Paula's Big Entrance!

The Jones v. Clinton Soap — A Continuing Serial Saga from American Politics Journal

Chapter IV:
The Time Arrives for Paula's Big Entrance!
FROM THIS…TO THIS…TO THIS?…

You be the judge. Is Paula Jones for Real?

January 15, 1998 — While Paula Jones napped cuddling her "Spider Man" comic book, Bill and Hillary and Clinton were just waking. Bill had spent a fitful night. He was up and down nearly every half hour. Privately he was humiliated. He couldn't tell America that the Paula Jones issue had gone from a publicity seeking, off-the-wall girl wanting attention, to what he now witnessed -- the right wing Christian fundamentalists taking just one more shot at him, and the presidency in another of a dozen futile attempts to bring down his administration.

"Boy Hillary, they sure want payback for Nixon. Can you imagine? 28 years later and they're still after we Democrats. Why did I have to be the one in office when the GOP and Pat Robertson honed their PR skills finely enough to cause all this commotion?," Bill whispered to Hillary, who herself hadn't slept much that night.

"Bill, it's just part of the job. Look at the polls. American voters don't believe her story. Most of the congress, including the Republicans don't believe it, and the ones that do... well they're busy burying their own skeletons," Hillary said, "I think you should be proud. With all that muck from Rush, Reverend Moon, that creep Chris Ruddy, now that new guy Matt Grudge or Drudge -- you know the one Sid Blumenthal is litigating against? --- It's a conspiracy that would have worked on most men. It hasn't touched you. The people love you more every day. Why you've even exceeded Ron Reagan's numbers. You know, Newt called me yesterday and wished us luck. Even he thinks this thing is miserable. He tried to call off Robertson and those phonies in Virginia and Texas, but no luck. I guess we'll just have to face her -- together."

The President took Hillary's hand, "Yes. I guess we will. But you know what bothers me most? I feel badly for her. Look at her. She was just some stupid little girl trying to get ahead in a really tough world. She got some bad advice. Once she did it was too late to pull back. They took hold of her and yanked her into a whirlpool of scam and shame. Jeez, she doesn't have the sense to see what's happening. Every time she falters, they throw some toy at her. Did you see the job they did on her mouth? Bob told me that had to cost more than $50,000. Then the new hair, the toned down makeup. The expensive clothes. The stretch limos. Boy, she looks more than passable now. I worry the jury won't see through her."

Hillary squeezed Bill's hand, "Yes, but don't worry honey no jury will even buy her story. But it's certainly a nice change for her- I mean her look. I wonder how she'll be at the deposition? I mean. can she really pull it off? They must have spent a bundle coaching her. She must be petrified. It's one thing to make an accusation, quite another to face the man you accuse. The one think I can't figure out is that Susan Carpenter McMillan woman. What the heck is that? You know Walter calls her Susan Harpy McVillain - tee hee"

"Oh, well that's easy. McMillan is a nut from way back. I know some friends of hers from USC. And even more "friends" of hers from the football team in those years. Do you know she didn't even graduate? I think she was a drama major. Anyway McMillan started this radical right woman's group. I think they have maybe a hundred members, although Joe says it's less than six. She claims to be a feminist - can you believe that Hillary? An anti-abortion feminist. Rumor has it that she started another anti-choice group in Pasadena or somewhere in L.A. and that they threw her out. Don't know if it's true. Did you see her on TV this week wearing that stupid USC baseball cap? I got a call from Fred at USC. He says the provost and the honchos there are really pissed off about it. She's not even an alum," Bill said.

"Oh, I know, and I learned a great deal more about her at Freida's lunch in Beverly Hills. They said her husband was very nice, but that they go their separate ways. Of course, that's what they say about us, tee hee. Anyway, it seems she had an abusive childhood and may have acted out her frustration with men far older than she. I know one gal who claims McMillan propositioned her father. Another says she already had a drinking problem at age 17. Someone else told me she had one of those "this is the one" affairs which turned very sour - complete with a termination and a lot of tears. Poor woman. Does she realize what she looks like? My God. That would be my worst nightmare. What I can't figure out however is how she maintains her position in the group of sleaze. I mean, Robertson's hired gun's are not stupid. What do you think?," she asked.

"Gosh. I don't know. I hope she's not in the room today. She makes me sick. I think Paula sees her as a mother figure. Man, talk about misguided. One of Bennett's people suggested I flirt with her if she's there. You know, kind of make goo-goo eyes at her. He said it would offer up a 50/50 chance she'd advise Paula to drop the case -- He said that's how much she needs to be recognized or loved," he said shaking his head.

