The Tenth Justice (3 page)

“But I’m sure on a marginal case, no one will really notice—especially if you’re the only one who reads the original petition,” Nathan said.

“I don’t know,” Ben said, shaking his head and leaning against the counter. “I think your Napoleonic side is showing tonight. This is the Supreme Court. There’s a fierce code of ethics that goes along with it.”

“I still can’t believe you’re clerking for the Supreme Court,” Ober said as he peeled garlic over the sink. “The Supreme-fucking-Court! I’m answering phones, and you’re hanging out at the Supreme Court.”

“I guess you didn’t get your promotion,” Ben said.

“They completely dicked me over,” Ober said quietly. With two dimples that punctuated his pale cheeks and light freckles that dotted his nose, Ober was the only one of Ben’s roommates who still looked like he was in college. “The whole reason I went to Senator Steven’s office was because they said I’d only answer phones for a few weeks. That was five months ago.”

“Did you confront them?” Ben asked.

“I tried everything you said,” Ober explained. “I just can’t be as aggressive as you are.”

“Did you at least threaten to quit?” Ben asked.

“I kinda hinted at it.”

“Hinted
at it?” Ben asked. “What’d they say?”

“They said they’re sorry to hold me up, but they’re gearing up for an election year. Plus, there are at least a hundred people who would take the job in a heartbeat. I think I might have to urinate on the personnel manager’s desk.”

“Now that’s a good idea,” Nathan said. “Urination is a solid response for a twenty-eight-year-old. I’ve always heard it’s the best path to a promotion.”

“You have to be more forceful,” Ben said. “You have to make them think losing you would be the end of the world.”

“And how do I do that?”

“You have to present the total package,” Ben explained. Noticing Ober’s white oxford shirt, he added, “And you have to dress the part. I told you before—don’t wear that shirt. With your freckles and that blond hair, you look like a total kid.”

“Then what am I supposed—”

“Here.” Ben took off his jacket and handed it to Ober. When Ober put it on, Ben said, “That fits you pretty well. I want you to wear my suit and tie. It’s a good make-an-impression suit. Tomorrow morning, you’ll go back into work and ask again.”

“I can’t ask again,” Ober said.

“Maybe you can write them a letter,” Nathan suggested to Ober. “That way you don’t have to do it face-to-face.”

“Absolutely,” Ben said. “If you want, I’ll draft it with you. Between the three of us, you’ll have a new job in no time.”

“I don’t know,” Ober said. Taking off the jacket, he handed it back to Ben. “Maybe we should just forget about it.”

“Don’t get frustrated,” Ben said. “We’ll get you through it.”

“Why don’t you tell Ben your scratch-off story,” Nathan said, hoping to change the subject.

“Oh, my God, I almost forgot! I’ll be right back.” Ober ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“We’ve really got to help him,” Ben said.

“I know,” Nathan said. “Just let him tell his story—it’ll put him in a good mood.”

“Let me guess. Does it have anything to do with the lottery?”

“P. T. Barnum would’ve loved him like a son.”

“How can he be so addicted?”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Nathan said. “You were in Europe for six weeks. Did you really expect the world to change while you were gone? Some things are immutable.”

“What took you so long?” Ben asked when Ober returned.

“You’ll see,” Ober began, his hands hidden behind his back. “So there I am, walking home from work in a pissy mood. Suddenly, I see a new poster in the window of Paul’s Grocery:
WE GOT LOTTERY
!”

“Grammar is everything at Paul’s,” Nathan interrupted.

Undeterred, Ober continued, “First I bought a scratch-off. I scratch it and I win a dollar, so I buy another ticket. Then I win two dollars!” His voice picked up speed. “Now I
know
I can’t lose. So I get two more tickets and I lose on one and win another dollar on the second.”

“This is where normal people stop,” Nathan interrupted.

“So I get this last ticket!” Ober continued. “And I scratch it off, and I win three bucks, which I use to buy Snickers bars for all of us!” From behind his back, he threw Snickers at Ben and Nathan.

“Unreal,” Nathan said as he opened his candy. “Do you realize that you jumped through every hoop that the lottery commission set up for you?”

“Who cares?” Ober asked. He swallowed a huge piece of his candy bar. “I haven’t had a Snickers in months. I figured it’d be a nice way to celebrate Ben’s first day of work.”

