Barring Complications

by Blythe Rippon

  “Why thank you, Madam Justice.”

  “You did very well.”

  Genevieve shrugged. “We got most of what we wanted. We were never able to figure out a key for Jamison—a pattern in his voting record.”

  “I’ve spent two years working with the man, and all I can tell you about him is that he likes argyle socks.”

  “Damn. If only I had found a way to work socks into my argument about the Fourteenth Amendment.”

  “Equal protection for all footwear: the next legal frontier,” Victoria said. Genevieve’s smile made her feel weak.

  “So, how did you convince Jamison to sign onto your opinion?”

  “Me? What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”

  Genevieve hesitated. “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

  Victoria sighed. She hadn’t intended to be evasive. But she wasn’t sure how close she could let Genevieve without opening the floodgates. She tried to answer honestly, but without revealing too much. “There was no silver bullet with Jamison. If his body language was any indication, he seemed to respond to the arguments about precedent. But who knows, really. He might have just had an itch.”

  “So he was on board from the start?”

  “Not exactly,” Victoria hedged.

  Genevieve leaned back in her chair. “Is that all I get, Madam Justice?”

  Victoria heard the edge in her voice, and realized that she’d now managed to stall the conversation twice in less than one minute. She resolved to do better.

  “At the initial Conference, Jamison and O’Neil both voted no. Alistair assigned the minority opinion to me, and I found a way to make it into the majority opinion.”

  “Congratulations. It was well-written.”

  “It wasn’t the opinion I had hoped for, Genevieve. We—Michelle, Jason, Alistair, and I—wanted a broad decision that would require all states to issue marriage licenses to gay couples. O’Neil and Jamison wouldn’t budge.”

  “So. The unbending Victoria Willoughby finally learned the meaning of compromise.”

  This wasn’t going the way she’d planned.

  “I authored a 6–3 decision that forces the federal government to recognize gay marriages. You think you could have done better?”

  “I just think it’s ironic, that’s all.”

  “You haven’t touched your food,” Victoria said, changing the subject. She hadn’t touched hers either. In fact, she hadn’t even noticed when it was put in front of her.

  “Is being a justice everything you wanted it to be?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Was my question unclear? Would you like me to rephrase it, Your Honor?”

  “You know what?” Victoria began, but stopped herself before going further. They ate in silence, until Genevieve excused herself and went to the ladies’ room. While she was gone, Victoria contemplated leaving. She could drop a twenty on the table and just go. Hell, she could even pay the whole bill. Maybe that would ease her guilt.

  One thing was clear: they certainly still knew how to push each other’s buttons. Too bad it was all the wrong buttons now.

  A brief look of surprise crossed Genevieve’s features when she returned and found the table still occupied. Victoria supposed she deserved it.

  “How are things at HER?” she asked, once Genevieve had resettled. Perhaps this would be a more successful topic.

  “That place is a hot mess. We’ve got some exciting cases coming up, but the staffing assignments I inherited make no sense, and restructuring hasn’t gone over well. Everyone is so resistant to change.”

  “Are you regretting taking on the position?”

  “No, I just have my work cut out for me.”

  “Well, you’ve always liked a challenge.”

  “Mighty high opinion of yourself, huh, Madam Justice?”

  “What? I hadn’t meant…please don’t call me that.”

  “Why not? Isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted?”

  Victoria stared at her. Between her evasiveness and Genevieve’s anger, they were getting nowhere.

  “Are you done, or should I just leave?” she asked, unsure which answer she wanted.

  Genevieve sighed, sipped her wine, and said, “Let’s try this again. We’re obviously rusty at talking to each other. How’s your family?”

  That seemed pretty innocuous. “Good. My dad lives outside Leeds. My brother, his wife, and their children live here.”

  “Here?” Genevieve looked around the room. “In this café?”

  Victoria rolled her eyes. “The greater DC area. Alexandria. I see them pretty often. How are your parents?”

  “Still in Avignon. I see them once a year.”

  Silence fell again, and they sipped their wine. If exchanging the most surface facts of their lives had been the goal, they’d accomplished it beautifully.

  “Are you happy in DC?” Victoria ventured.

  Genevieve shrugged. “Sure. At the very least, it put some distance between me and the long trail of ex-girlfriends in Chicago.”

  Cursing herself for showing a reaction, Victoria said, “Okay. I’ll bite. Ex-girlfriends?”

  “On second thought, let’s not.”

  They reached for their wine again, and a snort mixed with a giggle escaped Genevieve’s lips. She choked and it became contagious. Soon they were laughing so hard their eyes were watering.

  “Well, this is going well,” Victoria said when she could catch her breath.

  “We used to be a lot better at this.”

  “God, Genevieve. We really did.”

  Genevieve raised her wine glass. “Well, we’ve got nowhere to go but up.” For the briefest moment Victoria’s mind went the other direction, before she redirected it and touched their glasses together.

  “So, you’re a really good swimmer,” Genevieve said.

  “Thanks.” Victoria felt oddly shy about accepting compliments from her. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “I want you to know, I didn’t know you were a member here when Nic recommended me.”

