A Dance With the Devil: A True Story of Marriage to a Psychopath (39 page)

However, Eric Burlington worked with the Democratic and Republican legislative counsels to structure the bill, and I had the opportunity to review their results. The legal language was strange to me, and I was often confused, especially regarding a section on fiduciary duty. I didn’t understand why the bill amended both family law and the civil code, when the bill was to address a divorce issue only.

One afternoon, Eric called me. “We have a number. It’s Assembly Bill Sixteen.”

“Sweet sixteen. Never been kissed.” I laughed, then slipped back to serious. “Are we ready for next week?”

“Rainey has five bills he’s carrying this year,” Eric continued, “but he can only introduce one on the floor on opening day. He’s chosen AB Sixteen.”

“Mine? Assembly Bill Sixteen?”

I asked if I could come up; Eric advised saving my vacation time for the committee hearings. He was right. It would have been a waste to drive to Sacramento for the opening day; it was a fiasco. The political climate was explosive. Democrats and Republicans were equally represented and the speaker, Willie Brown, who was supposed to step down, refused to relinquish his seat. There was a lot of yelling. Because no regular business could be conducted until the speaker issue was settled, no bills were introduced. A rumor began to spread that not much would get passed in this year’s session if the assemblymen voted on party lines. My bill was in limbo.

 

I have learned to trust my Higher Power, and I find that I’m given what I need when I need it. In mid-December, Hal Ledman, the man who had helped John with his parole plan, called me in a panic. “John’s criminal activities are continuing,” he complained. “He’s not who he says he is. I believe you now. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first before letting him come live with me.” Hal relayed that John was no longer living with him, that he had moved in with Trudy, a sixty-five-year-old woman who owned a twenty-acre ranch in Redmond, thirty miles east of Seattle. Hal was a long-time friend with Trudy and her brother.

I thought it strange he would call and cry on my shoulder. Then I remembered my conversation with Nancy and realized I was being given the moment I needed to warn the woman who was living with John. This man was her friend. “You must warn Trudy. John is going to try to murder her, but you can’t say it came from me.” He agreed to talk to Trudy’s brother, and the two of them would approach her. “Her life depends on it,” I warned.

 

In December, Rex and I cultivated relationships with friends and merged closer together. We attended George’s sixtieth birthday party. We took our first trip together to a romantic cabin on the Mendocino coast, accompanied by our dogs, Taffy and Gaby, who made us laugh as Taffy dodged the crashing waves and Gaby pounced into the foaming surf. We spent Christmas with my mom at Pam and George’s home.

We renewed our friendship with Cathy and Carl Crenshaw, a couple from our Excelsior Chemical days, and attended a New Year’s Eve dinner and party with them at Snooker Pete’s restaurant. The party crowd counted down the seconds. Rex squeezed my hand. At midnight we clinked glasses, sipped champagne, and lingered over a tender kiss.
It feels good to trust someone’s arms.
We toasted with Cathy and Carl.
It feels good to trust friendships.
I thought about the challenges that lay ahead: balancing a budding relationship with changing the law, writing a book, and legally eliminating John from my life.
It feels good to trust my Higher Power.
When the crowd broke into a raucous rendition of “Auld Lang Syne,” I fought back tears of joy and struggled to join in the lyrics.
I’m too emotional, just like my mom.

The Sponsor

At lunch on a Wednesday in February 1995, I sat at my desk nibbling a tuna sandwich while editing the latest procedure for the global quality team. The double ring of the telephone startled me; I wasn’t expecting a call. I quickly swallowed and answered. A soft female voice introduced herself.

“I’m Anne Dunsmuir, a legislative aide from Assemblyman Rainey’s office. Dick asked me to take over your bill from Eric Burlington.”

I felt uncomfortable about the change. I wondered if Rainey thought my bill didn’t have a chance, and worried that Anne might not be as competent as Eric.

“Will this change anything?” I asked.

“It shouldn’t. I’ve reviewed the file and I’m excited to be working with you to get AB Sixteen through the system.”

