Victoria shrugged. “I can do both.”
“Not if you want any social life to speak of.” She paused. “Which I’m coming to understand you don’t.”
Victoria smiled her assent and stood. “I should go.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.” As soon as she said it, she felt like a complete dolt. The door was all of six paces away.
But Victoria seemed charmed, and gently laid her hand on Genevieve’s arm. “Thanks for tonight.”
Genevieve wasn’t sure what she was being thanked for. “If you change your mind about wanting to have fun, a bunch of us are going out to Lincoln’s Inn tonight, and we might hit up a bar afterward.”
“Will Carolyn be joining you?”
“Carolyn?”
“Yes. Blonde. Perky. Not one for subtlety. She was angling to be your writing partner at the Parody meeting.”
“Oh, that Carolyn.” So that was her name. “I don’t really know her.”
“Oh?” Victoria’s expression gave just enough away for Genevieve to wonder if she had intuited the other things Carolyn might have been angling for.
“I don’t know what her plans are. But like I said, you’re welcome to join us.”
“I’ll pass, thanks. Have a lovely time. Let me know when you want to meet again to finish our song. I’m just upstairs in 315.”
Genevieve nodded and quietly closed the door behind her departed guest.
* * *
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to be a Supreme Court justice?”
Victoria looked at her like she was nuts. She set her notebook with their Parody lyrics on the bed and shifted in her desk chair. “Who wouldn’t want to be a Supreme Court justice?”
“So it’s the power, then?” Genevieve asked. She was on her stomach on Victoria’s bed, trying to ignore the faint smell of perfume on the pillow.
“No, of course not. Give me more credit than that.”
Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t want to be a justice. Explain it to me.”
“Wait, you wouldn’t want to be a justice? Why ever not?”
“Why ever not? Do people still talk like that?”
“Evidently I do. And you haven’t answered.”
“Well, for one, it’s a ton of pressure. And I can imagine a bunch of cases where I could see both sides, and it would be difficult to determine which way to vote.”
“Seeing both sides is a useful skill for a jurist to have. But you forget that a justice’s first duty is to apply the law as it’s written.” Her tone shifted, and there was a reverence in her voice as she spoke. “There are obviously numerous cases where you could argue that justices in the past have voted their personal opinions rather than the law, and naturally, a justice’s interpretation of the law will be colored by his or her personal opinion. But the driving force behind every vote must be the Constitution and its amendments.”
“That’s such a politician’s response. You still haven’t answered the question.”
“I like the robe.”
“Ah, now we get to it.”
“And, you know, the scarf thingy.”
“Scarf thingy?”
“You’ve seen pictures of Sandra Day O’Connor, right? She wears that lace scarf thingy.”
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about. It’s just hard for me to believe a future Supreme Court justice uses words like ‘thingy.’”
Victoria grinned. “Oh, I use all kinds of fun words. I sometimes call my brother ‘dude.’”
“You have a brother?”
“He’s an undergrad at Oxford. And sometimes I call him ‘dude.’”
“Noted. I’ll call him the same if I ever meet him.”
Victoria studied her a moment. “He’d like you. He’d probably hit on you.”
“He’s not my type,” Genevieve answered quickly.
“How do you know? You haven’t even met him.”
Genevieve hesitated. “Just a hunch,” was the best she could come up with.
Victoria opened her mouth to say something, then closed it.
The ensuing silence made Genevieve nervous. “Can I start calling you ‘Madam Justice’ now?”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “Let’s wait a bit on that one, shall we? Tori is fine for now.”
Genevieve bit her lip. Despite the occasional awkward moment with Tori, she was fascinated. She’d never met anyone so uncompromising, with such strong convictions and direction. It was simultaneously infuriating and deeply compelling. She wanted to know more.
“So your brother’s at Oxford. Do you get along with him? Where did you go for undergrad? Do you have parents? Do you get along with them? Where do they live?” She couldn’t seem to stop the flood of questions and wished someone else was present to clap their hands over her mouth.
Victoria just raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “You’re funny.”
“I am?” Genevieve was confused. She hadn’t said anything clever, or deployed the perfect pun for the moment. But Victoria’s eyes sparkled with amusement and something else she couldn’t identify. “So where are we with the song?” she asked, hoping a change of focus would make her feel more comfortable.
“Song?” Victoria asked blankly.
“Our parody?”
Tori looked startled. “Right. Parody.”
Genevieve watched her turn back to her notebook with something like disappointment. She felt it too.
“So what rhymes with justice?” Tori asked.
“Um, cactus?”
It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Genevieve definitely had a type, and it wasn’t Tori. She had only ever dated older women—her first tryst was with the assistant tennis team coach in high school. She had never been drawn to bookish or artistic types. Like gentlemen, she preferred blondes. At five foot eight, she sought out petite women with curves, not slender redheads who matched her height. She enjoyed flirting but wasn’t one for prolonged courtship. She liked her women, and whatever she did with them, uncomplicated.
