Pepper took a deep breath-no Latin, she warned herself-and leapt in.
“Mr. Forkmorgan, as I understand it, the Court held in 1939, in Coleman v. Miller, that the efficacy of ratifications by state legislatures is a political question left to political departments, not the courts. Doesn’t the rule of Coleman then apply here? Aren’t you, in effect, asking us to second-guess the congressional judgment reflected in the statute?” Whew…
“Not at all, Justice Cartwright, though I thank you for highlighting this very aspect. We dispute the notion that Dillon should be overturned in light of Coleman…”
Suddenly the Chief Justice interrupted the attorney in the middle of a string of citations. “Thank you, Mr. Forkmorgan. Mr. Clenndennynn?”
Graydon rose. The spectators stirred at the sight of the President’s attorney.
“You seem to put quite a bit of emphasis on Opinion of the Justices, 362 Mass. 907,” Hardwether began.
“Indeed, but no more than it is capable of sustaining, Mr. Chief Justice. It is a hardy opinion, I would say. But we also cite City of Duluth; State v. Kyle; Real v. People; and Torres v. State. At the risk of putting the Court to sleep.”
A ripple of laughter.
“Oh, no,” the Chief Justice smiled. “I’m wide awake.”
“If I may, Mr. Chief Justice,” Graydon said, slipping his right hand into his vest pocket, imparting a faint Churchillian aspect, “despite all our-I freely admit-rather busy citing, we are making, or trying to make, a simple and straightforward argument that to the extent there is ambiguity here, this amendment should not be deemed to apply to a sitting president. The Twenty-second Amendment was explicitly prospective. It didn’t bar President Truman from running for reelection in 1952. The people did. So the Twenty-second Amendment’s prospective reach can hardly be read as a background principle.”
A little purr of appreciation went through the Hall. Paige Plympton, always on the lookout for the high ground in any argument, asked the President’s attorney if the Framers had envisioned such a “conundrum as the one we seem to find ourselves in.” Graydon, hand still tucked in his vest pocket, arched an eyebrow in bemusement.
“Madame Justice Plympton, it has long been my impression, though I have never given voice to it publicly until now, that the Framers, had they known the procedural contortions and abominations to which their descendants would put their sublime efforts, might well have thrown up their hands in the air and begged the British to take us back.”
A wave of laughter went through the Great Hall. The old man was about to continue when he suddenly turned gray. His hand moved from his pocket to his chest. He stood, gasping. Pepper thought, Sweet Jesus. And then he fell forward.
News that the President’s attorney had collapsed during oral argument was received, in evangelical America, as a sign that the End of Days might, indeed, be at hand.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Pepper was in her chambers, stunned and teary-eyed. Crispus was keeping vigil with her at the TV set, handing her serial tissues. They watched.
Graydon Clenndennynn had been ambulanced to George Washington Hospital, where an enormity of media were now swarming. Almost all of the stand-up reporters were calling him “Mr. Clenndennynn,” as if in premonition of mortality. He was alive, but barely. Words crawled across the bottom of the screen:… PRESIDENT’S ATTORNEY SUFFERS ‘MASSIVE’ HEART ATTACK DURING SUPREME COURT ORAL ARGUMENT OVER DISPUTED ELECTION…
Declan was in his own chambers, manning a sort of command post, though it was anything but clear what its precise function was at this point, Court being-obviously-adjourned.
Pepper reached for the phone and called the Marshall of the Court’s office. “I need a car. Right away.”
Crispus stirred from his own lugubrious meditations-in fact, he had been offering silent prayers for Mr. Clenndennynn; doubtless Silvio was phoning the Vatican in Rome and exhorting the Holy Father to convene the College of Cardinals and put them to collective flash-priority orisons.
“Hm? Where are you going?” Crispus said.
“To the hospital.”
This took a moment to sink in. “No,” he said, “you can’t do that.”
“Got to.”
“You can’t.”
“Shut up, Crispy.”
“Darling child-you’ll be crucified…”
“Screw that.”
“But-”
“I’ll call you from the hospital.”
“At least let your boyfriend know,” he called after her, but she was already out the door.
Twenty minutes later, Crispus, watching on the television in his own chambers, saw the commotion at the hospital’s entrance as her town car arrived, the swarm of media turning on it like a wave as she emerged and was shouldered through the horde by Court marshals.
“Justice Cartwright… Supreme Court Justice Pepper Cartwright has just arrived at the hospital… Justice Cartwright has arrived at George Washington Hospital where Graydon Clenndennynn is in critical condition following a heart attack during oral argument. That’s all we know at the moment, but it would appear that she has come to the bedside of the lawyer who just an hour ago was arguing the President’s case before the Supreme Court. Jeff, does that complicate matters any?
“Well, yes, it could. Judges and attorneys are proscribed-prohibited-from discussing a case outside of court. The term for it is ex parte discussion. While it’s obvious-at least I would think-that Justice Cartwright hasn’t come to the hospital to discuss Mitchell v. Vanderdamp with Clenndennynn, there is so much tension surrounding this case that her presence here could play into the hands of those who have been insisting that she recuse herself. So the short answer to your question would be, yes, it could be a complicating factor in an already hypercomplicated matter.”
Crispus closed his eyes and shook his head. Less than a minute later, his phone rang. It was the CJ.
“Jesus Christ, Crispus.”
“She’s your girlfriend, Dec, not mine.”
“Does she have any idea…”
“Declan. Why don’t you just breathe into a bag and calm down. She didn’t go down there to get his views on Coleman v. Miller, for God’s sake. She cares for the old goat.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Well, it’s going to have to be ‘the point.’ Look, he’s probably not even going to regain consciousness, so it’s moot.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t.”
“A fine sentiment.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Steady hand on the tiller, Declan. Steady hand. Dec? Hello?”
PEPPER HAD REACHED THE ICU when her cell phone began twittering. She pulled it out and flipped it open when an intercepting nurse said, “You need to turn that off, ma’am.” She looked ready to pluck it out of Pepper’s hand before it could compromise life-sustaining telemetry.
JUSTICE’S CELL CALL FINISHES OFF GRAYDON CLENNDENNYNN- MURDER CHARGES BROUGHT
Pepper looked at the phone as she was pressing the OFF button and saw DEC.
She paused, then did a 180 and walked briskly to an area where cell phones were not considered lethal weapons.
“I’m at the hospital-”
“I know you’re at the hospital,” he said. “It’s on TV. You need to not be at the hospital.”
“Dec, for Pete’s sake, I didn’t come here to discuss the damn case with him.”
“I don’t care. I want you to leave the hospital now, Pep.”
People were staring at her. She said in a whisper, “He doesn’t have family. I’m just going to hold his hand is all.”
“No, no, no. That is not your role, Justice Cartwright. Now leave. And make sure everyone sees you leaving. I want to watch you leave on TV. Tell the reporters you didn’t talk to him, you just came to… talk to the doctors and see how he was doing.”