Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn Dappe

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Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn Dappe

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 6:23 am

Passion and Betrayal
by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn Dapper
© Two Gee, Inc. 1995





Much more than a kiss-and-tell story, Gennifer Flowers: Passion & Betrayal is the compelling and intensely personal autobiography of the person some have called "the most dangerous woman in America." Flowers offers the reader a fascinating view of her life beginning with her early years and progressing through her twelve-year relationship with now-President Bill Clinton.

Thrust into the national spotlight, Flowers' vast media exposure immediately made her the most famous "other woman" in American history. This book covers the events leading up to the firestorm of publicity which erupted during Clinton's campaign and chronicles the harrowing aftermath. Passion and Betrayal dispels the media-constructed image of "blonde bimbo" and reveals an intelligent, insightful, and passionate woman.

Flowers tells how "a freight train named Bill Clinton" entered her life with a roar some eighteen years ago. She gives us the story of their whirlwind affair and reveals never-before-told secrets of her steamy sex life with Bill Clinton. Ultimately, she recounts the toll their affair had on her psyche and her life.

Telling her story with remarkable passion, candor, humor and insight, Flowers recounts how her instant celebrity turned into three years (and counting) of living hell. Late night break-ins, death threats and menacing phone calls to her and her family have had her looking over her shoulder since she "went public" with the story in 1992. No victim, Gennifer takes full responsibility for her decisions and their subsequent repercussions.

Passion and Betrayal offers a fascinating account of how America's media and power elite work together. You'll learn from a person who has first-hand and very personal knowledge of how the media protected Clinton's presidential aspirations during his '92 campaign, how Rush Limbaugh deceived his listeners and how slick Penthouse magazine publisher Bob Guccione operates.

In Passion and Betrayal, Gennifer Flowers delivers the truth. She gives the reader never-before-told revelations about the current resident of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. You'll never hear these shocking details on the evening news.

Read now the true Gennifer Flowers story as it could only be told by her.

Book and jacket design by Elizabeth and Daniel DiPinto
Cover photo by Glenn Kilman
Hair by Erik Lobben International Studio, Denver


This book is dedicated to the millions of women everywhere who gave their hearts, shared their souls, and suffered the heartbreak of loving a married man. We know each other's pain so well.

And it is dedicated also to the genuine seekers of truth in this great land, for without their courage and steadfast determination, that which lies beyond the horizon can only be tyranny.

Table of Contents

• Acknowledgments
• Prologue
• Gennifer with a "G"
• Coming of Age
• A Freight Train Named Bill
• The Passion
• Catching My Breath
• Lipstick on His Collar
• What I Did for Love
• Thunder in the Distance
• The Whirlwind Begins
• The Betrayal
• Circling Sharks
• Baring It All
• Playing Their Game
• Cardboard Bill
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Re: Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn D

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 6:31 am


Thanks so much to these wonderful people, without whose love and support tlus book would not have been possible:

My parents, Mary and Jim Hirst, for their unconditional love and encouragement.

Finis, for his support and creative contributions.

Finis' mother, Emma Shelnutt, and his two daughters, Maria and Jennifer, for their love and support.

Marjorie Moore, for her friendship, unwavering loyalty, and her marvelous sense of humor that kept me going.

The few members of my large family who stood by me and loved me through all the turmoil: Uncle Curtis R. Horne, Sr., who passed away on May 17, 1994, Aunt Aliene Horne, Uncle Jim Lance, Aunt Dot and Uncle Haden Moore, Cousins Suzanne and Elisa Hawkins, Cousin Billy Frank Lance, and Cousin Jerry Flowers.

Jay Wallace and all my friends in Fort Worth, Texas, for their understanding and caring hospitality.

Gregg Gunter, Dan Cassurella, Tracy Sheldon, Karen Clinton, and Betty Biggerstaff, for their loyal friendship and support.

My Hollywood pals: Jane Keane and Ruta Lee, for their advice and friendship.

Morton Downey Jr., Howard Stern, and especially Barry Farber, who gave me a friendly forum to discuss my story.

All the folks in Brinkley, Arkansas, and especially a few '68 classmates who stood by "Little Geannie Flowers."

Blake Hendrix, for his guidance, professionalism, and continuing friendship.

My collaborators, Vicki Gibbs and Jackie Dapper, for their talent, expertise, and hard work.

David Levine, for his insight and creative input.

My publishers, Michael Dalton Johnson and Mark F1enung, who believed in me and this book and never wavered in their support.

And a very special thanks to my agent, Ed Menken, who defended this "Shiksa's" right to tell her story. I will be forever grateful for his outstanding creative contribution to this project, his professionalism, and unquestionable friendship during the hard times.
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Re: Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn D

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 6:32 am


On a warm summer evening in 1977, Arkansas Attorney General Bill Clinton stepped off a plane at Little Rock Airport. Little did I know that the next sixty seconds would start a chain of events that would forever alter the course of my life.

