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The Intern(14)

Author:Michele Campbell

Wanting to cheer her up, Madison decided to hold off on mentioning Danny for the moment. She put on a perky smile.

“I’ll try not to be boring with my answers,” she said, perching on the edge of the armchair.

“I didn’t mean to imply that I expect to be bored. To the contrary. I’ve been looking forward to our chat. I enjoy your participation in class. You’re well-prepared and always have an opinion. I can tell you’re passionate about the Fourth Amendment, and it makes me feel the extra hours I’m putting in are worthwhile.”

“Oh, they are. I absolutely adore your class. We all do. You know what Harvard Law is like. So many of the profs are ivory-tower types. All theory, with no understanding of the real world. You tell it like it is, and that’s invaluable to me.”

The judge actually blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. I love teaching. But not everybody here is excited that I’m doing it. Nancy is unhappy about my absence from court. We’re falling behind on opinions, and she hates that. It’s a point of pride with her to have the fastest docket in the courthouse. Which is why we’re moving to fill this internship quickly, to maintain staffing levels, to churn out opinions faster.”

Madison was tempted to ask what had happened to the last intern. Was she really fired, and if so, why? Judge Conroy seemed relaxed and open enough that she might answer. Better to keep quiet, though. Sensitive questions were best reserved for after getting the job. Although not when it came to Danny. That, she had decided to disclose up front. Yet here she was, dragging her feet. Maybe she should just get it over with.

“Judge, I should probably mention—”

Judge Conroy held up a finger. “Hold on, let me review your CV,” she said, perusing the application.

Madison folded her hands in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she looked around the room. The office was large and beautifully decorated in shades of blue and gray, with soft lighting and silk drapes to soften the angular, modern lines of the architecture. In addition to the imposing desk and the seating area where they were, there was a conference table with chairs, and bookshelves lined with leather volumes. The one thing missing was any clue to the personal life of the woman who occupied it. The law partners with whom Madison had interviewed boasted credenzas covered in family photos, walls hung with diplomas, side tables brimming with their kids’ art. There was an explanation, of course. Her husband had been murdered. She had no children. There was no kid art to hang, no family photos. Even a wedding photo would be too painful.

The judge looked up, and Madison imagined she saw shadows in her eyes.

“Your credentials are impressive, but I need you to understand, this position is extremely demanding. You’ll be working for the law clerks, doing legal research and writing memos summarizing the results. The research you do will be directly used in drafting judicial opinions. The workload is intense. Do you think you can handle it?”

Madison had been asked that question on repeat during recruiting season. Her mind stuck on the Danny problem, she rattled off her standard reply. High honors in legal research class. Law review. Moot court. Judge Conroy nodded like she was paying attention, but her eyes glazed.

“I have to say, that sounded rehearsed,” the judge commented.

Madison’s cheeks flamed. She was distracted and screwing up.

“Sorry. I’ve been interviewing a lot.”

Conroy tossed the application aside. “Let’s get away from scripted answers. Tell me what’s not on your CV.”

What did that mean? Did she think Madison was hiding something? Was it possible that she knew about Danny?

“What I’m getting at,” the judge said, sensing Madison’s consternation, “is, what’s your background? Who influenced you? What made you want to be a lawyer?” the judge said.

“Oh. Okay. Well, you influenced me, to be honest.”

“I’m not looking for flattery. Dig deeper. Something from your past.”

“That is from my past. I went to Catholic Prep, like you did. I saw you speak at Career Day when I was fourteen years old. From that moment, I knew I wanted to be a lawyer.”

The judge’s mouth fell open. “I remember giving that talk. They asked me because they thought I’d set an example. I can’t believe you were there. Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. It was a tough time in my life, and school was my refuge. Hearing you speak was so exciting. I imagined myself in the courtroom, just like you. It gave me a goal to work toward. It meant a lot.”

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