“I’m not ducking my favorite district judge,” he said. “Unlike you rich California kids with your horse ranches and golden surfboard tans, we schlubs in the nation’s capital have to work double shifts just to stay even.”

“My tan is genetic. I haven’t ridden a board in twenty years. As for the horse ranch, that was Ted’s idea. He thought it looked good as a backdrop for all the fund-raisers he throws for people like you.”

Grace winced as she heard the impatience in her tone. Maybe that was why Calderon had insisted on seeing her in person rather than simply talking on the phone. She didn’t have a chatty, schmoozing phone manner. Her work didn’t leave her any time for it.

“Ted and you are valuable supporters,” the senator said, “and I’ve always made sure to express my appreciation, even if I do take a day or two to return calls. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me if the nomination is in some kind of trouble.”

“These things need patience.”

“I understand that,” she said carefully. “But I didn’t seek an appointment on the federal appeals court. It came to me. Now it’s been on hold for more than two months, and so has my professional life. If the appointment is a no-go, I need to know now so I can get on with my backlog of cases instead of juggling things while waiting to find out if I’m going to be in place for district trials.”

On the other end of the line, the senator sighed silently and looked at the oily bottom of his martini glass. He’d rather deal with Ted than the tiger Ted had married and then found out he couldn’t handle.

“Your own district court nomination took three months,” the senator said. “An elevation to the appeals court will be more thoroughly examined.”

Grace listened to the senator’s tone rather than his words. She glanced at her watch. She’d spare three minutes, no more. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’re waffling, which means something is wrong.”