The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [3]
On the back wall hung the room’s only picture—a photograph of the current justices. Taken when a new justice was appointed to the Court, the official photograph was always posed the same way: five justices seated and four justices standing. The chief justice sat in the middle, while everyone else was arranged according to their seniority on the Court. The oldest justice sat on the far left; the newest justice stood on the far right. Although the photo was only six months old, the justices’ identical black robes and stoic stares made the current portrait almost indistinguishable from the dozens taken in years past.
Arranged on the navy and gold carpet were two antique wooden desks facing each other, two computers, a wall of file cabinets, a paper shredder, and a plush but well-worn scarlet sofa. Both desks were already submerged under a mountain of paper. “From what I can tell, the desks are from the early colonial period,” Lisa explained. “They might’ve been used by some old justices. Either that, or they’re replicas from someone’s garage. What the hell do I know about antiques?”
As he followed her into the cramped but sophisticated office, Ben noticed Lisa was barefoot.
“I guess the justice isn’t coming in today?” Ben pushed aside some papers and put his briefcase down on one of the desks.
“That’s right. I’m sorry, I was supposed to call you last night. Most of the justices take off for the summer. Hollis won’t be back until next month, so it’s as casual as you want.” Lisa leaned on Ben’s desk. “So, what do you think?”
Ben surveyed the room. “The sofa looks comfortable.”
“It’s average at best. But it’s more comfortable than these old chairs.” Darting to the side of one of the gray metal file cabinets, Lisa said, “This, however, is the best part of the office. Check it out.”
Pulling the cabinet away from the wall, Ben saw eighteen signatures written in black marker. “So these are Hollis’s old clerks?” he asked, reading through the names that covered half of the cabinet.
“No, they’re the original Mouseketeers,” Lisa said. “Of course they’re the old clerks.”
“When do we sign?”
“No time like the present,” Lisa said, pulling a black marker from her back pocket.
“Aren’t we eager?” Ben laughed.
“Hey, you’re lucky I waited for you.” With a flourish, Lisa wrote her name on the side of the cabinet. Ben signed just below and pushed the file cabinet back against the wall. “I guess you started in July?” he asked.
“Yeah. I wish I could’ve traveled more.”
“That’s where I’ve been,” Ben said. “I just got back from Europe two nights ago.”
“Bully for you,” Lisa said as she flopped down on the sofa. “So give me your vital stats—where you’re from, where you went to school, hobbies, aspirations, all the juicy stuff.”
“Do you want my measurements too, or just my shoe size?”
“I can see the measurements,” Lisa shot back. “Small feet, medium hands, average build, big ego.”
Ben laughed. “And everyone said my co-clerk would be a stiff,” he said, taking off his jacket. Ben had an oval face and a less-than-impressive jaw, but he was still considered handsome, with intense deep-green eyes and light-brown hair that fell over his forehead. Rolling up his sleeves, he said, “I’m from Newton, Massachusetts; I went to Columbia for undergrad and Yale for law school; last year I clerked for Judge Stanley on the D.C. Circuit; and I eventually want to be a prosecutor.”
“Boorrrrrrrring!” Lisa said, slouching back on the sofa. “Why don’t you just give me your résumé? Tell me about yourself. Loves, hates, favorite foods, sex scandals, what your family’s like. Anything.”
“Are you always this nosy?” Ben asked as he sat on the corner of his desk.
“Hey, we’re going to be living in this room for the