by Carsen Taite
West rode the elevator with a couple of well suited men toting hefty briefcases. She caught them eyeing her in the reflection on the highly polished steel doors, no doubt wondering where she was going dressed like she’d just finished a shift at a local coffee shop. Unlike downstairs where she’d cared what the beautiful stranger thought of her, she didn’t give a rat’s ass about the opinion of these two. Until she was paid to show up here, she’d dress however she pleased, and even after things were official, she’d intended to push the boundaries, unwilling to be uncomfortable no matter what promises she’d made.
When the elevator stopped on the sixth floor, she followed the suits out of the car, and they all walked to the left toward the additional layer of security in place on every floor where courtrooms were located. The marshal at the desk stood and craned his neck past the men to call out to her. “West! I hear congratulations are in order.”
The suits turned toward her, apparently deciding her outfit wasn’t the only unusual thing about her. She ignored them harder than before. “Hey, Peter. Good to see you. He’s in, right?”
“Yep. They’re in the middle of a hearing, but should be done soon.” He looked at his watch. “It’s a pretty big case. Why don’t you stick your head in?” He motioned for her to come on back.
“Thanks.” She ignored the questioning looks of the suits and ducked around the metal detector, allowing Peter to give her a quick hug before she trudged down the hallway. Judge Henry “Hank” Blair’s courtroom was the last one on the left. She paused before the closed double doors, considering her options. Should she continue down the hall to his chambers and wait for him there or should she slip into the courtroom and catch the last part of the hearing? Curiosity won out.
She eased open the door and tiptoed toward a seat at the back of the courtroom. The defense attorney was at the podium arguing vigorously that the defendant’s estranged wife had no right to turn over the defendant’s private video collection to the police while he was in custody. After she made her points, the attorney for the government stood and quoted a string of case law designed to punch holes in every argument he’d just heard. West settled in to listen to the spin, and when both sides finished their spiel, she was surprised to see that thirty minutes had passed and she’d actually enjoyed herself. Maybe this gig wouldn’t be so bad after all.
When the assistant US attorney finished his rebuttal, Judge Blair asked a few questions of each side and then told them he’d have an opinion in the next few days. As the onlookers in the gallery started to scatter, she heard her name.
“West, come up here.”
Hank Blair was standing behind the bench, waving to her, a big smile on his face. Despite her discomfort at being made the center of attention, she returned the smile and walked up the aisle, conscious all eyes were trained her way. It had been a long time since she’d denied Hank anything, but as she drew closer to the cluster of attorneys surrounding the bench, she wished she had.
“I want you all to meet one of my future law clerks, West Fallon. Just graduated first in her class from Berkeley Law. This fall, she’ll be starting work right here in this courtroom.”
West took in the jaw drops and raised eyebrows. She was used to people underestimating her based on her appearance. There was a time other people’s opinions had power over her, but three years of battling her way to the top at Berkeley had cured her. People underestimating her was a sign of their weakness, not hers. She shook hands with the other attorneys, filing their names in her photographic memory for future reference, certain she’d run into them in the fall. If she was here.
A few minutes later, she followed Hank to his chambers, where once they were alone, he scooped her up in a huge bear hug that she pretended to merely endure. When he released her, he frowned and rubbed his chest.
“What’s the matter?” she teased him. “Bear hugs getting the best of you?”
“You wish.” He grimaced. “No, I think it was the patty melt I had for lunch. Love those onions, but they don’t love me.”
She stared a little harder, not entirely sure she believed his explanation, but she saw nothing specific to signal any alarm. He was paler and maybe a little thinner than he’d appeared a few weeks ago when he’d flown out to California for her graduation, but otherwise he was the same larger-than-life personality he’d always been.
“How was your trip?” he asked. “Can you stay for a few days? Diane would like to have you over for dinner and, of course, you’re welcome to stay with us while you’re here.”
West noted his tentative tone. Dinner and an invitation to stay at the house was more than he usually asked for, and for a second, she considered changing her plans to give him what he wanted. “I’d planned to drive out tomorrow. I’m supposed to meet up with some folks about a place to stay during the summer.” She watched his smile falter, and she tossed him a bone. “But I guess I could go a day later. And dinner sounds nice.”
“Good. Food hits the table at seven sharp, same as always. It’ll be nice to have you there.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” And surprisingly, she was. Her original plan had been to make this visit nothing more than a drive-by. She’d swing into the courthouse, drop her news, and hit the road again, but now that she was here, staring Hank in the face, gathering the nerve to be honest was proving harder than she’d thought. Maybe in the causal comfort of his home, it would be easier to tell him she couldn’t possibly keep her promise to clerk for him this fall.