I was working as a television news reporter and had been sent to interview Mr. Clinton about a meeting he and Arkansas Senator Dale Bumpers had just attended in Washington. Although the sun had set, the air was still warm -- but I was shivering from nervousness. I wasn't intimidated by Mr. Clinton -- he had the reputation of being open and friendly, a man who would greet you with a handshake and a smile. I was nervous because I was new. In fact, I had been with the station for only a few weeks, and this was my first major assignment.

Clinton walked briskly toward the little group of reporters. He seemed in a buoyant mood. We all raised our hands at once, and through the chorus of questions, I asked in a loud voice, "Mr. Clinton, can I get a statement from you?" He turned to the sound of my voice and locked his eyes on me. He walked straight over to me with a big grin growing on his face, gave me a casual once-over, and asked, with his now-familiar Arkansas drawl, "Where did they get you?"

For an instant I was speechless. Here I was, trying to do my job, and the attorney general was coming on to me! I looked at him innocently, pretending not to understand what he was implying, and quickly replied, "I just started recently." Then, before he had a chance to say anything else, I plunged right into my questions. Although he gave serious answers, that lazy, sexy smile never left his face. His light blue eyes stayed focused on mine, as though we were the only ones on the tarmac. He was clearly sending me a strong message and it had nothing to do with my questions.

I breathed a sigh of relief when he left. I felt drained. Although I was a little put off by his come-on, I had to admit he was attractive: tall -- well over six feet -- dark, wavy hair; bedroom eyes; and the sexiest mouth I had ever seen. Was this just a game he played with women, or did he actually have an interest in me?

What was I thinking! Bill Clinton was a public figure and a powerful man in Arkansas. He was also very married. I shook my head and came to my senses.

For several weeks after our first meeting, whenever I covered a story that involved him, he would spot me, even in the most crowded rooms, and give me that sexy stare. Everyone noticed, but he didn't seem to care. When the press was waiting for a statement, he would single me out of the crowd and deliberately speak to me first.

I admit, I was flattered. But it was also becoming embarrassing. My colleagues were starting to resent the special treatment I was getting. So even though I actually began to enjoy his little games, I really did try to discourage him. When he would stare at me, I would glare back at him, sending him a silent message to stop. But this only seemed to encourage him. His obvious focus on me was starting to cause whispers and rumors throughout the capitol and at the TV station. But Bill seemed oblivious to the talk.

For the next few weeks he played a game of psychological foreplay with me, and there was no doubt the chemistry between us was building. He had captured my interest, but the obvious complications were never far from my mind. This was trouble, and I knew it.

Yet, I found Bill Clinton incredibly sexy. I can still remember the way he had of staring at me. He did more than just mentally undress me -- he was visually seducing me, and he made sure I knew it. He was turning me upside down and inside out just by looking at me, and when he looked away, I almost felt as though we had just made love. I was breathless and more than a little uneasy.

He finally made his move in the lobby of the Justice Building. Once again, I was waiting for a statement. My cameraman was just outside the building. Bill came walking through the lobby, and when he caught sight of me he came right over. Without hesitation he whispered, "I don't know about you, but I can't stand this anymore. I just have to see you. Would you give me your phone number?"

I panicked. I knew my cameraman would walk through the door any moment, and he or anyone else could overhear us. One part of me was glad he had asked because I was feeling a tremendous attraction to him. But another part was struggling with all those complications. I rationalized, "I can give this guy my number and then I don't have to take his calls, or I can brush him off later." So I quickly tore a page from my notebook, scribbled down my number, and handed it to him.

When he called the next day and asked if he could come see me, I knew I should say no. But he was so charming and sexy. So I agreed to let him come to my apartment since we couldn't meet in public.

Waiting for him to arrive that night, I was nervous as a cat. First I sat. Then I stood. Then I paced back and forth in my tiny living room. When the doorbell finally rang, I jumped. As I opened the door, I saw him standing there with that friendly smile and those probing eyes staring right into mine. But in no time at all he put me at ease. He was relaxed and casual, and to my great relief, didn't even glance toward the bedroom.

We sat down opposite each other at a table in my tiny living room. He was so wonderful that I felt totally at ease. We talked for hours, just like old friends. He seemed truly interested in my opinions, which impressed me.

We talked and drank a little wine. He had a great sense of humor, and I relaxed further. I realized he wasn't going to make any sudden moves on me. That made him even more desirable. Now and then he'd reach across the table and gently hold my hand, rubbing it a little and sending little sparks of electricity through me. When he wanted to make a particular point about something, he would drop my hand and touch my leg. It wasn't like a come-on; it was more a demonstration of his passion for whatever subject we were discussing. It all felt very natural.

I liked Bill. He was an intelligent, good-looking, passionate man who seemed interested in me as a person. His apparent desire to get to know me, rather that what was underneath my clothes, really pleased me.

I could have talked all night, but it was getting late and I had to get up early to do the weather. It was time for him to go.

