The Legislative Dance

By Malcolm Chester

When Bob Williams, a handsome insurance broker, is elected to the Illinois state legislature as a Democrat from the Chicago suburbs, he finds a whole new world full of flawed characters clashing over ideas, policies, and money at the state capitol. He must learn the ropes and learn to play the politics within the politics.

As his wife, Cindy, descends into madness and is committed to a mental institution, he is drawn to two beautiful Hispanic women legislatorsCynthia Rodriguez and Roberta Gonzaleswho compete for him. Having risen from poverty, both are accomplished. One is a brilliant, compassionate, high-energy powerhouse, while the other is an enormously talented singer. But the one Williams ultimately chooses not only struggles with the conflicts in her nature, but faces Mathew Remington, a powerful billionaire who hatches a plan to destroy her and the cause so important to her and the nation. Shes rebuffed Remingtons advances, and he plans to get his revenge.

Both humorous and tragic, The Legislative Dance provides a fictional inside look at the elected officialsfoibles and allcharged with the task of deciding some of lifes most important issues.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450299695

Malcolm Chester

Malcolm Chester earned a bachelor’s degree from Brown University in political science, a master’s degree in child study from Tufts University, and a Juris Doctorate degree from IIT Kent School of Law. A former public affairs executive, he continues to consult while also practicing law. He currently lives in Illinois; this is his second novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1-The Inside Club

Forty one year old Mathew Remington sat comfortably in the smoking room of the Inside Club. Still attractive even heading into middle age, he had made his fortune by the time he was thirty two trading high risk derivatives on Wall Street. Although he had no formal title to denote his position, the other seven acknowledged Mathew as leader of the Inside Club, a group of eight very conservative and ruthless billionaires. Mathew often took the lead on their policy projects, which sought to put their reactionary stamp on social and economic policy issues. Defeat of the Equal Rights Amendment, ERA, was their latest project. From the Club’s point of view, the supporters of the ERA were trying to turn women into men and in doing so would cost them and their businesses a great deal of money in equalized pay.

In addition to the club’s political projects, Mathew conducted personal projects which he called the harlot projects. Mathew began his harlot projects with his former wife. While he was working sixteen-hour days making his fortune, his wife Trudy, a beautiful brunette, was sleeping with other guys and spending his money. When his private detective showed him pictures of his wife having sex with a blond body builder, Mathew decided to divorce her and fight her for every cent she would seek as common property or alimony.

The fight was nasty and prolonged. Mathew and Trudy had a son early in their marriage, Trevor, but Mathew had a difficult time relating to him. His son did not look like him and proved to be whinny and unpleasant. Mathew became convinced that the boy was fathered by one of his wife’s lovers and not by him. From then on, he referred to the boy as Trudy’s son. By contesting custody of his son almost to the last moment, he was able to give up custody of him in return for a large reduction in their divorce settlement. Trudy ended up with only thirty million dollars.

After the divorce, Mathew decided to ruin Trudy and her son by whatever means he could employ. Trudy was a bit of a party girl, so Mathew hired Rutger, the best looking, cruelest and most morally bankrupt blonde guy he could find to seduce her. She loved fit blond guys. Rutger easily seduced Trudy. He then introduced her to heroin and cocaine at Mathew’s direction. Within a matter of weeks, Trudy turned into an addict.

With Trudy high, Rutger persuaded her to invest in a number of speculative ventures. Mathew provided the information on the ventures to Rutger and showed him how to skim some of the investment for himself. As Mathew expected, the ventures collapsed, leaving Trudy virtually penniless. Rutger also abused her son at Mathew’s direction. When Trudy complained, Rutger merely increased her drug doses. Rutger then left Trudy just as the bank foreclosed on her condominium. To survive, she had to turn to prostitution. Eventually, she ended up in the streets. Her son, sent to foster care, soon turned to crime. Several years later, Trudy died of an overdose in a filthy hotel and her son was shot and killed trying to rob a convenience store.

Mathew found that he derived great pleasure from ruining his wife and her son. So he started looking for other women to ruin. He developed criteria for selecting these women. They had to be beautiful. He had to be attracted to them. The women had to be very successful in their own right. They had to have a husband and children.

