A Dance With the Devil: A True Story of Marriage to a Psychopath (42 page)

Harriet’s teenage daughter, Catina Rose, was murdered in 1979. Stunned, and then abused by the criminal justice system, Harriet and her husband, Mike, became victims’ rights advocates to help survivors deal with their grief and the inadequacies of the justice system during and after a criminal trial. It was the group I had turned to when I decided to help others.

Kevin Washburn, a tall, imposing man, was the president of Citizens for Law and Order, a group originally formed in 1970 as a response to the liberal policies of State Supreme Court Justice Rose Bird. Although originally focused on judges, the group decided to provide support to victims’ rights groups. I met Kevin through Harriet and felt his voice would be forceful in the fight for AB16.

“Traffic was a bear,” Harriet huffed as she rounded the corner and headed straight to me. We shook hands. “And the parking! Don’t ask.”

“Where’s Kevin?” I questioned, looking around.

“Here I am,” Kevin panted. “I tried to catch up with you, Harriet, but it wasn’t easy.”

A moment later, Dick Rainey turned the corner at the end of the hall and wove his way through the crowd, shaking hands and smiling. He disappeared into his office. I breathed easier knowing all my witnesses and my assemblyman had arrived.

I heard Anne call my name. “Over here,” I gestured.

Anne made her way through the noisy crowd filling the hallway. I introduced her to my witnesses, and she gave us a brief rundown of what would be happening. Anne disappeared back into the office to check on Rainey. When she reappeared, she was juggling stacks of papers in her arms.

“Let’s go to room four forty-four,” she beckoned.

“Where’s Assemblyman Rainey?” I asked as the door closed behind her.

“He’ll join us in the committee room as soon as he can,” she advised, unruffled by the unexpected change in plans. She was calm; I was not. I was confused and apprehensive. It must have shown on my face.

“Don’t worry. This happens all the time. He has another bill today, in another committee. He needs to sign that one in, too. It’s first come, first served, and he wants to get both of his bills heard today.”

“Hope he doesn’t get delayed,” I gulped. “My witnesses have come a long way to testify.”

“Dick won’t let you down,” Anne smiled.

“What if the bill doesn’t get heard today?” Delores asked.

Delores said what I had been thinking but afraid to verbalize. I couldn’t let on that I was concerned. I had to be the strong leader, even if I didn’t feel very strong right now. “It will be fine,” I said. “Just remember—passion, patience, and persistence, everyone. That’s our mantra.”

Anne led the way down the hall to the elevator. When it arrived, we trotted inside after her like a herd of sheep. I breathed a silent prayer:
Please, dear God, be with us today.

On the ground floor Anne ushered us toward the west hall. We scrambled up the marble steps and spilled out into the ornate rotunda, at the back of a three-figured sculpture. “It’s Christopher Columbus,” Anne said, as we whizzed by. “The queen is agreeing to finance his expedition.”

How appropriate. Columbus ventured into uncharted waters. I was doing the same. He was told he couldn’t sail around the world. I was told I couldn’t change the no-fault divorce law of California. He was successful. My fate remained to be seen.

Anne kept up her pace, coming to a stop before another set of elevators labeled ASSEMBLY NORTH WING. We exited on the fourth floor and approached the dark mahogany door at the end of the hall. To its right I noticed carpeted stairs that climbed to a sunny solarium. It was where I had concluded my talk with Isenberg, the chair of the Assembly Judiciary Committee, only two days ago.

My heart skipped a beat and I felt myself flush at that success. Today I had a bigger mountain to climb. We rewrote AB16 yesterday, at the last minute. I didn’t know if Isenberg liked the new wording, and it was critical that he did. Without his support, AB16 would not make it out of his committee, and would die.

We maneuvered through the crowd near the committee room door. I reached for the handle, but before I could grab it, the door flew open. A man rushed out and almost knocked Anne over. She shrugged it off with a smile. “It gets crazy around here on committee days,” she said.

