Lawna Tackles SB 988: The Freelance Worker Protection Act

The sun was shining brightly in Echo Park. Or maybe it was just Julie’s sequined top. She was scattering sunshine through the drab interior of Pretty Bird like a red-hued disco ball, occasionally blinding the barista and the other customers.

 “Okay,” Jeff said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” The owner of Pretty Bird was gruff, direct, and accustomed to having things his way. His café was the same. Its chairs were hard and unforgiving, the Wifi intermittent, the coffee…gruff and direct. This earned him few loyal customers beyond Julie, who lived down the street and had a forty-five minute walk to the next closest option. 

She launched immediately into her pitch. Pretty Bird was minimal, yes, but clean. She envisioned the mural as an extension of that. She reached into her tote bag – red, like her sequined top – and fished for a sketch, creased in half on graph paper. She unfolded it and laid it down on the table between them.

 “I wanted to remain faithful to your theme,” she said. She traced her finger over a cloud of birds, silhouetted against an ombre blue sky broken by twilight and scarred by the skeletal fingers of hibernating trees. The birds were all flying in the direction of an absent sun, its presence implied by light emanating from off the page.

 Jeff nodded in agreement. Julie let an exhale part her lips. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath. All this stress for a stupid mural in a stupid coffee house. But she ached for this opportunity. It would be her first commissioned work. Her installation at CalArts—six paintings in an offshoot, seldom-trafficked hallway—was a shot into the void, an outlet that promised her no attention, no acclaim, and certainly no money. This small project meant more to her than she’d admit to anyone, Jeff included.

 “Okay, no notes,” he said. “If you can work after hours and get it done in four weeks, I can pay two thousand. Start tonight, if you’re free.”

 Julie’s face drained. She had expected a fifty dollar gift card. Maybe a little gold plaque with words in tiny font: “Steeped in Silence. Julie Withlow. Price available on request.” Two thousand dollars?!?

 “Y—yes. Of course!” she said.

 “I can do the first $1,000 after the first two weeks and the rest once you’ve completed it.” Jeff stood up from the table as if to end the conversation. 

 “Okay, then I guess I’ll…get started.”

 The air tore with a CRACK, quickly followed by a WHOOSH, as a woman burst through the doors of the café. Dark hair fell in smooth waves to frame her shoulders. She wore a tailored jacket the color of burnished copper that trailed her like a cape. Her bright eyes searched them.

“I don’t suppose you have a written contract for Steeped in Silence, do you?” the woman demanded. She looked from Julie to Jeff and back.

 “How…did you know the title?” Julie asked.

 “I have a few talents. One is guessing bird-related artwork names. I’m at like 68% accuracy. That sounds bad, but consider the universe of possible names. Anything above 2% is pretty good. Forget about that. I’m Lawna. And my other talent is protecting entrepreneurs and businesses from mistakes like the one you’re both making now.”

 Julie flushed. “This is not a mistake!” She could feel her first payday, her desperately sought validation, flying away.

 “California requires a written contract for all freelance work with services over $250,” Lawna said. “It’s called the Freelance Worker Protection Act. The both of you will need a contract that includes, at a minimum, your names, addresses, a description of the service, payment, means of payment, and the dates of service.”

 “Uh…” Jeff sputtered.

 “You don’t have one? Use mine. I’ve already prepopulated it with the material terms.” She slapped it down on the table, right on top of Julie’s sketch. Then she turned to a camera that wasn’t there. “Copyright Full Circle Business Law, PC.” She winked at nobody.

 “Thanks…?” Julie said.

“The Freelance Worker Protection Act exists to protect you, Julie, so let it. And Jeff, a written contract also helps you by providing proof of your agreement. To go without would be bird-brained.”

 She smiled at the non-existent camera, then she swept her cape aside. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have other appointments to keep. I’ve heard of some trouble with Santa Monica’s new minimum wage increase.”

 “Wait, Lawna!” Julie called out.

 “Sup?”

 “Once I start painting, can…Jeff request more work? Or would that have to be a separate contract?” 

“Separate contract, Julie. That’s how these things go. Unless you’ve got any other questions, it’s time for me to hit the skies. Some business owners don’t know that the state minimum wage has gone up to $16.90.”

 And with that, Lawna strode out of the cafe and leapt towards the 10 West. She didn’t have the power of flight, though, so it was really more of a vigorous step toward an Uber. 

 Jeff harrumphed and headed to the back room to check the pay stubs of his baristas, leaving Julie alone at the table with her sketch and a newly executed contract.  

“I guess sparkle recognizes sparkle,” Julie muttered. A truly sunny day indeed.Contact our firm here for a consultation to discuss your rights and responsibilities under SB 988.