He stopped walking and I bumped into him. Had I gone too far? Should I apologize? Hell no! I was in this to win, working like a dog to get the wording right, and I wasn’t going to back down now. I held my breath and noticed that we were now in the middle of a solarium, a large area drenched in light with potted ferns and seating areas. The journey was almost over. Maybe I was, too.
“My committee room is just ahead,” Isenberg said. He held out his hand. Mine trembled as I took it.
“You know,” I said, “I had to trust in the committee I’ve been working with on the language. They’re the experts, not me. But we did limit it to a felony conviction.”
Isenberg nodded and relaxed his grip. “All right, I’ll take another look at the bill tonight. If what you say is true, I’ll have no objection.”
I thanked him and he disappeared into the committee room. My rubbery legs gave way. I melted onto the nearest bench, exhausted, but exhilarated and ecstatic. I jotted down his support in my notebook, checked my watch, and evaluated my list. There was no time to rest.
At the end of the afternoon, I trudged into Anne’s office and collapsed into her chair. It had been quite a day for a new-fledged lobbyist. Pen in hand, I recorded
yea
or
nay
by each assemblyman’s name, for those whose vote I could determine.
I had made it to all fourteen offices, and only six had rescheduled me for tomorrow. I did the math. I had achieved a fifty-seven percent success rate for visits, but the
nay
s on my list worried me. To get my bill out of committee I’d need more than fifty percent of the vote on Wednesday, even with the support of the chairman, which I now felt I had.
Daisy poked her head into the office. “Good news. Anne called. She’s coming in tomorrow.”
It was music to my ears. I needed all the moral and tactical support I could get. I retrieved my horoscope and reread it. I smiled.
Yup, Jeane Dixon, you were right on.
The next morning Anne eagerly greeted my mother and me. She led me into her cubicle. I was jazzed to finish up the job I had started yesterday. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” Anne said. “Which do you want first?”
“The good news, I guess.”
“Okay, Isenberg no longer wants to kill the bill. Your little walk-and-talk impressed him.”
“And the bad news?” I braced myself for what Anne would say.
“Isenberg wants to table the bill, put it on next year’s calendar.
He believes in what you’re trying to do, but is still bothered by the civil code portion.”
It was that wording about fiduciary stuff, still a roadblock after all our work. I’d have to learn a lot more about writing a bill, and I’d have a year to do it.
“Well, at least it’s not dead. That’s positive, I suppose.” I couldn’t quite contain my disappointment. “Does this mean our hearing tomorrow is canceled?”
“Yes, unfortunately it does.”
I let out a deep sigh and hung my head as I fought to keep the tears from coming. I had battled through two long years of telephone calls, letters, and faxes, all pleading, prompting, cajoling. To come so close, only to face a delay of one more year was hard to accept. I had spent so much time getting witnesses lined up. Oh, no! “Anne, I’ve got to call all the witnesses and tell them not to come.” I snatched the witness phone list from my briefcase. Within half an hour I reached them all, apologizing and thanking them profusely. Fortunately, no one had yet left for Sacramento. As I hung up the phone from the last call Anne bounced into the office, with a happy smile on her face.
“You’re not going to believe this,” she said. “Isenberg’s legislative aide called me a couple of minutes ago. The counsels and attorneys and aides want to give it one more try ... with you!”
“Me?”
“Yes. They believe in your cause so much they want to work with you to see if the bill can be reworded and revived in time for the scheduled hearing tomorrow.”
I jumped out of the chair, hugged Anne, and grinned at my mother. Things were happening too fast, throwing me off guard and taking my breath away. I couldn’t stand still.
“The biggest surprise,” Anne said, “is that Isenberg encouraged the meeting. What a great start for a first-time lobbyist! You brought around the powerhouse of the committee in five minutes.”
An hour later I sat once more at the round table in Isenberg’s office library, amid the stacked law books, half-filled coffee cups, and piles of pads and papers. I was nervous in the presence of lawmaking specialists, flanked by Anne and the Democratic and Republican legislative counsels and two aggressive female attorneys.