I glanced over my shoulder, looking for Rainey. He wasn’t there. My paranoia began to grow, but I beat it back.
He must be inside,
I assured myself. He wasn’t, as far as I could see when we entered the windowless room with its raised ceiling and recessed fluorescent lights. I scanned the gallery’s theater-style seats, all hooked together and upholstered with shiny green velvet. There were plenty of bodies, but no Rainey. I looked behind the spindled banister that separated the room like a communion altar rail. There was plenty of activity at the dais, the raised U-shaped committee desk, with some members already sitting in their high-back leather swivel chairs. He was not there, either. My stomach tightened and I frowned.

“Don’t worry,” Anne said. “He’ll be here.” She marched to the short front row on the right of the room and showed us where to sit. The committee was scheduled to start at nine a.m. sharp. I checked my watch. It was 8:53. Still no Rainey. I pulled out my speech to read it over once more. Anne shuffled her stack of papers.

“Here, this is for you,” Anne said, handing me a small newsprint pamphlet. “This is the Assembly Daily File. All the assembly committee meetings for this week are listed.”

My heart pounded as I flipped through its one hundred pages until I found what I was looking for on page 73, under the header:
Wednesday, May 3, 1995 JUDICIARY.
There it was, the second measure listed:
AB16—Rainey—Exemplary damages.
My lower lip trembled and I fought back tears and passed the pamphlet back to my mother and my witnesses. I pinched myself. It was real. I was here. It was going to happen.

A woman stepped down from the dais, walked in front of the railing, and smiled at me. “Nice dress,” she said as she passed me by. The compliment felt good. I had dressed for success and someone noticed.

Loud chatter filled the air. I looked at my watch and held my breath. In the crowded room there was standing room only. No Rainey. I slowly turned back to focus my attention on the dais. Piles of papers were being delivered to each seat, and technicians were adjusting their equipment for closed-circuit television.

“Anne, where are all the committee members? There are a lot of empty chairs.”

“Some are still standing,” she said. “Not all assembly members attend their committee meetings. Today our quorum is ten members. Don’t worry. Sometimes the sergeant-at-arms has to make a call to their offices to pry them away.”

I started counting ... one ... two ... three ... Isenberg entered from a door behind the dais and sat down in the middle seat. Several members scrambled for their chairs. Four...five...six...Papers were shuffled. Microphones tapped. Seven... eight... The side door opened and three more members slipped into their seats. Eleven. We had one to spare. Another hurdle cleared.

In spite of that, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
Where were the remaining three?
I had visited the offices of each committee member more than once. They all knew how important this was to me and to other victims.
What could be keeping them away?
As I have done most of my life, I personalized my fears when people don’t show up.
Maybe they didn’t like me. Maybe...
I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rainey said as he slipped past me to the other side of Anne, giving me a warm smile and a thumbs-up. “We’re number two on the calendar.”

Here we go,
I thought, sucking in my breath.

“AB Nine-Twenty,” Isenberg barked, and the gallery hushed. I looked in my daily file. The bill had something to do with corporations and shareholder derivative actions. It sounded Greek to me.

Four people positioned themselves at the tables behind the railing; two faced west, two faced south. “The proponents are the ones with their backs to us,” Anne whispered. “That’s where you and Dick will be sitting.”

“What about the others?” I whispered.

“They’re the opponents, the ones against the bill.”

The opponents! Anne’s words hit me like a sledgehammer. In all the excitement I had forgotten about the opponents, like the Judges Association, who thought my bill would open up a legal can of worms. I had worked with their representative to get them to understand, but I didn’t know if they would send someone to testify.

My facial muscles tensed, my mouth went dry, and I felt light-headed. The unknown was chipping away at my confidence. I turned and looked at the crowd in the packed gallery, wondering whether any of my enemies were out there. I faced forward, gripped my speech to my chest, and slumped in my seat.

The drone of those who were there to observe the procedures made me think they were not paying attention. At one point they drowned out the proceedings up front. Isenberg pounded his gavel and bellowed for silence. The shock brought me out of my stupor. The gallery quieted down and testimony continued.

As talk about the first bill became more contentious, my attempts to remain calm failed. I feared the same thing would happen to my bill. It would not be clean and swift, as I had imagined, but dirty and vengeful. I was not prepared for the reality of politics.

The opposition grew more boisterous, and so did the gallery. The battle of words went on for more than an hour. Would they ever take a vote?

