Waltzing at Midnight (9 page)

I want to reduce crime and homelessness and poverty. I’ve always wanted these things. I’ve always worked hard to achieve them, and my long record of community service proves what I’m about.”

“So, are you saying that you wouldn’t take a stand on the side of homosexual rights if such an issue arose?”

“No, I’m not saying that. Obviously, I would be sympathetic to the rights of homosexuals in our community and uphold those rights as the law proscribes, the same way I would anyone’s rights.

I do believe in civil liberties and I am very much opposed to any type of discrimination against any of our citizens on the basis of gender, race, national origin, age, disability or anything else. And I believe that most people in this town would agree with that.

However, the hot-button issues that get people really concerned, like gay marriage or gays in the military, are not issues that we would ever deal with at this level of government. When it comes right down to it, as mayor of Weberstown, there’s not much I could do to help the gay rights movement even if that was my only objective for getting voted into office.” She glanced at me 65

and smiled, then turned back to Foster. “Which it isn’t.”

“But wasn’t it a city mayor who defied state law in two thousand and four and opened his City Hall to gay marriage, allowing over three thousand same-sex couples to wed?”

Oh, great, I thought. We didn’t see that one coming. I could barely remember any details about that incident myself. I waited to see what Rosie would say.

“You’re referring to Gavin Newsom, Mayor of San Francisco.”

“Right,” Foster said. “Practically the first thing he did after being elected was order the county clerk to issue marriage licenses to gay couples.”

“I suppose a mayor can try to do something like that, something that he believes is right, especially if his constituency is going to rally behind him. But, in reality, a mayor doesn’t have the authority to take that kind of action. Same-sex marriage legislation is not a city government issue. All of those marriages were declared invalid by the California Supreme Court in August, two thousand and four, which proves my point that, as mayor, I wouldn’t have that sort of power. I would uphold the law as it stands, whether I agree with it or not. At the moment, California doesn’t allow same-sex couples to marry. I’m not going to pretend that I’m neutral on this subject, but my personal opinion has no bearing on my responsibility under the law.”

Okay, Rosie, I thought. That was good. She was on top of this subject after all.

“Just for fun,” Foster asked, “if you were mayor of Weberstown and gay marriage was legal and you were in a committed relationship yourself, would you get married?”

Rosie’s smile was wide and close-lipped. “That’s a lot of ifs,”

she answered, obviously amused. “Hard to imagine all of those ifs coming together, in fact. No, I wouldn’t. It’s not for me. But I understand completely how important it is for many other people and hope that they someday get their chance.”

He went on to another subject, for which I was grateful.

Rosie handled the remainder of his questions with ease, jabbing 66

at Kiester with every opportunity. She made several points about his neglect of the problems faced by minorities in Weberstown, particularly Asians and Hispanics.

“Your own loss of popularity,” Foster said, asking the question I’d given him, “seems to have done little to help Mike Garcia rise in the polls. Are you surprised at that, since you and Garcia share similar stands on the issues?”

“No, I’m not surprised. I don’t think people have taken a good look at Mike Garcia. This has always been a two-person race. It’s been fortunate for me, I suppose, because Mike is a man with a lot to offer and if people were paying attention to him, they’d probably be the same people who have supported me.”

When the interview was over, she thanked Foster and joined me, heaving a tremendous sigh. “How was it?” she asked.

“Fantastic!”

“It’s a very scary thing to do.” Rosie shuddered.

“You’re a brave woman.”

We left the studio together, landing ourselves in front of three reporters with microphones aimed our way, cameras rolling. “Rosie,” one of them called, “what did you discuss with David Foster?”

Then another reporter asked, more pointedly, “Did you talk about being a lesbian?”

I took hold of Rosie’s arm and pulled her toward the side steps.

“Watch the show,” Rosie called to them. Once we were safely in the car and on our way, Rosie said, “In some ways, it’s a tremendous relief, everybody knowing. Now I won’t have to wonder who suspects.”

“Sorry about that whole gay marriage thing,” I said. “I had no idea he was going to ask you about that.”

“He was bound to throw in something unexpected.”

“You handled it perfectly. I guess that’s a topic you didn’t need to review. I mean, you have an established position on this sort of issue.”

“Right. It would be hard to be a lesbian without a position on 6

same-sex marriage.”

“So you’re for it, even though you don’t want to get married yourself.”

“Yes. It’s a civil rights issue, Jean. It’s not just about marriage.

It’s about equal rights under the law. As long as this ban exists, society is saying that our relationships are not as valid as yours.”

I was sure that Rosie’s statement wasn’t meant to put me on the other side, but that’s what it felt like. There were so many ways in which she was living in a different world from mine. One of the biggest differences between us was that she was always aware of that, aware of the subculture she belonged to and how it was marginalized. I had always taken my privileges of normalcy for granted. I had never even seen them as privileges, in fact.

Rosie laid her head against the headrest and closed her eyes, her expression serene. “I’m so glad this is over.”

On the teaser for the evening news, Rosie and I appeared on the studio steps while an announcer said, “Rosie Monroe taped an interview with David Foster this afternoon in which she reportedly made a major announcement regarding the sexual orientation question that has been buzzing around her all week.

That story, and others, tonight at six.”

“I don’t think you ought to touch her like that,” Jerry said, referring to my nabbing of Rosie by the arm. “Not on television.

People might get ideas.”

It had been a natural gesture to take Rosie’s arm, to get her away from the reporters. If she weren’t a lesbian, Jerry wouldn’t have even noticed. Nobody would. “Who cares what ideas people get?” I asked.

“I care. I don’t want people to think my wife’s gay. And I’m not too happy about how closely you’ve become associated with her. I’m frankly surprised that knowing she’s a lesbian hasn’t put you off some. Saying it’s not a political issue is very different from saying it doesn’t matter to you.”