We rolled up our sleeves and got to work. Or, rather, the assembled experts did. Round and round they went, tweaking this word and that. Legal jargon flew. I rubbed my temples, still confused over the fiduciary part they were discussing. I couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure built up until I had to release some steam.
“Why can’t you write this bill in plain everyday English?” I sputtered. Mouths shut. Heads turned. Eyes widened. They looked at me. They looked at each other. “And why must you include civil code in the bill when this is strictly a family code matter? Why not just say that the convicted criminal loses certain financial rights in the divorce.”
Silence.
I gulped. Stupid me, thinking I could rewrite a bill. Then one by one, they spoke and said I was right. Law books were consulted and found unhelpful. “Nothing we can pick up. We’ll just write a new section,” the Republican legislative counsel said. “Who wants to transcribe?” Anne volunteered. She leaned forward in her chair, pulled her yellow legal pad closer, and picked up her pen. All eyes turned to me.
“Okay, Barbara. Here’s your chance,” the attorney said.
I prayed I would find the right words to make this come out okay. I inhaled deeply and began. Within an hour we had a new bill written in plain English. My bill, composed the way I wanted it.
“I’ll inform Isenberg that the bill is clean, and all of his objections have been addressed,” the Republican legislative counsel said. “I can’t see why this shouldn’t be a go tomorrow. It’s still on the schedule.”
Back in Anne’s office, I got my next lesson on the way the legislative system works. “We have a clean bill, but it’s a new bill,” Anne said. “The legislative council will reprint and make copies of the new version of AB Sixteen, and you’ll need to pick those up and distribute them to committee members before the end of the day.”
The timing would be tight, very tight. The legislative aides would have to review the new, very different AB16 and prepare their position for the committee members to be able to vote the next day. Then it hit me.
“Anne, the witnesses I just dismissed... we need them again.”
We scurried back to her office. I began furiously dialing the phone while Anne filled my mom in on the latest development. My mom gave me a thumbs-up through the open doorway.
After lunch in the cafeteria, we returned to Rainey’s office and sat down. Anne was on the phone with other business. Daisy came around the corner. “Barbara, I have some messages for you from some of your witnesses.” She thrust them into my trembling hand. “All good,” she said. “They can all make it.”
I closed my eyes.
Thank you, God.
This surely was a positive sign, like the rays of sunshine yesterday morning.
Every quarter hour over the next two hours, I hurried up to the third-floor printing office but came back empty-handed. My concern mounted as the minutes slipped away. Finally, at 3:25 p.m., Anne reported, “Just got the call. You can pick up the revised copies on the table in the hall just outside the printing office.”
Now began a mad dash to fourteen offices, to convince fourteen legislative aides in less than an hour. Thank goodness I was wearing comfortable shoes. Time whizzed by when I needed it to crawl. Somehow, within an hour I met with each legislative aide, gave my two-minute spiel, slapped the new bill into their hand, and extracted a promise they would review it before making a recommendation. Each time I jotted down what I thought that recommendation would be.
I got on the elevator to go down to the fourth floor and recognized the aide for Assemblyman Murray, already inside. “I’ve been thinking about your bill,” she said.
“All good, I hope.”
She shook her head. “I’m worried the criminal would get to retirement age and have nothing but Social Security to live on.”
“Excuse me, shouldn’t you be thinking about the victim? Heck with the criminal.” Bile rose in my throat.
“I’ve made up my mind to recommend a
nay
vote.”
I looked daggers at her. “I hope you’re never a victim,” I said through clenched teeth. The doors opened and I stormed off the elevator.
Back in Anne’s office, I reviewed my notes with her. “Looks like nine confirmed. We only need eight to get out of committee, right?”
“Yes, but legislators are a tricky bunch to read,” Anne said. “I’d feel better if I knew for a fact that Isenberg was happy about this new rewrite.”
My mother walked over, put her hand on my shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sure it will be just fine,” she said.
Later that evening, at the Holiday Inn near Old Sacramento, I stood by the window of our sixth-floor room and glanced over at my mom, lying on her bed, already resting from our long day. I was glad we had decided to stay in the city, avoiding the two-hour drive home tonight and the two-hour drive back to Sacramento tomorrow. My mom had been my rock during the last couple of years, always there if I needed her, never telling me “I told you so” when things went south with John. For that, I was grateful. Now I wondered if I told her often enough how much that meant to me.