When Mathew selected a woman for one of his projects, he used his immense wealth to give them whatever they wanted. His careful research on them told him exactly how to do this. He also showered the women with expensive gifts. When they became dependent on his efforts on their behalf, Mathew started to make romantic overtures to them. Mathew learned to be very patient with his targets. No matter how many times they rejected him, he continued his efforts to seduce them. Finally, he would confront the woman and tell her that he wanted her to be his mistress. He made it plain at that time that they could have whatever they wanted as long as they complied with his request but should they reject him, he would withdraw his support.

So far every woman he had pursued in this way agreed to be his mistress. Mathew would enjoy each of his conquests for a while until he was certain their affair had ruined the woman’s marriage and alienated her children. Then he would kick the woman out of his life and do his best to destroy her career. In each case so far, the woman’s life disintegrated. The second one he ruined even went so far as to commit suicide.

Content with these memories, Mathew drew deeply on his custom made Cuban cigar, smelled its wonderful odor, and sipped a little of his thirty year old malt scotch, already celebrating his future conquests.

Chapter 2-The First Trip

Representative elect Robert Williams—Bob to friends—kept himself very fit but the long trip to Springfield still tired him. From the suburbs outside Chicago through endless farm fields, the flat landscape held little interest. He saw a couple of oil refineries near a river, some new and environmentally responsible wind farms and two garbage mountains, but otherwise only unremarkable farm houses and barns, grain silos, and some rivers running through it.

The only landmark Bob appreciated was a famous truck stop, often used by politicians running for president. Bob passed it without stopping, not needing gas or food just then. Having never driven to Springfield before, Bob had somehow romanticized the 200 mile journey as a historical trip down old Route 66, somewhat akin to the old TV show with two cool guys driving a corvette convertible. It wasn’t anything like that, at least not any more. He realized it would be a boring trek calling for some good CDs. As the miles continued to roll past, Bob’s mind wandered back to his legislative victory party, the very recent symbol of why he found himself taking this trip. It was almost as if he was still there.

Some cheap wine stood on a small table along with several bottles of beer and a couple of cases of canned soft drinks. Some campaign signs were tapped to the walls and the podium at the front of the room. Small plates and toothpicks flanked warming trays now mostly emptied of appetizers. Yet, the smell of stale greasy meatballs blended with the heavy perfumes worn by the ladies and the cheap aftershaves worn by the men stood out in his memory more than the food and drink. This mixture of smells made the ordinarily healthy Bob want to vomit. Well, this was part of the reason his stomach was so queasy. The stench of the election and his personal life also contributed. So, instead of seeing a crowd of revelers in front of him, Bob Williams only saw the devastated face of his opponent Bill Wilson and the heavily drugged face of his beautiful wife Cindy.

Bill Wilson had denied the sensational charges leveled against him at the end of the campaign: Bill was a child pornographer. He loved watching young children being sexually abused by fat older men. Bill Wilson screwed his secretary, while his poor overworked wife raised a mentally challenged son. Bill Wilson voted against a bill to help battered women and laughed at a battered woman who asked for his support.

No matter how many times Bill called these rumors lies, the charges kept coming, making Jack the Ripper look like a saint by comparison. Local newspaper political reporter Theodore Rathbone spread the stories in the media. He quoted sources: a Spanish-speaking Panamanian immigrant who claimed to have seen the child pornography pictures on Bill’s computer when she cleaned his house; a legislative secretary famous for her very short skirts and thick makeup, who claimed to have slept with Bill at his motel; and a left-wing advocate for battered woman who claimed Bill made the inflammatory comments when she spoke to him.

When the smoke finally cleared, Democrat Bob, beat the very popular Republican Bill Wilson in the most Republican district in the state. Bob was here celebrating his victory while his opponent Bill was full of powerful drugs, rocking in a chair at a psychiatric hospital. Bob shook these images from his mind. He’d had no part in making these charges. Bob worked hard. He’d made his case to the voters. He beat Bill Wilson fair and square. Bob could not be held responsible for the failings of his opponent.

