Justice

As morning light piped through pervious drapes, a tired and sullen hand broke out of the blankets and began feeling around the bedside table. In one fell swoop it depressed the snooze button and ripped a page off the 365 Days of the Constitution and Bill of Rights Calendar. Today was Article IV Section IV, and it was raining.

As Anthony rubbed the tired out of his wrinkled eyes, he blankly stared at the massive void of bed space Janet had once occupied. It had been nine months. Without her, the king-sized mattress became his own personal island of anguish and despair. An island that was far-too stiff for his aching vertebrae.

Today was the second to last day before summer recess ended and Court was back in session. Back to the courtroom, the debates, the prying journalists, and most of all, back to Rupert. With every iota of his aging body, Justice Anthony R. Robinson loathed all that was Justice Rupert J. Flugrad.

Justice Flugrad came from some of the bluest blood that ever did course through the collective veins of America. From early on, his father Attorney General John J. Flugrad groomed him for big-league politics. After Harvard law, he was offered an associate professorship with a Dr. Phineas Anderson, a long-time Squash buddy of his father’s. After years of climbing various academic and social ladders, and narrowly avoiding public scandal, Rupert was poised to win the Supreme Court Justice Nomination. As his father lied on his deathbed, the ex-Attorney General called in one final favor. In a week’s time Justice Flugrad was sworn in as the 57th Justice in the Court’s long history.

As rain lightly percussed his ceramic-shingled roof, Anthony rose from his bed, walked down stairs, and proceeded with his morning ritual of tea drinking and book reading and light stretching. As he opened up his day planner, a smile stretched across his face for the first time in several months.

Tonight was the Panamanian Relief Association Fund Ball. Foreign dignitaries, Cabinet members, and several hundred top 1%ers would all be in attendance. It was last year at this very ball when Justice Anthony had stolen the hearts of all in attendance during his performance of Cher’s Gypsys, Tramps and Thieves for the ball’s Supreme Court Justice Karaoke Sing Off. Tonight he would repeat his glorious victory. Tonight he would shine.

At four o’clock he picked up his tuxedo from the dry cleaner’s. As he peeled back the plastic wrap enclosing his outfit, Justice Robinson thought that he could still smell the Camarones enchilada sauce that he had spilled on his pant leg after last year’s glorious victory. It was the stench of success.

He quickly donned his formal ensemble. As he tied his white bow tie around his collar he remembered how Janet had always insisted that she tie his ties for him. She was a far better bow tie tier than he. When the Justice finished dressing himself, he sat down in his favorite chair and idly examined his living room.

Three and a half hours later, a car arrived to pick Anthony up. The driver complimented the Justice on his attire as he opened the back door. “I’m performing tonight,” Anthony told the driver as they left his driveway.

At every fundraiser, Anthony’s first move was always toward the bar to get his signature drink: A cranberry juice with a slice of lime. Tonight was no different. After thanking the bartender he turned around to embrace the ball. Several feet away, he saw Rupert. Dancing gracefully under the pale-gold and purple light, the Justice’s heels kicked high. His linen-white hair complemented each well-placed step. In his arms, all fragile and innocent, stood Janet. This evening, sexual health radiated from her like light from a hazy moon.

After the last note of the waltz, Rupert sashayed his lady over to the bar to toast to their beautiful romance. As they approached the bar Rupert acknowledged his fellow Justice, “Wonderful evening isn’t it Anthony?” Justice Robinson glared into Janet’s eyes as she examined the rim of her fluted glass. “It truly is. This function has always been a favorite of mine,” said Anthony, upholding courtesy. Janet and her Rupert paused briefly to clink, smile, and embrace each other. “Have you prepared a song to perform?” Anthony asked, breaking the silence. “I’m going with an old standby. Tonight you can call me ol’ blue eyes.” Rupert raised his eyebrows and smiled, “How about yourself?” Anthony squeezed the lime into his cranberry juice and answered, “You’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.” He smiled, never taking his eyes off Janet.