Barring Complications

by Blythe Rippon

  The day after the Senate confirmed her as an associate justice, the Chief of the Supreme Court Police left her a voicemail requesting a meeting. After reviewing the security around the building and giving her keys to the appropriate doors, garages, and security cabinets, he had given her a cell phone. The only number she was ever to call with it, he instructed her, was his, and it remained to this day the only number stored in the phone’s contacts. He had requested she always carry it with her, and she had complied.

  She watched as a security officer located her car and slid into the driver’s seat. Before he had time to turn the Volvo’s lights on, the van reversed out of its space and drove away. The cameras weren’t close enough to capture the driver’s face.

  She pulled out the phone she had never used, feeling its weight in her hand. It seemed heavy.

  She dialed.

  Chapter Five

  “I didn’t know you could bake it,” Diane said, peering into Victoria’s oven at the risotto inside.

  Victoria leaned against the island in her kitchen and took a sip of wine. It had been a long week. “Oh yeah, it beats standing over the stove stirring constantly. The first time I made risotto I thought my arm was going to fall off.”

  Will smirked at her. “Wimp.”

  She sauntered over to him and squeezed his bicep. Furrowing her brows, she squeezed lower, then higher. “I know there must be a muscle in there somewhere. Wait, I bet you still have that spy equipment Dad got you when you were twelve. You walked around with that stupid magnifying glass glued to your eye for about eight months. Loan it to me and maybe I can locate your long-lost guns.”

  “Ha. Ha ha. You’re really funny. I’m rolling on the floor laughing. Can’t you tell?”

  “I could take you, you know.”

  Will stood up straighter, but he was barefoot and Victoria was wearing heels.

  She laughed. “Poor Will. Maybe if we spiked your hair you’d look taller.” She fluffed his hair and he tried in vain to bat her hands away.

  “Don’t mess with the ’do!” he sputtered, making her laugh harder.

  “You mean what’s left of it? You’ve got more forehead now than when I left for England, you know.” It wasn’t true, but Will stopped batting her hands and starting running his fingers along his hairline with genuine concern on his face.

  “Liar!”

  She shrugged.

  “Children, don’t make me turn this car around,” Diane warned as she walked to the dining room table and sat down.

  Both Will and Victoria stuffed their hands in their pockets. “Sorry. We’ll be good,” they chanted in unison.

  Diane giggled. “Your hair looks ridiculous, honey.”

  “She started it!” He pouted and headed to the bathroom to return his errant locks to their proper position.

  Victoria grabbed her wine glass from the counter and joined Diane at the table. “Thanks for spending your date night with me this week.”

  “Well, we missed you all summer. Tommy did too. He asked me every day when you were going to come over to play Legos with him. I told him that one doesn’t play Legos, but the nuances of the English language don’t seem to capture his interest. I think he wants to be an architect like his daddy.”

  Victoria smiled. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll want to be a translator like his mom, and then a lawyer like his aunt, and he’ll probably end up a rock star, just to spite us all.”

  “Or a football player, just to give us all heart attacks every time he gets tackled.”

  “With those genes? He won’t be strong enough to be the water boy!”

  Diane threw a napkin at her.

  Victoria chuckled as she picked it up and refolded it. “You seem to throw these around a lot.”

  “Better a napkin than my food.”

  “Rebecca’s got you covered in that department, huh?”

  “Yep, literally. I’ve been considering naked dinner,” Diane said.

  William, who had been walking into the dining room, now stopped in his tracks.

  “Can I watch?”

  “Not me naked, you perv!” Diane’s newly refolded napkin flew again.

  “Damn.”

  “Okay, I’m not folding that again.” Victoria crossed her arms.

  Will scooped it up from the floor and started messing with it. Somehow he worked the cloth into something resembling a sailor’s hat, which he dropped onto his sister’s head. “Big improvement.”

  “Remind me again why I invited you two for dinner?”