I dabbed at the tears welling in my eyes. I began to feel like a victim once more, caught in an ever-tightening vise. Today I was a victim of time and an unfamiliar process, held at the mercy of eleven committee members. I couldn’t seem to shake the role. I rested my throbbing head against my hands and closed my eyes, trying to fight the constriction in my throat. As the bickering in the front of the room grew louder I wanted to yell
STOP!
But I couldn’t.

Chairman Isenberg pounded his gavel, and I emerged from my reverie with a rapidly beating heart. The gallery continued to buzz. The gavel smacked once more, and the sound level diminished, but it did not completely disappear.

“That’s it. Enough of this disagreement,” Isenberg barked. “Go back and work out the bugs before you set foot in this room again. There will be no vote today.”

He slammed the gavel down once more, cutting off Assemblyman Cunneen as he tried to speak up for his bill. I was stunned and scared. Could this happen to my bill, after all these months?
Oh, God, please don’t let this happen to my bill, please let there be no opposition.
The cluster of witnesses gathered their papers, stuffed their briefcases, and shuffled out of the room. There were still vacant seats on the dais, and I leaned across Anne to murmur my concern to Rainey. Anne patted my hand. “Don’t worry,” Dick said. “It’s not unusual to have only a quorum, especially at the beginning of the session.”

I settled back in my seat just as someone bellowed “AB Sixteen. Author: Assemblyman Rainey. Please come forward.” Every muscle in my body went rigid. I swallowed hard. Dick rose and looked at me. “This is it,” he said.

Dick motioned me to join him. Anne asked the rest of the witnesses to follow. Dick directed Delores and me to the witness table. Harriet and Kevin stood to one side, in back of us. I didn’t understand why they couldn’t join us; there were several empty seats at the table. Then I remembered that the empty seats were reserved for opponents. I waited breathlessly. No one came forward to fill them. Was I safe? Dick approached the podium. I laid my speech on the table and rested my folded hands on top of it.

“Good morning, Assemblyman Rainey.”

I hardly dared to breathe as Dick reeled off a quick synopsis of AB16. I felt suspended between reality and fantasy; between hope and despair, caught up in the drama of legislative proceedings.

“I’ve read yesterday’s rewrite,” Isenberg said. “No need for the second committee meeting. Today is it.”

I gasped and tried to decide whether that was good news or bad.
Good,
I concluded.
This way it doesn’t get strung out, and I don’t have to impose on my witnesses.
Dick jotted down a note, thanked the chairman, and continued.

“Mr. Chairman, I would like to introduce Barbara Bentley, the sponsor of AB Sixteen.”

I choked back tears of excitement. Isenberg stared directly at me and smiled. “I’ve seen Barbara around the last two days,” he said. “She’s been doing a great job as a sponsor.”

I was thrilled at his words and smiled back. This was it, the goal I’d fought for during the past two and a half years. I felt in charge; my palms weren’t sweaty, my stomach was not queasy, and I didn’t have a pounding headache. I had learned my Skidmore lesson well.

Ready to do battle, I picked up my speech, adjusted my reading glasses, and leaned toward the microphone on the desk.

“Mr. Chairman and members of the Judiciary Committee, my name is Barbara Bentley and I am the sponsor of Assembly Bill Sixteen. I come before you today representing all victims of spousal violence as they seek a divorce from their convicted partner.”

My voice cracked and I began to quiver. Hearing my words pierce the legislative air triggered the pain pent up from years of abuse, emotional and physical.
Don’t cry now, Barbara, not now.
But I couldn’t stop the salty tears from rolling down my cheeks.

“In February nineteen ninety-one, my husband attempted... attempted to ... to ... murder me ... by ether asphyxiation.”

I choked on my words. An assemblywoman went over to a service table, poured a glass of water, grabbed some tissues, and brought them to me. The gallery sat in total silence while I composed myself.

Remember your three Ps, Barbara. Passion, patience, and persistence will get you through this as they did after the murder attempt, the investigation, the trial and recovery. Remember, it’s been an uphill battle since you walked out of Belli’s office, saying you were going to change the law.
I silently repeated my three Ps and concentrated once more on the task at hand. I would prevail. My eyes focused on my written testimony. I blew my nose, took a cool drink of water, and continued.