Beyond the tall windows, the sun set over the harbor. The receptionist was young, round, and pale, named Kelsey Kowalski, according to the plate on her desk. Kelsey looked at her watch, launching a jaw-cracking yawn. She lifted the telephone and spoke in a low tone.
“They’ll be out for you any minute,” she then said.
Then she put on her coat and walked out the door. The three candidates exchanged glances and settled in to wait, scrolling on their phones to avoid talking. Contrary to Kelsey’s assurances, it was forty minutes before the door to the inner sanctum opened and the law clerks emerged. Madison recognized them both—HLS grads from last year. The Black woman had been high up on law review when Madison was a first-year. The other was Sean Chen, Ty’s friend. He stopped short, looking at the applicants, and picked out Madison right away.
“Madison. I’m Sean. Tyler Evans told me all about you. Welcome,” he said, sticking out his hand.
They shook.
“Thanks, Ty mentioned you, too. Great to meet you,” she said.
“Tell him sorry I missed his party. We’ve just been real busy around here. Uh, Nancy’s gonna call you guys in one by one,” he said, directing the last remark to the group.
As Sean left, the other two cast resentful looks Madison’s way. The assumption was she had a leg up because of her connections. Maybe so, as far as the Harvard network went, but when it came to her brother, the opposite was true.
The gray-haired woman came up to them with a clipboard in her hand.
“I’m Nancy, Judge Conroy’s case manager, and I’m in charge of this application process. I’ll collect your transcripts and writing samples now, please.”
The case manager handled the judge’s docket, filing papers, scheduling court appearances, that sort of thing. Nancy looked the part of paper pusher, small and neat with a bland expression, dressed in slacks, a sweater, and loafers, with hot-pink readers hanging from a chain around her neck. They handed over their transcripts and writing samples. She went through the pages, shuffling them, sticking Post-its in places, then clipping them to her board.
“The judge will see you in alphabetical order by last name. Joshua Ackerman?”
The male candidate sprang up and followed Nancy into the judge’s office.
“What’s your name?” Madison asked the woman.
“I’m Priya Patel.”
“Madison Rivera. Nice to meet you. I guess you’re next.”
Joshua came and went. Priya was called. The interview blocks seemed to be about half an hour but felt longer to her as she sat there obsessing over what to say about Danny’s case. By the time Nancy called her, the sun had long since set, and Madison was starving on top of being mentally exhausted. She walked toward Judge Conroy’s office feeling lightheaded, shaky, and unusually anxious. Yes, she gave great interviews, but this time she was at a distinct disadvantage.
Goddamn it, Danny. Why do you always have to screw things up?
Then Nancy shut the door behind her, and she was alone with Judge Conroy.
She paused on the threshold, struck by the beauty of the scene. The skyline shimmering beyond the windows, and the judge, looking like an ice queen, all frosty blue eyes and pale skin, in a white silk blouse with diamonds glittering in her ears. For a second, Madison felt shy. Then the judge came out from behind her desk, a welcoming smile transforming her face. And Madison remembered that she was born for moments like these. She’d find the right words. She always did.
“Madison. I’m so glad you decided to apply. Come in, come in.”
“Thank you, Professor—or, I mean, Your Honor. I’m thrilled to be here. I was so flattered when you asked me to apply.”
“‘Your Honor’ is for the courtroom. Call me Judge; it’s less formal. Come, let’s sit over here.”
She led Madison to a cozy seating area with a sofa and armchair, and a coffee table with a perfect vase of white roses. Sinking into a corner of the sofa, Judge Conroy leaned back with a happy sigh, looking like she was ready to kick off her high heels. （She didn’t.） They were lovely, Manolo Blahniks, if Madison was not mistaken.
“It’s been a long day,” the judge confided. “A very dull trial, and now these interviews. I’m ready for a nap.”
Close up, the judge did look tired, with makeup caking in the delicate lines on her face and a tinge of sadness in her eyes. Or was she imagining that? The details of her husband’s death, fresh in Madison’s mind, cast her in a tragic light. From what she’d read in her search last night, Judge Conroy’s husband had been a wonderful human being and a dreamboat to look at. She’d never remarried. Of course, five years wasn’t that long a time to stay single after a loss like that. To the judge, it must feel like yesterday.