  “Because we’re devastatingly gorgeous, and you need some eye candy after spending so much time with lawyers.”

  Before Victoria could find a retort, the timer on the oven beeped. While she stirred fontina, parmesan, and basil into the risotto, Will dished up salads and Diane sliced garlic bread. They reconvened at the table and were just about to get down to the business of eating when Victoria’s landline rang. She rose to answer it, wondering who besides her secretary and clerks had her new number.

  “Hello?”

  “Justice Willoughby? This is Damien Fitzpatrick again, from the Star Reporter. We got cut off last time, when you hung up on me. Is now a better time to talk?”

  “How did you get this number?” she asked, genuinely concerned about the answer. Her stomach began to churn as she contemplated the possibility that there was a leak in her office. Or maybe someone had hacked the email her secretary had sent the staff with the new number? She shook her head, realizing Fitzpatrick was rambling on about something.

  “…consider doing an interview about why you refuse to recuse yourself? I would be happy to—”

  “Mr. Fitzpatrick, I’ve contacted the Supreme Court Police and they will be monitoring my security for the foreseeable future. If you attempt to contact me again, I will be sure to tell them you are harassing a sitting justice about an issue currently up for consideration before the Court, and I’m sure they will take care of securing a restraining order. Good day.”

  She hung up before he could respond, and was shaking when she returned to the table.

  Will took her hand. “Tor, don’t let him get to you. He’s a slime ball and no one reads the Star Reporter.”

  “I don’t care what he writes, or even if he keeps calling me, really. But I just got a new phone number yesterday. I hadn’t even given it to you two.”

  “Oh.” Will sat back in his chair, at a loss.

  “Oh,” Diane repeated.

  “Yes, oh. I guess I’ll add this to the list of things I need to cover in my meeting with the Supreme Court Police chief tomorrow.”

  All three of them reached for their wine glasses at the same time.

  They ate in silence before Diane spoke. “Have you heard about the shake-up happening at the Human Rights Campaign?”

  Will knit his brows. “I thought it was at the National Center for Lesbian Rights.”

  Diane shrugged. “I can’t keep them straight.”

  Victoria rolled her eyes. “I’m not even going to dignify that one with a response.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t NCLR…” Will mumbled through a mouthful of salad.

  “Well, whatever organization it is, it might mean new lawyers arguing the gay marriage case, right, Tori?” Diane said.

  “Probably. I can’t imagine how it would matter at this point. The case record speaks for itself, and I don’t think new counsel will change anyone’s mind.”

  Diane shrugged. “Well, I for one think it could be a good thing. New blood and all.”

  “It’ll take more than a new lawyer to shake Jamison from his stupor,” Victoria said.

  Will studied her a moment, wiping his lips with his napkin. “You’re not usually so pessimistic. What gives?”

  She exhaled audibly and stared at her lap, folding and refolding her napkin. “I don’t know, really. I guess I feel like…what if my legacy on the court includes hearing and losing this case? And then a gay immigrant with two kids gets deported because our government doesn’t
recognize his relationship to his partner? Or, you know, a tomboy in Wichita who gets bullied in school all her life, gets depressed because she’ll never be able to get married, and…when I was in a position to make things different, I failed.” Her napkin now resembled an awkward origami blender. She smoothed it out and glanced up to find her brother and sister-in-law staring at her. They grasped each other’s hands on the tabletop.

  Will smiled. “You have no idea, do you? What you’ve done for that little lesbian in Wichita, just by being you. By being a strong, beautiful lesbian who shattered the glass ceiling in the legal world.”

  Victoria smiled back, but hers was laced with melancholy. “I don’t think it counts if you’re not really out of the closet.”

  “What, you think you need to make some big announcement? People already seem to know. Hey, about that—how does that work?”

  “I honestly have no idea. Maybe because I’m a single woman who’s never been married and that’s what society assumes about all of us?”

