“That’s great,” Ben said. “I’m on their mailing list because I did some work with them during law school.”

“Did you really?” Alcott asked. “Then we’ll have to get you in on this. Whenever you have some free time, let me know, and I’ll get you in to see the chairperson. She’s a wonderful woman. Very charismatic.”

“Meanwhile, did you tell him about the Supreme Court bonus?” Nash asked.

Alcott smiled. “Ben, this one is wonderful. The hiring committee recently met to reevaluate compensation packages for first-year associates. Since we’ve always given bonuses to associates who have clerkship experience, we thought we should add another bonus if the candidate also clerks for the Supreme Court. So in addition to that number I gave you last week, you can add another ten thousand. It’s only for the first year, but we think it’s a nice token.”

Staring at his plate, Ben wondered how he could take a $38,000-a-year job with the U.S. Attorney’s Office when a $100,000 job was staring him in the face and buying him an expensive lunch.

“Listen, you don’t have to decide now,” Alcott said. “We know it’s a hard choice. I’ll be honest, we know you can write your ticket anywhere, but we want you at Wayne and Portnoy. You’ve been with us for one summer; you know our style. It’s a relaxed atmosphere. We work hard when we have to, but we try to enjoy all the perks our profession allows us. If you come to us, I can assure you that at least twenty percent of your work will be on pro bono cases, so you can still give a great deal back to the community. Obviously, this isn’t the last time we’ll be speaking this year, but I do want to keep you informed about your choices.”

“I appreciate it,” Ben said. “You make it hard to say no.”

“Good,” Alcott said, closing his menu. “With that said, let’s order some expensive food.”

When Ben returned to the office, Lisa was still sitting at her computer. “How was lunch?”

“It was great,” Ben said, lying on the sofa and patting his stomach. “I had the best snapper I’ve eaten in my entire life. It was crusted with macadamia nuts and covered with the most tantalizing lemon-butter sauce. Unreal.”

“So let me ask you, how does it feel to sell your soul for a piece of fish and some designer butter?”

“Don’t even start with me. I’m at least deciding whether to go to a firm. You’re the one who’s already decided to say yes, Ms. Faustus.”

“Damn right I’m selling out. I’ve got a Saab to think about.”

“Your soul for a car. How tainted you’ve become.”

“Trust me, you’ll be right behind me. Guar-an-teed!”

“First of all, I won’t be right behind you, because there’s no amount of money in the world that can get me to live in Los Angeles. I heard that when you enter the city, the toll booths there accept dimes, nickels, quarters, and your integrity. Second of all, even if I do go to a firm, I’ll be going for ten thousand dollars more than you will.”

“You will not,” Lisa said.

“I will too.”

“Will not.”

“Okay,” Ben said, putting his hands behind his head. “Then I guess they didn’t just promise me an extra ten grand as a bonus for being a Supreme Court clerk.”

“Are you kidding me? You get ten grand more for working here? That’s bullshit. I have to get my firm on the line. I want more money. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll convince them I’m a bleeding heart who wants to save the world.”

Laughing, Ben said, “Let me ask you a question: Can we be more disgusting at this particular moment? Wait, do we have any death penalty cases coming up this week? Maybe we can kill someone for being poor.”

“You really have the worst liberal guilt I’ve ever seen,” Lisa said. “We’re going to be wealthy. Big deal. We worked hard to get where we are.”

“I know,” Ben said, “but we had so many advantages…”

“…that other kids never had. Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lisa said, playing an imaginary violin. “Listen, I don’t know what suburb you grew up in, but I grew up in a normal middle-class family. During bad years, we were lower middle class. I went to public school and no one cut the crusts off my Wonder Bread. How much class can my parents have-they met at Graceland, and they still tell people about it.”

“Y’know, there are two kinds of people in life,” Ben said, sitting up. “Those who cut the crust off their bread and those who-”

The ringing of Lisa’s phone cut off Ben’s sentence. “Hold on a second, I think that’s my pimp. He’s selling all of my intellectual skills to the highest bidder.” Picking up the receiver, she said, “Hello, Justice Hollis’s chambers.” After a second she grinned and mouthed the words “Washington Post.” Then she pulled out her press sheet. “I appreciate your concern on this matter, but as a clerk of the Supreme Court of the United States, I am not permitted to reveal any information to the press.” Lisa hung up the phone and sat back in her chair. “Are you happy now? I’m a suspect with you.”

“Yeah, but you were always a suspect. Your whole family is a bunch of shady thieves.”

“I resent you using the word ‘thieves.’ We prefer the word ‘scoundrels.’” Walking to the door, she continued, “I’m going to give Hollis our Oshinsky opinion. Hopefully, he’ll approve it by the end of today.”

“Good luck,” he said as Lisa left the room. Ben picked up the phone and dialed Nathan’s number.

“The Administrator’s Office,” Nathan said.

“Is that how you answer the phone? No wonder our government’s a bureaucratic mess.”

“Did you just get back from lunch with the castrating lawyers?” Nathan asked.

“You got it.”

“I knew there had to be a reason you were so excited. What did they try to buy you with this time?”

“An extra ten grand.”

“Are you serious? I was joking. Man, I’m in the wrong profession.”

“No, no. You have it much better off. Sitting around and thinking about social problems is probably the best way to solve them. And don’t forget, you beat me by a hundred points on the SAT, which, now that I think of it, is the square root of ten thousand.”

“Rot in Hades, capitalist sloth.”

“Listen, I meant to ask you, have you gotten all the stuff we need for Saturday?”

“I’m on it,” Nathan said. “Rick won’t know what to do when we’re done with him.”

“Is the plan done?”

“It’s pretty much the same as we first discussed.”

“I guess we’re set then,” Ben said. “We should probably meet tomorrow night just to do a run-through.”

“That’s fine. By the way, I’ll assume you haven’t spoken to Eric yet?”

“Nope. We’re meeting tonight at eight to have it out.”

“Ben, do me a favor. Go easy on him.”

“I’m fine. I’m completely calm.”

“Yeah, but did you hear what I said? Go easy on him. He’s still your friend.”

“Listen, I have to go,” Ben said, stretching. “I have to work on these opinions.” Hanging up the phone, Ben pulled his chair up to his desk. He opened the brown folder marked “Russell decision” and pulled out his first draft. Staring at the pages, he wondered if Osterman’s clerks really swayed opinions to their own agenda. No way, he thought. That story has urban myth written all over it. Lisa’s phone rang. He reached across the desk and picked it up. “Hello, Justice Hollis’s chambers.”

“Hi, I’m looking for a Lisa Schulman. Do I have the right extension?”

“You do.” Ben pulled the phone toward his own desk. “She just stepped out for a minute. Can I take a message?”

“Can you tell her Diana Martin of The Washington Post called her, and if she could give me a call back that’d be great.”

Puzzled, Ben said, “I guess she has your number?”

“No, no. She doesn’t even know me. Let me give it to you.”

After writing down the number, Ben hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. For the next half hour, he stared at the pages of the Russell decision.