  “Nic?”

  Genevieve offered her a sly grin. “Yeah, Nic. Does that bother you?”

  Victoria did her best to look nonchalant, but was pretty sure she failed. “Why would it?”

  “Well, who recommended you?”

  “Alistair Douglas.”

  They both laughed. “Nothing threatening there,” Genevieve said. “What’s the old man like?”

  “He keeps you guessing, that’s for sure. And he mixes a mean martini.”

  “No kidding?”

  “He really helped me with the transition. The Court is…not what I expected,” she admitted.

  Genevieve finished her wine, waved at the waiter, and ordered a second round. “Not what you expected? How so?”

  Victoria pondered her answer for a moment. “Well, personalities matter more than I anticipated. It’s not an institution purely devoted to the law; politics seem inescapable. Perhaps in my younger days I idealized it too much. But I like my conservative colleagues more than I expected. We may have significant differences when it comes to constitutional interpretation, but…you know, we all like Chinese food. We generally agree on the best methods of collaborating with and teaching our clerks. We all wear the same thing underneath our robes.” She winked at Genevieve, who erupted into laughter.

  “Fascinating,” Genevieve managed between giggles.

  Victoria sipped her wine. “So, you and Bethany are still close, huh?”

  “What would life be without a best friend who turns every situation into an innuendo about your sex life?”

  Victoria shook her head and grinned, ignoring her fear that Bethany’s comments might involve her. “I hope you return the favor.”

  “Oh, I always give as good as I get.”

  It occurred to Victoria that she was quite literally flirting with disaster. She took the plunge anyway. “I remember.”

  Genevieve choked on her wine
, but Victoria knew the red creeping across her cheeks had nothing to do with coughing. It amazed her that after all these years, she still knew how to make Genevieve Fornier blush.

  She was on the verge of asking where Genevieve lived when her cell phone rang. Fishing it out of her purse, she looked at the display. Had it been anyone other than William, she would have turned it off. “I’m sorry, I should take this,” she said before answering.

  “Tor, Tommy’s had a fall and he broke his arm.”

  “Oh, Will, is he okay?”

  “He’s totally fine. Just tumbled off of a trampoline, but he’s asking for you. Can you come?”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re on our way home from the hospital. Maybe you can pick up some colored Sharpies on your way and we can decorate his cast?”

  “Done. I’ll be right there.”

  “Thanks, kiddo.”

  “You know I’m older than you, right?”

  “Whatever. See you soon.”

  The fact that he hadn’t traded jabs with her told Victoria how tired and anxious he was. She returned her phone to her purse and sighed. “Genevieve, I’m so sorry to cut this short. My nephew just broke his arm, and I have to go.”

  Genevieve nodded, and Victoria thought she could see disappointment underneath her impassive veneer. She rose and threw forty bucks on the table, and they both stepped away from their chairs. For an awkward moment they simply stood there, until Victoria opted for a farewell that could be taken as friendly or flirtatious: a kiss on the cheek and a whispered “See you soon” in her ear.

  Twenty minutes later, with a bag of multi-colored Sharpies now sitting in her passenger seat, Victoria licked her lips. She could still taste the chlorine and face lotion that had clung to Genevieve’s skin.

  * * *

  Victoria spent the following week organizing her office and wrapping up paperwork before summer recess. In between separating briefs into piles to be archived and shredded, she often ended up sitting motionless, a file folder in one hand, staring into space and pondering what would happen if she were to call Genevieve.

  Considering that she was the one who had walked away all those years ago, she felt it was her responsibility to make the first overture at a real…reunion? Date? But she didn’t have Genevieve’s cell number, and every time she imagined calling her work number she balked at the idea of revealing her identity to Genevieve’s secretary, who would inevitably be the one answering the phone.

  She was at a loss for an appropriately romantic gesture until late Wednesday afternoon, when an idea finally hit. She asked Wallace to make the phone call for her and use his name.

  Butterflies flitted to and fro in her stomach all day on Friday, and morphed into a porcupine as she descended the steps of the Harbour Club to the locker room. When she emerged from her dressing room a few minutes later, Genevieve was already waiting.

  “Hi,” she said.

  It occurred to Victoria that she might be one of the only people in the world who had ever seen Genevieve lower her eyes and address the floor. In the face of such bashfulness, she felt a surge of confidence and smiled at her. “Hi, Genevieve. New suit?”

  Genevieve looked up slyly. “You noticed.”

  “I notice a lot. You want to pick up the pace today?”

  “You got a hot date tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t asked her yet.” Victoria got about halfway to the pool before she asked over her shoulder, “You want a hot date tonight?”

  Genevieve dropped her goggles and Victoria grinned.

  “Better hurry—it’s not a good idea to give me too much of a lead.” She turned around again.

  A subtle electricity passed back and forth on the waves between them during their quick laps, and Victoria hovered on the edge of breathlessness. She was hyperaware of the slight twist of her torso with each stroke, and the surge in her quads every time she pushed off from the wall. When they stopped for water she forgot about the bottle in her hand, distracted by the path of water drops down Genevieve’s shoulders and collarbone. She came to her senses only to find Genevieve still cemented to the floor, her eyes locked on Victoria’s neck.

