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First Congregational Church Auditorium
Berkeley, California
February 10, 2016
7:50 pm
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Lamar was in deep shit. He thought he had been in deep already, now it was so deep he didn’t know how he could climb out.
At least he was practiced at holding a poker face. He pretended he didn’t notice everyone looking at him. He gave no sign of the panic shivering through his entire body. He didn’t even take a deep breath, just kept breathing like he had been before Kira buried him in shit.
He had paid cash for the nitrogen. He had been bundled up from the cold, but like Kira said, no one else was buying beer-making supplies in January. He hadn’t thought to make conversation about beer. He didn’t even know the difference between a lager and an ale.
More circumstantial evidence, but enough to land him in trouble. In prison.
Finally it was time for audience questions. A line of wheelchairs quickly formed behind the microphone.
“We’re going to start the questions now,” said Arun, “but first, is there anyone who’d like to deliver a long rambling speech that has nothing to do with the subject at hand and isn’t a question at all?”
The audience laughed, and a couple people raised their hands. “We’re going to skip that part,” he said. “Questions only, no speeches. We will turn off the microphone if you start giving a speech.”
The first question was for Lamar.
“Tell us, Lamar Rose, how you used nitrogen to kill your father.”
“I did not kill my father and I can’t say any more on the advice of my attorney.” He wanted to stop there, not qualify his answer, but his response felt too short, too unfinished.
“But I will say this. My charming and formidable opponent is quick to make accusations, but she’s not as pure as new fallen snow. We all have our contradictions and she is no exception. Before her accident, she was an attorney for an employment law firm, which represented employers and other defendants in disability cases. She was lead counsel for four ADA cases, and in each of them, her opponent was a woman in a wheelchair. Now she has become that woman and because she knows the ins and outs of the law, she has been able to, I’m using her words, ‘make herself a terrible nuisance.’
“I wonder, Kira Baylor, how you reconcile your current incarnation with who you were before.”
This was not how Lamar wanted to conduct himself. He attacked Kira on the radio for questioning his intentions and now here he was attacking hers. Todd had briefed him on Kira’s past and suggested he bring it up, but Lamar said it wasn’t relevant. He wanted to take the high road.
But his back was against the wall.
Arun attempted to intervene, but Kira spoke over him. “That’s an interesting question,” she said. She was trying so hard to respond calmly that it showed. “It is true my law firm defended suits brought by women like me, in wheelchairs, and I worked on many more cases than those four as lead counsel. Those were high stakes cases, clients with big pockets.”
She continued addressing her past, but then took an unexpected turn.
“One of the things I have done since my accident, which has made me unpopular in some circles,” and here she craned her neck forward, pushing herself taller with her elbows pressing on the arms of her wheelchair, “is sue businesses that don’t meet the Americans with Disabilities Act, the ADA. Now I’m on the other side. I have actively sought out restaurants, strip mall parking lots, and other small businesses that are not complying with the law, and filing complaints. This is how the law is enforced—there are no ADA inspectors. I earn far, far less from this than I did when I was representing employers, often around a thousand dollars per case. What I find so interesting—sad, to be honest—is that I am more vilified for what I do now than for what I did before, defending employers charged with violating the ADA. These days, I hear words like shakedown, hustler, predatory, shameful. People say I’m not even interested in having the violations fixed, which is totally false.
“I am not ashamed of what I do, and I do not apologize for it. I cannot say the same about what I did before my accident. But we’re not here to talk about ADA violations. We’re here to talk about the efforts of Lamar Rose and his organization, Dying By Choice, to normalize assisted suicide, euthanasia, and mercy killing. The disabled community stands united in opposing such measures.”
Lamar noted how smooth Kira was, defensive at first, acknowledging her duplicity, then pivoting deftly to, and owning up to what was arguably the more unpopular behavior.
Lamar had succeeded in changing the subject, but the next questioner took another stab at him and he had to sidestep again. Not as adeptly this time.
The third questioner, a trembling old woman in a wheelchair, came to his rescue.
“My name is Cheryl Touhy and my question is for Ms. Baylor. I’ve been disabled for sixty years since I had a skiing accident in college and I’ve lived a life full of dignity, thanks to my friends and family and the amazing disabled community here in Berkeley, the wonderful advocates and service providers. But my organs are failing me, my macular degeneration is taking away my sight, and even with strong medication, I am wracked with pain. I do not have a terminal illness, yet, but if I did, I might want to take advantage of California’s medical-aid-in-dying law. Not all disabled people see this law as a danger. Some, like me, welcome the options it gives me. Ms. Baylor, why are you working to deny me these options?”
Kira looked like she was taken by surprise. Lamar wasn’t expecting a question like that either. This time Kira was not as smooth. She repeated the same line about how interesting the question was, and then seemed to be at a loss for words.
But she regrouped. “I understand wanting options. In a perfect world, I too would support those options. But the danger that these laws will be used against the disabled community is too high.
“Groups like Dying By Choice, represented here tonight by my esteemed colleague Lamar Rose, are pursuing broad agendas, with a strategy of incrementalism, expanding the pool of people who might take advantage of assisted-suicide laws. People who are suffering, but not terminal. Suffering is not something to be taken lightly, but it is part of life, for the able-bodied as well as the disabled, and giving people an easy exit is dangerous in so many ways.”
After the debate, Lamar caught up with Todd at a bar on Shattuck, west of the campus.
“So when the fuck,” said Todd, “were you going to tell me you’re getting into brewing beer?”
“I bought that tank of nitrogen in Evanston, that’s true, but I never used it.”
“So, your story is that you were planning on killing your father, and you purchased all the things you needed to do the deed, but you didn’t do it, and then, he conveniently died that same night, of natural causes. The night the camera saw you leaving the loading dock, the night that you were stopped by the police walking in the middle of the street. I assume you have the receipt for the tank, so you can return it.”
“I thought you were going to help me.”
“I’m in your corner,” said Todd. “But you’re going to have to answer questions like these. The prosecutor will not be on your side.”
“I’m done with my speaking tour, aren’t I?”
“Look,” said Todd, “My job is to help you, not—”
Lamar’s phone buzzed. It was Diana Priest from Albuquerque. Diana, Paradoxical Dreamer. He hadn’t thought about her in years. Well, no, that wasn’t true. He thought of her often. She had made quite an impression.
“I need to take this,” Lamar said, and moved to a quiet corner.
“Diana. I’m delighted to hear from you. You’re still in my phone contacts.”
“You’re in mine too. Of course, if you recall, I never purge anything, so don’t read too much into it.” But she said it in a nice way.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said.
“Funny you should ask, because earlier this evening, a man named Bryce called me, out of the blue, and asked about you. He appears to know all about our dating history, or at least our email correspondence. From eight years ago. Could you have, like, been hacked? I didn’t tell him anything.”
Lamar hesitated. “This is the first I’ve heard about this. You may be aware that, um—”
“Yes, I’ve been following you and your controversy closely—you’re sort of famous now, at least here in Albuquerque—and this has got to be connected. You’re causing quite a stir.”
“That’s a nice way to put it,” he said. He looked across the bar toward Todd, and decided he’d better stop before he said too much. “Let’s just say I’m in more trouble than I could have possibly imagined. How are you?”
“Remember how I wanted to have a child?” Diana said. “Well, she’s six now.”
“Six, wow. Congratulations.”
For a second, he panicked. Could this be his child? He only had sex once with Diana and he used a condom, and it was eight years ago. It couldn’t have been him.
“Anyway,” she said. “I wanted to warn you that someone is digging into your past. My past too, but he’s not interested in me. He’s looking for dirt on you.”
PART FOUR
When We Played Zoo