  Diane shook her head. “Maybe your ex said something?”

  “No way she talked,” Will countered. “Maybe you give off a vibe or something.”

  Both women looked at him, amused. “And what vibe might that be?” Victoria asked. She and Diane leaned forward and put their cheeks on their right hands, patiently awaiting his answer.

  “Um. Well, I don’t know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what you ladies…” He glanced at his wife. “Any of you ladies…I think I’ll go call the sitter and check on the kids.” He slid his chair back and hurried from the room while the women giggled.

  “Think that foot in his mouth tastes as good as my risotto?”

  “Hell no—this is delicious. Can I get the recipe?”

  When Will returned from making his phone call, Diane and Victoria were discussing what kind of vibes he gave off, especially at the gym, when he went that one time back in the Stone Age.

  Chapter Six

  The office of Liam Pollard, Chief of the Supreme Court Police, was located in the bowels of the Supreme Court building. The lighting was florescent and there were too many chairs. Victoria couldn’t properly cross her legs without bumping her knees on Pollard’s desk. She stopped trying and smiled at him, waiting for his assessment.

  “Well, Madam Justice, it looks like we have two problems on our hands. One appears relatively straightforward, and one is significantly more complicated. First, you suspect there is a leak in your office. Based on the information you’ve given me, I agree.”

  He cracked his neck to the left, then to the right. “I suggest we share different information with each of your clerks and secretaries, and see which information gets back to you. It’s a simple, elegant troubleshooting method. When we’ve discovered who the leak is, we plug it. And Justice Willoughby, ‘we’ doesn’t include you. No independent confrontations. This isn’t a matter to take into your own hands.”

  Victoria nodded, awash with guilt that her staff was suddenly under scrutiny. But it was completely unnerving to think about one of them sharing confidential information with a reporter. “Yes, fine. I will share all results with your office and avoid taking matters into my own hands.”

  “I’m sorry, Madam Justice, perhaps I wasn’t clear. You will give the results to me personally, not my office. And I will give you the different information that you will pass onto your staff. Misinformation campaigns need to be carefully managed. We only get one shot at this before the leak knows we’re on to him. Or her.”

  “I just can’t imagine any of my staff betraying not just me, but the whole Court. None of them are—”

  “None of them seem the type. I understand, but your phone keeps ringing and here we are.”

  Victoria pursed her lips. She wasn’t a fan of being interrupted. “Understood. Moving on.”

  It was clear Pollard was used to dictating the conversation, but after only the briefest of pauses, he continued. “Your second difficulty. You might have a stalker. Thus far this individual has yet to make direct contact, so we have no sense of what he wants. I’ll run the license plate number and we’ll find the van, but in the meantime, I’m going to assign you a security detail. We’ll put a car outside your house and we’ll follow you to all of your engagements. Since you haven’t been approached, I don’t see the need to escort you inside anywhere. You’ll need to provide me with a daily schedule. Let’s avoid email for the time being, since your office isn’t secure, and we shouldn’t do this over the phone. Can you personally put a hard copy of your schedule in my hands every morning if I come to your door?”

  “This seems a bit much,” Victoria said, frowning.

  “Justice Willoughby, how did you sleep last night?”

  She hesitated. “I’ve slept better.”

  “Got an easy docket coming up? Lots of simple, straightforward cases that will be decided unanimously? Or do you think you might need some sleep this term? The sooner we get your difficulties taken care of, the better off you and this whole Court will be.”

  She saw no point in arguing. “Seven A.M. work for you?”

  Pollard nodded. “When you’re ready to leave the office today, come here first. I’ll introduce you to your security detail, and we’ll escort you home.”

  Victoria rose and extended her hand. Pollard’s was warm and his callouses scraped against her skin. She smiled when she realized she liked it. There was something reassuring in his rough handshake.