In a day or two, she’d continue her cross-country trek to Montgomery, Alabama, where she had a spot waiting at the Southern Poverty Law Center. There she’d do real work, tackling hate groups, championing civil rights—white knight stuff. The summer gig was a trial run, but she planned to do everything within her power to show the attorneys at the Center her commitment and dedication in hopes they would invite her to stay on for the long haul. She hadn’t told Hank yet, but she’d taken a gamble and signed up to take the Alabama bar exam in July. Knowing everything he did about her, Hank had to understand why she couldn’t let anything get in the way of this opportunity to make a difference in the world.
“So, what’s up?” Hank asked.
“Excuse me?”
“As much as I’d like to believe you came by just to see me, I figure you didn’t brave the lines downstairs just to say hello. Do you want to check out your office? Maybe measure the walls for some art and your diploma?”
She opened her mouth to ask him if he’d lost his mind, but before she could speak, she caught the sly grin and realized he was only giving her a hard time. “Yes, we starving college students often have lots of art worthy of hanging.” He started to reply, but a rap on the door interrupted them. “Get that if you need to,” West said.
“Sorry,” he replied as he strode over to the door. Halfway there, he stumbled. West instinctively reached out to catch him, but he waved her away. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”
He paused with his hand on the door and a perplexed expression marring his face. West stared, trying to process his sluggish words and drooping face, but before she could make sense of it, he was in free fall, clutching his chest, the other arm flailing for purchase. West leapt toward him and barely made it in time to cushion his fall as her world came crashing down.
* * *
When she reached the sixth floor, Camille stepped out to find another security stop between her and her ultimate destination. She smiled to herself and looked around as if the young woman from downstairs might magically appear to give her tips. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, which was silly since their entire conversation had lasted no more than a minute and she didn’t even know her name. But Camille had been intrigued by the juxtaposition between the woman’s causal dress and her easy confidence about the inner workings of the courthouse. And then there was the flicker of interest she’d seen reflected in her gaze. Too young. Not your type. But it’s nice to be noticed. The thoughts crowded her head, and w
hen the marshal standing behind the desk cleared his throat, she figured she’d probably been standing there, lost in thought, for longer than she’d realized.
“Sorry.” She placed her bag on the conveyor belt and patted her suit pockets one more time before walking through the metal detector.
“What’s your business here today?” he asked, his expression unreadable.
She looked at his name badge. Peter Donovan. She hoped someday soon, Peter and everyone else here would know her well enough to waive her in. “I have an appointment with Judge Stroud.”
“Phone?”
She stared at him, trying to decipher his question. “You need to see my phone?”
“More than see it. I need to keep it unless you have a bar card.”
“Of course.” She reached toward the conveyor relieved she remembered to carry the card she hadn’t needed in years. She held it out for his inspection. “My phone’s in my bag.”
The marshal’s demeanor shifted ever so slightly, but Camille still felt the cold shoulder that came with being an outsider. She’d never practiced in this building, so there was no reason for anyone here to accord her the respect that came with familiarity.
When she finally reached Judge Stroud’s chambers, the mood was completely different. The matronly woman at the desk outside his door greeted her with a huge smile and an offer of coffee or tea.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“I’ll let the judge know you’re here.”
Camille sat on the couch, but kept her feet firmly planted, resisting the urge to sink into the bulging cushions. Who put such a nap-worthy piece of furniture in their place of business? It felt like a test somehow, like if she managed to stay awake she would get the job. She suppressed a smile and picked up a magazine she could pretend to read, hoping the ruse would hide her sudden attack of nerves. She flipped idly through the pages, barely noticing the content until she spotted a picture of a young actress who’d recently taken Hollywood by storm with her edgy good looks and devil-may-care attitude. Camille barely remembered the actress’s name, but she bore a stunning likeness to the young woman who’d helped her out downstairs. Of course, she didn’t know that woman’s name either, so it was possible…
No, it wasn’t. The woman she’d just seen was actually more attractive than the starlet on the pages of the magazine. More intriguing and definitely more delicious. Besides, what would a Hollywood actress be doing here in Dallas, lurking around the federal courthouse? The idea fascinated her, but she ultimately settled on the conclusion that the woman she’d seen downstairs was only a doppelgänger for the actress. Or the other way around.
“Judge Avery?”
Camille looked up and tracked Judge Stroud’s amused expression as he looked from her to the magazine. She groaned inwardly, wishing she’d been caught reading anything except People magazine, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She decided to spin. “I think it’s great that you keep current pop culture reading materials in chambers. Helps to keep things human. For instance, I now know my horoscope says today has the potential to change my life.”
Stroud pointed toward his office door. “How about we go talk about that very thing?”
The chief judge’s chambers were spacious, and the walls were covered with evidence of his many years in service. Certificates of accomplishment, autographed photos with dignitaries, and a few pieces of museum-worthy original art signaled success. Camille imagined her own professional paraphernalia in this space and applicants meeting with her as the chief judge. She was here to start her journey to that end.