He didn't protest as I walked him to the door. He just turned and gave me a kiss -- not passionate, just sweet and gentle. My heart fluttered and I thought. "This is nice. I like this." The complications of course were still there, but they just didn't seem to matter as much now. We'd had an extraordinary evening, and I felt good about him -- and about myself. He managed to put my fears to rest.

Looking back now, I believe he consciously manipulated me that first evening we spent together. He is an expert with women. He played me like a violin that night.

It worked, too. By the time he phoned me the next day, I was hooked. I couldn't wait to see him again. We made plans to meet at my apartment again. Like the first time, my heart was pounding as I waited for the doorbell to ring. This time, however, it was with desire. All that luscious verbal and visual foreplay, and yet we'd hardly touched. Now, I wanted to feel his touch so much I could almost feel his hands on my skin ....
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Re: Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn D

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 6:40 am


Bill Clinton is a tremendously sexual man. You can see it in his eyes ... in his smile ... in the way he holds his head as he listens intently to what you have to say. I saw that the first time I met him back in 1977. What I didn't see or have any inkling of was the stupendous impact this man was going to have on my life.

I had no way of knowing then that he would one day be president of the United States. When we met, he was the thirty-one-year-old attorney general of Arkansas, an important, but not particularly impressive position. I was a twenty-seven-year-old singer and a news reporter for a Little Rock television station. In fact, at that time I probably had more of a local celebrity status than he did, as I had been singing in clubs around town for several years.

One thing I did know about him ... he was married. Because of that, I tried to discourage the obvious advances he made to me every time I was sent to cover a meeting or event that he was hosting or attending. But his attraction was too strong, and eventually we wound up in my bed, giving in to feelings that had been building in both of us.

That was the beginning of a passionate, loving relationship that lasted twelve years and followed me through moves to different cities and even a year of traveling as a back-up singer with the Roy Clark Show. It survived through Bill's long term as governor of Arkansas and through the birth of his daughter, Chelsea. It might still be going on if I hadn't found a man I really wanted to share the rest of my life with.

Even after our physical relationship ended, he asked me if we could stay in touch over the phone, and we did, calling each other to share details of our separate lives. After all, we had many beautiful, erotic memories together. And they might have remained just that -- our private memories -- if fate hadn't intervened in the form of a muddy presidential election. Once Bill announced his candidacy, both our lives changed forever. The national media descended on Little Rock, digging everywhere they could to uncover some dirt on this little-known southern politician from the backwoods state of Arkansas. And, boy, did they find dirt.

Soon, I was being hounded by print, television, and radio reporters to tell them my story ... corroborate the evidence they thought they had on Bill Clinton and his affairs. But I wanted no part of it. I refused to take their calls or answer their questions. I just wanted to be left alone to get on with my life ... until a string of events woke me up to the fact that I needed to protect myself, in more ways than one. First, my personal safety and security were threatened when someone broke into and ransacked my apartment. I was certain it was somehow connected to my relationship with Bill. Next, it became obvious that, because of all the publicity I was receiving, I would be unable to continue in the state job I had been depending on for a second income since the entertainment business had slowed down in the early '90s. And last, it was clear I wasn't even going to be able to remain in Arkansas, the state that I had called home since I was a little girl.

All of that combined made me decide to cooperate with the tabloid Star in a two-part story about Bill Clinton and me. They were already planning on printing a story with or without my corroboration, and they were willing to pay me if I agreed to help. I hoped that my working with them on the story would ensure that the information was accurate. And they did a pretty good job of reporting the facts. Since then, much has been written and said about me and my relationship with Bill ... most of it false. This is partly due to the fact that Bill's spin doctors undertook a major character assassination campaign when they realized I might stand in the way of his getting elected. That's why I wanted to write this book, to tell the story as it really happened.

In spite of all the negative things that have happened to me as a result of my relationship with Bill, I still have warm feelings toward him. In fact, this book is really a love story, with large doses of passion and ultimately of betrayal. But most important, it's the truth.


Eura Gean Flowers. That's the name my daddy chose for me when I was born. He created the name in honor of two people he really cared about -- my godmother and an army buddy. Mother agreed to it with the understanding that I would never be called by that name. So, while I was growing up, I was always known as Geannie Flowers.

When I started singing professionally as an adult, Geannie sounded a little unsophisticated to me and not in keeping with the image I wanted to project. The thought of being introduced as "Little Geannie Flowers," made me shudder. I decided it was time to create a stage name. Mother and I were tossing around different possibilities one day, and I told her how I'd always liked the name "Jennifer." She said, "Why not use Jennifer, but spell it with a 'G'?" I liked the idea -- I had been Geannie with a "G," so why not Gennifer with a "G"? So I had my name changed legally to Gennifer Flowers.

It's surprising how a little thing like that can have repercussions later in your life. When reporters and Bill Clinton's spin doctors started trying to discredit me, they searched everywhere they could to find cracks in my story. When they contacted the University of Arkansas about my records, they were told no one by the name of Gennifer Flowers had ever been enrolled there. They took that to mean I was lying about that and therefore must be lying about other things as well. They didn't bother to search far enough to find that I was registered there under my birth name, Eura Gean.

