The Clinton Diaries

FRED PETROVSKY

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This is the first chapter of The Clinton Diaries by Fred Petrovsky. The book is available for purchase on Amazon.com.

THE CLINTON DIARIES © 2008 by Fred Petrovsky, The Clinton Diaries LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. This is a work of fiction, parody and satire. Although the story is based on the public record and real names have been used, all action and dialogue —apart from various verbatim speeches—are wholly imagined by the author. First Edition 2008 Cover Photograph: ShutterStock ISBN: 1438215649

THE CLINTON DIARIES EAN-13: 9781438215648

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FRED PETROVSKY

For Amy

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Introduction

Everyone wants to know about my relationship with Monica Lewinsky. I don’t blame them. After all, it’s certainly one of the defining moments of my tenure in the White House. My name will forever be linked to hers, and no matter what I do for the rest of my life historians will color my presidency with the scandal that nearly led to my resignation. And rightly so, I suppose. It’s hard to argue with those who feel I betrayed them. Looking back on it now, it’s easy to see how it happened and what I might have done to change things. I wish I could turn back the clock and undo the pain and disappointment I brought to my family, friends, and followers. A day doesn’t pass without deep feelings of remorse. I am profoundly sorry. That’s why, as part of my quest for contrition, I offer these, the pages from my personal diary that relate directly to the

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Lewinsky matter and its repercussions. Now, reading back over the these entries, I’m struck by my foolishness. It began on a bitter November day in 1995.

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■ November 15, 1995 I can say with complete conviction that I went to see Leon Panetta the first time this afternoon on honest business. However, subsequent visits to see my Chief of Staff became little more than excuses so I could walk by Monica's desk and scope out an empty office where I could kiss her and maybe do other things. I'd noticed Ms. Lewinsky a few times before and enjoyed seeing her. I believe she felt the same way because I can always tell when a woman is flirting with me. They have that way of opening their eyes, lifting their chin a little, and licking their upper lip, and that's a look I understand, appreciate and, well, enjoy. It's a safe way for women to tease powerful men, a way to extend an invitation or show

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appreciation. I'd grown used to it ever since my first Arkansas campaign and it always made me feel wanted and virile. I truly appreciate smart, beautiful women. Like Hillary. I'm not proud of the things I've done behind my wife's back over the years. I don’t make any excuses for them. I never stopped loving Hillary, and I never intended to hurt her or, for goodness sakes, Chelsea. I'm not that malevolent. I pursue women because I can and because I can get away with them. I'm pretty good at it and I'm not afraid at all of calling a woman's bluff or seeing if there's a little fun in a moment. These opportunities present themselves frequently and it's tough to resist temptation. But a stronger reason for my actions is that I crave the conquest and the excitement it brings. I suppose the danger makes it exhilarating, too. I live for that moment when something forbidden happens and a relative stranger unzips my pants. And finally, I simply can't help it. I think about sex all the time. If I'm in a meeting and an even moderately attractive woman crosses her legs, my attention goes right there. I wonder if she's wearing panties or if she shaves down there. This is what all men think, I'm certain. I didn't go to Leon's office with Monica on my mind. I went to him on his turf—as I do about once a week—because we were embroiled in a thorny crisis. A good chunk of the federal government has been shut down because the Republican idiots in Congress haven’t passed legislation to keep the government running. Factually, that's not true I

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suppose. They had indeed sent a continuing resolution to my desk that would have kept the country in business for a while, but I couldn't agree to their terms of dramatically hiking Medicare premiums, and making deep cuts into the dollars I wanted for education, the environment, and technology. I told those sons of bitches that I was going to veto the legislation and that I wouldn't let them hold me hostage or be forced to accept their misguided attempts to balance the budget. So I slapped a V on the bill and, sadly, hundreds of thousands of government workers were temporarily out of jobs, including many in the White House that were deemed inessential. That's why we have been operating with a skeleton staff and, because Monica is an unpaid intern, why she is helping out while we are terribly short handed. In fact, if it wasn't for the extraordinary government shutdown I don’t believe Monica would have been there and there's a good chance none of this would have happened. Now the first time I went to see Leon this evening—sometime around 5:30 or so—I passed by Monica's desk where she was working on correspondence and answering phones. I'd seen her before, and she always had a bright smile for me. She was a full figured girl and I found that very attractive, especially because I wasn't exactly trim. I appreciate healthy women who like to eat and enjoy life. When she called me Mr. President she seemed to exaggerate the first syllable in a funny sort of way almost as if she were mocking me. Without stopping as I walked by her desk, I said, "Where is everybody?" I knew perfectly well that many White House staffers couldn't