So she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she was pacing outside Pound Hall waiting for Tori to get out of class. It was bad enough that she’d memorized her class schedule.
She was about to force her feet in the direction of her dorm when the doors opened and studiously dressed men and women began streaming out of the building.
Now what? She hadn’t planned this far ahead, and couldn’t hatch a scheme to look casual on such short notice. She thought about leaning against a lamppost, but dismissed that idea as trite. She could “accidentally” spill the contents of her purse, but that seemed like a lot of work and she wasn’t sure what she even had in there. Embarrassing items like tampons, surely. She was on the verge of stopping a stranger to initiate a conversation when Tori walked up to her.
“Heading home?” she asked, completely failing to recognize anything strange in Genevieve’s loitering.
“I’m kind of hungry, actually.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Without waiting for a reply, Tori started toward Mass Ave. Genevieve shrugged and enjoyed the view for a moment before hurrying to catch up and telling herself to get a grip.
“How was class?” she asked, hoping she could settle into easy conversation with this woman who always left her anxious and wanting more.
“Excellent. I was on call, and Dershowitz seemed pleased with my answer.”
Genevieve rolled her eyes. Only Tori would say class was excellent the day she was on call. Classes at Harvard Law were large enough that professors assigned students to specific days in the term when they could be called on to answer questions about the three hundred pages of reading due that day. It was nerve-racking, and most students faltered in the spotlight. Genevieve had managed a passable answer about criminal procedure when Dershowitz had called on her the previous year, but most students disappointed the distinguished professor with their responses.
Maybe she could just pretend it was a date.
She was having a difficult time concentrating on the menu. Why did Tori have to look so good in suits? They were usually so cumbersome and unflattering. Genevieve was the only other woman at Harvard Law who wore suits well, and she might have felt competitive if she weren’t distracted by attraction.
She had just decided on the saag paneer when the waiter appeared.
“Two Kingfishers, mixed vegetable pakora, garlic naan, saag paneer, and vegetable masala,” Tori announced. The waiter nodded and walked away before Genevieve could say anything.
She cleared her throat. “And what if I don’t want any of that?”
Tori raised her brows. “Do you want something else?”
“No,” Genevieve admitted.
“Okay then.”
“Okay then.”
“So where are you going to work this summer?” Tori asked.
“I’ve got a few interviews lined up in Seattle, Chicago, and New York. But I know it’s hard to get into public interest if you don’t have any nonprofit or advocacy on your resume, so I was thinking of looking in the public sector.”
“Good, you should. You’d do well there.” The waiter arrived with their beers, and Tori raised her bottle. “To us!”
Genevieve clinked bottles, grateful that the low lighting obscured her blush when Tori called them “us.” God, she never blushed! She drank and regrouped. “What are your summer plans?”
“I might be working in the Attorney General’s office,” Tori said, her bright eyes shining.
“Wow, really? How’d you work that out?”
“Derschowitz took me aside after class today. He usually sends someone to the AG’s office as a summer associate, and he’s considering recommending me. He asked for a writing sample and my resume.”
Genevieve was impressed. It wasn’t easy to capture Derschowitz’s attention, especially as a first-year. “Sounds like you’re well on your way, Madam Justice,” she teased.
Unexpectedly, Tori dropped her eyes and looked shy. “Let’s not get ahead ourselves,” she said softly.
But it was clear to Genevieve that she was thrilled, and without thinking, she reached across the table and took her hand. “I believe in you.”
She felt Tori’s fingers tense and knew she had overstepped. Fortunately, the waiter arrived to refill their water, giving her cover to remove her hand with minimal embarrassment. She mentally kicked herself for being too forward.
Seeking a safer topic, she asked, “Are you thinking of acting in the Parody, or was the writing process harrowing enough for you?”
Tori sent her a completely disarming smile and Genevieve felt her temperature rise. She was quickly realizing that Tori was a master at mixed messages.
“I’d hardly call spending time with you torture, Genevieve.” God, even the way she said “Genevieve” drove her nuts. The way she sort of slid into the G, and the way her lips moved around the “vee” sound. Genevieve didn’t understand how she was still sitting in a chair, and not in a puddle on the floor. “Singing in front of drunk law students doesn’t rank high on my list of fun activities.”
“What does?”
Tori shrugged. “A good book. A fireplace. Tea.”
“Tea? You can’t honestly be telling me that tea is a fun activity. Jesus, you must be English.”
“I suppose that means we’re destined to always be at odds with one another, France,” Tori tossed back with a grin.
Genevieve sat up straighter. “I’d like to challenge your reading of history. There have been many times our respective motherlands came together for a common purpose. But it’s true that your cuisine leaves something to be desired.”
“You’d be surprised.” Tori winked at her.
Genevieve coughed and spoke at the same time, with embarrassing results.
Tori laughed. “I’ll cook for you sometime.”
“You cook?”