  * * *

  Noon the following day saw eight justices seated around an oval conference table on the second floor of the Supreme Court, waiting for their weekly Conference to begin. Alistair was uncharacteristically late. Twirling a pen around her fingers, Victoria glanced at her coworkers. At the head of the table, Chief Justice Kellen O’Neil was wearing a stupid bow tie. Sighing, she recognized that her irritation with his attire was misplaced anger at the man himself. She forced herself to focus on the things she liked about him—his full white hair, his deep laugh, and his enduring passion for the law.

  To his left, the swing member of the court was nursing a Diet Coke. Ryan Jamison had been appointed by President Clinton, and the confirmation process had indicated he would tip the balance of the court back to the liberal side for the first time in twenty years. The first opinion he joined, however, was authored by O’Neil and struck down the use of racial quotas in selecting incoming freshmen classes at the University of Nebraska. Since that day, Jamison had confused pundits and scholars alike, none of whom could agree on whether Jamison was his own man and not a soldier for the Democratic Party, or whether he was a bizarre robot who joined decisions based on the flip of a coin. So far, no one could identify logical themes in his voting record.

  Michelle Lin sat to his left, the first Asian American woman on the Court. While they waited for Alistair, Michelle was sketching a stone cottage nestled in a forest. Victoria knew she had contemplated art school at one time, before turning to law. Completing the liberal branch of the Court, Jason Blankenstein sat next to Lin and flipped through the New Yorker. After Alistair, he was the oldest serving justice, but to Victoria he looked as young as the day he took his oath fifteen years ago.

  Victoria occupied the chair next to Jason. Wanting to put all her anxieties behind her and hoping she could at least give the appearance of confidence, she had chosen a dark red skirt suit for that day’s Conference. She was periodically taking sips from a thermos of tea. Her pen continued to twirl as she briefly pondered going to Sonya’s barbecue, and the teasing Will and Diane would give her if they found out.

  She refocused on the room. Seated opposite Victoria, to O’Neil’s right, sat the conservatives. While it wasn’t true that Eliot McKinzie, Anthony Jaworski, and Matthew Smith could always be counted on to vote together, it was true that if one of their names was on an opinion, there was a sixty percent chance the other two could be found there as well. That number would be higher if it weren’t for Matthew Smith’s particular penchant f
or writing concurring opinions in which he agreed with the conclusion of the majority opinion, but felt the need to articulate his own reasons for doing so. It was obnoxious, really. Victoria suspected his plethora of concurring opinions represented an awkward—and ineffective—attempt to become the most cited justice on the court.

  Still, for all the differences in their legal philosophies, Victoria found she usually liked her colleagues. She hoped her affection for them would carry her through the divisiveness of the most personal case that she was likely to hear during her tenure on the Court.

  In fact, as she looked around, she realized she was happy despite all the stress. Maybe the clothing choice had something to do with it, but she felt in control of her life for the first time since her return to DC. The Supreme Court Police were putting together next week’s protection detail and schedule for her to review. She and Wallace had begun strategizing how to sway Jamison to their side in both the gay marriage case and the habeas case, and she had white-boarded their research agenda. In that moment, she felt downright optimistic about persuading Jamison.

  As she reversed the direction of her twirling pen, she replayed her sister-in-law’s gentle nudging from dinner the other night. “Whatever you’ve been waiting for, Victoria, I think it’s happened. You might as well start living a little,” she’d said. Maybe Diane was right. She had a lifetime appointment. The issue that had kept her so reserved was confronting the court right now. Maybe after the justices decided on gay marriage, she could start living a little. Maybe she could start living a lot.

  Tonight she would have dinner with her brother and his family. And on Saturday, she would chat with Rosie while the florist arranged flowers for her to bring to Sonya’s barbecue. And maybe one night very soon, she would sleep soundly.

  She was about to ask McKinzie how potty training his new dog was coming along when the door opened and Alistair Douglas entered. He took his seat at the vacant end of the oval table opposite O’Neil.