"Don't you dare Bill Clinton! Although I have to say it'd be hilarious. Can you imagine her going out to the press and claiming you were trying to pick her up during the depo? Ha, ha, haha. A great story. Maybe you should. I wonder what she'll be wearing.? I hope she has enough sense to ditch those ghoulishly long carmine red fingernails and tone down that hair. You know, Babs told me that she used to wear platinum wigs at school. I guess she wanted to look like Marilyn Monroe. Hah. She looks more like Joe DiMaggio in drag. Babs told me something else. She said that a lot of guys involved with her at SC were interview by the Los Angeles County Health Department. She claims they were looking for her re an outbreak of gonnorhea and that from then on her nickname at college was "Gonnorhea Girl" Gosh, that's really mean, but you know how kids are," Hillary said putting on her slippers, "C'mon POTUS, Let's get some coffee."

"Sure. You know I'm really worried about Chelsea. I know you say she's smarter than a whip and gets this whole thing, but the same kids that taunted McMillan are now around our girl at Stanford. You know darn well they'll tease her about me and Paula Jones. It's you and she I'm most worried about. I could care less. I don't have to run again. If it weren't for my two girls I'd have just sued Jones and really made a good fight. You know, I could still do it," Bill snapped with a grim mouth.

"Look Bill, don't worry about Chelsea. She got through all of it so far.She has some pretty good comebacks for sleazy comments. I've hard them. She'll be fine. Besides, she's gone off to Hawaii with that environmental group already. They'll be up in the mountains for four days. Enough time to allow the flak to settle out. Sure, they'll be some smart asses, but what the heck. She's a bright and mature girl. No problem. I think maybe you should sue Jones and her minions, for abuse of process. That'll teach them. I told Tipper to watch out. Al will be the next target. Any day now I expect some bimbo to come out of the forest and claim Al raped her back in '67! Can you imagine?, " she smiled and walked over to her husband and kissed him on the forehead, "Kiss, kiss. Good morning sleepy head. Time to take on the world."

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE PAULA JONES RV…

Everyone was in a last minute tither. Everyone but Susan Carpenter McBimbo. She was lounging on the top bunk reading an aging copy of "Town & Country" - a privy and glossy magazine for the super-wealthy woman. She was dreaming of what she'd do with her share of the Clinton loot.

"Just your wait you bitches," she thought to herself tapping one painted index finger on a group picture shot at a debutante ball in Dallas,"I'm comin'. I'm comin' to get you." Strains of Jimmy Hendrix floated in her mind. Dah dah dah dah, Dah da da da, Dah dah dah dah, Dah dah dah dah, FOXY LADY. TWAAAANG!!! With that she jumped up and inspected Paula's new "look."

She was pleased with what she saw. Here was Paula Jones, hair in a down-on the-nape French bun. She was wearing solid gold wire framed glasses from L.A. Eyeworks -- Zeiss Optics treated to eliminate television Klieg light reflections. Her makeup was flawless-- All Autumn shades with just a hint of tawny Chanel lip gloss. The shoes were black suede from Steiger with four inch block heels to make her quite tall and omnipresent. Her suit was strictly couture St. Laurent at his best -- Black matte silk with a dark peach piping. Her jewelry was toned down and heavy -- Simple Tiffany one inch hoop earrings in 22 karat gold, a single strand of Cartier pearls at the neck. A single wedding band with twelve flawless 1.25 carat diamonds all around from Harry Winston. The blouse, from London's Turnbull & Asser was creme soir and she wore cufflinks from Asprey -- authentic Faberge'.

Paula was a knock out, and although the tough years showed through, Paula could have been mistaken for a Smith girl just in from Paris on Concorde. The outfit alone cost Pat Robertson more than $35,000. The jewelry another $87,000.

But is was worth every penny.

Susan was jealous. Her own outfit was from Macy's. A quick pick three days ago off the sale rack. Okay, it was Donna Karan, but the bottom of her line. $179. The color wasn't her. Orange. But what the heck, a bargain was a bargain. She offset the suit with a pair of 6" spike heels made of polished aluminum from Gucci and a matching handbag. Her earrings - five carat fake diamonds from Jolie Gabor on Madison would still set them on their heels, she thought. They'll never guess they're paste.

"You look goooooorrrrgeousssss!," she told Paula as she swooped over her and faux-kissed both her cheeks French style, "You'll knock 'em dead. (What am I saying? That could've brought out Paula Wilkes Booth.) Wait 'til Clinton sees you. He's gonna have to put a napkin on his lap. Ha, ha, haha, ha. Betcha Hillary will be pissed. I bet she'll be wearing one of those pink numbers. Gag me with a spoon."

Paula smiled. "Do you really think I look that good? I mean do I look classy and everything? Boy, they don't have nothin like this at Sears. The material feels so scushy. I love it. Look, after the thing with the lawyers, let's go to Planet Hollywood and get some action."

"Now way Paula. We have to hunker down until after the trial; After that $2 million verdict is in, then I'll let you charter a G-3 for us and we'll fly to Vegas for a REAL party!," McBimbo giggled.