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come to work because of the budget impasse, but I said it in a sarcastic way and I'm sure she knew I wasn't really wondering why people weren't there. She gave me that great big toothy smile that I'd seen before and said, "They're slacking off, Mr. President." I bet she smelled good. I wondered how it would feel to have her mouth on me and if some of her lipstick would rub off. Then I continued on into Leon's office where Deputy Chief of Staff Harold Ickes was sitting listening to Leon talk on the phone. Harold stood up when I came in but I waved him down. Leon put his hand over the phone and whispered, "They're not moving." "Tell them to go fuck themselves," I said. "I'll call you back," said Leon, and he hung up the phone. "They thought you were too partisan last night." "What gave them that idea?" asked Harold. "It wouldn't have been accusing Gingrich of forcing a government shutdown? Do you think?" Harold was referring to my speech to the nation the night before when I'd spoken directly to the American people telling them why I wasn't going to sign the bullshit legislation. "You saw the poll today," said Leon. "Half of America blames the Republicans for the shutdown." "True," said Harold, "but that means the other half either thinks it's our fault or hasn't made up its mind. We're not out of the woods on this." "They'll lose," I said. "It'll totally backfire on them, and blackmail's not gonna work with me. Give this a few more days and every Republican's gonna be running for cover."

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"I hope you're right, Mr. President," said Harold. "I'm serious," I said. "You tell them that we'll wait as long as it takes and they can take their so-called compromise and shove it. From here on in we know how this is going to play out. It's bad for us, sure, but it's a disaster for those candy ass Republicans." "Yes, Mr. President," said Leon. We talked more about the budget stalemate and then I walked back to the Oval office, deciding to walk by Monica's desk again. She was on the phone this time, but she mouthed the word "Hi" to me and held out her hand as I passed her. What nerve she had, the little flirt. I shook her hand gently for a moment and let it go as I passed, giving her a smile, winking at her and letting her see the twinkle in my eye. Her hand felt warm and soft and I couldn't help but wonder what her caress would feel like. She definitely had potential. That's how it started. I went back to the Oval Office and had to sit behind my desk because I was a little excited. I couldn't concentrate. What did that girl think she was doing? She was playing with me, that's what. I love games. A little while later I got word that there was a small gathering outside Leon's office for Jennifer Palmieri, one of his assistants. It was her birthday. Now I don't usually leave my office for those kinds of things but I knew it was a chance to see Monica again. Besides, there'd certainly be some cake. So I surprised everyone by showing up and singing Happy Birthday, and I gave Jennifer a hug. She was a sweet lady, but not really my type. Monica, on the other hand, was definitely prime. We locked eyes during the

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informal gathering and I swear she was talking intimately to me with her gaze. I felt the blood rushing to my head. When the party disbanded I stepped into Leon's office but I honestly don't recall what we talked about because I couldn't get that woman off my mind. I wanted to be naked with her and press our bodies together, and that's about all I could think about. I'm sure Leon gave me another update on the budget situation but the entire conversation escapes me. I felt that I needed to lie down and get this craziness out of my head. That's what it was, nothing but nonsense. I could hear the devil whispering in my ear, enticing me about Monica, telling me how sweet it would be to have her and that it would be easy to arrange. As long as I was careful no one would ever know. Anyway, it wasn't a bad thing I was contemplating because this kind of thing had been going on in the White House ever since it was built. As I was leaving Leon's office I saw Monica. She was standing directly in front of me wearing a smart navy-blue outfit, her hands on her hips, and she gave me another one of those mischievous smiles. And then—and this is burned indelibly in my mind—she turned away from me and quite purposely lifted up her jacket and pulled down on her skirt a little to reveal her lovely white thong underwear. She posed like that for about three seconds, which is actually a very long time, showing off her backside's creamy skin and that naughty thong that disappeared under her skirt so seductively. Then she turned back around and smiled at me again. She was a beautiful woman and so I thanked her by giving her an appreciative smile

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and nodding my head, letting her know I admired her gambit. Because that's what it was, a completely brazen act that was pretty much unthinkable. I know that we had exchanged flirtatious signals throughout the evening, but what had I done to encourage her to raise the stakes and take it to this heightened level? At that moment I could have taken a number of actions. I might have fired her, which is probably what I should have done. It would have been easy to have her transferred out of the White House. I've snapped my fingers for less. At the very least, I certainly could have simply walked away from her and up to the residential quarters to suffer my desire in private. But instead I went back to the Oval Office and kept thinking of excuses to return to where Monica was working. I asked Betty Currie, my personal secretary, to call some staffers whom I knew were in the Capitol building. When Betty told me that this person or that person weren't answering and complained about the staff shortage I pretended to be mad and said something like, "Oh don't worry, Betty, I'll see to it myself." This gave me ample opportunity to wander by Leon's offices to see Monica and perhaps give her another chance to show me her thong. That's what I really wanted at the very least. I tried to find a time when there weren't many people around so she'd lift her jacket or maybe go further. I supposed that I'd lost my mind. I can't offer any other explanation. She was enticing and risky and forbidden and half my age. But her thong's siren song had wrapped its elastic tightly around me, pulling me time and again to see

