The Confirmation (55 page)

Diaz appeared on the screen looking slightly awkward, red tie slightly askew, eyes darting, his fingers fidgeting. Satcha sat opposite him wearing a tight, grey pinstripe, pencil-thin skirt above the knee with matching jacket. Her Latina sexuality smoldered just beneath the surface like the leather bustier beneath her jacket.

“Judge Diaz, thank you for joining us. You want to sit on the Supreme Court of the United States. It is a lifetime appointment. In order to give the American people some insight into your own judicial views, which Supreme Court Justice—and you can pick either a current or former justice—do you most admire?”

“Well, first of all, I will be my own person,” replied Diaz, fouling off the pitch. “But in terms of who I most admire, I would say Louis Brandeis for his sense of justice, Anton Scalia for his intellectual courage, and John Roberts for his collegiality.”

“Brandeis was a leading liberal, Scalia a vocal conservative,” said Satcha. “Some might conclude that choosing such diametrically opposed role models is incoherent. And you would say . . . what?” She cocked her head as if to say,
I've got your number.

“Both possessed first-rate minds and brought passion to the bench,” said Diaz. “That's what I so admire about them. Equally important—and it is why I mentioned Roberts—is the ability to build consensus. The Supreme Court works best when it achieves common ground. I've done that everywhere I have served, and I will do so if confirmed as associate justice.”

Satcha crinkled her nose, telegraphing she wanted more direct answers. “Let's turn to the issue of abortion. There is a restrictive abortion law in South Dakota pending before the Supreme Court. In your opinion, when does life begin?”

“I appreciate why you ask the question and why so many people are interested in that topic. It's a deeply emotional issue involving one's personal values. But as a judge my personal views are irrelevant. My job is to apply the laws passed by Congress or another legislative body in light of prior court rulings.” He gestured with his hands, growing more confident as he spoke. “
Roe v. Wade
has been the law of the land for almost a half century. Its core findings have been upheld in twenty-two separate Supreme Court decisions.”

It was a well rehearsed and flawlessly delivered nonanswer. Satcha hunched her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. “I think what people want to know are
your
values. I'm not asking about your judicial philosophy. I'm asking when you believe life begins.”

“I don't think my views or those of any judge in an area so deeply informed by one's moral beliefs are terribly instructive,” said Diaz, not budging. “Nor are they dispositive. The same is true of other issues with a moral dimension, such as the death penalty. I have known judges who were personally pro-choice who upheld pro-life laws and judges who were personally pro-life who upheld pro-choice laws. The issue is not what I believe; it is what the law states as informed by the Constitution.”

“In
Roe
the Court ruled that a woman had a fundamental constitutional right to privacy that included the ability to end a pregnancy,” said Satcha. “If I hear you correctly, you are saying you take no issue with that ruling.” She batted her eyes as if to say,
Gotcha
!

“That's a clever way of asking the same question, and my answer is the same. My general inclination as a judge is to seek predictability and stability in the law such that individuals can order their lives according to legal precedents.”

“And as you testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee, that includes
Roe
.”

“I wouldn't particularize it to a single case,” said Diaz, his confidence growing with each question. “But as I noted in my testimony,
Roe
has been upheld for decades by multiple courts and dozens of decisions.”

“I LOVE IT! PRO-CHOICE judges often uphold pro-life laws, and pro-life judges uphold pro-choice laws,” exclaimed Jay. In his office on the second floor of the West Wing, he and other aides were glued to the television. Lisa chewed on the nubs of her fingernails. Jay swayed back and forth in his chair, occasionally swigging from a bottle of water. Taylor Sullivan stood in the corner, beefy arms crossed over his chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, rocking on his heels. For the White House, Diaz's interview was the field goal at the buzzer. If it went well, they felt good about their chances in the Senate. If it went poorly, they were finished.

“He's doing well,” said Lisa. “She tried to pin him down, and he didn't take the bait. If he can handle abortion, he can handle anything.”