I turned back and stared out the window. The Sacramento River meandered like a lazy snake along the western edge of the city, and the
Spirit of Sacramento
floated by, churning up the water with its fake paddle wheel. Mesmerized, I was drawn into the reflection of the setting sun in the river’s dark current. It was time for the new lobbyist to rest to gear up for the big day.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The Assembly
The next morning I stood by the window in my hotel room in my white linen dress and watched the sun dance on the Sacramento River.
It’s a sign,
I thought,
a good sign about my testimony today before the Assembly Judiciary Committee, for AB16 and changing the law.
I had plunged into the lawmaking game more than two years ago, a game I never thought I would be playing. I wasn’t political. I had never considered holding a public office or changing legislation. Yet, here I was, in the state capital, learning something new each day about the rules of engagement. I was naïve, but I was on a mission, and I had fought hard to get here.
I picked up my speech and read it slowly, out loud, placing emphasis on the right words to make sure the assembly members would understand the importance of what I was saying.
“You’ll do fine,” my mom said, bringing me a cup of coffee. “You’ve always gotten whatever you put your mind to.”
“Thanks, Mom. I know I can do it. I learned that I had a voice at Skidmore.”
I sipped my coffee and smiled as I remembered the International Women’s Writing Guild’s empowering conference two years before at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, New York. Five days into the conference Hannelore Hahn, the inspirational founder of the guild, had approached me in the hallway and asked me to give a speech that night at the evening gathering.
I have come to believe we are offered doors of opportunity during our lives. Sometimes it’s frightening to go into the unknown, so we resist, bracing our arms against the doorjamb and refusing to go through. But there’s a reason we have that door—personal growth. If we don’t go through, we may never again have the opportunity, and that would be tragic. So, with trepidation, I accepted her offer and went to my next workshop. After lunch I wrote my speech.
That evening, as I sat near the stage while Hannelore introduced me, I realized I was not nervous. No butterflies in my tummy. No pounding headache. No sweaty palms. It was as if speaking before four hundred women were a daily routine for me. When Hannelore called my name, I climbed the stairs and strolled to the podium, notes in hand. By the time I finished sharing my thoughts, I had the audience laughing, crying, and cheering. That night I learned I had a strong voice, one that could be used to help others.
I was going to use that voice today, when I did battle with the Assembly Judiciary Committee. My quest was at hand. Was I the lamb, about to be slaughtered? I looked at my wristwatch.
“We’d better go,” I said. “We’re supposed to meet Delores in the lobby for breakfast.”
Delores Winje, from San Luis Obispo, was an outspoken voice against domestic violence. Several years earlier, her husband had shot her through the jaw, permanently disfiguring her face. As she recovered, she found her voice and became an advocate for change. She visited prisons and explained to perpetrators what their crimes did to the victims and their families.
We met with Delores and her friend at the hotel’s coffee shop, and twenty minutes later four women with a passionate desire to make a change stormed the north face of the state capitol. We made our way to Rainey’s office. As I opened the door, I bumped into the back of a man standing inside.
“Looks like a full house,” I said to my group. “Better stay out here while I find out what’s happening.” I squeezed in. Daisy, the receptionist, caught my eye. “What’s up?” I asked. “Why are there so many people?”
“It’s always crazy on days when legislation is being presented in committee,” she said. “I’ll ring Anne for you. Why not wait outside where you can breathe.”
Back in the bare hallway, I rejoined the ladies and glanced around, hoping to see my other two witnesses. They weren’t in the motley group milling about. I checked my watch. It was almost 8:30. I tapped my foot and wet my lips.
Relax, stay calm
, I silently reminded myself.
Harriet and Kevin won’t let you down.
But I kept staring at the corner. Lately I could go from confidence to doubt without much effort. That wouldn’t do today. I had to remain strong. Thinking about how strong Harriet and Kevin were going to be as witnesses helped.