A Dance With the Devil: A True Story of Marriage to a Psychopath (44 page)

“Are you going to keep us in suspense?” Poppy laughed as she sat down.

“ABC Channel Seven News in San Francisco is going to interview us this morning,” I blurted out. I was excited, but cautious. I knew publicity was what the bill needed, but I had been afraid to seek it because of John Perry’s vindictive nature. “Apparently their news scout read an article in the
Oakland Tribune
this morning.”

Poppy opened her purse and handed me a newspaper clipping. “This is what they must have seen,” she said, handing it to me.

“Injustice Rife in Divorces,” I read out loud. I grinned. “It’s another fine tribute to the efforts that Steve and I are making to get the law changed.”

Minutes later the reporter, Eric Thomas, and his cameraman, Sean Overly, rang my doorbell. I jumped.
Don’t be nervous
, I told myself as I opened the door and let them in. When I saw the TV news van in front, I snatched my camera from the side table and snapped a photo for my album. When we finished the interviews I expected the crew to leave, but they didn’t.

“We’re going to follow you up to the capitol and do a live report for the evening news.”

Surprised? You bet! We gathered our stuff, piled into Steve’s car, and wound our way through the Delta to the capitol, with the white van trailing close behind.

 

 

At one o’clock, the AB16 contingent met in Rainey’s office. Delores and Kevin, who had once more generously offered to testify, showed up together. Eric and Sean had gone ahead to the committee room. Anne led the way. We marched across the floor like a small army ready to do battle.

“I’m very nervous,” Steve said.

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “I’m nervous, too, but we’re going to do just fine. We have justice on our side.”

“This is it,” Anne said as she opened the senate chamber door.

We filed into the back of the room. The spectator seats faced the horseshoe-shaped dais to the left. Empty high-back leather chairs waited for the senate committee members. Sean set up his camera in the far corner and made last-minute adjustments. Eric sat in the first row, with a nonobstructed view of the arena. He’d get to see the proceedings close up.

The room bustled with energy; most gallery seats were taken and we had to split up. Moments later there was a standing-room-only crowd. Once settled, Anne handed me the Senate Daily File. I flipped through it and found our session on page 47.

It was 1:30. Chairman Calderon sat, reviewing stacks of papers in front of him; the lights reflected from his partially bald head. Senator Wright seated herself a few moments later, put on her reading glasses, and buried her blond head in her stack of papers. I figured they were the bills that were to be heard.

“Where is everybody?” I asked, my old fears resurfacing. Were they out because my bill was controversial?

“This committee can be a challenge to round up,” Dick explained. He assuaged my fears, for the moment, but by two o’clock only three senators sat in their swivel chairs, and Chairman Calderon was one of them. He looked at his watch and shook his head in disgust. He reached over and pressed a button on what appeared to be an intercom system.

“All committee members need to get to room twenty-forty. NOW,” he bellowed. “I don’t want to have the next two sessions overloaded with sixty to seventy bills each.” He released the button and turned to his two colleagues.

“We’ll operate as a subcommittee until a quorum appears. Let’s consider SB Two Sixty-Six, about earthquake insurance.”

They shuffled their papers and launched into a discussion, droning on for an hour, when all I wanted to do was get my testimony over with. I squirmed in my seat. I fingered my speech, lying in my lap. Occasionally I glanced over at Steve, who smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

By the time the discussion ended, eight senators were perched around the horseshoe. The legislative aide for the missing senator sent word that he was out of town. Calderon called the session to order.

“Assembly Bill Sixteen. Assemblyman Rainey.”

I clutched my speech and nodded at Steve, Kevin, and Delores. We approached the front and were directed to sit at the mahogany table in the middle of the horseshoe. Steve sat next to me on one side; Kevin and Delores sat at the opposite end. In our seats we had to gaze upward at the senators as if they were superior beings. I didn’t like the feeling. Dick settled in at the podium located behind me.

“We have some amendments to discuss,” Calderon said. He went through several items I didn’t understand. Rainey then spoke, introducing me as the sponsor.

