Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [369]
Those closest to the Clintons, however, felt certain that the First Lady did not believe that her husband’s relationship with this young intern had escalated into a full-scale sexual dalliance under the roof of the White House. Hillary had come to believe—whether rationally or not—that Bill’s major lapses were a thing of the past. “I don’t think she knew,” said one adviser. Another observer added, “Hillary didn’t want to know.”
As rocky and volatile as the Clintons’ marriage had been over the years, the people surrounding the First Couple perceived that Bill and Hillary had become closer, rather than more distant, in the years since the Gennifer Flowers revelation had almost blown their marriage apart during the first campaign. Going back to the early political days in Arkansas, there had been “rumors about hundreds of women.” Like a Hollywood celebrity wife who was regularly confronted with sensational headlines about her spouse in tabloid magazines at the supermarket checkout counter, Hillary “was dealing with rumors all the time.” Friends of Hillary would insist that she had assumed—after moving into the “fishbowl” of the White House, where Bill’s movements were under constant scrutiny—that her husband had reformed himself, in part out of necessity.
Even Betsey Wright, who had managed the “bimbo eruptions” during the 1992 campaign and knew some of Bill Clinton’s darkest secrets, concurred that Hillary never in a million years would have countenanced this extramarital fling. “Well, there was no agreement,” Wright said in assessing the situation. “There was a constant forgiveness.” As Wright saw the pattern repeat itself, Hillary “loved him very, very deeply.” Bill was “constantly wanting another chance and really believing that he would never do it again.” And Hillary, for better or worse, was “giving him that chance.” Wright added, “I mean, they both believed that they were better people with each other.”
This time, Bill’s straying from his marital vows was especially painful for Hillary. The “feeling of betrayal” was combined with the shock and ignominy of “how public it all was.”
OIC’s blue Crown Victoria and two vans pulled up at the White House gate. On the sidewalk, tourists had gathered, hoping to catch a glimpse of history in the making. Some held pictures of Monica Lewinsky lashed to sticks. Others waved signs attacking Starr. Vendors sold Clinton memorabilia, including large blue T-shirts with splotches on them, parodying the infamous blue dress. Ken Starr and his prosecutors climbed out of their vehicles and blinked as two dozen pocket-sized cameras flashed. On this day, the independent counsel appeared unusually grim. With swift steps, Secret Service agents ushered the OIC team through the diplomatic entrance into the Red Room, where the prosecutors sat in chairs, waiting.
This day, Monday, August 17, also happened to be Ken Starr’s mother’s ninety-first birthday. Vannie Starr had been sick recently; Alice Starr and the girls had flown to Texas that weekend to be with the family matriarch. As he situated himself in the Red Room and took a sip of tepid water to wet his lips, the independent counsel was hoping that things might wrap up quickly so that he could catch a plane to Houston that night. It was an unfortunate fact of life, Starr thought to himself, that the happiest occasions were marred with such unpleasant duties.
On the opposite side of the West Wing, a group of the president’s political advisers began sprinting down the hallway in a state of panic. The small electronic device that identified where the First Family was at all times, within the White House, indicated that “President” was in the “Medical Unit.” In two minutes, the advisers had raced to the nurses’ station. Here, they found President Clinton huddled with David Kendall, talking strategy one last time, a grave look