Still, Bill’s fall from grace only rated second place in responsibility for his discomfort. His wife’s emotional problems alone would have caused mixed feelings at his success. Tonight she looked fine but the impact of her emotional problems on their sex life kept Bob off balance and expecting trouble. Still, he came home when he could to be with his wife and to spend time with the daughter he adored. With his personal life in chaos, he hardly felt like celebrating. He wished he could enjoy his party more.

Concentrating on the room around him with conscious effort, Bill thanked the whole crowd in general for their help, then specific individuals who actually helped him and, of course, his wife and family. After he’d said thank you almost every way he could, he finished his speech by repeating his platform theme: I will be a socially responsible but fiscally conservative man of the people.

The speech was uninspired and could have been downloaded from the internet, but Bob felt satisfied with what he had said. He smiled at the crowd of forty revelers crammed into the function room at the local Holiday Inn. They dutifully clapped along with the other attendees when his short speech abruptly ended.

After his short speech, Bob walked from person to person making small talk and thanking them for their help, whether he knew they’d actually helped him or not. Bob wondered how many times he could say thank you to the same people. Several of the ladies in the audience approached him as he circulated. A few came right out and told him he was looking good. The rest commented on what he’d said but their body language implied their real message was how attractive he looked to them.

After greeting everyone there, Bob said something inane to the reporters waiting with their notepads. They seemed to expect the banality of his remarks. None asked very penetrating questions in return. After finishing with the reporters, Bob squared his shoulders to restore his flagging energy, looked into the sole camera, manned by college students from the local community college, and repeated the same trite comments.

Then it suddenly hit him. What would he do with his life now? He looked at his wife with a puzzled expression and she, sensing his attention, looked back at him in the same way. He spoke quietly with more than a little distress to his wife.

Honey, I am a legislator now. I’m not exactly sure how this is going to affect our lives. Will my insurance business suffer with me being away so much? And, with all your problems, maybe I shouldn’t be running off to a place two hundred miles away. I guess I never really thought I would win.

"Love, you have to believe in the future. Whether you are here or not probably won’t make any difference in my condition. You need to do what is right for you. As for your insurance business, you will probably attract more clients by being a legislator. Think of it as a form of advertising. You can always hire someone if you fall behind in service to your clients.

I guess my big worry is Sarah. Despite your new schedule, you will have to make sure you spend quality time with her. Worse case, if it doesn’t work out you can always resign. Now stop worrying and enjoy this night. I am proud of you. You should be proud of yourself, Cindy said, looking with love into her husband’s beautiful green eyes and wanting to be still his strong other half as she had once been.

Okay, I will. We can and will face the future together. And don’t worry, I will never neglect my daughter, Bob declared, happy that his wife was responding to him in this hour of victory. He had worked hard for this chance. Somehow, he would make it work. He grabbed Cindy’s hand and raised it in a victory salute.

Chapter 3-Initiation

Bob entered Springfield after three hours on the road. He saw many signs for Lincoln this or that: grave, house, library, office. Otherwise there was not much to see other than ordinary-looking houses and buildings. Later, he would discover that the city actually had some nice Victorian houses and a state-owned Frank Lloyd Wright house, but today he did not see or know about them.

After drving only a few more minutes, the tall Capitol Building loomed in front of Bob, rising more than 300 feet to the top of the dome. The beautiful building sat on well-manicured grounds with various bronze statutes on it: Abraham Lincoln of course and some firefighters, to name a few. The building, built of limestone and marble, had a silver dome topped by a red light. He later learned that some capitol insiders jokingly called the capitol the red light district, referring to some of the more soap-opera activities that took place there. Cruising past the capitol, Bob stopped at the small booth marking the entrance of the legislator’s lot, which sat next to an ugly annex building behind the capitol. A middle-aged man with a large pot belly and a faded uniform approached his car. As the uniformed man drew near, Bob could almost read the red road map in the officer’s eyes and smell the stale odor of liquor and partially digested food on his breath. He motioned to Bob to lower his window.

This here is reserved for legislators; no members of the public and lobbyists allowed, the officer said in his most important and strongest voice, spitting a little as he talked through teeth stained brown by years of coffee and cigarettes.

