The 37th Amendment: A Novel

by Shelley, Susan

  “Oh,” Tiffany said. “Were you?”

  “That was only the back-up plan,” Howe said.

  Ted looked up in alarm. “The back-up plan?” he repeated.

  “There was always a pardon,” Howe said.

  “A pardon!”

  “Ted, your fate was in the hands of public opinion,” Howe said, his eyes fixed on Ted like rifle sights. “That’s your only hope today to override an outrageous law. No judge could help you. Under the terms of the 37th Amendment, we live under mob rule.”

  “We certainly do not live under mob rule,” Tiffany said. “We live under the laws made by freely-elected representatives.”

  “Same thing,” Howe shrugged.

  “Is pizza okay with everybody?” Jordan asked.

  “Fine,” Howe said.

  “Fine,” Tiffany said.

  “Good,” Jordan answered, “Because I already ordered it. It should be here in fifteen minutes.”

  Ted glanced up at Jordan, standing on the bottom step of the staircase, looking like a goddess. “Tell them the news,” he said.

  Jordan’s smile was slightly forced. “I’m moving to New York,” she said. “I’ve been offered a co-host job on a new talk show on BTN.”

  Tiffany yelped. “Jordan, that’s wonderful! When did this happen?”

  “Just a little while ago,” Jordan said. “It starts in two weeks. I have to be there on Monday.”

  Dobson Howe smiled proudly. “Congratulations,” he said. “I know you’ll be very successful.”

  “Thanks,” Jordan said. “I appreciate that.” She threw a sideways glance at Ted, who missed it as he crossed the room to the window and stared sulkily at the buildings of Hollywood, so drab in the summer daylight.

  Jordan looked down at her ivory sandals. “Well,” she said. “As much as I hate to miss out on pizza, I think I’d better be going. I have an awful lot to do all of a sudden.”

  Tiffany rushed over to Jordan and gave her a big hug. “Good luck, sweetheart,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Jordan said. Howe was right behind Tiffany. He took Jordan’s hand and kissed it. “Congratulations again,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Jordan smiled. Then she wrapped her arms around Howe. “Thanks for everything,” she said. He hugged her warmly and kissed the top of her head.

  Ted stood up. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said tonelessly.

  Jordan nodded, walked over to the coffee table to pick up her handbag and then headed back up the stairs. Ted followed her. Jordan opened the front door and stepped outside, where her zero-emissions two-door was parked in the shade of a tree that had dropped pale purple flower petals over its hood and roof. Ted walked up to the car and attempted to sweep the flowers off the metallic-beige paint. “These things stain,” he said. “You’ll want to get this to a car wash.”

  Jordan nodded. “I may keep my apartment,” she said. “It’s not like I’ll never come back to L.A.”

  “That’s true,” Ted said, brightening a little. “A lot of these new shows get canceled pretty quickly.”

  Jordan glared at him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said.

  “But you said,” Ted began, then stopped. Jordan wasn’t coming back. She was saving herself the trouble of a hotel in case she was forced to visit.

  Jordan kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for everything,” she said, in just the way he’d heard her say it to the kid who delivered lunch at her office. Then she opened the car door, squeezed in behind the wheel and started the engine, such as it was.

  “When are you leaving?” Ted asked, holding the door open.

  Jordan reached out for the door handle. “Right now,” she said. She closed the door and drove off down the hill.

  Ted stood for a moment in the empty parking space, listening to Jordan’s car buzz away. Then he walked back inside.

  “Ted, Casey just sent me the new poll numbers,” Howe said when he saw him on the stairs. “You’re more popular than the president.”

  “Thanks,” Ted heard himself answer. He sat on the steps at the bottom of the staircase, his legs carelessly thrown forward.

  “And 59 percent of Americans,” Howe said with obvious pride, “now favor the repeal of the 37th Amendment, with 35 percent opposing and 6 percent not sure.”

  “So there’s still hope,” Tiffany said.

  Howe ignored her. “I’ve got the state-by-state breakdown. Alabama, 55 percent in favor. Arizona, 49 percent; California, 60; Colorado, 72; Connecticut, 70; District of Columbia, 85; Florida, 31; I wonder why that’s so low,” Howe asked.

  “A lot of senior citizens in Florida,” Tiffany answered.