I leaned forward, closer to the microphone, picked up my speech, and adjusted my reading glasses. I quietly cleared my throat; the noise level in the gallery subsided. My speech was the same one I had used before the Assembly Judiciary Committee. It was an old friend, and I figured there was no sense fiddling with success. But something was different this time. I came charging out of the gate with a voice that projected strong and steady.

“It mattered not...” I was adamant, precise and I did not break into tears. “The law said...” Immersed in my quest, I forgot that the television camera was rolling and recording every nuance, every breath, and every emphasis on righting a wrong. Once more, my voice spoke out for victims.

Then it was Steve’s turn. He was about to show the senators that this was not strictly a women’s bill. He picked up his speech and started reading, his deep voice shaky and uncertain. “In nineteen seventy-six my wife hired two people to rob, kidnap, and kill me ...” His voice broke; he sobbed. After almost twenty years, his tears reflected the injustice and cruelty he had endured at the hands of someone he loved. Steve had been strong for the interview in my backyard; now he bravely tried to overcome his emotions and continue, but he was unable.

Senator Lockyer spoke up. “We will discuss some points until Mr. Peterson can continue. I’d like to start out by saying I think this bill will have an adverse effect on battered women.”

I had hoped that wouldn’t come up. I might have truthfully said I was one of the battered women he was supposedly looking out for, but it never occurred to me I was part of that group. Fortunately for our side, no one else seemed concerned about this point.

Senator Mello spoke next. “I’m going to vote for the bill, but I’m concerned about what would happen if the attempted-murder conviction is later reversed.”

“The crime is so heinous,” Calderon said, “it probably doesn’t matter.”

“Is the committee ready to vote?” Lockyer asked.

“Excuse me, senators, but Mr. Peterson has not finished his testimony,” Rainey interjected.

“My apologies, Mr. Peterson,” Lockyer said. “Please, continue.”

Steve picked up his speech and struggled to maintain his composure while reading his powerful words about injustice and victimization. I mentally cheered him on. He faltered through and made it to the end, thanking the senators and heaving a sigh as he laid his typed speech on the table.

“Are we ready for a vote?” Calderon asked. The senators nodded affirmatively.

“Excuse me, senators,” Rainey interjected, “I have two more witnesses who have traveled great distances to be here today. Please give them the courtesy of their comments.”

“Our apologies,” Calderon mumbled.

Kevin leaned into his microphone and introduced himself as the president of Citizens for Law and Order and also a board member of Crime Victims United. “My organizations and I support AB Sixteen.”

Delores Winje pushed her chair forward and spoke. “I am a victim of attempted murder. My husband further victimized me with the divorce laws of California. This law must be passed.” Her few words were more powerful than a five-page speech. I appreciated her loyalty and candor. Calderon questioned Delores about the abuse, and her testimony ended.

“Do we have any opposition to come forward?” Calderon asked.

I curled my fingers into fists, and prayed that there would be none. I was afraid to look around for fear some nasty judge would appear and voice his old-school mentality. The room was momentarily silent.

“This is the second and final call for opposition testimony,” Calderon said. No one spoke up or came forward. I let out a long sigh of relief. “Then let us vote,” he said.

“Mello?”

“
Aye.
”

“Lockyer?” I crossed my fingers.

“
Aye.
”

“Wright?”

“
Aye.
”

It continued, one by one, until all eight senators had voted
aye.
It was amazing. Once more I achieved victory with not a single negative vote.

I looked at each senator and mouthed
Thank you,
my eyes shining. We gathered our belongings, threaded our way through the crowd to the hallway, and hugged each other. I couldn’t stay still and squealed with happiness more than once. Eric Thomas offered his heartfelt congratulations.

“Don’t forget to watch the six o’clock news tonight,” he said. “We’ll be broadcasting live to our anchors, Richard Brown and Terilyn Joe.”

Later, after the Petersons dropped my mom and me back home in Antioch, I flipped on the news. It was half over, and our story didn’t appear in the last half. I rewound the VCR tape and got something to drink for both of us. We settled on the couch and I hit the play button.

“Mom, we’re a lead-in story,” I exalted.

