George Skelton writes: The Legislature had just wrapped up its annual session when a top aide invited me to a post-adjournment party across the street from the Capitol. I went.
Entering the hotel suite, I saw an open bedroom door. And sitting on the bed was an attractive female lobbyist wearing only black panties. Two or three male legislators stood around grinning, chortling.
A little embarrassed, I hurried past to the main party group. The bedroom door soon closed. And for the next 45 minutes or so, one legislator after another entered or left the room.
The lobbyist had just won passage of a major bill, and I assumed she was celebrating by entertaining helpful lawmakers.
No, this was not early Saturday after the tortured conclusion of this year’s regular session. It was 46 years ago, not long after I had begun covering the Legislature for a wire service.
And the point is that lobbyist-provided sex — supplied directly or indirectly by some glorified pimp — is nothing new in the California Legislature or any democratic body, dating back centuries.
"I can tell whether a guy wants money, a girl or a baked potato," Artie Samish, legendary Sacramento lobbyist of the mid-20th century, used to boast.