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her at work. I didn't think of Hillary for a second. I wasn't even thinking about Paula Jones and her frivolous sexual harassment allegation that I'd exposed myself to her in a hotel room a few years ago. It then became my objective to talk to her alone, and that's when I maneuvered into George Stephanopoulos' empty office and waited for her to walk by. As was usual, a Secret Service plain clothes agent followed me and stood outside the door. These terrific and selfless American servants are pretty much invisible to me, whether they're in uniform or not, and they always look the other way when it comes to personal matters. Still, I didn't want to flaunt my indiscretions; I was usually fairly careful around them. It was about 8 p.m. I knew my communication director wasn't in that night, so I could operate with impunity. I stood in the shadows just inside his door watching people walk by now and then, hoping that the next person to pass would be Monica. I wasn't sure what I would do if I saw her, but I was powerless to stop myself. I felt kind of foolish standing there. I'm not sure if George would have really appreciated me using his office for this purpose, but he was a lusty fellow, too, and I really didn't think he'd mind, not that I had any intention of telling him. But on the off chance that he did find out I'm sure he would just laugh, chiding me playfully with an elbow jab to my side. George was a good boy, short but smart as anyone. I liked mussing up his hair when he said something wise. Standing there in the darkness, I felt sorry for myself. Was I little more than a conniving lothario? I was cognizant of what I was doing and I was well aware how sleazy it was and that

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it was just plain wrong. I knew at that moment that my intentions rose to historical levels of hypocrisy and that I'd be forced from office if anyone discovered that I was nothing but a dirty old man trying to get his dick wet while the world burned. I knew all of this, but it didn't stop me. Wasn't I imperfect like any man? Wasn't I entitled to the foibles and failures like anyone else? I pushed these thoughts away and kept silent vigil, waiting for Monica to appear. When she did I almost barked at her. "Hey," I said, getting her attention. She stopped outside the office. "Hi," she said. "Have you ever been in this office before?" "No," she said. "Come on in." I motioned to the Secret Service agent that it was OK. She stepped into George's office and I felt an incredible burst of electricity flowing through me. I was energized and could barely catch my breath. It was an intense feeling. I started to shake as she came close to me and it was all I could do just to start talking. "So, uh, it's good to see you. Interns really help out here, especially now. Where did you go to school?" I know she heard my question because I could see it register in her eyes. Where did she go to school? That's a simple enough question. Instead of answering, she looked up at me and said, "You know I have a big crush on you, don't you?" I laughed a little. "You do?" "Yes," she said. "I really do." I heard some voices outside George's office and saw someone pass by.

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"Maybe we should find somewhere else," I said. "Would you like to see my private office?" "Sure," she said. I took her hand and led her through a connecting door in George's office. We went through my private dining room and into a small hallway off the Oval Office study. I led her here purposely because it was secluded and had no windows. We'd have complete privacy. "This is amazing," she said. "There are a lot more doors than I even know about," I joked. "This is like a dream," she said. "I feel so honored." I felt something, too, but it wasn't honor. That's when I instinctually reached for her shoulder. "You mind if I touch you like this?" "I don’t mind," she said, and she put her hands around me. It was a warm embrace. She laid the side of her face against my chest and made kind of a purring sound. "This is nice." "Yes," I said. "What you said before, about having a crush on me? You weren't just saying it, were you?" "I meant it. I feel something between us. Kind of a chemistry." "I feel it, too," I said. "I saw you looking at me earlier and then, you know, when you were flirting with me." "I couldn't help it,” she said. “I was right, wasn't I?" "You were," I said. I put my hands tighter around her and slipped my hand up the back of her jacket, laying my hand on her skin and touching the top of her thong she'd teased me with earlier. "That feels nice," she said.

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"Would you mind if I kissed you?" I asked, not really caring about the answer because I knew she would say yes and even if she didn't I'd still try. I could be fairly convincing. She didn't answer, but she looked up at me and closed her eyes and I leaned down and kissed her. She opened her lips and I darted my tongue inside. She tasted delicious. I felt a warmth spread through my body and held her even tighter as we kissed for a long time. I wondered if she could feel me growing. When we came up for air she sighed and said, "Oh my." "Thank you," I said. "That was wonderful." "I'm very attracted to you," I said, breathless. "Me, too," she said. "And you know you don't have to worry about me. I'm very discreet. I know what's what." I wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that, but I took it as a way to let me know that there wouldn't be any trouble, either because I was married or because of my office. She was offering silence and a promise of discreetness. "It's nice being with you," I said. I still hadn't let her go. I was reveling in the feeling of being close to her, of enveloping her in my arms and my power. "Do you feel anything?" "Yes," she said. Then I leaned down again and kissed her, and this time it was even more passionate than the first. It was a full open mouthed kiss. Her tongue snaked into my mouth. I remember thinking that I needed this so badly and was already planning on when I could see her again. This was only our second kiss but already I knew that she was filling an enormous emptiness inside me, a deep seated

