by Gordon Ryan
They had especially enjoyed the clattering ride together. The cable car driver had been one of those garrulous types who enlisted all his passengers in the running dialogue he had with himself and the motorists with whom he competed for the right of way on the steep, narrow streets.
The dinner had been fabulous, and after the table was cleared, Dan and Nicole lingered, sharing latte and experiences from their pasts and completely losing track of time. When they finally took notice of the hour, they had already missed the curtain and decided to bag the play.
They walked instead down to Ghiardelli Square and spent an hour wandering through the shops, ending up in a bookstore where Dan made a little game of asking the young female clerk if she had heard anything about the new novel by Dan Rawlings. She hadn’t read the book, she said, but in an effort to make a sale, she also said she had heard it was fabulous.
“Really?” Dan asked. “Have you sold any other copies?”
“Well, it just came out, so I haven’t, like, actually sold any yet. Would you like to get one?”
Dan thumbed the pages of Voices in My Blood. “I don’t know,” he said. “It doesn’t have any pictures, and it’s, like, awfully long.”
Nicole stood behind the clerk, watching the little interchange, holding a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
By the time they caught the cable car back into town and the BART train back to Walnut Creek, it was well past midnight. Standing with Nicole in the foyer of her apartment building, Dan had taken the theater tickets out of his pocket.
“Well, I had a great time, even if we didn’t make it to the play,” he said, looking around for a trash receptacle.
Before he could throw the tickets away, Nicole reached for his hand. “How about letting me keep one?” she asked.
“Why?”
“I like to save mementos of special times in my life,” she said.
They stood there looking at each other for a moment. “Am I a special moment?” he asked.
Nicole gazed steadily into his eyes and he had suddenly felt a little lightheaded. When she stepped forward and kissed him, he experienced another wave of emotion. Nicole’s mouth was warm and moist, and keeping his arms down to his side, Dan leaned forward and tenderly explored her lips. They stood there like that, kissing, until another couple entered the lobby and passed through into the landscaped courtyard beyond.
Taking a deep breath and then exhaling, Dan playacted a more formal tone and said, “May I call you again, Ms. Bentley?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Rawlings. What exactly are your intentions?”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Well, what are your intentions?” he rebutted.
“I asked first,” she said.
“So you did. Then, what do you think are my intentions?”
They’d bantered for several minutes before he kissed her again. Even now, driving toward Davis, Dan chuckled again as he recalled the humor of their exchange. Nicole had held his gaze for several moments, then said without smiling, “I don’t know what kind of a girl you take me for, Mr. Rawlings, but if you think you can ply me with dinner and then stand on my doorstep and kiss me whenever you feel like it …” She paused, showing just the hint of a smile, “… you may be right.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Dan had broken into a self-conscious grin. “When do I get to come inside?”
“In due time. You are going to be rich, aren’t you?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said.
“Coming inside?”
“No. Being rich,” he parried, smiling.
They began to laugh, enjoying the verbal jousting. After a moment, Dan reached for Nicole and drew her into an embrace. They stood holding each other for a long moment. Dan was instantly overcome with desire for this woman, and he stroked her back while inhaling her fragrance. After a time, he pulled back, kissed her lightly on the lips, and whispered goodnight.
Driving home from Walnut Creek that night, he had reflected on the remarkable evening, breaking into an involuntary grin as he thought about this warm, passionate woman. Now, last night had completed their transition. For the first time since his wife’s death, Dan had not felt guilty being with another woman. Since that first night of emotion, through the passion they had shared only hours ago, they had grown closer, although neither of them had made any verbal commitments. The words “I love you” had not entered their vocabulary, and Dan sensed that despite Nicole’s earliest comments about not liking the games people played, each of them was waiting for the other to make the first serious move.
* * *
The next morning, Dan arose early, dressed, and left his condo, headed for his still unorganized legislative office—a dusty, bare dungeon in the basement of the capitol building, reserved for freshman legislators. Arriving at his office before his secretary, Dan listened to the messages on the phone recorder, rewinding when he heard the voice of Speaker Huntington’s secretary advising him of a change of location for the morning meeting to be held in the governor’s office. He listened to the message a second, and then a third time before he accepted that he was actually going to the governor’s office.
By the time Dan arrived in the governor’s suite at nine-thirty, he had considered and rejected a dozen possible scenarios as to why the Speaker of the House had changed the meeting to the governor’s office.
“Good morning, Mr. Rawlings,” the governor’s secretary said.
“And good morning to you, Mrs. Hansen. How do you keep track of all the new people?”
“Spies, Mr. Rawlings, spies. And the picture on your book,” she grinned, tapping the copy on her desk. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you. Crème and sugar.”
She poured his coffee and laid a Danish on the tray before placing it next to him on the sideboard. “Mr. Rawlings, would you be so kind as to autograph my copy of your book?”
Dan smiled. “It would be an honor, Mrs. Hansen. To whom should I … ?”
“To Victoria, please. I’m about halfway through,” she said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t ask, Mr. Rawlings, but is it true that Jedediah Rumsey had a fistfight with one of our early governors?”
