TO THIS…
TO THIS?…
You be the judge. Is Paula Jones for Real?
Paula Jo Kopeckne took a drag off a non-filter Camel cigarette, leaned back in her rented beauty shop chair, closed her eyes and thought.
"This will be something else. In just a few weeks I'll have my revenge on all those political types who abused me for so long. Sure, I won't get the Kennedy's, but they're teflon coated anyway, so I'll do the next best thing -- I'll get their friends the Clintons and the entire Democratic Party -- that's for damn sure."
Paula felt strange as she sensed yet another "personality" take hold of her mind. This time it was dangerous. This time a killer lurked inside. Paula Jo and Paula fought this new demon as best they could, but it was impossible really, and a new "figure" emerged just as Susan Carpenter McMillan entered the RV.
McMillan noticed the change immediately as Paula rose from her chair and stomped, limping across the vehicle, grabbing a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels and gulping at least a third of the contents before whipping around to face her.
"Paula, what's wrong?," asked Susan.
"There's nothin' wrong McMillan," she replied lighting another cigarette and limping around the room with a heavy thumpa de dump. She paced like a caged animal.
"What's wrong with your voice, you almost sound like a man," remarked McMillan.
"Well, I am a man. What are you?, " sneered Paula.
"Oh crap," cried Susan," Not another personality. Please. Not now. We don't have time. You have to get ready. Please!"
"Oh, don't worry my little bleached blonde wanna-be. I'll be ready, and so will she. But right now I've gotta talk with you. I feel as though I want to murder the Clintons. It's a genetic thing. I feel especially strong about it since they've been selling the 'L' bedroom all these months. You know how I feel about 'L,' " sputtered Paula between drags on the Camel.
" 'L' , what's 'L,' replied the mystified, and getting-more-hostile-every-minute McMillan. She could see the Clinton millions floating down the drain.
" L is for Lincoln you moron. The guy I blasted in the sixties, the 1860's. The bum wanted to free the slaves, now Clinton wants a 'dialogue on racism' - Jeez, what does a guy have to do anyway. Damn. I wanna kill that motha."
Carpenter McMillan sat down with a sigh and plop splitting her new Donna Karan mini-skirt right up the rear.
"Shit. Who the hell are you NOW Paula," she hissed trying to hide the damage.
Paula, nearly shouting answered, "Why I'm Paula Wilkes Booth, and I'm gunnin' for Bill. You're gonna get me in there you bimbo and by the time I'm finished Ford's Theater will look like a picnic on the Potomac -- if you know what I mean."
Carpenter McMillan was stunned. What if this maniac turned into Paula Wilkes Booth during the deposition? What if she tried to hurt the President? It would blow the scam.
" Ohhhhh myyyyy Goddddd," she whispered.
Just as she was about to give up and head home to San Marino, Doina -- the manicurist -- stepped in front of Paula and poured a two quarts of hot paraffin onto her crotch with the deftness of a jai alai player on speed.
"Take that you wicious murderer," she screamed.
Paula Wilkes Booth screamed as well, and then fainted dead away.
The group walked over to her collapsed body. Carpenter McMillan was yelling orders at everyone.
"Prop her up. Do we have any smelling salts? Ah, just pour some ice water over her," screamed Susan.
In a flash Paula came to. She was back to the old Paula Jones. Doina, had merely by chance, done just the right thing. Paula Wilkes Booth wouldn't be back. Booth had a thing for hot wax -- as would most men.
Carpenter McMillan was relieved beyond account. She sat down as Gerard began ironing Paula's hair on a mangle. Hisssssss went the machine designed for sheets and pillow cases.
"Paula, we have to go over your lines, I mean testimony. You know, it won't be a picnic at the White House today. You have to rehearse, I mean 'remember' exactly what happened that day in Little Rock, so long ago."
"Gosh Susan, I can't even remember how much I tried to charge him let alone what happened," whined Paula.
"Come off it Paula. You can do it. Now let's hear your opening statement and then I'll play the president's lawyer Bennett who will be interrupting you with questions later -- but your opening statement can't be interrupted" instructed McMillan.
"Okay. But I'd rather listen to CD's or something. I'm tired. Alright. Here it comes.
"One day I was workin the Excelsior Hotel..."
"That's work - ING AT the Excelsior Hotel Paula," spat McMillan.