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knotted need anchored in my stomach. I pulled her closer and prolonged the embrace, our lips moving against each other's. I ran my fingers through her hair and touched her soft neck. My, she was wonderful. I looked down at her and couldn't help but smile. "You're a very special person," I told her. "Kiss me again," she said. I'm not sure how long we stood in the hallway holding each other, but eventually I think we both realized that people might be wondering where we were. "You should probably be getting back," I said. I led her back down the hallway, through the dining room and into George's office. She stopped at his desk and wrote something on a small yellow Post-it note. "Here," she said, giving it to me. "It's my phone number. You can call me any time. It's totally private." Then she stood on her toes, kissed me on the cheek, and walked out of the office leaving me in the darkness and listening to that inner voice speaking to me with urgency about needing to see her again as soon as possible. The night was young. 

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This is how things always start with me. I get a taste of something sweet and I want more. When campaigning and speaking to a small handful of people I can talk forever if they're being responsive. If they're engaged in the conversation, asking questions, challenging me intellectually, then I can sit for hours and chew the fat. I can always tell when I'm connecting with people and there's nothing I like more. A

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fine meal also gets me going. I'll want several servings of everything good, especially if there's gravy or butter or fresh baked rolls. A good argument does it for me, too; I rather enjoy an honest shouting session that causes the veins in my neck to pulse and burn red. Anything that gets my senses going is what I want. So I returned to the Oval Office and sat briefly behind my desk—the same one Kennedy used when he was in the White House—and could think of nothing else but wanting more of the young woman's kisses and embraces. Intoxicated by her scent, my lips still alive with her taste, I wanted nothing less than to figure out a way to see her again without arousing attention or suspicion. That's where my head was instead of the momentous events of the day. People were dying in Bosnia. The Israeli Prime Minister, my good friend Yitzhak Rabin, had just been assassinated. And our own government was embroiled in an unprecedented crisis. Still, I was much too personally distracted and restless. I stepped outside to chat with Betty who, loyal as ever, was at her desk when I was at work. Betty was a model of discretion and had, on more than one occasion, protected me and helped facilitate my indiscretions without judging me too harshly. Perhaps more than anyone other than Steve Gooden, my then presidential aide who was also on furlough that day, Betty understood the pressures a person in my position was often forced to endure. Though she may not have endorsed or approved of my moments of weakness and recreation she seemed to at least tolerate them. "Good evening, Mr. President."

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"Evening, Betty. Sure is quiet around here." "Yes it is," she said. "But it's also nice. Fewer interruptions. I'm catching up on a lot of little things." "Anyone looking for me?" "Only everyone." She handed me a stack of messages from those who had called the last hour. I thumbed through them. Most were from Congressmen, and each message was checked urgent. Betty had a terrific habit of writing direct quotes on messages, giving me a flavor of what the person said. Phrases such as "He's expecting my call," "This is the third time I've called him today," or "I'll call back in a few minutes and I expect that he'll take my call" helped give me understand the caller's demeanor. I sorted through this particular batch and handed them back to Betty one at a time. "Toss this one," I said. "No on this one. Send this one to Leon, will you? This one's fine. I'll talk to him. This one, too." "You want me to find you on these?" "Just put them through," I said. "If I don't pick up then I don't pick up. The world's not gonna end." "Yes, Mr. President." "Did you get a piece of that birthday cake?" "Jennifer's?" "It was good," I said. I went back inside the Oval Office and paced back and forth, standing on the carpet over the Seal of the President of the United States. I stood there, gazing at the bright blue carpet and my shoes, when Hillary called. She was upstairs in the residence.

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"How late this evening?" she asked. I looked at my watch. It was almost 10 p.m. "We're hoping for movement," I said. "I'm expecting a few calls. Shouldn't be too much longer. Wait dinner for me?" "I'm tired." "I know. These are long days. I'm sorry." "You're apologizing a lot lately." "Sorry." "See? I'm hungry." "You can start without me if you want." I thought I heard her sigh. Then she said, "Is Newt budging?" "Not yet. But we'll get there. That stumpy little turd will come around. He's looking in the rearview mirror. Knows what's coming." "Don't change anything. Now's not the time for compromise. Later, yes. But not now. Another day or two like we discussed." "Got it," I said. "So you’ll wait to eat with me, OK?" She didn't answer but I know what she was thinking. She was thinking of a name to call me but thought better of it because I was the leader of the free world and in the Oval Office at that moment. She knew when to pick her fights. "I don't know," she said finally. "I'll see you soon, sweetie. Promise." I had barely cradled the phone when my thoughts turned again to that vixen down the hall. Did she know the effect she had on me? Was she aware that she had already captured my full attention? So I left my office, said hi to Betty as I passed, and made my way to my senior staff's offices where I was pleased to see Monica carrying some papers into Leon's office. I dawdled a little until she came out.