Jay nodded. “He keeps going back to his testimony. That's the key. We need to play this like it's C-SPAN. Keep the temperature l-o-o-o-w.”

“No one's paying attention to what he says,” said Sullivan with a smirk. “They're too busy looking at Satcha's polished legs.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “That would be you and Jay. The women are listening to what he says.”

AS THE INTERVIEW PROCEEDED into the second half hour, Sanchez ratcheted up the pressure. She knew the audience wanted fireworks, not Court TV.

“Judge Diaz, there has been a great deal of controversy about your Wildfire stock holdings and whether it influenced your ruling in the company's favor,” Satcha said, setting up an uppercut. “Can you now acknowledge it was a conflict of interest?”

“No. A blind trust is exactly what it says: blind. I had no involvement in the investments made by the trustees. They made highly diversified—”

“But you were regularly informed of the Wildfire stock purchases, Judge.”

“I received notices as required by law. I deliberately tossed them in the garbage. I didn't want to know where my retirement fund or 401K was invested.”

“But if you were notified, the trust was not really blind, was it?”

“It was blind in that I had no involvement in the investment decisions and could not effectuate them either way—either a buy or a sell order. Had I instructed the trustees to buy or sell a particular stock, it would have violated the terms of the trust. I never did so.”

“Some have asked that you recuse yourself from the Wildfire antitrust case,” said Satcha. “You have so far refused. Why?”

“I have not said I would not recuse myself. But I declined to commit to recusal as a condition of confirmation. To do so would set a dangerous precedent for future nominees, endangering judicial independence and violating the separation of powers. Under that scenario any senator could withhold their vote for confirmation until a nominee agreed to rule a particular way or not rule at all on a specific case. That's wrong.”

“So you're still open to recusal in the Wildfire case?”

“I will seriously weigh that issue if confirmed. I will consult with the chief justice and ethics experts whose judgment I respect. I will do the right thing if confirmed, and those who have raised the issue will be satisfied with the outcome.” He allowed himself a smile.

G. G. HOTERMAN SAT in his office spooning Chinese takeout, the empty containers and beer cans littering the coffee table, his lobbying team gathered around him. Beer, soda, and a bucket of ice filled the table, but G. G. drank Chivas on the rocks. The phone on his credenza rang.

“Did you hear what he just said!?” thundered Stephen Fox.

“I sure did,” replied G. G., his voice steady, always unflappable.

“I can't believe I've spent millions of dollars getting this guy confirmed, and he throws us under the bus at the eleventh hour!”

“Welcome to DC,” deadpanned G. G. “If you want a friend in this town, buy a dog.”

“At least in my world, when someone gets bought, they stay bought.”

“I'm not convinced he means it. Remember Noble's in charge. He's running this like a campaign, so Diaz is going to say whatever he has to in order to be confirmed. Once he's on the court and he doesn't recuse himself, what can they do . . . impeach him?”

“You're more cynical then me, G. G. I think he means it. But even if he doesn't, will floating the trial balloon work?”

“I dunno. The real question isn't whether the White House has fifty-one votes. The only question is: are there forty-one Democrats who will vote against cloture? Because if the answer to that is yes, then it doesn't matter how many votes Diaz has. He's dead already.”

“What's your best guess? Can the Democrats muster forty-one votes against cloture?”

“I think it's right on the bubble. They've got thirty-eight hard votes but they're stuck. Stanley committed in front of the entire caucus at their weekly lunch that if they got to forty, he would be the forty-first vote. Hurley committed to being the fortieth vote. That still leaves them one vote short.”

“I don't know what's worse,” sighed Fox. “A filibuster that takes Diaz down, or Diaz getting confirmed and then recusing himself from our case.”

“The latter. If he's rejected by the Senate, at least we get another crack.”

“I agree. Keep me posted.”

G. G. hung up the phone.

“Who was that?” asked one of G. G.'s line lobbyists.

“Stephen Fox. I had to talk him down off the ledge after Diaz all but promised to hit the eject button on the Wildfire case.”

