Deadlock Read Online Free PDF Page B

some kids from school, who made a few cracks about Marty and Millie sittin’ in a tree. Marty made a joke that put them to shame, and she thought then that she was in love. He was almost handsome, in a scholarly sort of way. His acne was clearing up and she could see him inventing things someday.
    She remembered the music that night. The radio in the restaurant played “Hey Jude” by the Beatles. And then Herb Alpert’s “This Guy’s in Love with You.” She made a girlish wish that Herb Alpert was singing about Marty.
    Marty did not drive her home. Instead, he took her up to The Rim. She didn’t protest, though she was so nervous she almost threw up. The Rim was a mountain road that offered a great view of the valley. It was a make-out place, of course, where the kids always went. Where she never went.
    She hoped Marty wouldn’t do something wrong. She would allow him to kiss her, though she didn’t know how to kiss. She had spent the afternoon kissing the side of her fist, trying to get the pressure to feel right.
    And Marty did kiss her. A lot. Too much. She tried to turn her head away and he kept twisting it back with his hand. But that wasn’t the bad part.
    The bad part happened when she would not let him put his hands on her chest, when she said, “Let’s stop, huh?” He reeled back like he’d been slapped.
    And then Marty Winters told her that she was ugly and he was doing her a favor, and none of the boys liked her because she was so ugly and smart, and she’d never have a boyfriend and why didn’t she just dry up and blow away?
    Millicent Mannings Hollander, dressed up in her home in Fairfax County, remembered how she had almost burst out in tears. How unfamiliar feelings pushed up in her like flood waters behind a dam, and how her mind — the one thing she had always been able to rely upon — fought them back for her and forced her not to cry. Not in front of Marty then, and not alone in her room when he dropped her off.
    And not in front of her mother when she had asked about the date. Millie simply turned her emotions inward, forming the start of a rock-hard interior.
    That hardness had held her together through the death of her father, working to get through college, and finishing first in her law school class. It had given her a steadiness and strength that served her well as her career took her from teaching constitutional law at Boalt Hall, to the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals, and finally to the Supreme Court.
    During her career she’d had occasional offers to date but turned them all down. She had determined not to seek the intimate companionship of men. If she was to be married at all, it was to the law.
    So why was she doing this now?
    In truth, she had been feeling somewhat odd for a few months now. She could even pinpoint the start of it — the argument in the late-term abortion case. Because of her vote, the law outlawing the procedure had been declared unconstitutional. But the graphic nature of the operation had been emphasized by the attorney for the state. Ever since that afternoon she had felt moments of uncertainty. Not so much with her decision — based as it was on her reading of the law and precedent — but on the whole idea that such an issue should arise at all in a civilized society.
    But the right of women to control their bodies was the primary value she upheld, and she would stick to that. She just wished she’d stop being bothered by a particular case.
    That must be it, she suddenly decided. The senator is a diversion I am hoping will put me back into equilibrium. That’s unfair, to him and to me. This was a bad idea.
    She went to the phone to call Senator Levering. He’d left his direct mobile number. What would she tell him? Headache? He wouldn’t believe her, but that was not important. She could not go through with this. It was, aside from everything else, silly. She was too old for dating. Besides, she had David McCullough’s John Adams biography waiting