The Tenth Justice by Brad Meltzer Page B

rest in peace, went out with him.”
    “You don’t know him,” Lisa said, grabbing a handful of paper clips and throwing them at Ben.
    “I don’t need to. With a name like Jonathan, I can tell he’s stale.”
    “What are you talking about? Jonathan’s a great name. His friends all call him Jon.”
    “But he goes by Jonathan, doesn’t he?” Lisa was silent. “I knew it!” Ben shouted. “He’s stale.”
    “He didn’t taste stale,” Lisa shot back.
    “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ben said, sitting up straight on the sofa. “Did you really get some play last night?”
    “I might’ve,” Lisa teased. “But even if I didn’t, I get to know that you’re jealous.”
    “I’m not jealous.”
    “Then why does your face match the sofa?”
    “Trust me, I’m not jealous. Now tell me what happened.”
    “It wasn’t much. We went to dinner and then we walked around the Washington Monument.”
    “Oh, please,” Ben said, throwing his hands in the air. “This guy played you like a fiddle. He buys you dinner and then takes you to walk around a giant erection? What kind of message does that send?”
    “I paid for dinner, stud-boy. And it was my idea to go to the Monument.”
    “Now that’s a date,” Ben said, nodding his head. “I’m impressed.” He crossed his arms and said, “Go on.”
    “And then I dropped him off.”
    “That’s it?” Ben asked suspiciously. “You took him out and dropped him off?”
    “I don’t know,” Lisa said, her eyes focused on her feet. “I think I scared him off. I might’ve been too aggressive.”
    “You? Aggressive?”
    “No, I was definitely too aggressive,” Lisa said, suddenly serious. “I think he was really intimidated when I told him that I could teach him a thing or two in bed.”
    “You said that?” Ben blurted.
    “See, I knew I was too aggressive.”
    “Lisa, don’t beat yourself up. You were just being yourself. You can’t be faulted for that. You’re an aggressive woman, and most men are intimidated by aggressive women. You’ve seen the talk shows—the average guy in America wants a complacent, weaker woman, simply because they’ve been taught to feel threatened by strong women.”
    “Okay, Freud. Now where does that leave me?”
    “You’re left with much less to choose from, but the quality of those men is three hundred percent better than the average loser. The gene pool you’re fishing from is more confident, more sophisticated, more intelligent…”
    “They’re men like yourself,” Lisa said sarcastically.
    “Exactly. We’re a new breed of men. We’re not afraid to let our feelings show. We like strong women. Sexually, we enjoy being dominated.”
    “You’re not afraid to cry at the end of the Rocky movies,” Lisa added.
    “Correct. And we like the smell of potpourri.”
    “Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but what if I don’t want the sensitive type? What if I want a big, dumb jock who’ll be fun to fool around with, and who won’t care if I don’t call him?”
    “You like big jocks?”
    “For a few thrills, sure. I’d never marry one, but they’re fun to hook up with.”
    Confused, Ben scratched his forehead. “How can you like big jocks? How can you go to bed with someone who just thinks of you as a sexual conquest?”
    “Let me tell you something, the sexual conquest is a two-way street, and I’m driving a Ferrari.”
    Laughing, Ben said, “I take back what I said before. You’re way too aggressive to find a man. You’ll probably be lonely for the rest of your life.” Getting up from the sofa, Ben flipped through the newest pile of paper on his desk. “What’s happening today?”
    “A whole new batch of cert petitions just came in. Hollis wants us to really tear through them since he expects we’ll write the opinion for the
Grinnell
decision.”
    “They didn’t vote on that already, did they?”
    “Take a look at your watch, moron,” Lisa said. “Conference isn’t until tomorrow. Hollis doesn’t