“I’m very worried about the upcoming confirmation hearings”—the judge looked to her left and right—“that Linda, I just don’t think she’s going to be good for the issues that we care about.” The judge swung her hips and tapped Senator Clinton, intimating their deep ideological connection. The senator spilled her lemonade but didn’t flinch, exhibiting the same poker face the world scrutinized during a certain sex scandal.

“Judge Friedman, you know it’s very rare for the Senate not to confirm nominees. And Judge Adams does share my opinion on abortion and—”

“What about the death penalty?” the judge interrupted. “Don’t you care that the state’s ultimate punishment come with the proper procedural safeguards?” Standing on her toes, barely reaching the senator’s neck, advocating justice, it was tough to dislike the judge. It was also tough for a senator to say anything that could be perceived as soft on crime, the reason most of them shied away from addressing capital punishment.

“Well”—the senator’s bob quivered a smidgen—“fairness is a—”

“Senator.” Judge Adams bounded over. “How are you? How’s Chelsea doing up there in New York?”

Judge Friedman tapped her on the shoulder. “Linda, I was here first.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize there was a line,” Judge Adams said with a laugh.

“It was nice talking to you both. I haven’t seen Maddie in ages. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” The senator scurried to Madeleine Albright, betraying not even an ounce of discomfort. Maybe she was presidential material.

Judge Friedman patted her bun. Judge Adams placed her hands on her hips. I popped another square piece of mild cheddar.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Linda,” the judge whispered. “Maybe not always articulate, you’ve at least always been fair—fair to defendants. Is getting to the Supreme Court worth your self-respect?” Considering the Faustian bargain the judge had struck with herself, her soapbox seemed a little slippery.

“Fair? You have the audacity to call me unfair, Helga? With all due respect, the way you’ve treated me all these years, the way you treat everyone—your secretaries, Bob”—she swung around to reference the cheese-popping peanut gallery—“your long-suffering law clerks. I don’t even know how you keep getting clerks, quite honestly.” The judge glowered at us, demanding aid. I, for one, was too busy picking another bald spot with both hands. Matthew spit out a piece of Havarti. Kate rubbed her belly. Evan crossed his arms and returned the judge’s stare, unwilling to provide even a look of encouragement.

“As I was saying,” Adams continued, emboldened. “I don’t think you are an expert on fair treatment, Helga. And if you’re referring to my stance in the Nelson case, you’re going to have to put half or more of your colleagues in that camp. I’m pretty close to the simple majority I need to win.”