“He's probably shorting his own stock as we speak,” joked the lobbyist.

G. G.'s assistant appeared at the door. “G. G., it's Christy Love to see you.”

“What? On the phone?”

“No, she's in the conference room. I told her you were busy. She said she'd wait.”

G. G. arched his eyebrows, surprised by Christy's impromptu visit. He kept the Wildfire lobbyists in the dark about the money he was raising for Pro-Choice PAC. He walked down the hall to find Christy in the conference room watching the Diaz interview on a flat-screen TV.

As usual, she looked striking, her blonde hair brushed back to reveal three-carat diamond earrings, a snug knit top flattering her figure, billowing white pants, and Christian Laboutin heels. She was a bundle of nervous energy.

“Christy!” exclaimed G. G. “How goes it?”

“Still fighting the wars.”

“Are we winning?”

“I think so. I totally disagree with the CW on the Satcha Sanchez interview. I think it's going to backfire. The guy is overcoached, he's delivering talking points like an automaton, and the senators are not going to buy it.”

“I sure hope you're right. What can I do you for?” asked G. G.

“What do I always need, G. G.? Faith and Family's up with a thousand gross rating points. We're at eight hundred. I have to match them. And I need more radio. Limbaugh and Hannity are killing us.”

“How much do you need?”

“Two million. About 1.5 million for TV, half a million for radio.”

“Wow,” said G. G. slowly, wheels turning. “That's a lot.”

“It's crunch time, boyfriend. I talked to Hurley. He says we're one vote away from being able to defeat cloture.”

“So I heard. Let me see what I can do.”

“Thanks, G. G. You're the best.” Christy picked up her purse, giving him an affectionate hug and a peck on his cheek, then walked through the lobby to the front door.

“Hey!” shouted G. G. from behind her. Christy turned around to face him.

“I'm the money king, you hear me?” G. G. exclaimed, pointing at her with his index finger. “Other people talk big.
I
deliver! I've raised forty million bucks for this party in the past two years! I'm the second coming, for crying out loud!”

Christy looked at G. G. with disbelief and then walked out the door.

IN THE BOOK-LINED, OAK-PANELED den of Andy Stanton's well-appointed McMansion in a gated community in Alpharetta, Georgia, Andy and Ross Lombardy watched Diaz's interview with Satcha Sanchez like rabid fans watching a college football game. Andy sat on the edge of a large, leather upholstered chair, peppering the television with unsolicited commentary.

“Why doesn't he just tell the truth:
Roe v. Wade
was wrongly decided?” asked Andy in frustration. “Even Ruth Bader Ginsburg said that. She put it in writing!”

“It's mind-boggling,” sighed Ross, sprawling his legs across an ottoman. “It's become mandatory for conservative nominees to deny the obvious.”

“The Bible says if the bugle gives an indistinct sound, no one will rally for battle. You better tell our friend Jay that Diaz needs to quit playing around.”

“I'm afraid it's a little late. The hearings are over. This is Diaz's only scheduled interview. The Senate begins debate tomorrow.” Ross knew what Andy was really upset about—the White House gave the interview to Univision and not the God Channel. To Andy, it was the latest example of being taken for granted after putting Long in the Oval Office.

“What's the vote look like?” asked Andy.

“We're sitting at forty-eight. We need two more Democrats to come over. Whitehead will break a tie.”

“What about cloture?”

Ross shrugged. “They're still one vote short. It's the nuclear option, and Stanley doesn't want to pull the trigger, but he's getting major pressure from the left.”

“Keep after the centrist, red-state Democrats—the Rebecca Rhoades types. We'll either get their votes, or we'll defeat them in the next election.”

Ross thought Diaz did well in the interview. He didn't care if Diaz took a powder on abortion and marriage, as long as he voted right once he was on the Court. Was it enough? He didn't know. But Ross knew how to count votes. And one thing was certain: win or lose, they were headed for the closest confirmation vote for a Supreme Court nominee in U.S. history.

FORTY-THREE