I didn’t know how to answer him. Faye was of the same opinion. It should matter to me that Rosie was a lesbian. It should at least make me feel a little differently toward her, shouldn’t it?

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I wasn’t having the normal reaction, the reaction that everybody else was having. All I could conclude from that was that I wasn’t prejudiced after all. I was more open-minded than even I had known. Although some people I knew were gay, I had never interacted this closely with them before, and this issue had never really had anything to do with me before. It wasn’t that I was unaware of it. It was just that I didn’t concern myself too much with it, one way or another. Because of that, a lot of new thoughts were now going on in my mind about what it meant to be gay in this town or in this world.

Things happened fast after Rosie’s interview aired. Mike Garcia, using his new slogan, “You’ve Got Another Choice,”

sent out mail to nearly every home in Weberstown. We held neighborhood barbecues in parks where the population was largely Latino, ostensibly to promote Rosie, but more importantly, to bring out the voters against Kiester. At Rosie’s suggestion, Garcia distributed information in Spanish, Chinese and Vietnamese, the largest of the minority groups in town. I designed the flyers and produced them in our office after hours to insure that no one knew about our collusion with Garcia. I had thought the pace was tough before, but it had been nothing compared to this. If this was going to work, we had to use every minute we had left. I was more exhausted than ever, but more enthusiastic as well. I felt that I had a bigger stake now in the outcome of the campaign.

Rosie had been right about the gays rallying behind her.

Local chapters of three gay and lesbian groups endorsed Rosie and became outspoken advocates against Kiester. They also became a rich source of volunteers for us, so we soon had a small army of people working the streets and phones. It was a good thing, too, because there were no more funds to pay for anything.

I didn’t know how Rosie was doing it, but donations to Garcia came pouring in while ours dried up, as though she had diverted a canal.

“What’s happening?” Faye asked on the second day of the blitz. “Why is Rosie back in?”

“Maybe she thinks she can win,” I said noncommittally. And 6

for a while there, I almost thought so myself. Once Rosie came out openly as a lesbian, the media simply dropped the subject. It wasn’t a story anymore. There were still, of course, many voters lost over that issue. Those were the people we were pushing hardest toward Garcia.

“What a team we are!” Rosie said one evening, her eyes aglitter. I loved to see her on the high-energy platform again.

And I was ecstatic to be there with her.

Somehow, despite all of the extra hours going toward campaigning, she was still tending to her other commitments. I marveled at her energy and tried to emulate it.

“Jean, are you free Thursday night?” Rosie asked me on Tuesday.

“Sure,” I said with just a minor guilty thought about my family.

“I’m having a meeting with the Vision Partnership. Our secretary quit a couple weeks ago to take another job. Do you think you could take the minutes for us? You’ll be paid, of course.”

“I’d love to do it. It would be a pleasant change to work for money.” Even if she didn’t pay me, I’d have done it. I adored watching Rosie in action. I was learning from watching her, learning how to motivate people, how to solve problems, how to turn pressure into an advantage.

At the meeting, which was held in a conference room at the Weberstown Inn, I sat with a laptop computer to Rosie’s left at a table of seven other people. She sat at the head of the table. The other members of the Partnership were, like Rosie, local business owners. Tonight they were discussing the impending closure of a Chevrolet dealership, the only one in town, which would put twenty-two people out of work. Before this meeting, I had no idea that anybody did anything about problems like this.

“He says he can’t make a profit without an aggressive advertising campaign,” a local restaurateur was saying, “and he keeps getting slapped by the DA’s office with fines for illegal advertising. The competition is so tough right now that he’s

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stretching the limits of fair practices.”

“So it’s the fines that are the problem?” Rosie asked.

“Well, it’s the economy that’s the ultimate problem, but, yes, the profit margin is so small for these guys that if he has to pay these fines, he says he won’t have a profit, so he may as well go out of business. He claims he’s being harassed by the DA. He currently has three outstanding fines.”

“Does he really want to stay in business?” asked a woman on the other side of the table.

“I think so,” said the man who spoke before. “He’s owned that dealership for ten years. He says if he could just hold on a couple more years, he would, because he thinks the present slump is temporary.”

Rosie looked around the table, then said, “Okay, so how do we save this guy and twenty-two people’s jobs?”

“The DA’s office can’t turn a blind eye to the violations,”

pointed out the man to Rosie’s right. “The advertising methods he’s been using have to be changed.”

“Agreed,” Rosie said. “There’s no reason why an advertising campaign has to be illegal to work. How about if we ask the DA’s office to revoke the outstanding fines if we guarantee there will be no further violations? Then I’ll take over the advertising for the dealership at the same cost he’s currently paying the other ad company. If he gives me three months to bring him a profit, I think we can avert disaster. However, I’m not on the best of terms right now with the DA’s office.” One of the men laughed involuntarily.

Rosie continued, “So, let’s have Ken deal with those folks to get the fees dropped and I’ll focus on the advertising angle.”

Everyone agreed with the plan and Rosie reminded me that I was there not merely as an observer. “Ken Sturtevant,” she said, pointing at the man to her right. I quickly made notes about what she’d just proposed. I’d gotten caught up in the discussion and forgotten.

“Okay, what’s the next issue?” Rosie asked.

“We’ve made some headway with Sunco,” Ken said. “But Sacramento is after them too. And with the city’s regulations, I’m

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afraid we’ll lose this one. As soon as they find out about the red tape, they may just stay in San Diego.”

“How can we compete against other cities,” someone said,

“when our government refuses to implement pro-business policies?”

“We go over and over this,” someone else said. “Two months ago we lost that plastic pipe manufacturing plant to Fresno because the city government was, as usual, in slo’ mo’.”

Rosie nodded, thoughtfully.