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"It was good seeing you earlier," I whispered to her. "It was," she said. "If you want, we can, uh, talk again." "I'd like that." "I'll be in George's office in about 10 minutes." "You will?" "Yes. So I just thought you'd want to know that." "That's useful information," she said, smiling. "So, I mean, if you want to talk again and all that, I'll be there." She mimed a small kiss. "Sure," she said as she walked back toward her desk. I hurried back to the Oval Office and into my private bathroom where I freshened my breath with a dab of toothpaste and applied a small spray of cologne. I looked hard at myself in the mirror. "You shouldn't be doing this," I said to my reflection. "Nothing good can come from it." But no matter. I suppressed thoughts of guilt and pushed my hair behind my ears. Did women desire me because of my features or was it simply because of the office I held? Wasn’t I just a little bit attractive? With urgency, I moved quickly back to the Oval Office and into my study where I stopped to turn off the lights. Then I continued through the dining room and to the rear entrance of George's office. I opened it slowly, just a crack, and peaked through to ensure no one unexpected was there but saw only Monica looking innocent, beautiful, and perhaps a little nervous. She seemed to be muttering something to herself under her breath. I could have stayed just like that, spying on her for a

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long time, content to gaze upon her beauty, but the demanding voices in my head pushed me forward. I opened the door a little more just as she turned in my direction. "Come in here," I said. She followed me in. I closed the door and breathlessly embraced her again, pushing her against the wall and leaning into her open lips. She was a good kisser, not too passive or aggressive, but just about right, letting me take the lead. When I slipped my tongue in her mouth she sucked on it and held it there. "You smell nice," she said. "So do you. Do you always smell this good?" She smiled, perhaps a little embarrassed. "I don't know. For you I will. You don't mind being with me like this?" "Why would I mind?" I asked. "I like you." "I was just wondering, you know. Maybe you just like me today because everyone else is pretty much gone." "What do you mean?" "I mean, you know, like maybe there's someone else who's usually around here that you take back here. Maybe I'm just a substitute." "You're the one I want to be with," I said. "It feels special being back here with you," she said as I kissed her neck. We held hands and walked through the dining room and into my private study. "Does anyone else come back here?" she asked. "No. Just me. It's a place I can escape from all the noise if you know what I mean." "Is this where you take all your girlfriends?"

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I could tell she was just joking. I supposed I could have told the truth that she wasn't the first woman who I'd invited to my study, but I didn't think that would have gotten me very far. "Only you," I said. That seemed to satisfy her. We kissed again. She seemed hungry for my attention, and to be honest I felt the same way toward her. I ran my hands up the back of her jacket and reached down to touch her thong again. I tugged on it a little bit and she laughed. "This is nice," I said, then, testing to see how far we might go, I tried to unbutton her jacket but fumbled a bit. "Let me," she said. She looked at me directly and licked her lips. Then she started slowly unbuttoning her jacket, doing some mini gyrations that really got me excited. I leaned down to smell between her breasts, pushed her bra up, and began feeling her and licking her nipples. "Mmmmm," she said. "You like that, don't you?" "Yes," she said. She held the back of my head and sort of pulled me harder into her breasts. I kissed her more and then, taking advantage of the proximity, I slid my hand down her abdomen and into her pants to touch her thong from the front. She welcomed my hand there, I could tell, so I continued down further and began to run my fingers inside her. She opened her legs a little wider to make it easier for me. "That's amazing," she said. "Don't stop." I was thinking how terrific it was to be with her and how exciting and promising it was. I started to imagine what a great situation this

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would be if this developed into a regular thing. That would be incredibly convenient. I wouldn’t have to resort to surreptitious meetings with strange women arranged by the Secret Service. I continued to pleasure her when Betty buzzed the study intercom. "Are you there, Mr. President? It's Representative Chapman." Instinctively, I said, "I'll take it," but didn't stop what I'd started with Monica. I picked up the phone and said, "Jim how the hell are ya?" "Good evening, Mr. President. I'm doing just fine, thank you." Congressman Chapman was from Sulphur Springs, Texas. He was the typical breed that you find a lot of in Congress, one of those unremarkable Representatives that come and go. He thought I liked him, which was fine with me. He was a Democrat, which was something I guess, and he served on the House Committee on Appropriations so I had to at least give him lip service. Instead of running for reelection he was making a bid for the Texas U.S. Senate seat during the upcoming election. That's why he was calling. "I know you're worried about the shutdown, Jim. But you shouldn't be. It'll work out." "This is going to look very bad for me, Mr. President. It's going to trouble my campaign." "You'll be fine, Jim," I said. "Trust me." Monica started to breath heavy and whispered, "Right there. Oh right there." I could tell she was getting close so I started stroking her a little faster. "It's not a matter of trust," said the Congressman. "I can't look like a drone when your numbers aren't spectacular."