Mother and Daddy were both Okies -- Mother from Dougherty, Oklahoma, and Daddy from Atoka. My dad, Gene Flowers, was one of seven children; his mother died in childbirth when he was only three or four years old. He went to live with his grandparents, but from there he was shuffled around a lot. As soon as he saw a way to get out into the world on his own, he did.

Airplanes always fascinated Daddy. When he was just a kid, he'd hang around the airport, watching the airplanes take off and land. Finally, when he was fourteen, someone taught him how to fly, and he turned that skill into a career. He was an army pilot during World War II, and after the war he continued working as a pilot wherever he lived. Planes were a big part of our life, and we used them the way most people use cars.

Daddy was Clark Gable handsome, tall and well built. He wasn't well educated as far as I know -- he never really would say -- and I'm not even sure he graduated from high school. He was a self-made man, and by the time he was killed, he was a millionaire.

Mother came from a large family, too. She was one of thirteen children. Like my father, she grew up in circumstances that were typical of the times. Both my parents were from big families that never had a lot of money, and all the kids participated in running the household.

Daddy's good looks and outgoing, rakish personality made him real appealing to women. He had that certain "look" in his eye, and he turned into quite a womanizer. This habit eventually drove my mother to divorce him, but he couldn't resist women, and they couldn't resist him. I know my mother certainly couldn't. After I met Bill Clinton, I thought many times about the similarities between him and my daddy. Bill had that same twinkle in his eye, which got the same response from women.

Mother was going to business college in Dallas when she and Daddy met. She also had a part-time job in a drugstore. He would come into the drugstore and immediately dominate the room with his good looks and self confidence, drawing women to him. Mother was petite and pretty and she didn't pay him the same attention the other girls did, which really intrigued him. He kept coming in, trying his best to charm her, and she finally gave in and accepted a date with him. Daddy didn't have a car, only a motorcycle and an airplane. So when they went out, more often than not it was in his airplane.

Although Mother had fallen hard for Daddy, she refused to be pressured into having sex with him before they were married. She was undoubtedly the first woman to ever refuse him, and he didn't like it. He took her home one night after a frustrated attempt to get her into bed and said, "Mary, I'm not coming back. You can wear it out pissing through it, but I'm not coming back if we're not going to have sex." Mother was devastated but adamant. She would not give in.

She cried her eyes out because she really loved him, but she just couldn't bring herself to have sex before marriage. The way she had been brought up simply wouldn't allow her to do it. Plus, she was terrified of getting pregnant. All her life she had been warned she could get pregnant from a toilet seat if she weren't careful, and she wasn't about to take any chances.

But it seems Daddy, too, had fallen hard. He came back and told her, "Okay, I want to marry you -- but with one condition: we don't settle down. I want to travel. Let's just go and see the world." Mother was overjoyed and willing to agree with anything he wanted. She would happily follow him wherever he wanted to go.

Shortly after they married, Mother got pregnant with me. I don't imagine Daddy was thrilled. But she kept her word, and barely six months after I was born, on January 24, 1950, we moved to Anchorage, Alaska, which wasn't even a state then. Daddy got a job as a bush pilot, taking people out to hunt bear, moose, and caribou.

We arrived in the evening. Mother held me in her arms as they walked down an unpaved street, both sides lined with saloons -- like something out of the Wild West. And just like a scene out of an old western, a man came crashing backward out of a saloon and landed in the street. Mother's heart sank as she hugged her infant daughter and thought, "What have I gotten us into?"

She hated Alaska. It was so cold, and there was always ice and snow everywhere. Daddy was gone most of the time, and I was so little she spent much of her time housebound with me. Mother tried to be a good sport, but she wasn't cut out to live in a cold climate in such a remote part of the world. She gamely went out with Daddy on a hunt one time and got frostbite on her ear. That put a quick end to her outdoor adventures.

She began pressuring Daddy to leave Alaska, and eventually we did, moving first to Washington state and then to Modesto, California. My mother was much happier in both places, and my father was content, too. He was flying, and that's what really mattered to him.

No matter what job Daddy had, airplanes were never far from the picture. We always had either access to a plane or owned our own, so we were able to go places and do things that people normally don't get to do. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to me to hop in a plane and fly somewhere to have dinner or visit friends, and we did that frequently.

When Daddy's father got sick we returned to Oklahoma. After he died of a heart attack, we stayed around for my step-grandmother's sake. My father was restless, though, and eager to try something new. He got the notion he wanted to be a crop duster, though he had never done it before, and Arkansas, which had lots of farmland, seemed like the logical place to try it. His venture was a success, and Arkansas became our permanent home. We lived in a couple of very small towns before settling down for good in Brinkley, about seventy miles east of Little Rock.