  Howe looked at her pointedly. “Well, they should know better,” he rumbled. He tapped a key on his wireless and scrolled through the numbers. “This looks very good,” he said. “Very good.”

  The doorbell rang. “That’s the pizza,” Ted said, standing up. Howe was on his feet, reaching for his wallet. Ted waved him off and jogged up the stairs to the door. It was Royce.

  “Oh, Ted,” she said, throwing her arms around him. “I just heard.” She hugged him fiercely, the kind of hug reserved for someone who had missed his connection to a plane that had crashed. Royce had tears in her eyes. Ted suddenly faced, for the first time, the magnitude of the risk he had taken.

  “I was so worried about you,” Royce said. “I tried to keep up a brave face for Flynn, but....” She hugged him again, pressing her face against his chest. Ted held her slender body tightly against him. He had almost gone to prison, he thought, perhaps for decades. The house would have been sold. His income would have been gone. Royce would have been left to raise Flynn alone. Had he been insane? He had risked all their futures for a woman who wouldn’t even give up a cable TV talk show to be with him. Ted blinked and squinted slightly, as he did every morning when he opened the blinds on his bedroom window.

  Royce looked up at him. “I’m so glad it’s all over,” she said.

  Ted kissed the top of her head. “Come in,” he said. “We just ordered some pizza.”

  “Oh,” Royce said, pulling back but keeping her arms around Ted’s waist. “Is Julia here?”

  “Julia’s gone,” Ted said.

  “Is Jordan here?”

  Ted shook his head. “Jordan’s gone, too.”

  Royce raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She followed Ted down the two flights of stairs to the living room.

  “Dobson, Tiffany,” Ted began, “I’d like you to meet Flynn’s mom, Royce Eliot-Lee. Royce, I think you know Dobson Howe, and this is Tiffany Dixon. She runs a little hideout in Nevada.”

  Royce smiled a beautiful, warm smile. The teeth were enhanced but the warmth was genuine. “Nice to meet you both,” she said.

  Just then, Flynn’s voice floated down from two levels up. “Dad!” she called. “Can I go to the Dodger game?”

  “Sure, baby,” Ted called back. “Why don’t you come down and say hi to your mom?”

  Flynn came flying down the stairs. “Mom!” she shouted, running into Royce’s arms.

  “Hi, honey,” Royce said. She wrapped her daughter in a tight hug. “I can’t wait for you to come and stay with me next week.”

  Flynn smiled broadly. “Can we go get our nails done?”

  “Absolutely,” Royce said. “First thing.”

  Flynn hugged her.

  “Flynn, I’d like you to meet my friends Mr. Howe and Ms. Dixon,” Ted said politely. “Dobson, Tiffany, this is our daughter, Flynn.”

  “Hello,” Tiffany said.

  “I believe we’ve spoken on the phone,” Howe said. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “Thank you,” Flynn said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” She turned to Ted. “Pearl and I want to go to the Dodger game tonight,” she said.

  “That’s a great idea,” Ted said. He took out his wallet and handed her some cash. “Have fun,” he said. Flynn kissed him on the cheek, hugged Royce again, then raced up the stairs and out the f
ront door.

  “She’s lovely,” Tiffany said. “How old is she?”

  “Twelve,” Royce and Ted said together.

  “And she’s going to the Dodger game by herself?” Tiffany asked.

  “No,” Ted answered, “With her friend Pearl. They’re inseparable.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Tiffany said. “I meant, without an adult. Dodger Stadium isn’t exactly around the corner.”

  “They pick up a bus on Hollywood Boulevard,” Ted said. “Then I think it’s two more buses and they’re at the stadium. It’s easy.”

  “That’s still amazing to me,” Tiffany said. “I know you take it for granted—and it’s wonderful that you can—but I still can’t get over it.”

  Ted was finding it difficult to pay attention. “Get over what?” he asked.

  “How safe it is now,” Tiffany said. “That two twelve-year-old girls can take three buses through the city by themselves at night and there’s nothing to worry about. It’s amazing. When I was her age—this was back in the late 80s—my parents would never have let me take a bus by myself at night.”

  Ted nodded politely. “They would have been really worried about you, huh?”

  “They would have been charged with felony child endangerment.”

  Royce looked a little startled. Ted fought to conceal his annoyance. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” he said.