I am Representative elect Bob Williams, nice to meet you, responded Bob extending his hand.

The parking lot guard refused to take Bob’s hand. He eyed Bob suspiciously. You ain’t got no legislator’s plate, the officer finally replied. You sure you’re a legislator?

Yep, here are my orientation badge and instructions they sent me on where to park. I’m just one of the new kids on the block. New members don’t have legislator’s plates yet.

The man studied the papers Bob had given him. Well, I guess it’s all right. Still, you ought to have something on your car saying you’re a legislator. He quickly surveyed his lot, peering intently at the spaces he had long since memorized. Suddenly, his face lit up. You can park over there next to the fence. He pointed to a tiny space, which even a professional car jockey would find a difficult fit for Bob’s Crown Victoria.

Isn’t that a little small? Bob replied, irritation creeping into his voice.

Can’t be helped. That’s all there is. The guard sounded smug. If you want another space, ask the speaker’s office to call me up and tell me where to put you.

Bob planned his approach to the tiny space with the deliberation of a jet pilot. After a few muttered curses meant for the confines of his car and five minutes of maneuvering, he finally put his car in park. The fence prevented him from opening the door all the way so he had to squeeze himself out of the driver’s seat. As he locked the car and began walking toward the entrance of the lot, a huge white Cadillac slid up next to the parking booth. The parking lot guard ran over to greet the big florid man with white shoes who exited the car. The driver placed one arm around the guard’s shoulders. After a few minutes of quiet conversation, the man in the white shoes opened his trunk and pulled out a paper bag. The officer grabbed the bag and quickly put it into his guard shack. He then pointed to a big spot near the entrance. The man in the white shoes quickly drove into the spot. After he emerged from the car with his briefcase in tow, he came bounding over to Bob.

Hey, you must be Bob Williams, just elected in the 15th. I am Sherwood Bollard, lobbyist for the Hospitals. Nice to meet you. Sherwood smelled a little of Aqua Velva Aftershave and spoke with great enthusiasm as he pumped Bob’s hand.

At first, Bob was so angry he could not find words to say in response to the person who had parked where he didn’t belong. Finally he pulled himself together and made himself say, Yeah, that’s me. If you are the hospital spokesman, I suppose you must know people at Pine Grove Hospital?

Why yes, I do. Rod Peters is their President. Good guy. Pine Grove is a great place. I’ve been there many times. Words issued forth from Sherwood in an uninterrupted stream. Nice little downtown. Got an ice cream place, Fat Bertha’s. Now that is a place for ice cream lovers. They got enough butterfat in that ice cream to make a grown man cry. They make ice cream the way God intended. The hell with all that stuff about cholesterol. Yep, Pine Grove is my kind of place. Hey, I bet you’re going to the orientation at the Capitol. I’m walking over that way. You want to walk along and I will show you where to go. Bob stayed silent for awhile, irritated with himself for getting into a conversation, He just didn’t know how to respond to this man in the white shoes. Finally he said, Okay, show me where to go.

Bob had met his first lobbyist and already he hated Sherwood Bollard’s phony guts. Yet. Bob would have to act friendly to someone who represented a big, powerful trade group, which in turn spoke for hospitals in his district. This obnoxious guy probably had many friends, too, plus a great deal of money and a lot of power. Bob couldn’t afford to alienate his first lobbyist before he even found his office.

So Bob pasted a smile on his face and walked to the capitol with Sherwood, enduring unceasing banter from the man with the white shoes. He doubted that this would be the last time he’d have to put up with this kind of crap. Were all lobbyists like this guy?

After Sherwood ditched Bob for one of the other freshmen, Bob lined up to get his information packet and agenda for the day’s activities. The orientation was kind of strange. Ordinarily, freshmen came down during the closing week of the prior legislative session. The newly elected legislators oriented themselves while the other session was winding up, spending time on the floor with more experienced legislators, including those who would soon be leaving.

This year, however, the new members were called in the week before session. They were invited to stay through the end of the previous legislature’s session the following week, but had been told they didn’t need too. Bob felt he did. He wanted to learn everything he could before he actually had to start voting on bills. But at the same time, his insurance business needed him. Bob hadn’t decided what he wanted to do.

