He smiled. "I believe it's thirty-five years ... Miriam, give or take a decade. But I still keep wanting to call you Professor Bateman."
Evers had been one of Miriam Bateman's star students at Yale Law School, and he had been instrumental behind the scenes in getting Justice Bateman nominated to the High Court some fifteen years earlier. He hunched forward in his chair. "You're a busy lady, and the Court's in session, so let me get right to the point. The President has asked me to sound you out on something that must not leave this room, something he's been giving a lot of thought to. Please understand, this is highly preliminary."
Justice Bateman's piercing blue eyes radiated keen intelligence behind the thick lenses of her eyeglasses. "He wants me to step down," she said somberly.
Her directness caught her visitor unprepared. "He has enormous respect for your judgment and instincts, and he'd like you to recommend your successor. The President hasn't much more than a year left in office, and wants to make sure the next Supreme Court vacancy isn't filled by the other party, which looks awfully likely at this point."
Justice Bateman replied quietly, "And what makes the President think my seat's going to be vacant any time soon?"
Ronald Evers bowed his head, his eyes closed as if in prayer or deep contemplation. "This is a delicate matter," he said gently, like a priest in a confessional, "but we've always spoken openly with one another. You're one of the finest Supreme Court Justices this nation has ever seen, and I have no doubt you'll be mentioned in the same breath as Brandeis or Frankfurter. But I know you'll want to preserve your legacy, and so you have to ask yourself a very hard question: how many more years do you have left?" He lifted his head, and looked directly into her eyes. "Remember, Brandeis and Cardozo and Holmes all outstayed their welcome. They lingered at the Court well past the time when they could do their best work."
Justice Bateman's gaze was unyielding. "Can I get you some coffee?" she asked unexpectedly. Then, lowering her voice conspiratorially, she said, "I've got a Sachertorte I've just brought back from Demel's in Vienna, and the doctors tell me I really shouldn't have any."
Evers patted his flat midriff. "I'm trying to be good. But thank you."
"Then let me return bluntness with bluntness. I'm familiar with the reputation of just about every judge with any stature in every circuit in the country. And I have no doubt the President will find someone highly qualified, extremely bright, a legal scholar of range and breadth. But I want to let you in on something. The Supreme Court's a place that takes years to learn. One can't simply show up and expect to exert any influence. There's simply no substitute for seniority, for length of service. If there's one lesson I've learned here, it's the power of experience. That's where real wisdom comes from."
Her guest was prepared for this argument. "And there's no one on the Court as wise as you are. But your health is failing. You're not getting any younger." He smiled sadly. "None of us is. It's a terrible thing to say, I know, but there's just no way around it."
"Oh, I don't plan to keel over any time soon," she said, a glint in her eye. The telephone beside her chair suddenly rang, startling both of them. She picked it up. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you," came the voice of her longtime secretary, Pamela, "but it's a Mr. Holland. You asked me to put him right through whenever he calls."
"I'll take it in my hideaway office." She put down the phone and stood with difficulty. "Will you excuse me for a moment, Ron?"
"I can wait outside," Evers said, getting to his feet and helping her up.
"Don't be silly. Stay right here. And if you change your mind about that Sachertorte, Pamela's right outside."
Justice Bateman closed the door to the study and laboriously made her way to her favorite chair. "Mr. Holland."
"Madame Justice, forgive this intrusion," said the voice on the phone, "but a difficulty has arisen that I thought you might be able to help us with."
She listened for a few moments and then said, "I can make a call."
"Only if it's not too great an inconvenience," said the man. "I would certainly never disturb you if it weren't extremely important."
"Not at all. None of us wants this. Certainly not at this time."