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"I'm gonna be running, too, Jim. This is going to turn out very bad for the Republicans. I need you to stand by me on this." "I've been getting advice to distance myself a little from this whole thing," he said. "I know you understand that." Monica grabbed my hand and started to push me against her harder. "That's it," she said, and then she gasped and made a cute little moan. After a few seconds she released my hand and sort of fell against me. "That was incredible," she said. I winked at her and said into the phone, "That would be politics, Jim. And it's a two-way street. You hear what I'm saying?" "Yes." "Listen, Jim, really. Let me have George or Harold give you a call tomorrow. I'm sure there's a way we can return your continued support. We'll make it happen. You with me on this?" "I try to be a loyal Democrat," he said. "Thanks, Jim." I hung up the phone and asked Monica, "How was that?" "You're so giving," she said. "I'm going to want that every day. That was the most intense orgasm I've ever had." "Thank you," I said. We kissed again and she started to unbutton my shirt. I wasn't sure that was such a good idea, but I wanted her hands on me in the worst way. She opened my shirt, slid her hand in, and started caressing my chest and making me feel wonderful. Her other hand crept down and was feeling me through my pants. "You're big," she said.

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"That feels nice." She kneeled down in front of me, unbuttoned my pants, and began to fondle me in the most amazing way. She had this technique of licking her palms and fingers and then gliding them all over me back and forth. I inhaled sharply when she took me inside her mouth. "That feels nice, sweetie," I said. "That feels really nice." I was definitely starting to get into it when Betty buzzed in again. "Representative Tanner," she said. "Put him through," I said. Monica released me but I encouraged her back. "Keep going," I said. "I like it." She took me in her mouth again as I picked up the phone. "John, thanks for calling. It's always good to hear from you." "I was thinking you weren't going to take my call," he said in his distinctive Southern drawl. "Nothing further from the truth, John." Actually, he was pretty much dead on. John was a Democrat from northwest Tennessee, but he might as well have been a Republican by how conservative he was. There'd even been rumors of him switching parties. When Al Gore resigned his Senate seat, the governor of Tennessee almost appointed John to take over what was left of Al's term. But we didn't let that happen because I think he'd have been trouble on close votes. "Are you calling to lecture me again, John?" "I wouldn't do that, Mr. President."

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"Just wondering," I said. "I'm never sure which side you're gonna be on sometimes." "Oh you know me, Mr. President. I stay very close to the concerns of my constituents. I want to represent them as best I can. Halls, Tennessee, is a pretty good reflection of America." "I know it is, John," I said, "and I really respect that. It's not too different than Hope, or far from there for that matter." I started to lose my concentration because Monica had fallen into a fabulous rhythm on me. She really knew how to use her tongue and mouth. I could get used to this. I closed my eyes for a moment and couldn't help but emit a little moan. "Did you say something, Mr. President?" "Just a yawn," I said. "Listen, John, I have to go. But I know where you're at. I know your position on balancing the budget." "Welfare reform is on my mind mostly." "Mine, too, John. Mine, too. I need you stand with me on these issues. I can't afford to lose too many friends. I'll make it up to you." "I'll hold you to that." "I know you will." I hung up just in time because Monica was bringing me close. "Hold on," I said, pushing her away. "That doesn't feel good?" "No, sweetie, it feels like just about the best I've ever had," I said. "Then let me finish for you like you did me." I pulled Monica to her feet and tucked my pants in. "I want that. I really do. I can't tell when you the last time I had that. It's not something we practice in the residence."

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Monica laughed at my little joke even though it was the truth. Then she said, "But I want you to feel good, too.” "I need to know you a little better. It's a trust thing, you know." "You don't trust me?" "It's not that. It's just that this might not be the smartest thing for either of us, if you know I mean. Let's take it slow. This kinda happened unexpectedly. This whole thing." That's when I noticed that she was wearing a pink intern pass. "That might be trouble," I said. "You're not supposed to be wandering around the West Wing by yourself. It won't be as easy as tonight once things get back to normal." "My regular one hasn't come through yet," she said. "We can make this work." "You think so?" "If that's what you want. I can be your secret White House girlfriend. It'll be our special thing and no one will ever know." We walked back to George's office in silence, holding hands and smiling at each other. She was such a sweet girl who made me feel special. I was tempted to bend her over right there and make things official but I fought that instinct and opened the back door of George's office. "Thanks," I said. She gave me a delightful kiss and moved quietly into George's office. I reached out and touched her behind just as she disappeared into the darkness. 