The day’s program started with a very boring recitation of how the system works. How bills were prepared and filed. He knew this from his reading. How the committee system worked. He knew this as well. How floor sessions were conducted. A little of this was new but most of it was not.

Finally, something new. How he submitted his per diem for being in session, how and when he was paid and the small allowance available for setting up an office in his home district. After all these details were covered, a staffer showed him where everything was located, including his own office, a small place along a long corridor in the pillbox building he remembered seeing when he pulled into the parking lot.

As soon as he approached his office, A young, attractive woman, introduced herself to Bob. She smelled like the off—brand perfume you buy at Walmart. Shaking Bob’s hand, she launched into her carefully prepared speech. My name is Cheryl Young and I will be your secretary. I have been a secretary to legislators for six years. Cheryl had already heard how handsome Bob was from the other secretaries but in person he was even better looking than she had imagined. He looked like a movie star. She stumbled as she spoke. I, um, am a high school graduate and trained to be a secretary at Lincoln Land Community College. Oh, and I also take care of Josh Punjab, from the north part of Chicago. Josh will be here next week. I know the legislative system very well and can be of great help to you. Bob broke out in a broad grin. He had made his new secretary nervous without intending to do so. The grin warmed his voice as he replied.

Cheryl, it is a pleasure to meet you. Please don’t be formal with me. Call me Bob. I’m just a regular guy. If you work hard, we will get along famously. Besides, it is always a pleasure to work with a beautiful girl like you.

Ah, thanks. I admit to being partial to working with tall, dark and handsome guys like you, as well, but I’m not just a pretty face. I really am a good secretary.

Okay, good secretary. I have to return to orientation but I will be back in a while. Then we can work on getting me set up in my new office and you can show me how things work around here.

As Bob walked away from Cheryl, he thought about her beautiful legs. If she wore a short skirt, he might have real trouble concentrating on his work.

Returning to the capitol building, Bob attended a gathering of the Democratic staff. Deputy Chief of Staff Shawn McCarthy led the meeting. Other than a few banal remarks welcoming them to the legislature, Shawn did not say very much at first. Instead, he started by introducing the Democratic staff assigned to each of the eleven house committees: Human Services, Social Sservices, Rrevenue, Executive, State Government, Labor, Commerce, Budget, Appropriations and Transportation.

Bob immediately identified with the young men and women staffing the committees. They talked with some knowledge about the jurisdiction of their committees and the important legislation that they analyzed for the legislators on the committee. As a group, they impressed Bob. They cared about policy like he did. They obviously worked hard and they believe in the importance of what they were doing. Bob realized that, if he were a few years younger, he could very well have become one of those staffers. Bob carefully wrote down each of their names with intent to contact each one of them over the course of the session.

After the committee staff finished their presentations, Shawn introduced the House Secretary. This somewhat older man provided some key insights into how the house rules were applied on the floor. Bob made notes and vowed to reread the house rules carefully when he had the chance.

Bob would have been happy if the meeting had ended at this point. Instead, Shawn took over the podium and began to lecture the new members on how to follow the agenda laid out for them. Bob immediately gained the impression that Shawn was talking down to him and the other new members. He felt like he did when his army drill sergeant had started belittling him as snot nosed rich boy even though he did not come from a wealthy family. The more Shawn talked, the more irritated Bob became. The sum total of Shawn’s lengthy remarks could be distilled into a few simple concepts. Democrats were in control. They had an agenda that would keep them in control.

Smart legislators, the ones that want to get ahead, would follow the agenda laid out for them. They would vote the way they were told to vote. Staff would provide them with bills to sponsor that would be good for their district and that would not interfere with the Democratic agenda. They would limit their public statements to matters concerning their bills and matters of importance to their district. If lobbyists provided them bills to sponsor or asked them to vote for a specific measure, they would check with staff before they do so.

Supporting bills or initiatives put forward by Republicans was generally a bad idea. They were the enemy. If they were given too much credit, they would take over the majority and put in place the horrid Republican agenda. Finally, Shawn’s arrogant, lecturing, belittling remarks ended and he called for questions. After a stunned silence that felt hours long, Bob stood up and said:

Yessah Boss! And should we call up you unelected staff to get a hall pass so we can take a leak? The other five freshmen Democrat legislators looked at Bob, surprised, until one started to laugh. Soon they were all howling with laughter.

