Free Supreme Courtship by Christopher Buckley

stiffened slightly. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”
    Hayden let it hang there a moment, and then said, “Before continuing on to another profession?”
    Pepper relaxed. “Correct again, Senator.”
    “He’s a minister, down in Texas.”
    “First Sabbath Tabernacle of Plano. Giving witness to the Word, twenty-four seven, rain or shine, hell or high water, no sin too small, no crime too dire. Yeaaaah, Jesus!”
    “Sorry?”
    “It’s how he begins his Sunday broadcast.”
    “Ah. Yes. Growing up in that environment must have affected your own religious views?”
    “Certainly, sir. But as to that, I don’t really
have
any religious views.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Well, Senator, we all keep the Sabbath in our own way.”
    “May I ask how you keep it?”
    “In bed with a crossword puzzle, coffee, and a croissant.”
    “I see.”
    “I could leave out the croissant part at the hearings, if you want, if you think it sounds too French. Want me to substitute bagel? Or is that too Jewish? What about crumb cake? Crumb cake sounds American enough.”
    Hayden and the other senators exchanged uneasy stares.
    Hayden said, “Your lack of religious views, again, if I may, I don’t mean to . . . what I’m trying to get at is . . .”
    “Let me help you out here, Senator. When I was nine years old I watched my momma get hit by lightning. Now, my daddy interpreted that as the Almighty’s punishment for playing golf on the Sabbath and built a whole church around it. I drew a different inference.”
    Hayden said, “The inference being . . . I don’t mean to pry, but . . .”
    “That God is a son of a bitch,” she said.
    S HE SAID
that
?” the President said.
    It was later the same day. He had just handed a wornout–looking Graydon Clenndennynn a double martini and had poured himself a frosty schooner of beer.
    “Freely,” Graydon said. “Gleefully. She’s an atheist. Proud of it.”
    “Oh, my,” said the President.
    “From what I gather, it didn’t help that that the gaga father baptized her by holding her head underwater in front of thousands of people at that absurd church of his. Hayden did a very lawyerly job of drawing it out of her. Not that she held back, mind you. We spoke to her privately about de-emphasizing it at the hearings. But it’s an Achilles’ heel. If it comes up, Mitchell will chomp down on it like a terrier.”
    “There have been Supreme Court justices who didn’t believe in God. Haven’t there?”
    “Yes, but I don’t think they presented their views quite so gleefully or vividly at the confirmation hearings. My reading of her is that she wants to disqualify herself. I’m not a psychologist, but that’s my sense of it.”
    “Hm,” the President said. “Well, maybe it will come off as refreshing. Santamaria practically wears his Knights of Malta feather cap to Court. She’s honest. Transparent. A breath of fresh Texas air. The people will respond. I know it.”
    “Donald, according to polls, more people in this country believe in the Immaculate Conception than in evolution. I don’t know why you’re always carrying on about the so-called ‘wisdom of the American people.’ Half of the population seems to me to be demented. Belong in cages . . .”
    “Maybe it won’t come up,” said the President.
    “I wouldn’t count on that. There are five thousand reporters out there, digging. Like worms.”
    The President sipped his beer. “Her father, the TV reverend. He’ll balance out the religious aspect. It’ll be fine.”
    “The Reverend Roscoe,” Graydon said morosely. “Quite the trailer park we seem to have wandered into.”
    “I never realized you were such a snob, Graydon,” the President said. “Actually, that’s not true. I’ve always known you were a snob. But don’t discount the Reverend Roscoe. He’s a major player down there, you know. I’ve been to one of his barbecues.”
    “Really?” Graydon said. “Were the ribs to the desired consistency and