A half hour later, the three friends were seated at the kitchen table. “Honeys, I’m home!” Eric announced as he kicked open the front door.

“Can he have worse timing?” Nathan put down his fork as Ben and Ober headed toward the living room.

“The good son has returned!” Eric announced as soon as he saw Ben.

“It’s about time,” Ben said. “I thought you ran away.”

With a half-eaten sandwich in hand, Eric embraced his roommate. Wearing an unironed button-down and creased khakis, Eric was the sloppiest of the four. His thick black hair was never combed, and his face was rarely shaven. The darkness of his sparse beard was heightened by his bushy black eyebrows. Only a few millimeters from touching, they created the perception of a constantly furrowed brow. “Sorry about that,” Eric said. “I’ve had a deadline every night this week.”

“Every night?” Ben asked, confused. “For a monthly?”

“He doesn’t know about your job,” Nathan said, walking into the living room. “Remember? He hasn’t been here for six weeks.”

“No more
Washington Life
magazine?” Ben asked.

“No, sir,” Eric said. He scratched his head with vigorous pride. “Just when I thought I was going to spend the rest of my journalistic career covering local antique shows and the best new restaurants, I get a call from the
Washington Herald
. They had a staff writer opening in the political bureau. I started two weeks ago.”

“You’re working for a bunch of right-wingers?” Ben asked.

“Hey, it may be this city’s secondary paper, but it’s got circulation of eighty thousand, and they’re all mine!”

“That’s fantastic.” Ben slapped his friend on the back.

“And by the way,” Eric said to Ober, “guess what they’re putting on the crossword page?”

“Don’t toy with me…a word jumble?” Ober said, grabbing Eric by the front of his shirt.

“WORD JUMBLE!” Eric screamed. “Starting next month!”

“WORD JUMBLE!” Ober repeated.

“JUM-BLE! JUM-BLE! JUM-BLE!” the two friends chanted.

“Ah, what entertains the ignorant,” Nathan said, putting his arm around Ben’s shoulder.

“I have to admit, I really missed this,” Ben said.

“They don’t have simpletons in Europe anymore?” Nathan asked.

“Funny,” Ben said as he turned back to his jumble-obsessed roommates. “Hey, wonder twins, how about getting back to dinner?”

“I can’t,” Eric said. Taking another bite of his sandwich, he explained, “This is dinner for me. Tomorrow’s edition beckons.”

Later that evening, Nathan walked into Ben’s room, which was arguably the best-decorated room in the house. With his antique oak desk, oak four-poster bed, and oak bookcase, Ben was the only one of the four roommates to actually care about matching anything. Nathan had once thought about working on his room, but he reconsidered when he realized he was doing it just because Ben had done it. Three professionally framed black-and-white pictures hung on the wall over Ben’s bed: one of a half-completed Washington Monument, one of a half-completed Eiffel Tower, and one of a half-completed Statue of Liberty. Ben was a pack rat when it came to memorabilia. On his bookshelf were, among other things, the keys to his first car, a personalized belt buckle his grandfather had given him when he was nine years old, the hairnet Ober used to wear when he worked at Burger Heaven, the hideous tie Nathan had worn to his first day of work, the visitor’s pass he’d been given when he interviewed with Justice Hollis, and his favorite—the gavel Judge Stanley had given him when his clerkship ended.

“Still catching up on your mail?” Nathan asked, noticing the stack of envelopes Ben was flipping through.

“It’s amazing to see how much junk mail one person can amass in a six-week period,” Ben said. “I’ve gotten three sweepstakes offers, about fifty catalogs, a dozen magazine offers, and remember last year when Ober was watching Miss Teen USA and he called the eight hundred number to order us applications? I’m still on their mailing list. Listen to this: ‘Dear Ben Addison. Are you the next Miss Teen USA? Only the judges know for sure, but you can let the world know about your participation by ordering from our selection of Official Miss Teen USA products.’” Looking up from the letter, Ben added, “I think I’m going to order Ober a Miss Teen USA sports bra. Once he’s on their mailing list as a buyer, he’ll never get off.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Nathan said, sitting down on Ben’s bed.

“So, tell me, what else is going on around here?” Ben said, throwing aside the letter.

“Honestly, nothing is different. Eric’s around less because he’s always on deadline.”

“I guess he still hasn’t done the deed?”

