“What’s your strategy for oral arguments?”
“It would be premature, and more than a little inappropriate, to get into the specifics of our strategy, Max. But suffice it to say, our strategy will involve winning.”
That got a smile out of the otherwise stoic Max. “Indeed. All right, enough of the nuts and bolts. Can you tell us a little about the status of your personal life?”
“Well, I’m not federally married if that’s what you’re asking.”
Max laughed, and she thought she saw the word “cheeky” appear on the notepad.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Max tried again.
“I’m looking at you right now.”
“I guess that means I’m not going to get an answer. You know, interviewing lawyers is always an exercise in wordsmithing.”
“I should hope so. We’re not doing our job if we don’t evade, redirect, or deliberately misinterpret.”
Max shifted in the chair and smiled. “Now, Ms. Fornier—”
“Genevieve is just fine, Max.”
“Okay, Genevieve, then. Rumors are flying that Justice Victoria Willoughby is a lesbian, and I’m sure you’ve heard the calls for her to recuse herself. As a member of a very small legal community, perhaps you have some insights here. What can you tell us about Justice Willoughby? Does she have reason to recuse herself?”
The briefest of pauses passed before Genevieve could respond. “It is neither here nor there whether Justice Willoughby is straight, gay, or anywhere in between. And these calls for recusal are ridiculous attempts to stir up media frenzy. You know, if the arguments against gay marriage are that it would threaten straight marriage, than every justice involved in a straight marriage should consider recusal.” She suddenly wanted this interview to end. “Max, I’m sorry to do this, but I confess I had forgotten that we had an interview scheduled for tonight. I’ve made other plans, and I really need to get going. Maybe you can go through what you have so far, and email me any additional questions?”
Max hid any signs of disappointment or irritation as the two stood and shook hands. “That won’t be necessary, Genevieve. I have enough to go on already. Have a good night.”
“You too. Take care, Max.”
When the door closed, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.
Chapter Three
An hour later, Genevieve walked through the front door of her home. As she headed toward the kitchen, she dropped her keys on a table, her purse on the couch, and her suit jacket on a chair. She pulled open the fridge and stared at the contents. The only edible food was leftover Thai, which she tossed into the microwave. As she waited, she gazed around her new townhouse. There were still a few boxes occupying corners here and there, waiting to be unpacked, for which she was grateful. Manual labor would provide a welcome break whenever she needed to step away from the case for a bit.
Like now. Her head was buzzing with information overload, and she craved a glass of pinot.
She untucked her blouse and poured out a healthy amount of wine. The glass was hand-blown, a gift from a client skilled in the art. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she savored the wine. She needed an escape, something to create distance between herself and her research, something to restore her composure after being thrown at the end of that interview. Spending this much time trying to get into Victoria Willoughby’s mind was unnerving. It reminded her of another time she had obsessed about what went on inside that gorgeous head. It had been twenty-three years, but her heart still ached.
She’d been fighting it since first taking over the case and realizing she would once again be in the same room as Tori, but now she took another drink, closed her eyes, and gave in to the pull down memory lane.
Harvard Law School, 1988
Genevieve had been wandering around the assembly room in Pound Hall for the past five minutes, chatting with colleagues and exchanging glances with a cute third-year from her admin law class. She couldn’t remember her name, but she could read the signs. It was the beginning of a new school year, Genevieve had the confidence of a second-year, and she was in the mood. The woman had short, blonde hair, and Genevieve found her a little too blatant with her low-cut blouse and tight pants. Still, it had been a boring summer and she was ready for some fun.
She maneuvered around the space, keeping the same distance between them while continuing to flash demure smiles toward the third-year. She had worked her way back toward the door when her eyes lit on a woman standing in the entrance.
She wore a black pantsuit with a white satin blouse, and her auburn hair fell in expertly sculpted curls to the middle of her back. Her porcelain skin was flawless, her cheekbones high and chiseled, and her posture ramrod straight. As her hazel eyes took in the room, Genevieve felt her stomach flutter. There was something about the newcomer’s impeccably tailored suit and her Hollywood-ready hair. She wore the inevitable glasses that Harvard Law women used, whether they needed them or not, to be taken seriously. The slightest hint of makeup accented her lips and eyes. She seemed untouchable, remote, and pristine.
All this, Genevieve knew, added up to one straight cookie. Still, she could dream.
“All right, everyone, please take your seats. We’re going to begin,” said a loud voice from the front of the room.
Once everyone had settled, the three producers of Harvard Law’s annual Parody began describing the work that needed to be done before rehearsals could begin. The show would contain at least twelve pop songs whose lyrics had been altered to mock life as a law student, the bizarre politics of big firms, gunners who were clearly on a path toward election to the US Senate, and the infuriating legal procedures that often dictated trial strategy.
The previous year, the producers of the Parody had crafted a book show with a loose plot stringing together the dozen songs that made up the performance. The end product was so convoluted that the audience spent more time struggling to work out the plot than howling with laughter at the brilliant puns in the altered lyrics. So this year, the producers proclaimed, the show would be a straight review—Genevieve rolled her eyes at that—with no effort to concoct a story.
