“Mister Chairman,” Ben said. “Point of order. I thought it was understood that we would not be prying into the nominee’s private life.”
“I recall hearing the nominee say he wouldn’t answer any questions about his private life,” Keyes said. “I don’t recall any understanding regarding the sworn testimony of others. And I don’t believe you have the right to decide what other witnesses you do not represent say or don’t say.”
Well, that was effective, wasn’t it? Ben retook his seat, deciding to reserve his moral outrage for a later time when it would be of greater service.
“Getting back to the witness,” Matera said with a harrumphing noise, “did you say that the judge asked you out on a date?”
“Yes. He was trying to pick me up.”
“And were you receptive to this proposition?”
“If you’re asking if I’m gay, yes, I am.”
“And he knew this.”
“I guess his ‘gaydar’ was up and running that day.” Gottlieb smiled slightly. “Mine doesn’t work quite so flawlessly. But I suppose he’s had more experience.”
Matera squirmed, coughed, fingered her collar. Ben recognized these all as visual cues she was sending her constituency to express how supremely uncomfortable she was talking with all these gay people about gay things. Despite her personal misery, like a dutiful warrior she soldiered on.
“So you and the judge…went out?”
“For about six months.”
Matera arched an eyebrow. “Six months. Indeed. Where did you go?”
Gottlieb breathed in deeply, then released it. “Tad was very fond of…gay bars.”
Ben wasn’t sure how to characterize the low threshold sound that blanketed the gallery, but there definitely was one. And it wasn’t a good thing.
“Uh…gay bars?”
“Yes, places where men—well, most of them were just for men—went to meet other men. You know what I mean?”
Matera cleared her throat. “No, I am quite sure I do not.”
“Well, judging from the interior, they’re perfectly ordinary places. Bars. Music. Dancing. Tables. Mediocre food. What’s different is the clientele. Men. Black leather outfits. Chains. Much more chatter about furniture and hair gel.”
“And these were the kinds of places the two of you frequented?”
“Hey, he did the choosing. I’m more of a homebody myself. Tad liked to party.”
“And precisely what did this ‘partying’ entail?”
The time had come. Ben rose. “Mister Chairman, I must object.”
“Mr. Kincaid, this is not—”
“You can call it a point of order, or a point of clarification, or a point of I’m-mad-as-heck-and-I’m-not-going-to-take-it-anymore. This is an unwarranted intrusion into the nominee’s personal life.”
“I disagree. I think we’re uncovering points that relate to the character of the nominee and—”
“What’s worse,” Ben continued, raising himself to full dander, “is that the committee is permitting what is nothing more than blatant prejudice based on sexual preference.”
“You’re out of line, Mr. Kincaid.”
“I don’t think so. If Judge Roush had attended a straight bar, no one would care. If he had dates with a woman who worked for another judge in his office, no one would care. This whole line of inquiry is only of interest because he’s gay. This is a prurient line of questioning designed to exploit anti-gay prejudices and it is beneath the dignity of the Senate!”
“I’m always interested to hear opinions regarding what is appropriate for the Senate from members who have been with us for several weeks,” Keyes said, with a quiet cough, “but based on my thirty-three years of experience here, I believe this question is of value. If your nominee wishes to remain silent with regard to the matters being discussed that is his prerogative, but you do not have the right to silence a witness properly called and sworn by this assemblage.”
Ben knew what that remark was about. Keyes was baiting Roush, hoping he could get him to talk, a move that would likely make him seem defensive and would only open the door to more inquiries into his personal life.
“We will not discuss personal matters,” Ben said firmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Roush peering up at him. He was not happy. “There will be no exceptions.”
“Then please take your seat so that we may continue our discussion with someone who is willing to talk,” Keyes said. “Someone who has no secrets to hide.”
What could he do? Keyes had him in a corner and he knew it. Ben reluctantly took his seat.
“At first all we did was dance,” Gottlieb explained. “Sometimes normal pop tunes, sometimes campy stuff, old disco, Gloria Gaynor, Village People. Those guys love to boogie. Don’t be fooled by his age—Judge Roush is a zippy little dancer.”
“An important qualification for a Supreme Court justice,” Matera murmured.
“But he wasn’t content with mere dancing. Soon he was asking me if I was willing to experiment.”
“Experiment…how?”
“Well, I’m not going to talk about everything he wanted to do. I feel that would be inappropriate.”
Ben was relieved to hear that the witness had such high standards. He assumed that nothing ever happened that the committee would find particularly titillating. The undescribed horror left to the listener’s imagination played much better than boring revelations.
“But anything that happened in a bar, in a public place—well, that can’t be private, can it?” Matera asked. “I don’t believe anyone can have a reasonable expectation of privacy regarding conduct in a public place. So I ask you again: what kind of experiments took place?”
“Well, some of these bars were…specialty houses. Catered to gay men with particular interests.”
“Such as?”
“Primarily S and M. Bondage.”
Ben didn’t have any problem identifying the murmur that traveled through the courtroom this time. They weren’t happy thoughts.
“And did the judge like these sorts of activities?”
“I don’t think he’d ever engaged in them before. I don’t think he had acknowledged he was gay for very long. But he was curious. So we gave it a try.”
Matera looked up at the sky as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, what she was in fact begging the witness to reveal. “And how did this experiment go?”
“Not so well. I wasn’t comfortable with it. Eventually he got the message and gave it up. We moved on.”
“Moved on to what?”
Gottlieb drew in his breath. “Threesomes. And after that—gay orgies.”
The Caucus Room descended into chaos. Ben didn’t think cameras were even allowed in here, but nonetheless, a flurry of flashes went off throughout the room. Cell phones flipped. The usual whispering became a tumult. Chairman Keyes tried to bring the hearing back to order—although not as hard as he might, Ben thought.
“This is an outrage,” Ben heard Roush mutter under his breath. “A moral outrage. A crime against decency.”
“Did the nominee have a comment?” Keyes asked, above the noise.
“No, he did not!” Ben answered for him. “I renew my objection to this disgraceful, irrelevant line of questioning.”
“I think at this point, Mr. Kincaid, you must be the only person in the room who thinks this is irrelevant. The country has a right to know who—what kind of person—they’re putting on the Supreme Court. His character. His moral fiber.”
“That’s just an excuse.”
“No, Mr. Kincaid. That’s why we’re here.”
Once the room had been restored to some reasonable semblance of its previous calm, Matera continued the questioning.
“Mr. Gottlieb, when you say that Judge Roush engaged in…threesomes,” her lips actually curled as she said the word, “are you talking about…sexual intercourse involving three people, er, three men at once?”