Call My Name (18 page)

Most memorable in some respects was the fireworks display they attended on the Fourth of July. An annual happening at the boardwalk of New London’s Ocean Beach, the show offered one after the other of the most breathtakingly colorful and intricately timed explosions. Darkness protected Drew’s identity from the crowds gathered about them, as did his clothing—ultra-casual, verging on the knockabout—and his visored hat hid the full and instantly recognizable head of sandy-colored hair. In disguise, as he considered himself then, he felt freer and more relaxed, not quite as “on” all the time. Daran reflected his mood, responding readily to his impulse to gorge on hamburgers and hot dogs on the beach when the display had ended. It was, that night, as if they were two anonymous people enjoying one another and the world, totally alienated from the identities that would normally guide them. Much later she was to dream that these irresponsible moments could go on forever. On awakening, she knew better.

Drew was strong, sincere, and motivated to do things in the world. He was intelligent and dedicated, and thrived in the political arena. Though those “irresponsible moments” were precious to him, he could in no way live without the other. Daran had to accept that.

CHAPTER 7

It did grow easier to accept—this fact of Drew’s love for his work—with the passing of each three-day period in Washington. For it was contagious. Viewing it from the inside, as she now did, Daran could not help but be swept up in the excitement. The enthusiasm of the staff, and that of the staffs of other senators, with whom she came in contact at meetings, in the corridors between offices, and in the cafeteria which they shared, could not be denied. Even given the limitations imposed by the legislative process itself, most notably the ever-constant need for modification to satisfy all parties, there was a deep sense of activism which permeated the Hill.

Following those initial sessions within Drew’s suite of offices were the broader ones with potential witnesses in anticipation of the hearings. Each had to be located, contacted, then interviewed. There were more solitary hours spent at the library, chasing down one statistic or another, followed by long meetings back in the senator’s office to discuss the findings. As much as his schedule allowed it, Drew sat in on these, listening quietly at first on the sidelines, then coming forward with his own opinion on whatever item it was they were dissecting that particular day. Throughout, she stuck to her claim that the bill had to go deeper than it had originally been designed to do. Drew and the other aides, usually Leo and the research assistants assigned him, and often John Hollings and Dwight Dewhurst, gave her free rein, challenging at times, agreeing at others. In some instances Drew himself yielded to her well-phrased and firmly founded pleas. It was a victory for her when he did so and instructed that the wording of some part of the bill be changed to include her suggestion; at those times she felt her presence in Washington to be truly fruitful. These small victories were not hers personally, but rather those of the Child Advocacy Project and the subjects it represented. If there was indeed a personal triumph, it was in the respectful smile Drew graced her with periodically, and which, in itself, buoyed her spirits. Occasionally words accompanied the smile; these were indelibly etched in her mind.

“Your point is well taken, Daran,” he commented one morning, after an emotionally laden debate on the merits of guaranteeing every child the best of medical treatment for critical illnesses, such as leukemia. “There is that fine line where the control of the parents becomes hazardous when they disregard the advice of top doctors. Your suggestion of a panel to work with the courts in such situations is a good one. If you can come up with the guidelines for forming such a panel, we’re all set.”

The problem was one she had considered before. “The way I see it,” she explained, making a point to include in her visual sweep all of those in the room and not only the handsome man who sat directly to her right, “there is a civic responsibility for participation on such a panel. The concept is similar to jury duty. If the courts approach it as such, I don’t see how the medical field can ignore it.”

Leo posed the follow-up. “Would you only include doctors on such panels?”

Again she was prepared. “Definitely not. If you have, say, five members of such a group, perhaps two or three should be from medicine, and the others should be from the fields of psychology and social work. If there is a possibility that the wishes of the parents are going to be overruled, every aspect of the family situation has to be taken into account.”

With a deliberate turn toward Leo, Drew spoke simply. “Write it in. Doctor’s orders.” The last was added with a twinkle in his eye and a tilt of the head in her direction. Daran would have beamed her delight, had it not been for the instant change of subject.