The blonde glanced over at her and mouthed, “Hi.”
Genevieve smiled the smile she reserved for situations like these and mouthed, “Hi back.” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Slowly. The blonde watched and bit her lip.
The producers identified twelve pop songs that they wanted to parody and the same number of legal issues, law courses, jurists, and firm quirks. Volunteers could sign up in groups of two or three to match a song with a topic. Drafts of their parody would be due in two weeks, and auditions would begin in three.
As everyone stood and began moving in the general direction of the sign-up sheet, Genevieve gathered her jacket and bag slowly, waiting for the blonde to come to her. Instead, once she had slung her bag over her shoulder, she discovered the redhead by her side.
“I’m Victoria Willoughby. Your new Parody partner.” Victoria extended her hand and waited for Genevieve to shake it.
Genevieve stared. Who the hell was this girl? She glanced over her shoulder and saw the blonde look at her, shrug, and sign up with someone else. Genevieve worked her face into a neutral expression and nodded, clasping the outstretched hand. “Sure. I’d be delighted to work with you.”
“Good, because I’m a first-year, and I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.” She steered them into the sign-up line.
That explains why I’ve never noticed you before, Genevieve thought. What she said was, “Well, I didn’t write last year, so we can learn together. I’m Genevieve Fornier.”
“I know who you are,” Victoria said, surprising her. “We’re up.”
Genevieve glanced up and noted that they had in fact made it to the front of the line. Faced with the prospect of combining “Walk Like an Egyptian” and “lawyer-politicians” (at least that vaguely rhymed), “Rock Me Amadeus” with contract law (which, let’s be real, doesn’t rock a
nyone), or “I Still Haven’t Found what I’m Looking For” with “Lexis Nexis” (which was thematically interesting but a scansion nightmare), she selected Escape Club’s “Wild, Wild West” and “Justice Rehnquist.” She looked up at Victoria, who nodded her approval, and Genevieve put their names next to the slots.
They drifted away from the front of the room to allow others access to the sign-up sheets.
“I live in Gropius. Want to stop by tomorrow night to start working?” Genevieve asked.
“That works well. I’m in Gropius too.”
Genevieve noted the short, sharp sentences and decided that breaking the newcomer’s perfectly put-together exterior would be a hell of a lot of fun. She reached into her bag, pulling out a notepad. After scrawling her room number and “8 pm” on a corner, she tore it off and passed it to her collaborator. She watched in amusement as Victoria folded the paper twice and carefully placed it between the front cover and the first page of her civil procedure textbook.
Victoria looked up and smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Genevieve Fornier. I think we’ll work well together.” The coolness in her eyes melted for the briefest of moments, and with that fleeting glimpse behind Victoria’s steely façade, Genevieve suddenly didn’t feel like playing games anymore.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said.
Victoria offered her hand again and Genevieve knit her brows at the formality. For a moment it had felt like they had both revealed themselves, had shared something intimate. But it must have just been her. She swallowed and returned the handshake, and before she could summon the wherewithal to reply, Victoria was gone.
* * *
Genevieve watched from her desk chair as Victoria paced around her room, singing from their notes.
Forty-seven lame clerks, noses in their law books
North, east, west, south, overturn the US House
Sitting in the Court Room, waiting for the big boom
Judges in their chambers, writing up their papers.
He’s so mean, but I don’t care
I love his robe and his bald receding hair
Overturns the laws that we like best
Heading back to the twenties
Living with the wild Rehn-quist.
She admired the sound of Victoria’s sweet voice, but the lyrics left something to be desired.
“Hmm, that still needs work,” Victoria said, sitting down on Genevieve’s bed. “Why are we talking about clerks, then people in the courtroom, then Rehnquist? We need to pick a point of view, don’t we?”
Genevieve had been thinking the same thing, but wasn’t sure prolonging their time together as collaborators would be a good idea. She was finding her writing partner’s perfume distracting. But if she wanted their parody to be even passable, it definitely needed to be rewritten. She’d acted a couple times in college, and Victoria had directed a production of Twelve Angry Men for the politics department as an undergrad, but neither had much experience with theatrical writing—or song writing.
“I don’t know why they wanted to do something with Rehnquist. He’s so boring,” she said, trying not to stare at Victoria’s legs. The skin there looked so soft that all she could think about was how it would feel against her lips.
Victoria hummed the next couple of lines. “I suppose ‘Rehnquist’ does rhyme with ‘sex.’ More or less. But I don’t think I can go there; it’s just too disrespectful. What about ‘Gives us all a complex, wild Justice Rehnquist?’”
Genevieve smiled and shook her head, enjoying Victoria’s sweet side. “That’s pretty tame. I think we can take more risks than that. What would you do with the next line?”
Victoria looked up from her notebook with mischief in her eyes. “Drink my wine and let you handle it.” She tossed her notebook into Genevieve’s lap and took a healthy swig from a glass of chardonnay on the nightstand next to her.