The reaction caught Shawn and the other senior staff standing next to him by surprise. At first they simply stared at Bob with their mouths open. Bob could see the color rise in their faces. Then Shawn turned and abruptly stormed out of the room, followed by the others. Bob could hear them muttering curses under their breath. Even though it was only two p.m., the orientation abruptly ended.

As they left, Malcolm Williams, a black from the Southside of Chicago came up to Bob smiling. Now you know how we felt for the last three hundred years.

Malcolm, I don’t how it was for you guys. I am not sure I ever could. But I sure know how I just felt. My problem is I can keep my anger inside for just so long. They went far beyond that. If I had been at a bar, I would probably have taken a swing at one of them.

Bob, I think you and I are going to be friends. Malcolm said putting out his hand. We got the same last name. We can watch how the other guy votes. And by the way, I am staying away from you if you go to a bar.

Buoyed by Malcom’s friendly response but worried about possible consequences of his sarcastic outburst, Bob drifted back to his office to work with his new secretary and to make friends with any legislators who might be in their offices. After about an hour of setting up his office and working with Cheryl, Bob developed a headache. Maybe the unfortunate incident at the orientation caused the headache. He didn’t really know. He had no desire to make any enemies, but somehow he had managed to do so on his first day.

Hoping to shake his headache, Bob took a break from organizing and walked by the many offices lined up along the corridors of this old drab annex building. He noted that some of the offices had male secretaries. Most of the female secretaries were attractive but some were not. He didn’t really care. He just hoped that his secretary was as competent as she was pretty. So far, she seemed to be.

To his surprise, not all of the offices were the same. They varied in size. Some had plush couches and chairs, refrigerators and hot plates. Others, more sparse, held only the plain furniture provided by the state.

Few legislators were in their offices. Yet, just when he thought his quest for fellow members had ended; Bob came to a particularly large and plush office. A large Eastern European man with thinning black hair sat comfortably in his chair, staring back at Bob with a mischievous smile. Bob could smell the man’s strong cologne from where he stood in the doorway.

Hey you must be one of the new guys. I am Representative Guy Gus Bobak, call me either Gus or Guy," Guy said, rising from his chair to shake Bob’s hand.

Hi. I’m Representative Bob Williams. And you are right. I am one of the new guys, Bob responded walking into Guy’s office.

Well how is your first day going?

To be honest with you, not so great. A boozed-up parking attendant give me a terrible parking spot. A lobbyist with white shoes took the best spot, then oozed all over me. Then some smart-assed young Irish kid treated me like a recruit in boot camp. If I had known this was what I was getting into, I wouldn’t have walked hundreds of miles ringing doorbells, shaking hands and avoiding mean dogs to get elected, Bob said.

Welcome to the club. Guy’s grin didn’t diminish in size but somehow became more sympathetic than mischievous. As to the parking attendant, his name is Wilbur Morris. Wilbur went over to Vietnam as a young farm kid. He won a silver star and bunch of other medals, while acquiring a gut wound that almost killed him. He wakes up every night in a cold sweat, yelling INCOMING" to the walls in his tiny apartment. He drinks to wake up; he drinks to get through breakfast, he drinks to chase away the boredom of sitting in a guard shack all day  . . . and then drinks to get to sleep at night. If he doesn’t drink, all his demons rise up and try to haul him back to the bloody battlefields where most of his friends lie dead. So Wilbur does what he must to get his booze.

The state doesn’t pay him enough for him to buy enough of his own. So he trades spaces for booze. That’s just the way it is. Everyone knows he does it, but they also know that’s a small price to pay to a man who gave all he had to his country. I expect one day to find him dead of a heart attack in his shack, his booze at his side. It really is very sad. So I give Wilbur Johnny Walker Red each time I come down and Chivas for Christmas. I get a nice spot out of it and the gratitude of a brave man. I suggest you do the same.

"I didn’t know. I suppose I could give him a bottle every once