  Victoria threw her head back and laughed. “Ten more, Ms. Fornier. Think you can keep up?” She took off before Genevieve could answer, and so was surprised to find her slightly ahead after their next lap.

  When they finished, they were both gasping. Genevieve helped Victoria out of the pool, pulled her closer, and whispered in her ear, “About that date. What did you have in mind?”

  Genevieve’s breath made the roof of her mouth tingle. “Take a shower, Genevieve. You smell like chlorine.” She walked away.

  When they emerged from their rooms, Victoria’s bravado shrank. Genevieve wore a simple black dress offset by silver earrings and black pumps. There was nothing flashy about her attire, but it spoke of elegance and charm. All Victoria wanted in that moment was to hold her.

  “I was thinking,” Genevieve began, “since the café is closed, well, I wasn’t sure if—”

  “I made us dinner reservations at a little French bistro in Georgetown,” Victoria interrupted. She could see the surprise on Genevieve’s face.

  “Isn’t that a little—”

  “I’m sorry, if you don’t want to, or have other plans, or—”

  “…public?”

  “What?”

  “Sorry?’

  “I don’t—did you—”

  “You first,” Genevieve said.

  “I’d like to have dinner with you. Are you interested?”

  “Lead the way.”

  They caravanned to Georgetown, Victoria in the lead. After she whispered “Wallace Young,” the maître d’ sat them at the only table in the room with flowers.

  “Wine?” she asked when they were seated.

  “How about champagne?” Genevieve suggested.

  She nodded and placed her napkin in her lap. “Listen, I’m sorry I had to run last week.”

  “Is your nephew okay?”

  “Well, he can’t play tee-ball this session, so, you know, the world is ending.”

  “Tragic.”

  “You have no idea. He just sat there with these big tears streaming down his face when his dad told him. I wanted to cry with him and laugh at the same time.”

  The restaurant was prix fixe on Fridays, so they didn’t need to spend time with menus. As they sipped champagne over steamed mussels, Victoria realized that she couldn’t remember the last time she went out to dinner with a woman.

  “So, I’ve been wondering,” Genevieve said. “What was it like when Barack Obama told you he was nominating you for the Court?”

  “Well, his staff had contacted me during the vetting process to let me know I was on the short list. I had a couple of meetings with people from the Counsel’s office and White House Communications. They drilled me about past decisions I had written. I think they wanted to see how graceful I could be when they interrupted me and asked ridiculous questions, since that’s what it’s like before the Senate.”

  “Did they ask if you were gay?”

  Victoria needed more champagne before she could answer that one. After she put her empty flute down, the waiter arrived promptly to refill it from the bottle on ice by their table.

  “Not in so many words. They asked if there was anything in my personal life that I would be embarrassed about, if it were to come to light and make the papers.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I wasn’t worried about anything.”

  “So…you lied.”

  Smiling, Victoria said, “Yes, I lied.”

  “That seems to indicate that they weren’t worried about the rumors.”

  She nodded. “I thought that too. Certainly, they never asked in such a way as to signal that if I admitted to being gay they would drop my nomination.”

  “Still, you took quite a chance.”

  “Well, I trusted you. And my family. And,” V
ictoria waved her hand vaguely, “anyone else who knew about my personal life.”

  “Anyone else?” Genevieve tried to be nonchalant, but Victoria could see through her.

  “Oh, doctors and such,” she said with a grin.

  “Doctors and such. As in a personal physician, or a date who happened to have a medical degree?”

  Victoria nibbled on a puff pastry filled with lobster. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Did you meet Obama?”

  “He called me when he had made the final decision, and we had dinner together at the White House. We debated constitutional interpretation for a couple of hours.”

  “Nerd.”

  “If you had dinner with the president, what would you talk about?”

  “The continued expansion of executive powers.”

  “Nerd.”

  “Well, I’d also ask him if he had ever successfully evaded his secret service agents, or broken any antique dishes, or gotten lost in the West Wing.”

  “We did bond over our mutual love of Beyoncé.”

  Genevieve shook her head. “You’re too much, Victoria Willoughby.”

  “I can live with that. Better than not being enough.”

  “I don’t think anyone would ever accuse you of falling short.”

  “Well, if you haven’t met the president by next winter, you’re welcome to come with me to the White House holiday party. All the justices are invited.”

  “And you’d bring me?”

  Victoria studied her. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “On whether you can behave yourself around Michelle Obama.”

  Genevieve considered it. “I can’t make any promises.”

  “Good luck with that,” Victoria said.

  The waiter returned with individual terrines filled with seafood bouillabaisse. Genevieve leaned over hers and inhaled, her eyes closing. “Mmm. Nice restaurant choice.”

  “Well, prix fixe menus are great for people like me.”

  “Over-thinkers?”

  “I was going to go with ‘people who suffer from plate envy.’”

  “I do know how to share, you know.”

  “I remember.”

  Genevieve’s blue eyes sparkled, and Victoria lost herself in them for a long moment.