“It sounds perfect,” Francis said. “Just one thing, though. Hollander.”

“What about her?”

“I just have a feeling about her. Are you absolutely sure she’s the one we want?”

“Sure as I can drink you under the table, Mr. President.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Levering leaned over the table to address the leader of the free world face-to-face. “Because I know women,” Levering said. “And I’m about to get to know Millicent Mannings Hollander in a very special way.”

Francis’s smile was of the locker room variety. “You old dog,” the president said.

On Tuesday morning Millie spoke to a group of fourth graders at a public school in D.C. Sharing her love of law and learning with children was one of the things she enjoyed most. She hoped a seed would be planted in those who might otherwise have considered dropping out by the time high school rolled around. And maybe, just maybe, she’d be talking to a future Supreme Court justice.

Today’s appearance was different. Millie’s closest friend in town, Helen Forbes Kensington, had prevailed upon Millie to allow a camera to videotape the session for future public relations use. Helen, having reached a seventy-million-dollar divorce settlement from publishing tycoon Richard Kensington eight years ago, could support whichever causes she chose. Women’s reproductive rights were at the top of her list. She served on the board of the National Parental Planning Group, and often appeared as a media spokesperson.

At lunch, over Pelegrino water with lime, Helen congratulated Millie on her answer to a delicate question from a little girl who asked why she could not pray in school. “You handled that brilliantly, kiddo,” Helen said. She was Millie’s age, but the best plastic surgeons in the country had made her look twenty years younger, especially in the soft lighting of the upscale restaurant Helen had chosen.

“I wasn’t handling anything,” Millie said. “I was merely trying to explain to them why separation of church and state is a good thing. That’s hard for a fourth grader to understand.”

“I don’t think she wanted to understand. It was like she was planted just to make you look bad. Wouldn’t put it past them.”

Them. Millie knew exactly to whom Helen was referring. She often referred to conservative Christians as them.

“You’re a little paranoid,” Millie said.

“It’s not paranoia if it’s true.” Helen reached for another jicama-date canapé from the appetizer plate. “There are fronts opening up all over the place now, and frankly I’m getting a little frustrated. I just heard this morning about an informed consent case down south.”

Millie said nothing. In conversations with friends she had to walk a fine line between innocuous opinions and subtle politicking. Helen usually respected that line.

“It is an insult to women,” Helen said. “These laws assume we don’t know what’s going on, we’re stupid or incompetent to make decisions. When is this country going to grow up?”

“When you are elected president,” Millie joked, trying to change the subject. Talking with a friend who was so issue driven had to be done delicately. Millie wanted no undue influence on matters destined for the Court.

Helen understood and smiled. “Okay. So why don’t you tell me about this super secret meeting you had the other day.”

“Not super secret.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. Just a meeting with Senator Sam Levering.”

Helen let her jaw drop melodramatically. “You stinker! You didn’t tell me!”

“It was an informal meeting,” Millie said. “He just asked me if I wanted to be chief justice.”

Helen let out a celebratory howl. “Now we’re talking! Oh, honey, I knew this day would come.”

“It hasn’t come just yet,” Millie cautioned. “But it may.”

“And Sam Levering is on your side? You cannot miss, girlfriend. Do you want it?”

Millie took a sip of water. “Of course I want it.”

“This is great. This is wonderful. We have to celebrate. How about you and I dress to the nines and hit Antonio’s tonight?”

“Sorry,” Millie said.

“You don’t want to go out with your nearest and dearest friend?”

“I have other plans.”

Helen put her elbows on the table. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Millie couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Sam Levering called me last night and asked me to dinner.”

Again, Helen’s mouth opened like an automatic door. “You. Are. Kidding. Me.”

Millie smiled.

“Stop the presses! When was the last time you went on a date?”

Millie thought a moment. “Thirty-five years ago, I think.”

“Sam Levering,” Helen said, “is a notorious ladies man.”

“I’m a big girl,” Millie said.

“You’re a lamb in sheep’s clothing.”

“Don’t be silly,” Millie said, but she felt a little heat rising on the back of her neck.

Helen looked at Millie. “The truth now,” she said. “What on earth made you say yes?”

For a moment Millie hesitated. She was not one for massive self-reflection. She had settled interior matters long ago. But this was Helen, the closest friend she had.

“I really don’t know for certain,” Millie said. “Maybe it was insane. But the man is handing me the greatest prize a judge could ever have. How could I say no?”

Helen raised and lowered her eyebrows. “It might be kind of fun, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, stop it,” Millie said. “You really are insufferable.”

“But this is Senator Sam Levering, Millie dear.”

“A nice dinner is enough for me.”

Helen huffed as if she didn’t quite buy it. “Just watch your backside, honey. And your front side, too.”

Millie looked at herself in the mirror and said to the reflection, “You have got to be joking.”

She was actually dressing up to go out on a date. Was the dress she held against her body too fancy or not fancy enough? She had the right clothes for official dinners, and speeches, and appearances. But this was different, radically so.

Was the color right? Was the length out of fashion? If only Helen were here to help her, but that would have been a cure worse than the disease. Helen would have taken her on a dress-buying binge and quantum makeover for what was supposed to be a simple dinner for two.

Millie lowered the dress and considered her body. It wasn’t so bad, was it? She was not thin nor heavy, though she would have preferred a little less in the thighs. Her lower body seemed to have developed a mind of its own lately, issuing dissenting opinions to her desire for firmness. The treadmill and basketball helped, along with a sensible diet. But she knew she would never be one of those middle-aged women who could wear bicycle pants to the market with impunity. Not that she would ever do it. But the option would have been nice.

She had never considered herself pretty; reporters were fond of describing her “dignified” face. What exactly did that mean? A face to be etched in the side of a mountain? Terrific. Right up there with Teddy, Tom, Abe, and George.

She wished now she had said no to Senator Levering. What on earth had she been thinking? Going out with a United States senator? One who had a reputation with the ladies? How could she have let herself get into this?

She remembered vividly the last time she went on one of these gruesome social rituals called a date. It was a memory etched in stone, like the words on the Supreme Court building. It was only her second time being asked out by a boy. She’d said no the first time. But this time it was Marty Winters, the second smartest kid at Santa Lucia High. She, of course, was the first, and that was one reason she didn’t get asked out.

She had actually liked Marty, had been drawn to him, unlike any other boys she had met. Growing up brilliant made her extremely self-conscious and withdrawn in a way that worried her parents. She had never given boys a serious thought – who would ever find her appealing? – until Marty.