He motioned for her to take a seat on a leather couch in the ample living room type seating area, and he sat across from her in a high-back chair, dropping the formality he’d greeted her with in front of his staff. “Camille, it’s good to see you. How’s your father?”
“The same. Very busy, very accomplished. He’s in Saudi Arabia this week, meeting a new client for the firm.”
“And your mother?”
“She’s doing the real work at the firm while Dad’s out gathering new clients. It’ll be another banner year for them.”
“And you’re not interested in following in their footsteps?”
As he spoke the words, he tapped a folder on the table next to him. She saw the lettering on the tab—her application and résumé. Was this his way of breaking it to her gently that she wasn’t going to get the job? “Their dream, not mine. I was on the bench long enough to know that’s all I want to do.”
“Even if it means you’d be starting over again at the bottom? As a magistrate, you won’t have near the influence and discretion you had in your prior role on the bench.”
Camille bit back her first response. Saying she really didn’t have a choice probably wasn’t the best way to make inroads. She’d gotten this informal meeting because Judge Stroud was a longtime friend of her parents, but he wouldn’t be the sole decision-maker about whether she’d get offered a position as one of the federal magistrate judges. She may as well start practicing polished answers designed to get this appointment. Without the job, she’d have to hang her own shingle, take a soul-sucking big firm job or, God forbid, work for her parents.
“I don’t really look at it as the bottom,” she said. “Just the first step on the ascent to something new and more challenging than what I’ve been doing. My time as a judge in state court provided invaluable experience, but the jurisdictions are wildly different. I think working as a federal magistrate will be a perfect opportunity to broaden my horizons, and one day maybe I’ll be working alongside you as a district court judge.”
Stroud’s laugh was forced. “Perfect answer,” he said. “Way to play down your expectations since we both know your real plan is to eventually take over my job.”
“Maybe.” She cracked a smile. “But you’re safe until I learn the ropes.”
“Duly noted.” He opened the folder and flipped through the pages inside. “You’ve got the glad-handing down. Now tell me what made the good citizens of Collin County toss you off the bench.”
“You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“It’ll be the first question most of the committee members ask. Be glad they’ll want to hear your answer rather than relying solely on the news reports.”
“Fair enough.” Camille took a deep breath. She’d prepared for exactly this sort of question. “I made a tough call, but in state court, judges are elected, as you know, and despite it being nonsensical, the elections fall along party lines, without regard to qualifications. My opponent focused his entire ad campaign on one case—a defendant with a drug problem who I’d allowed to have a second chance on probation. The defendant threw away the chance I gave him and reoffended, but, unfortunately for everyone involved, this time his addiction turned deadly. He was driving under the influence, crashed into a young girl, and killed her.
“It was a tragedy and when he came before me again, I put him away for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, no one remembers that part because it didn’t fit the narrative of my opponent who spent substantial amounts of his own money in his quest for a robe and a gavel.”
“He outspent you two to one.”
“Yes, he did. He could afford it.”
“Is there a reason you let him do that when I’m sure your parents would have gladly funded a scorched earth approach?”
“I’m a grown woman. I don’t need my parents’ money to get what I need.”
“And yet you let them set up this meeting.”
Camille grinned. “Like I said, I don’t need my parents’ money, but I’d be crazy to turn down a healthy dose of their influence. Besides, I know you wouldn’t hire me on their word alone.”
“Smart woman.” He pointed at his desk. “Your file is ready to go out to the committee. We’ve had a lot of well-qualified applicants and I can’t guarantee anything. Are you sure this is what you really want?”
Camille reflected on the last five months. Since she’d been
voted out of office, she’d lost her way. She had filled her time consulting on a few cases and serving as a mediator for mind-numbing corporate litigation. Her parents had encouraged her to join their firm, but she had no interest in selling her soul for corporate clients who thought they could buy their way out of any situation. After a full term running a courtroom and having the final say, the idea of spending her days doing other people’s bidding, even at ten times the salary, seemed like a step down. Other girls dreamed of being president someday, but in her dreams, she’d been wearing a black robe and seated with eight other justices at the highest court in the land. This was just the first step, and she was determined to tread carefully. “Yes, I really want this. How soon do you think it will be before the committee reaches a decision?”
“Soon. We need to fill the spot. There’s a tremendous backlog. The last administration had a difficult time getting any judicial nominations approved by the Senate, so we’ve been short-handed. Now, that the Dems control everything, things are sailing through.”
“If it helps, I have the distinct advantage of not currently being employed, so I can start anytime.”
“I’ll let the committee know.”
They both looked up at the sound of a rap on the door. “Sorry, I asked Joan not to interrupt, so it must be important. Come in!”
Joan, the woman who’d greeted her earlier, poked her head in the door. She looked flushed and scattered. “Judge Stroud, we have an emergency. Judge Blair collapsed in his office.”
Stroud sprang to his feet. “Sorry, Camille, I need to go. Give your parents my best.”