All this moving around was an adventure to me. My parents were so positive about every move we made that I couldn't help being excited, too. It never bothered me that I had to leave friends behind, because the most important thing to me was my family. I was the most secure when I was with my mom and dad. It didn't matter where we lived as long as we were together. And I did make friends along the way -- some I remember -- but it never bothered me to leave them behind, because I always made new friends.

My mother was so good to me. She stayed home with me and was a playmate when I needed one. I never felt a real void by not having longtime friends or relatives nearby. My mother and father were truly the core of my existence. I realized later in life how good our nomadic existence had been for me. Unlike a lot of kids who had never been outside Arkansas, I had seen other people and places and done things they had only dreamed about. I felt it was an advantage for me.

It was in Arkansas that I began my lifelong love affair with singing. I had always enjoyed getting up in front of any kind of audience; I was a natural ham. Mother knew my singing voice was better than average, so she started entering me in talent shows all over the state.

To our surprise, I was winning them. I was comfortable on stage and it must have shown. That easiness combined with my dark hair, light blue eyes, and freckles made an irresistible combination for the judges. I managed to win some of the talent shows without even singing. I took home a sweepstakes award for doing a pantomime of "Sweet Nothings" by Brenda Lee, beating a very talented boy who played the piano and another girl who sang. Then I dropped the pantomime act and started singing myself. I had a strong voice even as a nine-year-old, and I always brought home a trophy of some sort. It gave me a sense of confidence to realize I could affect people's emotions just by singing a song.

I also did a dance party television show in Little Rock called "The Steve Stevens Show." Steve Stevens later introduced me to the head of United Southern Artists Records in Hot Springs, and my professional recording career began. Daddy's nickname for me was "Little Scooter Bill," so I recorded "Lock, Stock and Barrel" under that name. I also recorded "When the Saints Go Marching In" and a song titled "Let's Do The Itch" under the name Geannie Flowers. "The Itch" was a dance Steve's dancers had developed during his show.

I was in the fifth grade when I started to record professionally. That set me apart at school, gave me a sort of celebrity status. As I had also won talent contests and had done a television show, I was treated like a star in my little school. Although I had lots of friends, there was a little bit of jealousy among some of them, which I suppose was natural. But at such a young age, it was difficult to deal with emotions I didn't understand too well. I just thought some kids hated me, and I couldn't figure out why.

One day I came home from school, upset over something unkind one of the kids had said to me, and my father gave me some advice that I carried with me into my adult life. He said, "Scoot, if you weren't exciting, they wouldn't talk about you. Don't feel bad because you're different and you're out of the ordinary. It's better to be talked about bad than not at all -- it's still publicity."

It didn't mean much to me at the time, but later when I was cast into the public spotlight as Bill Clinton's mistress, I remembered that advice. Lots of unflattering things were being said about me, and I thought back often to what Daddy had told me. When things were darkest, I would console myself by repeating his words, telling myself that I was exciting -- that's why reporters wrote about me. And just so long as everyone spelled my name right that's all I should care about. It was small consolation, but at times, his advice gave me some badly needed strength.

During the same time that I was first recording, Daddy would take me to bars where I would sing with the band, although I wasn't yet a teenager. I remember visiting Daddy in Shreveport, Louisiana, where he was working, spraying red ants. He took Mother and me to a bar where he had met Jimmy Elledge, who had the hit song, "Funny How Time Slips Away." I got up and sang with the band, wiggling around and having a ball.

Funny How Time Slips Away, by Jimmy Elledge

I loved singing in bars. A sort of sexual tension seemed to fill the smoky rooms and though I didn't quite know what it was all about, I liked it. I loved being a part of that adult world -- so mysterious and alluring. I just knew I was getting an inside glimpse of something I shouldn't be seeing. What kid can resist that?

For a time we lived in Hunter, Arkansas, a little bitty town of less than two hundred people, so small it didn't even have a sheriff. So nothing prevented me from learning to drive as soon as I could pester Daddy to let me. I was driving his truck or his car all over the place by the time I was twelve. Bars and cars -- I loved having access to that forbidden, grown-up world.

Brinkley seemed like a giant metropolis compared to Hunter, even though it's population was only about five thousand when we arrived in 1962. I was still singing and making records, but I was starting to get involved with school life, too. I loved being a cheerleader -- out in front of people, performing and hamming it up. But, eventually, cheerleading began interfering with my recording. I had to decide between one or the other. A recording career requires dedication, and it wouldn't leave time for much of anything else.

One night I was on the bus with the other cheerleaders, on the way to a game, when my mother stopped the bus and pulled me off. I had to rush off to the recording studio. Everything had come together all at once, the right band, the studio time, and I had to go right then.

I cried all the way to the recording studio and arrived looking sullen and all puffed-up. After the session, my parents sat down with me and said, "Look, unless you want to do it differently, we're going to discontinue all this until you get out of school. If you want to sing professionally then, it'll be up to you. But you can't do both -- you can't be a cheerleader and have a singing career."