We sat glued to the screen as we watched Eric’s report, interspersed with snips of the interviews and testimony. When Richard Brown asked about the law helping Steve and me, Eric, standing with the state capitol visible behind him, responded that I knew it wouldn’t help me, but I wanted to be sure others did not have to suffer the way I had. When the camera cut back to Richard and Terilyn in the studio, they were shaking their heads.

I replayed the segment and timed it. The report was three minutes long. Usually, a TV news story runs for thirty seconds. Passion, patience, and persistence had made this a successful day.

Two days later Rex and I flew into Springfield, Illinois, as a stop-over on one of my business trips to Canada. I had obtained a free companion ticket and pointed out to Rex that we could take advantage of the opportunity to visit with his parents on our way to Quebec and take in Henry Ford’s Greenfield Village on our return. His acceptance pleased me. After my years of yearning and pleading to meet John’s family, only to have my hopes dashed repeatedly, meeting Rex’s parents became a major step in furthering our relationship, but not because I longed for a wedding band. I had determined in recovery that meeting family and friends was a way to help cement trust between two people.

I immediately liked Rex’s parents, down-home folks with no pretensions. They were excited that Rex was home and surprised us with an afternoon mini-family reunion in their backyard. During the party, his Aunt Susie started introducing me as Rex’s fiancée. I politely declined. “No, just a good friend,” I would say, shaking hands. Many responded, “You must be doing something right. We’ve never seen Rex smile so much in his life.” Rex would break out in a silly grin, put his arm around me, and, as if to change the subject, regale them with my efforts to change the divorce law of California. About halfway through, the Midwest skies dumped a hard rain, and we all scampered under the back porch. We continued eating and talking. The downpour couldn’t dampen the festive familial mood.

 

 

Three weeks after we returned from our trip, on Thursday, July 20, 1995, I sat at my desk at work, waiting for a phone call from Anne. After several delays, AB16 had finally made it to the senate floor, and she would be calling me with the vote. During the month I had continued to work hard as the sponsor of AB16, writing letters, making phone calls, garnering support whenever and wherever I could. I was exhausted.

What pulled me down and tired me out lately was not the lobbying and politicking. It was John Perry. He continued to be a thorn in my side. We had signed a property settlement one year ago, but John had reneged on five issues and Bradley could not move his client.

It was the craziness surrounding John that spurred me on to change the law. My physical uneasiness and emotional breakdowns prompted me to work even harder. Perhaps helping others wasn’t my only motive. Deep down it may have been revenge. Now I looked forward to Anne’s call. I wanted one more notch in my belt.

I grabbed the phone on the first ring.

“I’ve just come back from the senate,” Anne said. She let a pause hang in the air. “You’ve cleared the senate! AB Sixteen came through with a block of noncontested bills, with a vote of thirty-eight to zero.”

I hung up the phone and realized I felt complacent, at peace, and not overly excited. I suppose it had been such a long, arduous fight that I felt this result was inevitable. Also, I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment if the assembly blocked the bill during the reconcurrence vote or if the governor decided to veto it. I grabbed the copy of AB16 from my corkboard and held it to my bosom. AB16 and I had been a regular twosome for more than two years. Now it was almost law.

The next day Anne left a phone message. “Congratulations! The assembly voted sixty-eight to zero to move AB Sixteen to the governor’s desk. You’re one signature away from changing the law.”

The numbers echoed through my mind. Eleven to zero, seventy to zero, eight to zero, thirty-eight to zero, sixty-eight to zero. How had I made it this far without one negative vote?
With my Higher Power,
I reminded myself, along with my powerful three Ps ... passion, patience, and persistence.

The Celebration

Extraordinary events take place in ordinary lives, and when they happen it can seem like good luck or a miracle. Since the murder attempt, I found that my good luck was the result of planning and hard work, and miracles the product of my deep belief in my Higher Power. I also experienced excitement that overflowed with each success along the way ... a giggling scream, happy tears, a jump for joy, or a big hug. But when the major culminations of my efforts evolved and I learned the results via telephone, I was calm. There was no overriding euphoria, an unusual feeling for me. It was the same when I heard the news about the governor.