The waiter brought their pakora, and Genevieve watched Tori meticulously place pieces of the appetizer on her plate in neat little rows. She suddenly felt inspired to introduce Tori to fun. “All right. Friday, when classes end, you’re coming with me.”
“I am?” Tori glanced up from her food, amused. “And what are you going to do with me?”
A thousand inappropriate responses flitted through Genevieve’s mind before she replied, “Wall climbing.”
She expected resistance. Maybe pouting or flat denial. Possibly a piece of pakora flung at her. She hadn’t expected a casual shrug and a soft, “Okay.”
Tori laughed as Genevieve shook off her surprise. “What do you want me to wear?”
Nothing, Genevieve thought. “Loose pants. And something warm; it gets cold in the gym.”
“Done.”
The waiter arrived with their entrees, and Genevieve closed her eyes and inhaled. “We’re sharing, yes?”
“Sure, I’m very good at sharing. I paid attention in kindergarten.”
“I bet you paid attention in all your classes.”
Tori studied her a moment. “I’m certainly paying attention now.”
Once again, Genevieve wasn’t sure what they were discussing.
And she decided for the moment that she enjoyed the uncertainty.
* * *
“Tired?” Genevieve threw her climbing shoes into her bag as they exited the gym.
“I’ll definitely be sore tomorrow,” Tori said.
Genevieve grinned. “Me too. I’m always sore in muscles I didn’t know I had after climbing.” She noticed Tori’s shiver and turned on the heater as soon as they slid into her car. “Hungry?” she asked.
“Always. Do you have something special in mind?”
“Isn’t every outing with me special?” Genevieve teased, happy that she was regaining her ability to flirt.
Tori rolled her eyes. “Where to, then, Casanova?”
Genevieve drove them to a tiny Mediterranean restaurant tucked into an alley in downtown Boston. She was surprised that Tori, who typically wore business casual to the grocery store, was willing to dine out in their climbing clothes.
When the waiter came, she was ready. “Two falafels, a hummus plate, and two glasses of house white.” She leaned back in her chair to watch Tori’s reaction.
But all Tori revealed while she smoothed her napkin across her lap was a small smile. “Why did you want to go to law school?” she asked.
Genevieve blinked. “Really? That’s what you want to talk about? How about this: What would you be doing in an alternate universe where you’re not in law school?”
Tori raised her eyebrows. “Okay, I’ll bite. I’d probably be a chef.”
“I never pictured you for the manual labor type.”
“Oh? I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”
Genevieve almost kissed the waiter when he chose that moment to bring their drinks. She guessed that would go over better than kissing her dinner companion.
“Your turn.” Tori sipped her wine and waited.
“I’d be a professional parody writer. I’d put Weird Al out of business.” The truth was, she was only in law school because she couldn’t think of anything better to do. But she surmised that response would be unimpressive to someone as driven as Tori.
“Well, given how brilliant our recent collaboration was, I’d say you’re in for an illustrious career.”
“Is that sarcasm? I thought chefs didn’t have time to joke around.”
“I’m talented at multitasking. Hands doing one thing, lips another.”
Genevieve opened her mouth for a comeback, but came up empty.
“If you can’t stand the heat, get out of my kitchen.” Tori laughed.
&nb
sp; Genevieve grabbed her wine and took a big, healthy gulp.
* * *
So here she was twenty years later, standing in her kitchen, still drinking wine because of the anxiety Victoria Willoughby caused her.
They hadn’t spoken in two decades. After she graduated from law school, Genevieve spent two years clerking for a district judge in Chicago before taking a position at Leavenworth, Ross, and Waverley, an employment law firm. She cut her teeth on wrongful dismissal cases and made a name for herself defending LGBT employees against workplace discrimination in all its forms. She earned a reputation as a cutthroat litigator and along the way she made huge strides for LGBT rights. She argued cases in front of state supreme courts and federal courts of appeals. She carefully avoided appearing in DC, where she knew Tori was a judge.
When HER called to offer her the position of president of the organization and lead attorney on the Iowa case, she put aside her pride and personal pain. They needed her experience arguing high profile cases and her fresh take on a stale legal strategy.
She also knew that her plaintiffs would have Tori’s vote regardless of who was arguing the case. She couldn’t afford to devote any more emotional energy on Victoria Willoughby.
Genevieve finished her wine and headed upstairs to bed.
Chapter Four
The conference room at HER was feeling claustrophobic, and there were only three people in it. Or maybe Genevieve was feeling stifled by Jamie’s routine of pacing, sitting, rocking back and forth, and pacing again. His erratic movements were making it impossible to concentrate on the case in front of her. Not that she hadn’t read it five times already. It was one of the two cases Jamison had authored as a justice.
Jamie suddenly stopped moving. “Jamison’s swayed by public opinion! The Court generally walks a fine line between responding to the will of the people and forging ahead of the majority. That’s what it did in Loving when it ruled on interracial marriage. Maybe we just need to hit hard in our briefs and arguments that the public is moving toward supporting marriage equality, and Jamison will vote our way.”
Barring Complications Page 8