“Okay, Senator, that’s it.” Dwight Dewhurst broke into the discussion. As press secretary for the senator, it was his job to make the most of every opportunity for maintaining good public relations, both at home and in the capital. “I believe there is a group from the Connecticut Agricultural Cooperative waiting to see you. They’ll be wanting a talk and some pictures.”

Drew stood immediately, towering over them physically as he had done for the last half hour intellectually. “Let’s not keep them waiting any longer, Dewey,” he said to the man at the door, then turned back to the others for a last word. “Eastern Connecticut used to be heavily into dairy farming. There is still quite an interest there.” A smile of good-natured amusement dazzled his staff, and Daran in particular, with its brightness. “Most people assume we Connecticut Yankees are fixated on insurance; we do throw them a twist every so often.”

“Don’t be so sure.” It was the equally humorous tone of the press secretary again. “After the meeting with the farmers, you are scheduled to meet with the representatives of the major insurance companies. They want less restriction on their rates, needless to say.”

For a minute Drew looked puzzled, surprised that he had forgotten about that later meeting. Checking briefly the small card in his pocket, he nodded. Even Daran knew, at this point, that there would be an aide with him on the way to that meeting, briefing him on the latest in rate restrictions from the legislative standpoint. But Drew seemed well informed himself. “It’s a losing battle. They would like to increase their rates to provide money for housing rehabilitation. It’s much the same issue as that with GCDC—do you remember, Daran? Theoretically it is very noble. The oldest and most rundown of the downtown Hartford buildings will be razed, and new modern structures built in their stead. The only problem is that this new housing is to be in the form of condominiums, which the poor people who are displaced can’t come near to affording.” With a deep sigh he walked to the door, leaving the others to pick up where they had left off on the Rights of Minors Act. Only Daran was aware of the almost imperceptible tug at the gold hoop of her earring as he passed by. It was a small gesture he had made before, the only sign that in any way indicated their own, more personal relationship. Each time he made it, it was done with such stealth as to be invisible to watchful eyes. Yet, each time, it sent an unfathomable quiver through her. And each time, she wondered whether he did this to other women, so precise was his aim and practiced the pressure he exerted. To her chagrin, she found herself surreptitiously examining earrings and the women who wore them, all the while wondering.

“Are you all going to the game tonight?” Drew’s deep voice carried from the threshold.

Leo answered promptly. “Wouldn’t miss it!” Grinning, his tone indicated that he would see that the others didn’t. With that assurance, the senator left.

The game proved to be a softball match between the offices of Senator Charles and those of the senior senator from the state, Alan Higginston. Held in the park behind the White House known as the Ellipse, it was a boisterous gathering of the staffs, with the respective senators serving as captain. Proudly wearing the green and white T-shirt that sported the ominous warning
DREW’S DESTROYERS
, Daran joined the fray merrily. The opposing team members, clad in blue and labeled, appropriately,
HIGGINSTONS
, were larger and more portly, on the whole, as was the renowned senior senator himself. Had it not been for the superior strategic ability and athletic prowess of Drew’s team, the others might have won on sheer batting power. As it turned out, the Destroyers lived up to their name, fielding brilliantly, then taking the offensive in the fifth inning to overcome the opposition by a healthy nine-to-two margin.

As she replayed the event in her mind later that evening, Daran saw the consistency in Drew’s character. A natural competitor, he weighed and balanced his opponent’s strengths, then geared his game accordingly. Whether as pitcher, first baseman, or senator, all of which he played at some point in the game, he watched the other team as carefully as he executed his own moves. It was a demonstration of what Daran could expect in the weeks ahead, as the hearings on the Rights of Minors Act progressed and the goal of mark-up, then the final floor vote, approached.

Where once subcommittee hearings were held behind closed doors, now the proceedings were open. Each day the room was packed, as a bevy of senators, press representatives, guests, witnesses, spectators, and professional lobbyists filled the rows of chairs in this, the largest of the hearing rooms. Daran sat close behind Drew, as did Leo; other senators on the subcommittee, seated at the long curved table, were similarly fortified with their own pair or more of aides. As its chairman, Drew conducted the hearings, working from detailed papers before him—with which he was, however, thoroughly familiar—to question each witness on that aspect of the issue of children’s rights, or children’s matters in general.