“Nope, our fourth roommate still remains a virgin. And he still contends it’s by choice—waiting until marriage and all that.”

“I guess Ober’s still riding him about it?” Ben asked, knowing the answer.

“He’s been riding him since eleventh grade,” Nathan said. He smoothed back his red hair, which he wore cropped short to disguise his receding hairline. Nathan was the first of the roommates to start losing his hair and if he was in the room, baldness and hairstyles were forbidden subjects. Extremely competitive, he didn’t like to lose at anything, and to him, his retreating hairline undermined his entire appearance, eclipsing everything from his determined posture to his angular jaw.

“And this new job at the
Herald
? It seems like Eric’s really happy with it.”

“Are you kidding?” Nathan asked. “Eric’s been flying since he got this position. He thinks he’s king of the world.”

“Do I detect a bit of jealousy?” Ben asked.

“Not at all,” Nathan said. “He spent two years getting a graduate degree in journalism—I’m happy he’s finally writing about something more than local yard sales. I just wish he was around more.”

“Don’t give me that,” Ben teased. “You couldn’t give a crap whether he’s around more. You just don’t like the fact that he’s doing better than you are.”

“First of all, he’s not doing better than me. Second of all, I don’t mind that he’s doing well, I just wish he’d be a little less selfish about it.”

“And jealousy rears its ugly visage.”

“You know what I mean,” Nathan said. “Whenever Eric takes on anything, he becomes obsessed with it. He did the same thing when he was in grad school, the same thing when he was writing for that literary magazine, and the same thing when he started at
Washington Life
. I know he thinks he’s both Woodward
and
Bernstein, but I wish he’d pay a little more attention to his friends. As it is, I don’t think I’ve had one solid conversation with him since he started this job. He doesn’t have time for us anymore.”

“You want to know what I think? I think you’re way too competitive. You always have been; you always will be.”

“This has nothing to do with my competitiveness. It has to do with friendship.”

“Give him a break,” Ben said. “He’s still new there. I’m sure he’s just trying to make a good impression.”

“Maybe,” Nathan said as he picked up a pencil from the desk and began to doodle.

“Forget that. How’s life at the State Department?” Ben asked. “Have you taken over any Third World countries in the past few weeks?”

“Alas, no. It’s been pretty much what I thought. My boss has been in South Africa for the past week, so it’s been slow. But I think they want to keep me around. I figure they’ll put me in the S/P in a few more months.”

“S/P?”

“The secretary’s policy planning staff. They do all the policy work for the department. People from the S/P usually feed into the major think tanks.”

“You and a bunch of big brains pondering our existence, huh?”

“Someone’s got to think about running the world,” Nathan said as he doodled an outline of the United States. “Meanwhile, what about you? Your first day at the Supreme Court. That’s no mall job.”

“I know,” Ben said as he fidgeted with the clasp of his datebook. “I just hope I’m okay starting in August instead of July. I felt kind of lost today.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Nathan said. “You haven’t missed a thing. Besides, your co-clerk had a month head start.”

“I guess,” Ben said. He walked over to his bookshelf, and began to reorganize his books.

Nathan watched his friend for more than a minute. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he finally said. “It
is
the Supreme Court.”

“I know. It’s just that everyone there is so damn smart. They can name every Court precedent for the past twenty years; I can name the original cast of
L.A. Law
. That’s not going to get me far.”

Without knocking, Ober entered the room. “Who died?” he asked, recognizing the anxiety on Ben’s face.

“He’s just worried that the Supreme Court will be intellectually intimidating,” Nathan explained.

“Big deal,” Ober said as he sat on Ben’s bed. “Tell them you can name the entire cast of
L.A. Law
. That always impressed me.”

“I’m a dead man,” Ben said as he continued to reorganize his books.

“Ben, stop with the books. You have nothing to worry about,” Nathan said. “For your whole life, you’ve been at the top of the intellectual ladder. You went from Columbia, to Yale, to a clerkship with Judge Stanley. Now you’re working for Justice Hollis, one of the best justices on the Supreme Court. Either all of your success is a fluke, or you’re just stressing. Which do you think is more likely?”

“He’s probably a fluke,” Ober teased.

“Shut up, pinhead,” Nathan scolded. “Ben, you’re the ultimate overachiever. You used to alphabetize the crayons in the Crayola Sixty-four box. You researched the aerodynamics of the whiffle ball…”