Handing back the autographed book, Dan laughed. “Fiction, Mrs. Hansen. But then again,” he teased, “quite often, fiction is only a mild embellishment of the truth, isn’t it?”
James Huntington, Speaker of the Assembly, entered the foyer as Mrs. Hansen was accepting the book from Dan. She immediately assumed a more formal demeanor.
“Good morning, Mr. Speaker,” she addressed him. “May I offer you some coffee?”
“That would be fine, Mrs. Hansen, thank you.” Turning toward Dan, Speaker Huntington offered his hand. “Welcome to the legislature, Mr. Rawlings. I hear your book sales are going well.” He nodded toward Mrs. Hansen’s copy.
“Thank you, Mr. Speaker. Yes, quite well, I’m told. Thanks, of course, to people like Mrs. Hansen,” Dan said, smiling at her.
Huntington accepted his coffee and remained standing. “Governor in yet, Mrs. Hansen?”
“I believe he was in before six this morning, Mr. Speaker. I’ll just see if he’s ready for you.”
Mrs. Hansen entered the office, returning momentarily with Governor Walter Dewhirst.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted. “Shall we commence?”
Dan hesitated, allowing Huntington to enter first and then following him into the suite, his first time to enter the governor’s office.
“Seems General Del Valle was correct,” Huntington said to the governor.
“Oh, you mean last night’s newscast. Yes, he had it right. And now it’s … well, there’s no way around it, James—they’ve openly declared war on the federal government,” the governor said, shaking his head. “We’re not going to get through this easily. These criminally minded militia groups are growing bolder, day by day.”
“I
believe you’re right, Governor,” Huntington said, taking one of the big, leather chairs and motioning for Dan to be seated also.
Governor Dewhirst leaned against the front of his desk, sliding one hip up to take a partial seat on the edge. “If we don’t take the lead on this, we’ll find ourselves scurrying about like rats on a sinking ship.”
“That’s probably not a bad comparison, Walt. But after twenty-eight years in this House, I’ll be hog-tied if I’ll stand idly by and watch it go down without a fight. If we have to proceed with this national ‘divorce,’ we need to get control of it before it controls us. Seriously, Walt, if we spend all our energy opposing it and it happens, we could find ourselves up the creek. We need to be ready to govern.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” Dewhirst leaned forward and looked straight at Huntington. “James,” he said, “can I count on cooperation, absent all partisan tap-dancing? Can we join hands and get this job done?”
Huntington looked at the governor, then jerked his thumb toward Rawlings.
“That’s why I’m here, Governor. I suggested Rawlings, didn’t I—notwithstanding his Republican affiliation,” the speaker said, smiling, “with no dancing or tit-for-tat party nonsense?”
Governor Dewhirst smiled, leaning back to sit upright against his desk. “That you did, James.” He shifted his gaze toward Dan. “And, Mr. Rawlings, have you fathomed all of this so far?”
Dan maintained a stoic face, glancing first at Huntington and then back at the governor. “It’s way over my head, Governor, but it seems I’m part of a compromise.”
“No, not a compromise, son.” Dewhirst rose and returned to his chair behind the desk. “Not a compromise. What shall we call it, James, an ‘accommodation,’ or perhaps more accurately, part of our opening strategy? Son, most new legislators entering these hallowed halls are allowed to park in the garage, use the private corridors and the private toilets, take the reserved elevators, and, of course, eat in the ‘members only’ dining area. But beyond that, they are courteously advised to keep their mouths shut and learn. You, my young friend, are going to be thrust into the breech immediately.”
The governor studied Dan’s face for his reaction, then glanced to see the small smile playing across Huntington’s face.
“I can almost read your thoughts, Mr. Rawlings.” the governor continued. “‘It sounds like I have no choice,’ you’re thinking. Well, you’re absolutely right. The Speaker and I have decided that we need your services at this particular time, and we’ve determined your legislative assignments. The people of Yolo County, in their infinite wisdom, have seen fit to send you here, and we intend to see they get their money’s worth. No ifs, ands, or buts—just get in the boat and make waves,” he said with a broad smile, leaning back in his chair and waiting for a reaction. Huntington remained silent, but his smile had broadened at the brusque method used by the governor to deliver their decision, arrived at the previous afternoon. “So, what say ye, Mr. Rawlings, freshman republican from Yolo County?”
Dan looked slowly back and forth between the governor and Speaker Huntington, gauging their intent, slowing coming to a smile himself. “I’ll need two things, Governor,” he responded.
The governor waited, raising an eyebrow quizically.
“A refill of coffee …” Dan said, raising his cup, “and a paddle.”
Walter Dewhirst allowed a quizzical look to cross his face, but James Huntington immediately began to laugh. The three men sat there for several seconds, Huntington laughing, Dan smiling, and Governor Dewhirst confused.
“The coffee I can arrange, Rawlings, but—”
Huntington began to laugh all the louder, interrupting Dewhirst in the middle of his sentence. “How’s a man going to make waves without a paddle, Governor? Sometimes you Republicans are so thick.”
Dewhirst grinned and settled back in the deep comfort of his leather executive chair, reaching toward his intercom. “Mrs. Hansen, a fresh pot of coffee if you please,” he voiced.