It was Daran’s job, among others, to prompt Drew on points that were made that needed further clarification, or on inconsistencies in testimony that needed resolution. Additionally she was by now well versed in the positions of the other senators on the Rights of Minors Act, able to enlighten her senator as to the purpose behind a line of questioning one of the others had adopted. In actuality her role was more one of seeking instant additional information in response to the deeper questions which Drew himself raised in quiet whisper to either herself or Leo.

Not only was she fascinated by the process of the hearing, but she found herself, once again, duly impressed by the skill with which Drew conducted it. He was in full control; there was never a question of that. Of the many witnesses who testified, including various lawyers, judges, social workers, counselors, and even parents, he demanded the same even-keeled response, directing them pointedly, keeping them on the track when they strayed from it. On the handling of a couple, professional foster parents from the D.C. area, he was particularly sensitive.

Thoughts of their visit, Drew’s and hers, to the home of that couple the week before was vivid in her mind as her eyes watched them now and her ears absorbed their testimony. It had been late in the day, in a half-hour span between the adjournment of the Senate for the day and a press conference which Drew held on the subject of solar energy. His dark blue sedan had taken them directly to their destination, a large converted three-family home in a less affluent section of the city. The Ferris family consisted of the parents and two boys of their own, to which had been added three other children on a foster basis, two of whom had been with them for four years and were indistinguishable in appearance and mood from the Ferrises’ own. The other child, however, had been different, very different. Residing with them for only a few months, that child had been taken from his own home by the courts after repeated incidents of physical abuse had come to the attention of the local hospital. Now the bruises had healed—physically. The emotional state of the child was another matter.

Daran and Drew’s observation of the children at play in the backyard had been unseen at first. At Mrs. Ferris’s insistence, they had watched for several moments from the kitchen window. From all outward appearances, the children were happy and secure. Then the adults ventured into the backyard. Within an instant all the children but this one had run to the side of the woman they called mother; this one little boy, his eyes rounded and glued to Drew and Daran, steadily backed away from them, cowering visibly as he crept into a far corner of the yard.

“He’s like this with any stranger,” the kind woman had explained. “After being beaten to bits for the first three years of his life, you could say that he’s gun-shy.”

Gun-shy was a mild word for what they witnessed in that small boy that afternoon. As he tucked himself deeper into the corner, Drew slowly and carefully approached, talking softly all the while as though nearing a wounded and terrified animal. Now, as the woman told the subcommittee of her experiences with similarly abused children over the years, Daran recalled how triumphant had been the gleam in Drew’s eye when he finally returned to them, the youngster calmly propped atop his shoulders. In later months similar moments of victory, though perhaps more far-reaching, would be no more heartfelt.

During the few weeks that the hearing was in progress, Daran further rearranged her schedule in Hartford to allow for her attendance in Washington until noon on Fridays, when the hearings were adjourned for the weekend. As always, she marveled at the way Drew moved deftly from one activity to the next, always gracious, always patient, always in superb senatorial form. He greeted a group of retired teachers from Willimantic with the same enthusiasm that he addressed the National Association of Hardware Manufacturers, of which many members were constituents from Connecticut.

Though his outward approach to Daran remained reserved, with no further private tête-à-têtes or dinners, he kept her by his side for more of the time than her specific role required. For this she was grateful, though, for as the weeks passed, the gnawing frustration for a more intimate relationship grew. Other than the occasional twinkling glance, tug of the ear lobe, or light hand on the waist, however, he made no moves. If he was at all disturbed by this pretense of propriety, she couldn’t tell. That he should—that they
all
should grow more tense as the hearings drew to a close and the final mark-up was completed, was perfectly natural. After all, the floor fight would be the next hurdle to jump, and it promised to be a tough one. But when he left word that she should wait in his office for him to return from the Senate floor the day after the completion of the mark-up, she was perplexed.