Doina, Raul, Paulo and the bodyguard all stood admiring Paula. She did look great, except for a poochy tummy -- the result of the six giant sized bags of Fritos, seven quarts of Seven-Up and seven huge packages of 'Double-Stuft Oreos' she'd consumed secretly in her bunk only minutes before. What McBimbo didn't know was that a fourth personality had taken over Paula's persona minutes before. There was nothing in Paula's actions, voice or demeanor that would expose this fourth "being" -- Nothing until Paula simply puked up about 3 gallons of bile all over Susan's Donna Karan suit!

After the upchuck there wasn't a sound. Paula looked at Susan. Susan stared at Paula.

The rest stared at them. A full minute of silence ensued.

"YYCCCCCCCHHHHH!" screamed McBimbo rooted to the floor and shaking with bitterness, "What the F%$K are you doing. You bitch! You F%*(@%ING BITCH." She wanted to slap Jones, but didn't dare ruin her makeup.

"Oh Susie, I'm so sorry. I just had to binge. I can't take the pressure. God. After I recorded "Why do Birds" I just couldn't stop eating. But I had to stay thin. I had to, or my brother would have. ...done that awful thing again. I can't stand that. I have to stay thin Susie. I just have to.

"What the HELL are you talking about... Oh shit. Not another one. Tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me this is a nightmare," shouted McBimbo actually slapping herself in a vain attempt to wake herself up.

"Oh Susie, don't worry. I've taken over now. I can keep it together. I know all our lines -- just like you and the lawyers taught us. Calm down. I'm sorry about your outfit. You can borrow my muumuu. It's beautiful."

"Muumuu schmoomoo!" - what the hell's YOUR name?

"I'm sorry. I'm Paula K. Carpenter Jones. The "K" stands for Karen, but that's too obvious so I don't use it. You know, it's your fault I took over. Paula wanted so much for you to be her mom. She was thinking Paula Carpenter McMillan and all of sudden I found myself in control. You know, she has all my tapes. She listens to them over and over while she's preening in the mirror." With that she burst into song and grabbed a bongo drum on the bunk..."On the day that you were born the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true..."

"OH SHUT UP YOU COW!," shrieked McBimbo now soaked to the skin in odorous vomit, You people watch her. I'm going to take a shower."

AT THE WHITE HOUSE

At the White House, the press corps was lining up to board busses which would take them cross town to Robert Bennett's law offices -- a site chosen at the last minute to thwart any attempts by Jones and her people to enter the White House "in style" -- as they say.

Mike McCurry had briefed them earlier that week:

"At 9:30 a.m. on Saturday morning, I'd like to assemble an in-town travel pool. I think there's been some speculation on what the President's appointment that morning is, and that's most likely correct. My understanding is they will be going nearby, and that's all the detail I have for you at this point. But just so people are not imagining scenarios that they can't deal with, I just wanted to make sure that --

Question: Would that presage a departure around 10:00 a.m. or something like that?

MR. MCCURRY: In that neighborhood, or just before.

Question: So we don't imagine anything, just nearby means Bob Bennett's office?

MR. MCCURRY: That's been speculated upon in the press and I'm always amazed at how good reporters are around this town.

Question: And are reporters going to be allowed to cover?

MR. MCCURRY: I think that you're all familiar with what the court's rulings have been related to the content of discussion of litigation before the court, and I don't anticipate any of that's changed.

Question: Well, Bennett is being quoted by Reuters -- I suppose you saw the story -- as saying that the President has no upset or trepidation about being in the same room with Ms. Jones, he faces down world leaders constantly.

MR. MCCURRY: The latter part of that I know to be true, because I've been there. The first part of that I haven't talked to the President about.

AT THE LAW OFFICES OF ROBERT BENNETT

In his downtown Washington offices Bob Bennett was pacing nervously. He hated those monkeys at that sham "Rutherford Institute" that was funding Paula Jones' law suit. He was gonna kick their asses and had already started the process calling for a Justice Department/IRS review of their tax-exempt status. He had already subpoenaed their financial records. At least he'd know what they spent on remaking the bimbo.

Bennett knew Jones wanted to be at the deposition strictly for media attention -- 'a way to spread her feces around like a angry dog might" -- he told his family the night before. Now he'd have to sit with his client, the single most powerful man in the world -- a good man -- and look across the table at these jokers and that trailer park trash Paula Jones. What a humiliating experience this was going to be.

Bennett wished he could have settled the case last year before that hard-assed wacko Susan Carpenter McMillan got her talons into Jones. Now it was too late. He'd have to put the Clinton's through the embarrassment of a full trial. Rutherford, "McBimbo" and Jones knew he'd wipe the floor with them at trial. But they also knew they'll sell a ton more books -- already written -- if they got the chance to drag the POTUS into court. The night before Chelsea had phoned him at home. She was weeping.

"God, I hate this business." Bennett said out loud. He peered across the Washington skyline. It was just past dawn.

"I'll get those bastards," he wrote in his personal diary, "If it's the last thing I do."

Click here for Chapter V