It was an easy decision: I wanted to be a part of the school activities. But looking back, I wish I'd decided differently. I wish my parents had done what many parents do: forced me to be disciplined with the admonition that I would appreciate it later. But they didn't, and the rest is history. I often wonder what would be different now if I hadn't chosen to postpone my singing. If my recording career had been successful, I certainly would have been long gone from Arkansas, and maybe I never would have met Bill Clinton.

Life as a teenager was a blur of activity mixed with a growing awareness of boys. My parents insisted I wait until I was sixteen before I started dating, but I managed to fudge just a little bit and had my first date a month before my sixteenth birthday. It was Christmas time, and we were in Sulphur, Oklahoma, visiting my grandmother. I met a boy who was a freshman in college, and he asked me out. To my surprise, my parents agreed.

We went to a movie and then parked by a lake. He was teaching me the sign language used by the deaf, and everything seemed very innocent. Then, during a lull in the conversation, he lunged at me and started grabbing. I pushed him back and said sharply, "What are you doing?" He replied defensively, "I knew you were too young, you're just a kid." I shot back, "You better take me home," and he did. He was smart enough to know that nobody wanted to mess with my daddy. I knew exactly what he was doing, of course. I just wasn't prepared for it on my first date with someone who was almost a stranger.

I dated around a little bit, but always seemed to be going steady. It was just too complicated to juggle several guys at the same time. It was easier to have a steady boyfriend even if it only lasted a few weeks. My parents kept a watchful eye on me once I started dating and had definite rules concerning my activities. I never considered them harsh, though. In fact, my parents were a little more liberal than some of my friends' parents because they felt they could trust me. But Mother was particular about whom I chose to date. She wanted me going out with only the nice boys from families with money, and if I decided to see someone she didn't approve of, there was hell to pay.

Mother wanted the very best for me. She sent me to charm school when I was fourteen so I would learn to be ladylike and have impeccable manners. She wasn't a social climber in the sense that she wanted to advance her own status in town, but she certainly wanted me to do as well as possible. I didn't resent her plans for me; I knew she wasn't trying to use me for her own purposes. I was her only child and she wanted me to have every opportunity life could provide.

Mother encouraged me to enter beauty pageants while I was in high school. She thought it would be a good experience and that I would gain poise and learn how to handle myself. I even won one of them -- some obscure pageant in West Memphis, Arkansas. It wasn't a big deal for me, though. I had already been entertaining people for years, and entering beauty pageants seemed a poor second to singing. Much to Mother's dismay, I quickly lost interest in beauty contests.

While Mother was pursuing her plans for my future, Daddy would be developing political contacts in whatever community we were living in, and he usually ended up being very influential. In Brinkley he was quite active in the Republican party and campaigned for Winthrop Rockefeller for governor. By the time we had been in Brinkley a few years, Daddy owned the airport as well as a couple more airports around the area. Rockefeller kept some of his planes at the airport in Brinkley, and Daddy would frequently fly him around.

Rockefeller owned Petit Jean Mountain, where his house was located, and Daddy would go to Petit Jean for special parties -- usually politically oriented.
Being a Republican in a small Arkansas town was really bucking the system since Democrats generally ruled. Orville Faubus, a Democrat, had been governor for twelve years, and Daddy was determined to help Rockefeller replace him.

I caught the bug from Daddy and became president of the Young Arkansans for Rockefeller. I was fascinated with the issues and the importance of it all. Faubus had been in power such a long time, but the state was still pitiful. One of the only paved roads in the county was to his house! We held mock elections in our school and provided whatever assistance we could to Rockefeller's campaign.

I enjoyed my small-scale political activism. Through that group I met Winnie Rockefeller, Winthrop's son, and dated him for awhile. Winnie liked me; he called me from England once, which impressed me. I had never had a boy pursue me from that far away. Mother was ecstatic. She kept insisting, "You're going to like him." But I had a boyfriend, Joe Clifton, and I really didn't want to date anyone else. So I would protest, "I don't want to. I have a boyfriend." But Mother was adamant. "You are going to go out with him."

So for Mother's sake, I did go out with him a few times, but I just didn't have an interest in him. I liked Joe. I knew the Rockefellers were wealthy, but when you already have everything, how can you measure more? I couldn't conceive of anybody having more than I had. We had a nice home, nice cars, and nice clothes, and I had no concept of what their millions or billions of dollars actually represented.

Daddy had high hopes for me just as Mother did, but unlike her, he didn't want to engineer success for me. He wanted me to make it for myself. I was Daddy's princess, and he always told me I could do anything I wanted to do. He would say, "Don't be the stewardess; be the pilot. Don't be the nurse; be the doctor. Don't get married until you've done everything else you want to do."

Both my parents had so much strength and self-confidence, I couldn't help inheriting some of it. I refused to accept certain limitations. If I really wanted to do something, nothing was going to get in my way. My parents never wavered in their support and encouragement. They never belittled me or made me feel I couldn't achieve great things. Love radiated from them with such constant force that at times I could almost grab it and hold it to me.