  “The city was just a sewer,” Tiffany sighed. “You couldn’t go anywhere. Well, that’s not really true. You could go. But you drove your car directly to the parking lot, got out, locked everything up, and went straight inside. Then after the game or the concert or whatever you’d go straight back to the parking lot—you’d hear the chirps of everybody’s car alarms being deactivated—you’d get in your car and drive twenty or thirty or fifty miles back to the neighborhood where it was safe to raise your kids. That’s if you could afford to live in a safe neighborhood. I couldn’t stand it. I took my kids and moved to Nevada. And believe me, I wasn’t the only one.”

  “It sounds horrible,” Royce agreed.

  “You’re too young to remember,” Tiffany said. “But if these two have their way, you may get a chance to see it for yourself.”

  “What do you mean?” Royce asked.

  “They’re trying to repeal the 37th Amendment,” Tiffany said. “It was the 37th Amendment that made it possible for Californians to pass the laws they needed to make it so you could live in this city again.”

  “It was the 37th Amendment that made it possible for California to arrest and convict innocent people,” Howe interjected. “A safe society is important, but that is too high a price.”

  “It is a high price,” Tiffany answered, “but not as high as the price you pay for surrendering your cities to crime.”

  Royce leaned back in her chair, wide-eyed.

  “People have the right to govern themselves,” Tiffany continued, “without asking the federal courts for permission.”

  “People who are victimized by stupid state laws must have the federal courts as a last resort,” Howe answered.

  “Who is a federal judge to say a state’s laws are stupid?” Tiffany demanded.

  “Let’s not fight,” Ted said wearily.

  “I never thought about this kind of stuff,” Royce said.

  “No time like the present,” Tiffany said. “Think about this: who’s in a better position to decide what kind of laws are needed to govern California? The people of California? Or any five out of nine justices on the U.S. Supreme Court?”

  “Well, let me ask you this,” Royce countered. “Suppose the people want a stupid, unfair law that’s going to have terrible consequences far into the future? Who’s going to tell them?”

  Tiffany leaned forward. “Flynn will tell you,” she said. “Eventually.”

  Royce looked startled again.

  “I’m starving,” Ted said. “Where’s that pizza?” He picked up his wireless and keyed in a number. “This is Ted Braden,” he said brusquely. “What happened to the order for 6505 Whitley?”

  He was on hold for three minutes before the manager got on the line and explained that there had been a mix-up with the drivers and his pizzas were on the way to Highland and Pico, miles away in the opposite direction. Furious, Ted canceled the order and jabbed at the wireless to turn it off.

  “I’ve got a better idea anyway,” Howe said, taking his wireless out of his pocket. “Let’s order dinner from Musso’s. On me. I’ll even pick it up.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Tiffany said.

  “That would be delightful,” Howe said. He keyed a number into the device as he escorted Tiffany toward the stairs. “I’ll order for you,” he told Ted and Royce. “I know what’s really good there.”

  “Back shortly,” Tiffany called. Ted heard the front door open and close.

  “Freaky,” Royce said. “They’re like, both right.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Ted agreed, without interest. He was watching the light from the lamp shimmer on Royce’s silky straight hair. She had an exotic kind of beauty—high cheekbones, almond-shaped dark eyes—he remembered the black silk dress she was wearing the night he met her, and the almost violently passionate affair that had lasted for two years before he tired of her temper and she tired of his complaints that she drank too much. Six months later he had been shocked to hear from a lawyer that she had given birth to a daughter and wanted him to take custody of her, which he had done without hesitation. Royce had partied nearly to death for another five years before finally getting sober at an expensive San Diego rehab facility, and she had stayed sober in the seven years since, much to his surprise. Now there was no tension between them, no pretense.

  Royce looked at him and smiled, her expression soft. “I’m so glad this is all over,” she said again. “The thought of you going to prison....” Her voice trailed off.

  Ted thought about Jordan’s car buzzing away down the hill after he had risked prison for her, and how he had dumped Julia after she risked prison for him. He wondered if love was a form of mental illness. He looked at Royce. He couldn’t have done anything differently then, he thought. But now, he wondered.

