Proffit was in his L.A. office and had been on the phone with Cyril Fischer, his number two in D.C., when the call was interrupted by a breaking tone from the intercom.
“Just a sec.” Proffit pushed the button on the phone. “I left instructions not to be disturbed!”
“Sorry, but I thought you might want to take this one,” said his secretary.
“Who is it?”
“An assistant to Senator Maya Grimes, says his boss would like to talk to you.”
“She’s on the line?”
“Extension six.”
“Tell him I’ll be right with her.” Proffit punched the button to Fischer. “Gotta take another call. I’ll get back to you in a few minutes.” He hit extension six. “This is Cletus Proffit.”
“Just a moment for Senator Grimes.”
A few seconds later the familiar voice came on the line. “Mr. Proffit?”
“Hello, Senator. How are you?”
“I’m good. I hope I didn’t catch you at a busy time.”
“Not at all.”
He wondered what she wanted. If it was a campaign fund-raiser, his firm’s dance card was already punched full. Since Serna’s death he had a drawer full of these, all of them bundled and mailed from the Washington office to his personal attention in case there was something Serna had been up to that he should know about.
“To what do I owe the honor?” said Proffit.
“It’s not about money, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She must have had a crystal ball. But then, these days why else would any politician be on the phone?
Proffit knew her, of course. Who in the state didn’t? They had met a few times, just in passing at crowded political and social events. But they were not intimates.
Proffit was a Democrat, a dyed-in-the-wool liberal who, when necessary, wore it on his sleeve. His specialty was entertainment law. He did enough work in and around Hollywood that his liberal credentials were as necessary to survival as breathing air.
Grimes had once been a Republican, a former state legislator, and was elected secretary of state for California. She had parlayed this into a successful bid for the US Senate almost twenty years ago. As the state turned increasingly blue, Grimes saw the fiery finger etch its warnings on the wall. She switched parties, but only halfway. She went Independent. That was twelve years ago.
This was about the same time that she and Serna had become tight, doing the women’s thing up on the Hill. At least according to the information that Proffit was able to dredge up. Grimes now caucused with the Democrats. Serna had taken bows for this. She claimed to be the instigator of Grimes’s conversion. Now there were growing rumors that the senator might actually become a Democrat before the next election. The world was full of opportunity for those who were sufficiently flexible.
Proffit wondered if that’s what the call was about. “What can I do for you?”
“Actually it involves an important matter of Senate business. I need help from someone who is knowledgeable and somewhat connected with the organized bar in our state. You come highly recommended.”
For a moment Proffit was flattered. “Of course, assuming it’s something I can do, I would be happy to help.”
“It is,” said Grimes. “You’re aware there are some vacancies on the federal courts in the state, for both the Southern District as well as the Ninth Circuit?”
“So I hear.” Proffit’s wife, who sat on the District Court in Los Angeles, was in fact a candidate for the appellate slot on the Ninth Circuit. According to information, she was on a short list in the White House, people who had already cleared all the non-binding hurdles at the American Bar Association and the State Bar. Proffit had put his own shoulder to the wheel, if for no other reason than to get his wife out of town. Once nominated and confirmed by the Senate, she would spend at least four days a week in San Francisco. Paradise to Proffit.
“The fact is, I am getting tremendous pressure from the criminal defense bar back there to the effect that they are underrepresented on the Ninth Circuit,” said Grimes.
“Is that so? I hadn’t heard.”
“I have talked to people in the White House and it seems there is some sympathy for this position there.”
Proffit thought about asking who at the White House, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him. His wife had been a civil practitioner before being appointed to the bench. Proffit could smell a rat. She was about to be passed over. Still, why would Grimes be calling him? Perhaps there was some way he could turn it around.
“One name keeps popping up,” said Grimes. “A criminal defense lawyer in Southern California by the name of Madriani. I’m told that you know him.”
Proffit’s heart skipped a beat. Couldn’t be the same one. Not the lawyer representing the driver who killed Serna?
“Where’s he from? What city?” said Proffit.
“San Diego area, I believe.”
“Paul Madriani?”
“That’s the one.”
“Somebody must be walking in my shadow,” said Proffit. “I met him one time. Couldn’t have been more than two weeks ago. If you’re looking for an endorsement or a review, I couldn’t recommend him. From what little I know, he doesn’t have the background.” What Proffit meant was the pedigree, hailing from a small firm outside the cloistered club of the organized bar. “Do you mind my asking where you got your information that I knew him?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. But he does have significant support in certain quarters, and according to these people he appears to be highly qualified,” said Grimes. “Beyond that, my office has already conducted a thorough background check. And I’ve notified the White House of my endorsement.”
“Then you didn’t call me for a personal review?”
“No,” said Grimes.
Proffit wasn’t stupid. Whatever was going on, he could smell Serna all over it. The fact that Madriani represented the man accused of killing her in an accident was no coincidence. He was curious to discover the connection so that the firm could tiptoe around it, avoid any fallout. At the same time he didn’t want to become personally involved.
“If you don’t mind my asking, can you tell me if Mr. Madriani has formally applied for the Ninth Circuit position?” Proffit was familiar with all the contenders. He didn’t remember seeing his name. If he had, he would have put the word out to his friends on the various reviewing panels to deep-six him. Two or three black balls were usually all it took to finish off somebody who didn’t have the horses in terms of political pull with the appointing power.
“The people who recommended you told me you had a way of coming directly to the point. That’s exactly what we were hoping you could help us with,” said Grimes.
“What?”
“We’d like you to approach Mr. Madriani and tell him that my office is inviting him to apply. We would like him to do so as soon as possible, unless of course he is not interested. But we think there’s a good chance he will be.”
“Wait, wait, wait! This is all very awkward,” said Proffit. “You do know. .”
“That your wife is a candidate for this position as well? Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that,” said Grimes. “I know this must be very disappointing for you, but you are aware of the custom known as senatorial courtesy? Sometimes they call it privilege.”
“Go on.”
“The fact is, for that vacancy, because it’s assigned to California, no other candidate can be scheduled for confirmation before the Senate without my consent.” She listened to him breathing on the other end of the line. “Just to let you know, I am already committed to Mr. Madriani’s appointment. I have advised White House staff to that effect. So you see, it would be to your benefit to use your best efforts to persuade Mr. Madriani to apply.”