The Tenth Justice

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And it wasn’t supposed to be this way.

In the past three hours, Ben had read the current issues of The Washington Post, The New York Times, Law Week, and Legal Times. Last night, before going to bed, he’d committed to memory every major Supreme Court case from the previous session. He’d also made a list of every Supreme Court opinion Justice Mason Hollis had ever written, and, to be safe, he’d reread Hollis’s biography. No matter what the subject, Ben was convinced he was prepared for any topic Justice Hollis might raise. In his briefcase, he had packed two legal pads, four pens, two pencils, a pocket legal dictionary, a pocket thesaurus, and-since he’d heard that Supreme Court clerks typically work straight through lunch-a turkey sandwich. Without question, Ben Addison was ready.

But he was still sweating. Like a pig.

As he stood outside the Supreme Court, a half hour early for his first day on the job, he was entranced by the gleaming white columns of the nation’s highest court. This is it, he thought, taking a deep breath. It’s finally here. Running his hand through his recently cut brown hair, Ben climbed the wide marble stairs. He counted each step, in case Justice Hollis was curious how many stairs there were. Forty-four, he told himself, filing the information on a mental index card.

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