Dan broke the levity of the moment. “In all seriousness, Governor, as an ignorant freshman legislator, how can I be of any help?”
“Dan,” the governor said, “… may I call you Dan?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Dan, this political Neanderthal sitting next to you,” he said, gesturing toward Huntington, “has caused me more agony, more disruption, and more reason for consternation than any single politician with whom it has been my misfortune to deal. I’ve fought him on nearly every major issue that has come before this government over the last twenty years that we’ve served together in the legislature. “But,” he exclaimed, rising and coming around again to the front of his desk, “he is without a doubt the most dedicated and the most patriotic American I have ever had the privilege to work with.”
The governor turned to James Huntington and locked eyes with him briefly as they shared a moment when all partisan defenses were down, and two men, who for over two decades had engaged in a battle of wills, of laws, of conservative and liberal philosophical debate, took a moment to silently acknowledge their mutual respect born of difference, cultivated in political conflict, but, for this instant, treasured in memory.
“Son,” the governor continued, “this old curmudgeon came to me yesterday with a plan of action. Part of that plan involved you. You’re probably asking yourself ‘Why me?’ But I assure you, we know more about you than you think. I mentioned Speaker Huntington’s patriotism because he’s been roasted in the press lately for presumed political ambition regarding secession. Those ignorant fools in the media, for whom a story is worth more if it raises hackles than if it’s true, have chosen a few stalwarts to cast in the light of empire builders. The stories about Speaker Huntington and his quest for the new presidency bear no relationship to the work that this man,” he said, again gesturing toward Huntington, “has done to preserve California’s place in the Union. I dare say that if he were sure it would end this secession fever, he’d resign tomorrow. So would I, for that matter. But it won’t, so we need to fight it, son. We need to fight like … well, like our future depends on it.” The governor changed tone, assuming a more directive attitude.
“There can be no room for equivocation in this office today, Mr. Rawlings. I’m against secession; Speaker Huntington is against it, and from what we understand so far, you’re against it, too. Are we right in that assessment?”
“Governor, Mr. Speaker, you’ve provided more food for thought than I was prepared to address. I conjured up multiple scenarios as to why I was invited to the governor’s office. None of those guesses came close, I might add,” he said, smiling. “As you said, Governor, you probably know more about me than I thought you did, but let me tell you just a bit more.
“My grandfather, Jack Rumsey, served in the California Legislature in the early fifties. He worked to broaden the scope of local government legislation and had a pet interest in California’s wilderness areas. Perhaps you know about James Rumsey, the Maryland engineer who invented the steamboat, and others in the family line, including our most famous family pioneer, Daniel Boone. Male members of my family have served in every military conflict in America’s history.”
Noticing the governor’s smile, Dan laughed and held up his hand. “I’m not seeking to extol a litany of family position or achievement, but what I am saying is that all these people left me with something. As this secession issue has gathered steam over the last few months and opposing interests have stood in the shadows, not believing what they were seeing or knowing what to do about it, I have wrestled with where I stood.
“My grandfather, bless his heart, is still hale and hearty at eighty-three, and he put the hard question to me several months ago. He said all my forebears would come back and stomp on me if I ever forgot I was an American. And that, Governor Dewhirst, is where I stand. I’m an American. I love California, and I always will, but I believe in what America stands for and the causes for which our ancestors died. I’ll do everythin
g in my power to see that we retain our allegiance to that flag. If that stance warrants your earlier decision, then tell me where the waves need to begin, and I’ll start paddling.”
The governor rested a hand on each of Dan’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Did you know, son, that my father served briefly with your grandfather in the old days?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, he did, and they both have reason to be proud. Again, Dan, I say welcome to the legislature.”
Dewhirst returned to the chair behind his desk, nodding briefly at Huntington as he sat. Huntington took the cue.
“Dan,” Huntington began, “did you ever see that old Civil War movie with Gary Cooper as a Union Army major? In order to obtain information on a rebel raider outfit, he had to pretend he believed in something he didn’t. He had to disgrace himself in front of the corps and be branded a coward and traitor and drummed off the post.”
Dan’s ears perked up, and his senses quickly provided warning. “I believe I do remember that movie, Mr. Speaker. He wasn’t a very popular fellow.”
“No, I suppose not. We don’t have such drastic action in mind, as you’ll be pleased to know. But we do have a tough assignment for you, and it may go against your grain.”
Huntington looked at Governor Dewhirst, who took over.
“Dan, the legislature has stalled far too long on this issue, except perhaps for the diehards waving the red flag at the bull. Over the next week or ten days, the Speaker will announce the formation of a seven-member committee, whose primary responsibility will be to write the governing legislation for the new Republic of California. You, Mr. Rawlings, will be on that committee as a member of the minority panel, and the chairman, selected by Speaker Huntington, will be informed that you are to be assigned the primary role in drafting the constitution. It’ll be difficult work, Dan, made more so by our hope that it will never see the light of day. You’ll be the subject of praise and abuse, and, I would presume, a lot of lobbying on what to include, what to leave out—in other words, whose tail to cover, whose ox to gore, and whose barn to protect.”