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I walked back to the Oval Office that now seemed suddenly too quiet. I gathered up some reports I wanted to read and slipped them in my briefcase. Then I stepped out to say goodnight to Betty. "I'm outa here," I said. "Thanks for sticking around. I know it's been tough the past few days." "Doesn't bother me in the least. Have a good evening." "You're a good friend, Betty." I went back into the Oval Office and out the back door where two agents stood guard under the portico. It was a clear night but a little brisk. "Evening," I said. "Good evening, Mr. President," they said in unison. "It's chilly out," I said. "Yes, sir." I already missed Monica's energy and the whirlwind pace of the past few hours, and now I felt as if I had lost something. Once upstairs and into the residence, I stopped by Chelsea's room to check on her, a habit I'd had since she was born. I loved to watch my sleeping child, marveling at how perfect she was and wondering what the future held for her. My love for her was limitless. I knocked lightly on the door, not enough to wake her if she'd been sleeping, but enough to respect her privacy. Then I opened it a crack and saw that though the lights were off she was in bed reading under the glow of a book light. "What are you doing up, young lady?" I asked, stepping into her room. "Hi, Daddy," she said. "I couldn't sleep."

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I crossed over to her and sat next to her on the bed. "What are you reading?" She closed the book to reveal its title: Becoming Ballet by JoNelle Toriseva. "Looks a little young for you," I said, pushing her hair away from her eyes. "I know, but it's good," she said. "You'll read anything about ballet." "I know." "You have school tomorrow," I said. "You should be getting to bed." "Just a little while longer. I'm at a good part." "Really?" "This girl, Alexandra, wants to be a ballet dancer. She wanted her parents to send her to a ballet camp, but instead they give her five baby cows." "Cows instead of ballet camp? That's horrifying!" Chelsea laughed. "Mom's mad at you," she said. "How do you know that?" "I hear and see everything," she said. "I'm fourteen." "She's not really mad at me," I said. "Yes she is. Believe me." "She just thinks she's mad." "Nope." "What makes you think she's mad?" "She called you a bad name when she was on the phone. It started with the letter S. I heard her." "Maybe you shouldn't have been listening to her conversation." "Maybe," she said. "I think I'm getting tired now anyway."

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"Night, sweetheart," I said. I kissed her on the forehead and turned off her book light. "I'll talk to your mom. Everything will be fine." "You should apologize." "Promise," I said. I left Chelsea's room and took a deep breath as I walked through the west sitting area and into the dining room where I found Hillary at the table absently moving some food around on her plate. I could tell she was a little cross, but I was determined to fight it and not let her get to me. So I strode confidently across the room and leaned down to kiss her. She gave me her cheek. "Sorry, sweetie," I said. "I'm tired of eating this late, Bill." "These are tough days." "We're supposed to eat meals together whenever possible. We had an agreement." "I know that," I said. "Do you think I'm going to let you dictate when I eat?" "I don't expect that," I said, loosening my tie and sitting down. I helped myself to a chicken enchilada. "This looks great." "I'm not hungry," she said. "I had a snack earlier waiting for you." "I had some cake." "Anything else on the shutdown?" she asked. "You're not going to wimp out are you?" "Wimp out?" "You know what I mean," she said. "How about standing for something for a change?" "You don't think I'm doing that?" "On the shutdown? So far, yes. But if it's like everything else I know where you'll go." "And where would that be?"

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"Straight to the middle and wherever the compromise is," she said in sort of a nasty, accusing tone. "Wherever the polls go. Wherever the least resistance lies. This is Reagan's air traffic controller moment all over again. But god forbid you take a stand." "You don't think much of me." "You could be a great president, Bill," she said. "Instead, it's already slipping away. The election's next year and it's going to be tough for us to get anything through." "Us?" "Yes." "You're still stinging from tanking the healthcare thing," I said. "That's it, isn't it?" She gave me the look of death and pushed her plate away. "That was unfair." "You screwed it up, not me," I said. "I held up my end of the bargain. You wanted to be Eleanor Roosevelt." "What's wrong with that?" she said. "But now look at me. I'm Jackie Kennedy. I'm fucking Jackie Kennedy." "There's worse things than being Jackie Kennedy," I said. Then I added, "Or Pat Nixon." I knew she'd hate that. I took a bite of the enchilada and its delicious Smooth Melt cheese. "Oh, great," said Hillary. "Is that what you want? For me to be your White House tour guide? To raise awareness for something innocuous?" "It's not fair to lay this crap on me," I said. "You know what's been going on down there. This isn't easy." "Oh, poor Bill. Poor, put upon Bill. How about me for a change? How about what I want