"Okay! Work-ING AT the Excelsior Hotel Paula. Anyway, I was working there and this cop came up to me and put his hands on my knobs, I mean breasts, and asked if I wanted a date. Well, of course I said "sure" what's you name big fella. He said 'never mind about that, I have a three-way in mind with a pretty important guy, can you keep your mouth shut? And he don't know about this... it's a surprise, so don't say nothin okay? I'll pay you $75 for an hour. Okay?'
Well sure I said okay, that's more extra money than I usually made in a week. So anyway I trotted behind him and we took the elevator way way up to the top floor and this cop, well he knocked at the Presidential Suite. I'd been there once before with about 25 Arab guys ya know. They had this belly dancer, and Gawd she was fat, she had cymbals and crap on her toes and she looked like she was gonna faint with all that grease on her bod...
"Shut up! You moron. Just stick to the story!," shouted McMillan.
"Okay, okay but don't you think that was interesting? Well, anyway who was in there but Governor, I mean President Clinton and that guy Dick Morris and a couple of other Japanese guys I didn't no. Well, all of a sudden Mr. Morris shouted "Surprise!" and took off his pants. I nearly did faint with laughter. And the President, well he scooted into another room and shouted "Dick get in here!" and then I heard them arguin' and stuff and then Mr. Morris left. Boy was he red in the face, just like turnip I'd say. Well then the others left too and me and the President was alone in the suite and he said, "Look, I don't know your name, but I apologize for this. They meant well." Jeez, I could see my money flyin out the windah and so I sidled on up to him and spilled my champagne -- which the cop had given me -- right in his pants. It was COLD champagne I'll tell ya. Well, he yelled like a barnyard dog and ripped off his pants and ran in the bathroom. It was a hoot!"
McMillan shook her head.
"Paula, that's not the story we went over is it?"
"No ma'am it ain't, but it's the truth, I thought I had to tell the truth now?." Paula winced."
"Well Paula -- you moron -- the truth is in the eyes of the beholder. Don't you remember the story we cooked up a few months ago, you know the one written down on the court papers? That's the one you tell today. In a couple of years, you can tell the other one and get even more money for coming clean. Get it? Now, you idiot, tell me the story!," shrieked McMillan.
"Alright, alright already!," Paula yelled back," I was doing my job as a state of Arkansas civil servant, when President Clinton's bodyguard came up to me and asked me if I'd like to meet Governor Clinton. I said "sure" thinking I might be able to get out of this worker-training program they put me on at the welfare office. I was only making $4 and hour. Anyway, he told me the President thought I was cute. I liked that. I've always been a sucker for a lie. Then I went up to Mr. Clinton's room with the cop -- oops I mean bodyguard -- and he let me in. There he was, Bill Clinton himself. Gosh, he's a tall drink of water!..."
"Cut the crap and get to the chase Paula!," sniped McMillan
"Anyway, I kinda yelled and giggled at the same time, "Drop your socks and grab your cocks!" I said and Mr. Clinton just did it -- he didn't even ask me why. I think he was in shock. Well, anyway, I knew he had a lot of dough so I thought I'd make a tidy bundle on this and probably get a great job. But then I saw how HUGE it was and I also saw that funny mark there -- you know the one I'm not supposed to talk about, according to Judge Susan Wright, Webber, Wrong or whatever her name is. Well anyway, I couldn't have got that thang in me or anywhere else and I guess I just panicked and started to look for my purse and the President just kept saying, "Take a gander, take a gander." Then I just ran pulling my blouse over my head and the sequins on it which I sewed on myself got stuck in the hair spray and I was cryin. I knew I had blown it - I mean messed it up. I wasn't gonna get a better job or any money. That really pissed me off. So, I went to my girlfriend's trailer and just cried like a baby. Is that right Susan? Did I do a good job," Paula entreated.
"No," spat McMillan, "but not bad. Just forget the 'Drop your socks' line and don't tell them you were afraid of the size, just tell them he whipped it out and you were "stunned" -- remember that word "stunned" and "humiliated" and that you were upset about your virtue and that's why you left. Now, get some rest"
Paula looked pleased with herself as she curled up with a comic book on the bottom bunk. It was only two hours until she'd get to actually meet the President - for the first time and she could still smell the man that had left only an hour before. It was heaven.
© 1998, 1997, American Politics Journal Publications Inc.