An Independent Woman
An Independent Woman
Howard Fast
To the memory
of a wonderful and
independent woman,
my wife, Bette Fast
I wish to thank
Sandy York and Mercedes O'Conner
for putting my manuscript into a computer
and for editorial help
.
I
T HAS BEEN CALLED
a city of hills, draped with dreams; it has also been called the city of illusions at the end of day. Those who live there call it simply the City, because for them it is the only city. It has a rim called the Embarcadero, where the streets swoop down Russian Hill to meet the Bay; and on one of these streets, called Green Street, Barbara Lavette lived. Her house, like the other houses on Green Street, was built to compensate for the slant of the sidewalk, an old house with a tiny porch and a bay window; but on the third floor of the house, one could look out of the guest room window and see the Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge, and count, if one cared to, at least a dozen white sails skimming before the breeze. In the summertime, when the sun was sinking to the northwest, one could stand at this window and see the sun leisurely departing through the Golden Gate.
Today, on a bright June morning, Barbara Lavette was carefully choosing a costume for her lunch with the mayor of San Francisco, Dianne Feinstein. Having run for Congress and lost, Barbara was not unacquainted with women in politics, but she had chosen only two of them for her devotion. Fortunately she had met both, Eleanor Roosevelt and Dianne FeinsteinâMrs. Roosevelt when she visited Dan Lavette's shipyard during the war, an opportunity given to Barbara because Dan Lavette was her father, and Ms. Feinstein during Barbara's run for Congress. They would lunch today at the Redwood Club, a place not unlike the Century Club in New York, where achievement was more highly regarded than wealth.
Costume was important. She thought of gray silk slacksâbut decided they were not for the Redwood Club. After all, women were first admitted only a year ago; a black silk skirt six inches below the knee would suit the place better, with a white cotton blouse and a pink cashmere cardigan. Perhaps a scarf as well. The Redwood Club faced the Pacific and they might dine outside.
The Redwood Club was actually built of redwood, a fact that nettled the environmentalists and that had once caused a brief picket line; but that was years ago, and the environmentalists had decided that it was better to let the Club stand, since they had proven their point, than to tear it down and have some other building material used. The dining room had a high-beamed ceiling and a long bar, and the tables were arranged so that the glass windows could be drawn back, leaving the dining area open to the Pacific. Set between Lincoln Park and the Presidio, it was not a long drive from Barbara's house.
Dianne was waiting when Barbara arrived, and she rose to meet her. “You look absolutely beautiful,” Dianne said. “You don't age. What's your secret?”
“Luck. I picked some good genes.”
“I remember your mother. You look like her, you know.”
“More good luck.”
Ms. Feinstein was wearing a beige suit. Barbara could not recollect seeing her in anything but a suit. She was a very attractive woman who always seemed to be downplaying the fact that anyone might consider her beautiful.
They ordered white wine before they pored over the menu, then chose crabmeat salads and engaged in small talk. Dianne mentioned that Barbara's son had been chosen for the post of chief of surgery at the hospital, and congratulated her. She appeared to know everything that happened in the City. She turned the talk to Highgate, the winery that had been so much of Barbara's life, asking whether Barbara's nephew, Frederick, were still running it.
“Everyone dreams of owning a vineyard. Freddie's there for life. He wouldn't think of anything else.”
“Well, he certainly has done something for California wine. But I didn't ask you here to chat about your remarkable family, as pleasant as that is. Tell me, Barbara, do you still do columns for the
Los Angeles World.?
”
“Yes, I do. I love it.”
“And Carson?” He was the owner and publisher of the
World.
“I was sixty-seven this November past. I never believed I could fall in love again, especially with a man I divorced years ago, but it's happened.”
“He's married? Forgive me, that's none of my business.”
“He is. Not happily.”
“Would he let you do a longer piece instead of a column?”
Wondering where this was leading, Barbara nodded. “Ever since my story on El Salvador was mentioned for a Pulitzer, he's been pleading for another. But I'm too old for investigative reporting.”
“Good. All the investigating has been doneâI have it here with me. Barbara, we're going to take a step that no other major American city has dared to try, and I think we've got the votes to put it through. We're going to ban the possession of handguns in San Francisco.”
Surprised, Barbara said, “Even in homes?”
“Everywhereâon the person, in the home. The police are wholeheartedly with us. As I said, we have the votes, except that one or two are a bit shaky. They're under the influence of some L.A. polls, and I want to shake them loose.”
“In L.A., the motto is âA gun in every home.'”
“Barbara, I know that, which is why I want to blast the subject open on the day we vote. They read the
L.A. World
here. I want to shake them loose with the leading L.A. paper on our side. That might be just the shove they need, and I know what kind of force and passion you can put into a story. Let me give you a few facts.”
Dianne rummaged through her portfolio. “Here are just a few statistics: In 1979, handguns killed 8 people in Britain, 48 in Japan, 34 in Switzerland, 52 in Canada, 58 in Israel, 21 in Sweden, 42 in West Germany, and 10,728 in the United States. Oh, I am so sick and weary of this murderous plague, and here in San Francisco we can do something about it. I have five solid votes on the Board of Supervisors. The handgun crowd has four, with the National Rifle Association turning handsprings, and I'm pretty sure that we can swing the gentleman on the fence. That will give us a six-to-four majorityâand we'll do something no other big city has dared to touch.”
“We dreamed of this,” Barbara said. “We never thought it could happen.”
“It's going to happen, and you can help us make it happen.”
“When is the vote? I read something about next week.”
“Three days. Can you write it and get it in the paper by then?”
“I think so. You have all the background material?”