“Fair enough. At least we didn’t get stuck with ‘We got A Groovy Kind of Law.’” She gave up when Tori laughed. “Let’s finish this some other time. I’m tapped.”
“Me too,” Victoria said. She glanced around the room, taking in her surroundings.
The accommodations in Gropius, Harvard Law’s Spartan dorm, were cramped, institutional, and depressing, but Genevieve had found a way to turn hers into a cozy, inviting area with rugs on the floor and tapestries adorning the walls. She’d also replaced the florescent light bulb with a soft halogen lamp and put tea lights around the perimeter of the room.
As Victoria examined the room, Genevieve found herself uncharacteristically at a loss for something to say. They had been all business up to now, focusing their attention on meter and rhyme. The lull in their work felt awkward.
“Did you live in Gropius last year?” Victoria inquired, clearly trying to make conversation.
“Yeah, my parents believe in supporting their children through college, but they drew the line at graduate school. They just retired to Avignon and I’m on my own financially. Since I want the option of doing public interest after I graduate, I’m trying to take out as little in loans as possible.” Genevieve thought her response sounded stilted, and tried to figure out why she was having such a hard time talking to the self-possessed woman sitting on her bed. She swore it had nothing to do with the smell of her hair.
“That seems like reasonable parenting. If I wanted kids, I’d do the same.”
“You don’t want kids?”
Victoria squinted at her. “Are you seriously asking that? What self-respecting woman at Harvard Law would ever admit to wanting kids?”
“Oh. Good point.” Genevieve picked a piece of lint off her slacks and tried to find a better conversation thread.
Victoria stood and wandered aimlessly around the room, tracing the patterns of the tapestries with her index finger. Genevieve was struck by the contrast between her black-on-black attire and the rich colors of the fabric surrounding her. Like a black hole, Victoria seemed to capture light and matter, swallowing them until all Genevieve could see was her radiant skin, her flowing hair, the slope of her neck. She felt powerless against an invisible force pulling her forward, and without thinking she stood up and took a step.
Still facing a tapestry, Victoria continued the conversation Genevieve had forgotten they were having. “Look, I don’t want to seem harsh. I adore children. I’m just not convinced I could be successful at both law and family. And I wouldn’t want to do either halfway.”
Genevieve exhaled and returned to her desk chair. “What about a husband?”
Victoria turned and peered at her, the expression on her face inscrutable. After a moment she smiled and shrugged. “I heard a rumor once that spouses require time and energy. Seems like a chore.”
Genevieve couldn’t tell if she was joking. “Sounds lonely,” she said, feeling like they were playing a game and only Victoria knew the rules. For someone who typically reveled in her role as in-charge girl, this was a new experience.
Victoria sat on the bed, crossing her legs and playfully bumping her knees against Genevieve’s. “I suppose it’s possible I’m teasing.”
When they looked at each other, Genevieve felt her face flush and hurriedly stood. She began to follow the same path across her rugs that Victoria had just trod.
“Realistically, though,” Victoria continued, “I don’t have big expectations in that department. Love seems more like a distraction.”
“Really?” Genevieve struggled to reconcile Victoria’s jaded perspective with her Stepford exterior. “Sex seems like a distraction. Love seems like…” She waved her hand, searching for the appropriate description. “A lifeline. A sanctuary. A soft place to land.” She turned around to find Victoria’s hazel eyes piercing her.
“You’re a romantic.” It wasn’t a question.
Genevieve had been called many things—sophisticated, manipulative, a force to be reckoned with—but she’d never been called a romantic. She met Victoria’s gaze and replied, “I think I might be. Wi
th the right motivation.”
Victoria’s eyes widened, and Genevieve got the impression she had scared her new friend. Quickly changing topics, she asked, “So, Career Lady, what are your aspirations? Partner at Skadden? White House counsel? Don’t tell me you want to be a senator.”
Victoria closed her eyes as she said it. When the whisper of “Supreme Court justice” wafted into Genevieve’s ears, she almost laughed. Sure, lots of women at Harvard Law dreamed of a seat on the bench. But they didn’t say it out loud, and certainly not to near-strangers.
Victoria opened her eyes and Genevieve closed her mouth. Who was this girl?
“I’ve never said that to anyone before.” Victoria smiled. “It felt good. I know no one’s supposed to admit to such things. Humility and all. But I’ve wanted it for so long and no one knows and—” She stopped mid-sentence. “Besides, maybe you’ll wind up in the Senate. Might as well get you used to the idea so you’ll confirm me without a fight.”
“But you’re so—” Genevieve stopped before she embarrassed them both.
“So what?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t even know you.”
“You know me as well as anyone else here.”
Genevieve found that a little sad. “I guess that’s the point. You seem to play things pretty close to the chest. I guess I’m just surprised to hear you speak so bluntly about wanting to be a justice.”
“And now you know why I’m so private. The less people know about my personal life, the higher my chances of receiving a nomination and a relatively simple confirmation.”
“Well, you certainly have everything all planned out. Shouldn’t you be spending your time trying to get on law review, not writing for the Parody?”
Barring Complications Page 7