She asked for background information. I wanted her to hear the passion in my voice and understand how dedicated I was to changing the law. “One thing has troubled me, Anne. I haven’t been able to find a sponsor, and I’ve been trying for almost six months. Can you help?”

“You
have
a sponsor, Barbara,” Anne said.

“What?”

“Look in the mirror.
You
are the sponsor.”

“But... I’m not an organization.”

“Haven’t you been writing letters? Haven’t you been directing the outcome of the bill? Aren’t you the driving force?”

“Yes, but...”

I suddenly realized that through my efforts during the last several months I had evolved into the sponsor of AB16, as an individual, not an organization. My shoulders sagged under the weight of this added responsibility.

“The sponsor of my own bill, huh?”

“That’s right,” Anne giggled. “Now you need to get some public support and think about who will testify with you. The heat is on. The bill was introduced into the assembly this morning and has been assigned to the Judiciary Committee.”

“It’s really happening,” I said, choking with emotion. It had been more than two months since Willie Brown disrupted the new session by refusing to step down. My bill, along with everyone else’s, had languished in the interim.

“The hearing has been scheduled for May seventeenth,” Anne said. “Just about three months from now.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Write letters to the committee members, asking for their support. I’ll fax you a list of members. I’ll be at Dick’s office in Walnut Creek in a couple of weeks. Maybe you could come by and we could meet face to face.”

“It’s a date,” I said, scribbling a note in my organizer. When our conversation ended, I hung up the phone and squealed out loud. I had to release my excitement somehow. Good thing no one walked by my office at that moment.

Five minutes later I pulled the list of names off the fax machine and settled back. There were fourteen members of the Assembly Judiciary Committee. That evening, while visiting Rex, I wrote my first round of letters to the committee members. Rex believed in me. He believed in my quest to change the law. I smiled as he plopped down beside me, grabbed the stuffed envelopes, licked them closed, and stamped them.

Two weeks later I sat with Anne in Rainey’s regional office in Walnut Creek. I was confident as I outlined my recent activities that ranged from writing letters to getting a video produced. Then Anne dropped a bombshell.

“We’re starting to get negative feedback. The way the bill is worded and the sections of law it is trying to amend, both civil and family codes, are causing concern. Because the bill has become controversial, it has been assigned two hearings. The first is scheduled on April nineteenth for the punitive damages; the second will be on May third or seventeenth for the family law portion.”

The news upset me. These new hurdles seemed higher than the previous ones. I didn’t know if I could negotiate them in order to win the race.

“I’m worried,” I said. “What can I do to pull AB Sixteen back into a positive light?”

“We have to keep the judges neutral,” Anne warned. “If they come out against it, AB Sixteen is dead. Marty Montano, who works for the California Judges Association, told me the judges are coming out against it.”

I looked her square in the eye. “I’ll do whatever it takes to win them over,” I said.

 

When Marty Montano ignored my letter for more than three weeks, I called him. He told me the judges were against Assembly Bill 16 because they believed it would open up a whole new can of worms with the revision to the civil code. I explained my goal. Marty was sympathetic, but stood his ground.

“The judges are against changing a thirty-year-old law they fought hard to develop and implement in order to alleviate a lot of unnecessary courtroom antics.”

“But we have changed some words.”

Marty would not budge. I asked him what could be done to have the group at least remain neutral. I can be stubborn, too, especially when an important issue is on the table. Marty and I went back and forth, neither of us willing to move, when out of the blue a potential connection between us popped into my mind.

“By the way, did your dad work for Excelsior?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“What a small world! I worked with your dad over twenty years ago. My first husband and I took your family’s portrait at our house in Concord.”

“Oh, my gosh,” he exclaimed. “I was in that photo.”

“All I can remember is that there were a lot of kids.” I laughed. “And it was hard to get everyone to smile at the same time.”

