Millie felt the tone switch to mild threat. She was livid. Threaten the Court itself? She would fight to the bitter end to protect the honor of the Court. “Just what is it you are suggesting, Senator?”
“A chance,” Levering said softly.
“A chance for what?”
“To survive.”
“The Court is strong enough to survive,” Millie said, “and so am I.”
The phony congeniality melted off Levering’s face. “Look, Madame Justice, what I’m talking about here – ”
He stopped as Helen put her hand on his leg. “Let me,” she said to the senator. Then to Millie: “What Senator Levering is trying to say, Millie, is a concern I share as well.”
“Why didn’t you come to me first?” Millie asked.
“It’s all bollixed up,” Helen said. “So much has happened. The point isn’t the past, though – it’s the future. Yours and the Court’s.”
Millie felt like screaming at them both to leave the Court alone. “Why don’t you both come out and tell me what you want?”
“I’ll take it,” Levering said firmly. “Many of us in Congress are very uncomfortable about you mixing religion and politics and the law. Very uncomfortable. Especially after a bunch of us went to bat for you. Not only to be CJ, but when you first came up as a nominee. You made certain assurances – ”
“No, Senator,” Millie said. “I never locked myself into a position on any issue.”
“Don’t quibble with me,” Levering said, pointing his finger at her. “You know what I’m talking about. You indicated to me in private, and to the public at large, that you were going to continue your course as it had been in the past. Nobody ever thought you’d go…”
“What, Senator?” Millie said. “Were you going to say crazy?”
“Actually,” Levering said, “I was going to say nuts.”
Millie felt lightning flash inside her head. She wanted out. Now.
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” Helen said to Levering.
“Millie,” the senator said, giving her an I-feel-your-pain kind of look. “No one wants this to be hard on you, or the Court. And no one is denying you the right to think about life, make some personal changes. But you need to step back and look at the big picture. The picture of this country of ours, of the rights and laws that we’ve built up painfully over the last hundred years.”
What was this, his Fourth of July stump speech?
“You are in a position, not only as chief, but as the key vote, to tear down that delicate edifice,” Levering continued. “Wouldn’t you agree that this should be a matter of sober reflection? Of patience? I understand you had a law clerk resign over this.”
How did he know that? The idea of leakage from within the walls of the Court filled Millie with a sickening dread. “That happened,” Millie said. “So?”
“Don’t you see the danger?” Levering said. Helen, looking at Millie, nodded in agreement, as if Millie should see it, too. Levering leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You take the angry resignation of one clerk and you expand the reaction over an entire nation. You’ll have civil strife like we haven’t seen in a generation. All because of religious f – ”
Millie thought he was about to say fanaticism.
“ – fervor,” Levering said.
Millie felt all of her muscles tensing, especially her hands, which she opened and closed in front of her.
“We just want to know,” Helen said, “if you’ll think about it, talk to us, talk to me. We can get through this, Millie. We can.”
“Get through it how, Helen?” Millie said.
“We have someone you need to meet,” Helen said. “Trust me.”
Millie felt the last reserves of any sort of trust for Helen nearly canceled out by the presence of Sam Levering. But this was not just about trust, or about one justice. The integrity of the Supreme Court itself was involved. For that, she would stay, if only to figure out how to keep the senator’s creeping tentacles out of the sacred chamber.
5
Anne wasn’t sure of the precise moment she decided to take up smoking again. It just happened.
She stood outside the Plaza Hotel in New York and lit up. Why Ambrosi had chosen this place to meet was beyond her. It was so public. So old-style gentility.
Inhaling the smoke as if it were life-giving oxygen, Anne watched the upscale afternoon crowd milling about. A hansom cab pulled up in front with a giggling couple in their early thirties. They seemed blissfully happy. Anne immediately hated them.
Why wasn’t she happy? Everything was going her way, wasn’t it? She was taking care of business for Levering and she was good, so good. That weasel of a detective, Markey, had no idea what he was up against. He’d fade out soon enough.
So why should she be smoking as if her life depended on it? She laughed at that. A life lived in dependence on tobacco products? Well, why not? She remembered a bumper sticker she saw once: “Everybody has to believe something. I believe I’ll have another beer.”
I believe I’ll have another smoke.
One of the Plaza doormen looked at her with a leer. Anne shook her head, as much to herself as to the doorman, and turned back toward Fifth Avenue. At the same time, she fished out another cigarette and turned her thoughts toward Levering.
He was losing it, whatever “it” was. His general anxiety level seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds. If it wasn’t for the paycheck, she might have considered leaving his employ.
Was she losing “it,” too? She shook off the thought. Losing was not in her program. Ever since her parents had died, she had trained herself to win at all costs. All costs.
She took a few steps down the sidewalk, just to get moving. The steamy air of the New York street was, in its own way, bracing for her. She breathed deeply of its mix of smoke, fumes, and dust.
She was just about to turn back toward the hotel when she saw Elijah.
Her jaw dropped. The burning cigarette in her fingers fell to the sidewalk. Had Ambrosi shipped Elijah to New York?
Anne didn’t even glance down. She couldn’t. Elijah was walking straight toward her.
She felt a scream rising in her throat, but even then her mind said something about being in front of the Plaza Hotel, idiot, and do you want to make a spectacle?
Her mind zipped back to the last time she’d seen him, when he’d told her that it wasn’t too late. Like some ghostly herald from Shakespeare.
Should she run? That would be an even bigger spectacle, some crazed chick in heels tottering down the street.
Or she could mace him again.
She reached in her purse, fumbled around. It was in there somewhere. Where?
He was within ten feet of her, looking past her, when she realized her error. It was not Elijah. It could have been his brother, though. The similarity in build and bearing was striking. But it was definitely not him.
Anne felt chills run through her body as this New York version of the crazy prophet passed her without a glance.
Oh, she was closer to losing it than she thought. What was going on with her? She dug in her purse for another cigarette.
“Hey!” Ambrosi’s voice. The word came out like a hard A.
She dropped her purse.
“What is up with you?” Ambrosi said. He was dressed all in black, a silky black suit with matching shirt and tie, and dark glasses. He looked like midnight on two legs.
Anne let fly a few choice words as she gathered up the things that had spilled out of her purse. Ambrosi watched.
“You could help me,” Anne said.
“You look like you could use a drink.”
“Did you hear what I said?” She was crouched down, trying hard to keep her tight dress from tearing and, at the same time, keep her undergarments from being exposed to the gawking pedestrians.
“Cool off, baby,” Ambrosi said.