Daddy would have given me the world on a silver platter had I asked. He loved to put his arms around me and paint pictures in my mind of all the grandiose things I was going to do. I'd ask him for money, and he would reply, "How much do you want? I'll give you a pile of money so big you can't hold it." Even as a child I knew he didn't mean it literally; it was just his way of telling me how much he loved me.

Sadly, the unconditional love, trust, and support my parents gave me was often absent from their relationship with one another. Even though they loved each other very much, there was tension between them from time to time because of Daddy's womanizing. I never knew to what degree he was involved with other women, but I do know Mother caught him a few times. She went out of her way to catch him. If she suspected he was with another woman, she hunted for him, and most of the time she caught him. Then things would get very unpleasant in our house.

They were always affectionate toward one another -- Daddy would goose Mother or pat her on the butt, and she'd just giggle. And they'd call each other "Honey" or "Darling." But when she caught him with another woman, things got mighty cold around the house.

We attended the Baptist church occasionally but were never strict church-goers. Daddy quoted the Bible, and there was a strong Christian influence in our household, but we didn't make it to church on a regular basis. So when Daddy started to take a serious interest in the church choir, Mother got suspicious. It seems there was a woman in the church choir who was fooling around a little bit with Daddy. My mother started doing her surveillance work, caught them, and put a quick end to it. Once again, the tension at home was so thick you could cut it.

As the years passed, the strain increased. I was fearful they would get divorced, but at times I almost wished they would. My world revolved around my parents; they were my security. But when they were having one verbal confrontation after another, it was unbearable. I was seventeen by the time they actually divorced, and I was torn apart. Other than my mother's battle with cancer years later, that was the most devastating time of my life.

It was a bitter, nasty divorce. Daddy brought a stripper to town from New Orleans, Mother had her investigated, and everyone was dragged into court. They squabbled over every detail of the property settlement. My reaction to all this was, "If this is how it ends, I don't want any part of it." That experience influenced me in my decision to not get married, because I saw this very bitter ending at a young age. I lacked the maturity and insight to put it all into perspective.

Though Mother was strong and self-confident, she always felt insecure about Daddy. She loved him, but simply couldn't put up with his running around. She wanted me on her side and drew me into the battles between them. I adored my father, but I also resented him for what he was doing to my mother, and I was so angry with him. I've realized since then that there are usually two sides to a story. But I never believed Daddy was justified in breaking the vows of his marriage, and Mother was not justified in drawing me into it to the degree that she did. Ultimately, when they divorced, there were words between my father and me, and there were scars that never had a chance to heal. He was killed in a plane crash when I was twenty-three years old, when we were just starting to smooth things over.

At the time of the divorce, I was overly judgmental toward my dad. I didn't realize until later that his life was absolutely coming apart. He loved my mother and he respected her. He just had a weakness for other women. It didn't help that women were so attracted to him, too. He had that John Wayne, James Garner charm, and he loved adventure.

He was a kind, gentle person, but he wouldn't hesitate to throw a punch if he was pushed. He was such a strong figure in my life, and I've never met another man who has been able to provide the kind of emotional support that Daddy gave me. He was generous to a fault, too. Mother and I had a big room filled with racks of clothing, some we never even wore. I had a Buick Riviera when I was fourteen years old and a brand new one when I went to college. But even though he indulged me terribly, I wasn't spoiled. I followed the rules and was a good girl. I worked hard at both my singing and in school because Daddy expected the best from me, and I never wanted to disappoint him.

I've never found a man since who was so giving to me emotionally, without any strings attached. Daddy always told me, "I love you just because." It's never happened that way again.
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Re: Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn D

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 6:45 am


Bill Clinton wasn't the only man from Arkansas who could charm the pants off a girl. Joe Clifton, my first real sweetheart, was a real charmer too ... and, oh, those beautiful dark eyes!

Joe's mother was a Farrell, a large family that owned, among other things, a coal mine and a trucking company. My family had been friends with his since we moved to Brinkley. As a kid, I always thought Joe was cute, but by high school, he had grown downright gorgeous. We dated steadily in high school and on into our college years.

After graduating, I had planned on attending World Campus Afloat -- a shipboard university where students study as they travel the world. But it was so soon after my parents' divorce that I hated the thought of being so far away from my mother. Joe was headed for the University of Arkansas, and I wasn't anxious to leave him, either. So I chose the U of A. I was still away from Mother, but it was easy to make quick trips home. Later, I learned that Michael Douglas, the actor, was a junior aboard World Campus Afloat the year I would have been a freshman. Who knows what might have happened had I followed through with my original plans and attended the traveling college!