I had brazenly joined the “good-old-boy network,” and it didn’t let me down. Marty agreed to reevaluate AB16; he’d try to come up with wording that might appease the judges. I thanked him profusely, hung up the phone, and immediately dialed Anne to give her the good news.

Anne reciprocated with good news of her own. She told me Rainey had received a compliment about me from a representative of the California Federation of Republican Women.

“I remember talking to her,” I said. “She teaches advocacy at the local college. She was very helpful, gave me lots of information on lobbying, and suggested whom to target on the committee. At her request, I sent her my appeal letter.”

Once more in my journey, I had been given the right people at the right time to help me or teach me new skills. In less than a month I would use this new insight as I rattled around the halls of the capitol. Two weeks later, in Sacramento, Rex and I set up my folding table, chair, signs, pens, and box of petitions near the sunny eastern entrance of the state capitol. Today was another new adventure for the sponsor of AB16, and a bold one. I had invited myself to participate in a victims’ rights ceremony.

The crowd began to swell. It was close to lunchtime, and my table generated interest from victims’ rights supporters, curious visitors, and the press. A man walked up to me, handed me his card, and said he was a reporter for the
Oakland Tribune.
“I’ll watch for your testimony,” he said.

Anne came down to check on my progress and prompt me for my speech. “Can you get it to me by Friday?” she asked.

“Sure.” I knew it would be easy to capture my passion on paper.

“I’m still working with the legislative counsel on some amendments, to see if we can keep Isenberg from killing the bill. You need to be available for the next couple of days.”

I frowned. “I’ll be in training classes the next two days, and away from my desk, but I’ll check in with you during morning and afternoon breaks, if that’s okay.”

“That’ll work,” Anne said. “What about your witnesses for next week?”

“All three are confirmed.”

“You’ve done a great job as a sponsor, Barbara,” she added.

It was time for participants to clear our tables and move to the big white tent set up on the lawn behind us. After the catered lunch, State Attorney General Dan Lundgren gave a moving speech about victims’ rights. That ended the program. I gathered my courage, made my way to the podium, and introduced myself to Mr. Lundgren.

“I’m the sponsor of AB Sixteen,” I said. “I’m in the process of changing the no-fault divorce law to help victims.”

“I wish you well,” he said, with a broad smile and a strong handshake. “Keep up your good work.”

The Lobbyist

Six days before I was to testify before the Assembly Judiciary Committee, I sat trapped in a training class at work, counting the minutes to the morning break, and when the instructor released the class, I bolted down the hall, desperate to reach the phone bank before the others from my class got there. I had to know whether the bill I sponsored had survived the night.

When I reached the communication room there was, thank heaven, one available phone. I took that as a positive sign. I punched in the number for Assemblyman Rainey’s office, set my notepad on the shelf, and held my pen poised for the notes I wanted to take.

The phone rang and rang. While I waited for someone to answer, I reviewed my notes from yesterday’s phone conversations with Anne Dunsmuir, Rainey’s legislative aide. I was sure the wait would be worth it. Anne would get on the phone, set my mind at ease, and assure me that my Assembly Bill 16 was not in trouble, after all. Wouldn’t she?

Uneasy, I realized I expected no such thing. I expected trouble. Still, I was glad Rainey had assigned Anne to work with me on the assembly bill I was sponsoring to change California’s divorce laws. Anne was bright, effervescent, and an extremely helpful guide through the many mysteries of politics. At twenty-eight, she had proven to be a remarkably mature confidante as well. There was no doubt in my mind that if the bill was still in trouble, she would do all she could to help me turn things around, and she’d tell me the truth whether it was what I wanted to hear or not.

Yesterday she’d informed me that the chairman of the Assembly Judiciary Committee, Phil Isenberg, was not happy with the wording of AB16. She had met with the committee’s counsels and with Isenberg’s legislative aide and massaged it once more. When she faxed me their revision for my approval, she expressed the belief that the changes would satisfy Isenberg’s concerns.

Nevertheless I worried, because before she hung up Anne asked me to phone her this morning, and there was a cautionary tone in her voice.