“Unless Dan Rather is the pope, no.”
There was a pause. “A guy who has a network here is calling you a miracle from God. Says Roe v. Wade is finally going to be overturned.”
“Oh, no.” Millie’s stomach went into freefall.
“Looks like you’re getting it from both sides.”
“Why can’t they just let me do my job?”
Jack said, “Can I read something to you?”
“Please.”
“ ‘Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.’ ”
“I wish I felt blessed,” Millie said.
“It’s not a feeling. It’s a promise. ‘The God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.’ ”
“This is good stuff. You got more?”
“A whole bookful. You have anybody you can talk to back there?”
“Justice Bonassi. I’ve been meeting with him and his wife. They’ve been great.”
“That’s a godsend,” Jack said. “I’ve prayed you would find good support.” Then he added, “How are you doing, really?”
Millie thought a moment. “It’s hard, but I keep remembering what Mom used to say. Just let it roll off your back like a duck.”
“She was a wise woman.”
“What I don’t like is that it is such a distraction to the Court’s business. So I hope this blows over soon.”
“And when it does,” Jack said, “maybe I can come out there. And take you to dinner. That’d give the reporters something to talk about, wouldn’t it?”
She laughed, suddenly wishing he were here now.
3
The barbershop for members of the House of Representatives was in the Rayburn House Office Building. A throwback to someone’s idea of a small-town hair salon, it sported a barber’s pole outside the door and three chairs. Since it had been privatized, the House barbershop had lost more barbers than it kept.
Sam Levering did not get his haircuts here. The Senate had its own, nicer, salon. His mission in the House shop was to find the House Speaker, Representative Brian Kessler. Kessler’s office had told Levering where he was, though that was no guarantee Kessler would actually be in the chair. House members were notorious for demanding an appointment with the barber, and then being late, often hours late, or not showing up at all.
But there he was, in the middle chair, being snipped by a short black-haired man.
“Hello, Brian,” Levering said.
“Sam,” Kessler said. “You slumming?” A fifty-year-old red-headed freckle face, Kessler was the quintessential boy next door. That was how he kept getting reelected. Only Levering and a few other insiders knew about certain practices that might have scandalized Kessler’s constituents.
“Can your man here take a break?” Levering said.
The barber shot a hard stare at Levering.
“Can’t this wait?” Kessler said.
“Knowing you, it can’t,” Levering said. Kessler was always doing three or four things at once. Levering wanted his undivided attention.
“Ermanno,” Kessler said. “Why don’t you give us a few minutes, huh?”
With an Italian version of humph, the barber walked out of the shop. Kessler spun around in the barber chair. Levering parked himself in the adjoining one.
“I want you to start thinking about impeaching Hollander,” Levering said.
Kessler remained impassive. He was a cool one. One didn’t get the speakership without developing an iron poker face.
“That’s pretty extreme, don’t you think?” Kessler said.
“Just start thinking about it, that’s all.”
“Are you nuts?” Kessler said, his cheeks starting to show the first blossoms of pink. “I don’t like the idea of messing with the Supreme Court.”
“What if the Supreme Court, by a slim majority, starts messing with our issues?”
Kessler shook his head. “Sam, you’re talking about the third arm of government. I don’t want to lead our party down that path.”
“Do you have any idea what might be at stake?”
Kessler pulled the apron off his chest and leaned forward. “Sam, listen. That’s going way too far. There would have to be a big public outcry for impeachment first.”
“You watch,” Levering said calmly. “There just might be.”
“There’s more to this?”
“I said watch. And be ready.”
Kessler ran his fingers through his incomplete hairstyle. Soon it would be lacquered down so even a typhoon couldn’t damage it. Levering had always admired Kessler’s hair.
“Look,” Kessler said, “I’m not going to make any commitments. At the most, I’ll wait and see.”
“You don’t have to wait to see. I’ll tell you how to proceed.”
A thin smile came to Kessler’s face. “You wouldn’t be trying to put the Arnold on me?”
The Arnold was code on the Hill for strong-arming. “Let’s just say the president and I would much appreciate this little act of kindness.” Levering felt like Marlon Brando in The Godfather. It almost made him laugh.
“What if I refuse?” Kessler said.
“You won’t.”
Kessler’s soft cheeks became hot pink. “You think I’m going to sit here and let you – ”
“How’s your wife back in Sioux Falls?” Levering said.
Kessler’s eyes opened a little wider.
“Still in the first stages of Parkinson’s?” Levering asked.
“You slime.” Kessler said it softly, haltingly.
“Your social activities never need to get back to the old hometown,” Sam Levering said. “We’ll be in touch.”
On his way out, Levering dropped a dollar in the barber’s tip tray.
4
Friday’s conference with the justices was like watching a slow, virulent cancer take hold in the body of the Supreme Court. Millie managed to make it through, but strain was clearly seeping into the chamber.
So she was more than grateful when Helen called, inviting her to lunch. She said she would come around with a driver and they’d go out to a secluded place by the Potomac for a picnic. It was the perfect plan.
The car entered the Court garage at one o’clock. It was a large black limo with tinted windows. Helen certainly knew how to do a D.C. power picnic, Millie mused as the driver opened the limo door. For a moment she thought she recognized him from somewhere.
When she got in, she knew. Seated next to Helen was Senator Sam Levering.
“What is this?” Millie asked. The door slammed behind her.
“Millie,” Helen said, “we have to talk.”
Speechless with shock and anger, Millie glared at the senator. The last time she had been in a limousine with him had not exactly been a pleasant experience.
“Madame Chief Justice,” Levering said with a nod.
“Helen, what is going on?” Millie asked.
The limo started up and Millie practically fell back into the seat. Outside the sun was shining. Inside the air was foul and close.
“We need to talk,” Helen said. “Sam – Senator Levering – and I are really concerned about what’s going on.”
Levering folded his ruddy hands across his stomach. “Madame Justice, do you know what Ambrose Bierce once said about politics?”
Millie just looked at the senator, anger rising in her like a flame.
“He said politics is nothing more than the ‘strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles.’ A wise man, Bierce.”
“That politics should be without principle?” Millie snapped.
“You miss the point,” Levering said in his smooth, practiced manner. “We are awash in a strife of interests, that’s all, and you’re right in the middle of it. I want to see if I can help you out before the politics gets to the Court.”