearily.
CHAPTER 30
So,” Chief Justice Hardwether smiled wryly, “are we granting cert?”
The remark drew a rare collective laugh from the justices around the conference table.
“I’m not going to give a speech,” he went on. “But let me just say aloud what is probably on everyone’s mind. Back in the sixties-a period some of you actually remember-I was, of course, too young, or too intellectual, to pay attention…”
Another ripple of laughter. Pepper was struck by how relaxed Declan seemed; her own stomach was in knots. She’d lost eight pounds. Maybe there was a book in it: Supreme Weight Loss? Declan continued: “… the antiwar demonstrators used to chant, ‘The whole world’s watching’ as the police advanced with truncheons.”
This elicited a low groan from Justice Santamaria. “Truncheons?”
Declan went on: “All right, nightsticks. Batons. Clubs. Whatever, Silvio. What I am attempting to say is that I promise you all I will do my best. These last few months, I have not given you that, and I apologize to you. You deserved better. This institution deserved better. But as Chief, I have responsibilities, and one of them, it seems to me, is to remind us all that any further leaks, especially pertaining to Mitchell v. Vanderdamp, could have a terribly deleterious impact. Disastrous impact. This is the Supreme Court. So,” he smiled wanly, “let us act supremely.”
“Thank you, Coach Hardwether,” Crispus said.
“Anyone want to add anything?” the Chief Justice said.
“Yes,” Silvio said with a mischievous look. “I think we should start with a prayer. Why don’t you lead us, Mo?”
Justice Gotbaum smiled. “I tried prayer, Sil. Prayed for the Skins over Miami. [29] Looks like God is dead, after all.”
“Funny, I prayed for Miami,” Silvio said. “Won twenty bucks. I’d say God is great.”
“That sounds familiar. That’s right-it’s what they say as they’re flying planes into our buildings and stoning women to death. ‘God is great.’ Knew I’d heard it before. How does it go in the original? Allahu-”
“Won’t it be nice to have Bliss Forkmorgan back with us,” Paige Plympton interjected before Silvio’s and Mo’s badinage escalated, as it usually did, into full-blown jihad.
“He’s got his work cut out for him,” Justice Jacoby said a bit provocatively.
Justice Haro said, “So does Clenndennynn.”
“Okay then,” Declan said, in an cheery but emphatically peremptory tone, “I guess that’s it, unless anyone else has anything? Thank you, honorables.”
Walking out with Pepper, he whispered, “Quis…”
“Good luck,” Pepper said. “This is gonna be awful.”
“I’m not a believer, but I may ask Silvio to pray for me.”
“Say, Dec, about the leaks,” Pepper said.
“Um?”
“I was wondering-did you ever hear back from the FBI?”
Declan pursed his lips. “Not a peep. Our vaunted Federal Bureau of Investigation seems to have drawn a big fat blank. Disappointing, especially after all that abuse I got from everyone here for requesting an investigation in the first place. You’d think-how hard can it be to… Incompetence. Everywhere you turn, these days, incompetence.”
“I’m sure they did their best,” Pepper said, avoiding eye contact.
“Let’s hope they’re better at catching terrorists. Say, Pep?”
He had an embarrassed, boyish look. “Yes, Dec?”
“I…”
“Go on. Not going to bite ya.”
“I was thinking… until this is over, it might be better if…”
“If we don’t make violent love to each other?”
“There must have been thirty photographers and reporters outside my apartment this morning. Madness. Who’s to say they’re not tailing us.”
“I understand. This is going to be tough enough.”
Declan said sheepishly, “I’m certainly going to miss our… our… little…”
“You’re going to miss getting laid, is what you’re trying to say.”
He blushed. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yeah, you did.” She gave him a chaste peck on the cheek. “I’ll try to channel my frustrated lust into oral argument. See you in Court, Chiefy.” She said after him, “If you get desperate, come on by my chambers. You can mount up, see if you can stay on for eight seconds and make the whistle.”
Pepper had never seen a human being turn that shade of red before. The Chief Justice scuttled off like a frantic crab. She laughed, feeling light, almost flighty, for the first time in a long while. It was short-lived. There was a message waiting for her: “Buddy-please call ASAP.”
She waited until “ASAP” no longer applied before returning the call. Would she meet him for a drink? He didn’t want to discuss it over the phone. He sounded subdued, not at all his blustery, cigar-smoke-blowing self.
“All right,” she said. “There’s a place called the Pork Barrel.” She couldn’t resist adding, “You’ll feel right at home.”
He was waiting for her, in the same booth, oddly, where she had conversed with Agent Lodato. As she slid in opposite, a waiter came over and said merrily, “Justice Cartwright! Good to see you again.”
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