  “Let’s get some air,” Ted said, standing up. He took Royce’s hand and led her down the stairs to the ballroom, where he opened the glass doors leading to the terraced yard. The heat of the day had lifted and it was a beautiful evening, clear and almost cool, the sky streaked with color. He held Royce’s arm as they walked over the bumpy pathway. They sat on the edge of a dry stone channel that extended from an empty fountain.

  “Are you ever going to get these things working?” Royce teased.

  Ted smiled. “That’s not the way to bet,” he admitted.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Royce said. “It’s beautiful out here anyway.”

  Ted nodded. “Are you seeing anybody?” he asked.

  Royce looked up at him in surprise. “No,” she said slowly.

  “Good.” Ted was silent for a moment. “Let’s get married,” he said.

  “Married!” Royce repeated. “Are you crazy? Nobody gets married.”

  Ted looked at her. “I want to,” he said. “Let’s get married. I’m tired of being in love. I want to get married.”

  “If there was any water in this thing, I’d push you into it,” Royce said.

  Ted smiled. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant....” He left his sentence unfinished and kissed Royce, gently at first, then deeply. Her hair felt like cool satin as it slipped between his fingers. He felt her hands pressing against his chest, pushing him away. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “This is really uncomfortable,” Royce said.

  “I’m sorry,” Ted said. He released her and wondered, at fifty, if he’d ever learn to understand women.

  “Not you,” Royce said. “This thing we’re sitting on.” She stood up and rubbed her tailbone. Then she looked at him and smiled mischievously. “That’s so sweet, that you want to get married,” she sai
d, barely containing her laughter. “So old-fashioned. Not like you at all.” She walked over to Ted and sat on his lap, resting her wrists on his shoulders. Ted felt himself blushing. “I guess that wasn’t a proper proposal,” he said. “Let me try again.” He reached up and took Royce’s hands. He looked into her eyes. “I have always loved you,” he said simply. “Will you marry me?”

  Royce smiled radiantly. “No,” she said.

  Ted looked around as if the lights had gone out. He dropped Royce’s hands into her lap.

  “Nobody gets married,” Royce said, “Especially in California.” She stood up and walked a few steps, turning to face the view of the city. The lights of Hollywood were just beginning to glimmer against the darkening sky. Royce watched the sunset in silence. It seemed to Ted that she stood there a very long time. Finally she turned and looked at him.

  “I would consider moving in with you,” she said. “But I don’t want to get married and I’m not giving up my apartment. That way, if one of us decides we want our freedom back, it won’t take a constitutional amendment.” She extended her right hand. “Deal?” she asked.

  Ted stood up, wrapped his arms around Royce and kissed her. “Deal,” he said.

  “Let’s call Flynn on her wireless,” Royce beamed. “I can’t wait to tell her.”

  THE END

  ONE NOTE

  The Felix Frankfurter quotation at the beginning of the book, “The due process clauses ought to go,” is taken from an unsigned editorial entitled “The Red Terror of Judicial Reform,” written by Frankfurter for The New Republic, October 1, 1924. It is reprinted in Law and Politics: Occasional Papers of Felix Frankfurter, 1913-1938, Archibald MacLeish and E. F. Prichard, Jr., editors, p. 16 (1971). Here is the full quotation:

  An informed study of the work of the Supreme Court of the United States will probably lead to the conclusion that no nine men are wise enough and good enough to be entrusted with the power which the unlimited provisions of the due process clauses confer. We have had fifty years of experiment with the Fourteenth Amendment, and the centralizing authority lodged with the Supreme Court over the domestic affairs of forty-eight widely different states is an authority which it simply cannot discharge with safety either to itself or to the states. The due process clauses ought to go. It is highly significant that not a single constitution framed for English-speaking countries since the Fourteenth Amendment has embodied its provisions. And one would indeed be lacking in a sense of humor to suggest that life, liberty, or property is not amply protected in Canada, Australia, South Africa. By eliminating this class of cases the Supreme Court would really be relieved of a contentiously political burden. It would free itself to meet more adequately the jurisdiction which would remain and which ought to remain. The Court would still exercise the most delicate and powerful function in our dual system of government. To discharge it wisely, it needs a constant play of informed criticism by the professional as well as the lay press. This, in turn, implies an alertly progressive bar, the product of a lively spirit of legal education at our universities, and a public opinion trustful of the workings of our judiciary because the trust is justified by its exercise.