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out of this? We've talked about this a hundred times." "Do we need to keep talking about it?" Hillary stood up and pointed at me. "If you think I'm always going to stand in your fat shadow and get nothing for me, then you're not as smart as people give you credit for." "No wonder people don't like you." She looked at me coldly and nodded her head. "Fuck you," she said. She stormed out of the dining room. I probably should have gone after her, but I wanted to finish dinner first. I had another enchilada but avoided the vegetables. Then I enjoyed a slice of lemon chess pie. Hillary is a pistol. Everything is important to her. Everything a priority. Everything just as significant as the next thing. She's the most serious person I know and I hate her for that. And I love her equally as well for the same things. There's a vibrancy about her that is exciting and rich. But I wish she was a little softer, a bit more intimate, more willing to experiment sexually and do the things that Monica seemed to crave with little urging. Deep down in my heart, I know that what Hillary wants is to take my place. She feels she is smarter and more organized than I am. She thinks it is unfair that I get the glory while she receives only the rub off from standing next to me. It bothers her that people like me more than her, but that's the way it has always been. Still, I have to admit that if it hadn't been for her I'd never have made it past the first campaign in Arkansas. She made herself felt in a campaign that was pretty much a mess. Heck, if it wasn't for Hillary I'd be stuck practicing some kind of personal injury law in

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Little Rock. She's made it all possible and has been with me every step of the way, my partner in everything. But isn’t that at the heart of our romantically challenged relationship? Sometimes all I want is a girlfriend. Feeling melancholy and a bit depressed, I went to my office in the Treaty Room, retrieved a fine Davidoff from my humidor, and bundled up in an overcoat and scarf. Then I walked through the central hall, through the oval drawing room and then outside to the Truman Balcony. It was a beautiful night though now much colder than it had been earlier in the evening. I pulled my collar up and lit the cigar. I had a beautiful view of the White House grounds and the buildings beyond the gate. I was reminded of Mel Brook's wicked "It's good to be the king" joke and felt pretty good. I was thinking about how terrific the cigar tasted and wondered if the next day's calendar would allow time for Monica and I to spend some time together. I fantasized about smuggling her into to Camp David for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, maybe setting her up in one of the caretaker cabins so I could sneak away for a little fun when things got boring. I tried to gauge how guilty I felt and came to the conclusion that no harm had really been done. I didn't have sexual intercourse with Monica. Nor did I achieve orgasm. We'd only kissed and fooled around a little, just a little roughhousing. You have to go a lot further before things are considered serious. No one would blame me for seeking out a little distraction here and there. Who had been hurt? No harm, no foul. Right?

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I smoked a little while longer and put the cigar out when my hands started to get numb. Then I went inside to apologize to Hillary. I tried the door to our room but it was locked. "Hillary, please let me in," I called. "Go away." "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean anything I said." "You're not sorry." "I am," I said, trying to sound sincere, which I mostly was. "Let me in, please. We can talk. I don't want to argue." I heard movement and footsteps coming from the other side of the door. Then it opened and Hillary stood there in a nightgown with her makeup smeared beneath her eyes. She'd been crying. "What do you want?" "Please don’t be mad at me," I said. "Can I come in?" She turned away and walked to the bed. I followed her in and closed the door. "I'm tired," she said. She pulled the blanket over her shoulders and faced the wall. "Sorry about tonight," I said. I sat on my side of the bed and began to undress. "Did you mean what you said?" "I didn't mean any of it," I said. "About people not liking me?" I dropped my shirt to the floor and slipped my pants off. "Of course not." "Cause they do, you know. They hate me. The media. The polls." "If you spend your life caring what people think about you then your life will be full of nothing but disappointment." She looked at me and I saw a flash of vulnerability that was refreshing. "Everyone

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keeps comparing me to Barbara Bush. That's the kind of First Lady people want." "You mean First Grandma," I corrected her. I finished undressing and got in bed. Hillary turned away from me but only so I could cuddle against her. She sniffed and said, "They like her better." "They don't know you yet." I caressed her shoulder. "Is it wrong to care what people think?" I kissed her neck. "Nothing wrong with that. But it won't make a difference. Half the people out there are gonna like you and half aren't and there's nothing you can do about it. Simple as that. Do you think I spend two seconds worrying that I was elected with more people voting for someone else? Do you think I care that if it hadn't been for that big-eared dufus Ross Perot we wouldn't be living here?" "Don't you?" "Well, yes,” I said, “but I can’t let it get to me. I let Carville worry about that mostly. Besides, I’m President and they’re not. I've got bigger things to concern myself with." "Like?" "You, for one thing," I said. I put my arm over her and hugged her. "And how mad I am at myself for not giving you the attention you deserve. There's no one else I want to be with." She turned her head and we kissed. "There's never been anyone else," I said. END OF FIRST CHAPTER. THE CLINTON DIARIES IS AVAILABLE AT AMAZON.COM