Bench press

A little touch of Ginni in the afternoon

[A reading table in the library of the U.S. Supreme Court, which seems to be otherwise abandoned. Two young court clerks — ZEBULON “ZEB” MARRIOTT, wearing a dark blue herringbone suit with a starched white shirt, pearl grey tie, and dark blue leather oxford loafers with grey socks, and HERMIONE FRUSEN-GLÄDJÉ, wearing a sleeveless black Hugo Boss shift dress, matching cropped cardigan and Ferragamo ballet flats, confer nervously in hushed tones.]

MARRIOTT: [Pats his breast pocket] I have a stack of Jones Day cards. Anyone asks, I just say [proffering gesture] “call my lawyer.” I’m serious.

FRUSEN-GLÄDJÉ: Do you think anyone we know had anything to do with it?

MARRIOTT: [Holds up hands] Not for me to say. I won’t even say it wasn’t me. And off the record? It wasn’t!

FRUSEN-GLÄDJÉ: Well, father spoke with David Boies, and he says in —

VOICE: [Loud] Hold it riiight there, you!

[GINNI THOMAS, wife of Justice CLARENCE THOMAS, sweeps in wearing a Monique Lhuillier hydrangea organdy strapless flounce gown and no shoes, and holding a half-empty $5,000 bottle of wine. Her affect is fake-friendly and slightly demented.]

THOMAS: Well, well, well! What are you kids talking about? Huh? Wouldn’t happen to be something the Chief talked to you about the other day? Would it? Hah?

[MARRIOTT and FRUSEN-GLÄDJÉ stare at her, stunned.]

Something maybe to do with a certain draft decision by my good friend Justice Sammy Alito that nobody saw, that nobody was supposed to see, until we were damn good and ready for people to see it, and then one day we open our computers and what do you know? The damn thing’s on Politico!

[THOMAS draws closer. MARRIOTT stands. THOMAS takes a gulp of wine, points at MARRIOTT, swallows. She’s a little less friendly now.]

Oh, no need to get up, sonny, those days are gone. Chivalry isn’t woke now, is it? What’s your name, Sonny?

MARRIOTT: Zebulon Marriott, Mrs. Thomas.

THOMAS: Zebulon Marriott! What school’d you go to?

MARRIOTT: Yale, ma’am.

THOMAS: Yale! My Clarence went to Yale. It was different back then, though. You had to work. Not like now. You probably had to just say the right pronouns and submit a diversity macramé.  Zebulon Marriott, where were you on the night of May the First?

[MARRIOTT stammers. THOMAS thumps her bottle onto the table, holds out her hand.]

Lemme see your phone, kid. C’mon, gimme. Hey, Zebulon Marriott! I said give me —

[MARRIOTT pulls a card from his breast pocket and holds it out.]

MARRIOTT: Respectfully, please talk to my lawyer, ma’am!

[THOMAS grabs the card, looks at it, looks at MARRIOTT, sneers, tosses the card away.]

THOMAS: Jones Day! They were too scared to defend President Trump in his hour of need! What makes you think they’ll protect you?

[THOMAS crouches a little to talk to FRUSEN-GLÄDJÉ.]

THOMAS: How about you, princess? Who’s your mouthpiece? David Boies?

FRUSEN-GLÄDJÉ: Well, not officially.

[THOMAS stands up straight, throws her head back and laughs, grabs the wine bottle, swigs, wipes her mouth.]

THOMAS: Go ahead, go ahead, bring in David Boies, bring ‘em all on! But you listen to me: You can get anyone, all your woke lawyers and your woke Senators and Congressmen and your so-called President, but it won’t mean a hoot in hell because we have the power. You understand me? Anything you wanna do, we can stop, and anything you wanna stop, we can unstop! Oh, you have no idea, you little social justice pinheads, no idea what kind of hell we’re gonna unleash on your —

[Suddenly CLARENCE THOMAS, wearing his judicial robes, rushes in and grabs his wife from behind around the middle. She shrieks, then starts laughing.]

CLARENCE THOMAS: Hey there, kitty cat! Hold on there, hold on a minute, you’re getting all worked up, my girl.

GINNI THOMAS: Ho ho, land sakes, I thought a janitor was coming to rape me.

CLARENCE THOMAS: Who could blame him, my girl, lookin’ as fine as you do. But you know what? I was getting lonely back in chambers, what say you come on back and keep your daddy company.

GINNI THOMAS: OK, daddy, I was gettin’ sick of these no-‘count pissants anyhow.

[She sticks her tongue out at MARRIOTT and FRUSEN-GLÄDJÉ.]

CLARENCE THOMAS: That’s right now, baby, come on now.

GINNI THOMAS: Grab my wine, baby.

CLARENCE THOMAS: I’ll send the boy for it, you just hang on tight, let’s go.

[As they leave, CLARENCE THOMAS looks at MARRIOTT and FRUSEN-GLÄDJÉ and makes the “I’m watching you” finger-sign at them before carrying his wife away. BLACKOUT.]