Fayetteville, Arkansas, where the University is located, is in the midst of the Ozark mountains, the prettiest part of the state. Lots of mountains and trees make it one of the most scenic little university towns you'll ever see. Being away from our families and living in a college town was fun for Joe and me, and we made the most of it. Although I loved him, an early marriage wasn't in my plans. A whole, big, unexplored world awaited me out there, and I wanted to see and experience it. I also knew I would probably want to sing again someday. So college life was the perfect environment for me right then. It was a time to play and meet new people.

My new black Buick Riviera was the only one like it on campus, and people came to know me by my car. When I wasn't out cruising the campus, I was often with Joe at his fraternity house getting drunk. In high school I rarely drank -- maybe an occasional glass of wine at home with my parents. I really didn't know much about drinking and didn't like the taste of alcohol at first. My favorite drink was scotch and Coke, because the Coke covered up the taste of the scotch!

In college, however, everyone thought it was great fun to go to a fraternity party and drink until we threw up. It sounds bizarre now because it's such a ridiculous thing to do. But that was what all the "in" people did. I cringe when I remember throwing up in the back seat of some poor guy's car. But back then that wasn't considered abnormal behavior.

Joe and I were having a great time. He was probably more serious about his studies than I was, but he still found plenty of time for me. We loved to head for some private, romantic spot where we could steam up the windows ... and each other. But my mother had pounded into my head the idea that I had to be a virgin when I got married -- and I wanted to be.

Joe wasn't pressuring me to have sex, but he always tried to gently persuade me. Every time we parked somewhere, we came so close to having sex without actually doing it that it was frustrating for both of us. I was torn -- I didn't want to get married, but I wanted to be a virgin when I did get married. I also knew that the sexual feelings I was experiencing couldn't be ignored much longer.

The '60s were just ending, and the women's liberation movement was in its early stages. I started hearing things that made sense to me. For instance, women didn't have to get married, and they didn't have to be married to have sex. So I made a conscious decision that I would have sex with Joe. I knew he'd be overjoyed, and I was so overheated by then I could hardly wait.

It finally happened during a visit we made back to Brinkley. We drove Joe's light green 1967 Impala to one of our favorite spots: the lumber yard. Parked in a dark corner, we could barely wait to get the snaps unsnapping. We moved into the back seat, and as he began to move hungrily against me, I made no move to stop him. Just like in the movies, we made love in the back seat of his Chevy.

Joe told me it was his first time, and looking back on it now, I'm sure he was as green as I was. I remember feeling a little disappointed by the whole experience. The earth didn't move for me like I'd expected it to. Afterward, I thought, "Hmm, is that all there is?" After all those months of building up ... and then it was over in no time. In fact, I remember thinking the anticipation and the making out were a whole lot more fun than the act itself. Plus, I was really surprised by Joe's reaction. I thought he'd be so happy when we finally did it. Instead, once his hormones cooled down and the guilt took over he said, "You really shouldn't have let me do that." I couldn't believe he would say that, and it made me furious. "Don't put this off on me," I replied angrily. But for years his words echoed in my mind.

He may have felt some guilt about our having sex and not being married, but it certainly didn't stop him from going along with the program. And he never hesitated to initiate sex whenever we had the opportunity. But every time we made love, he would be overcome with guilt and would try to shift the blame to me. Finally, I'd had enough and told him, "The hell with you! What do you mean I shouldn't let you do that? It's my right to do it if I want to." The last time he followed up a session of lovemaking by telling me I shouldn't have let him do it, I settled the issue once and for all. He was still kneeling over me and I reached up and kicked him in the stomach as hard as I could. I said, "Don't you ever say that to me again. Do not ever say it again." And he never did.

Unlike Joe, who was pretty focused in college, I followed a rather aimless path, signing up for general education courses without a specific goal in mind. I wish I had gotten more guidance than I did. I had some specific talents that could have been developed with the proper education. For example, I have a knack for interior design. Or I should have concentrated on my music. I had a God-given natural talent in music, but nobody really advised me or directed me to take advantage of it. Even my parents failed to say, "Honey, you need to think about getting a degree in music." Instead, they let me "do my thing," whatever that was, and I'm not sure why. None of my counselors in high school and college looked closely at my test results, which pointed toward certain aptitudes. They were just going through the motions, calling me in and visiting with me for awhile without giving me any sound advice.

Mother told me later that some of my high school teachers and counselors had voiced disapproval of me because I was a privileged little girl driving a big, flashy car while they were struggling to get by on their modest salaries. Daddy's reaction to that was, "Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll buy her a Cadillac Eldorado and put her name in gold on the side. I wonder how they'd like that?" So there was definitely a little resentment there, and I guess it's understandable that they didn't expend a lot of effort to influence my educational direction.

I wasn't mature enough at the time to figure out a direction on my own. I didn't know how to take the initiative, to step back and assess my goals or my talents and then layout a plan for my future. Plus, I was enjoying my new-found independence too much to spend a lot of time being serious about my life.

After some time at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, I decided being a nurse might make sense. So I moved to Little Rock and pursued some of the courses I needed to get the necessary credits, then took a job as a surgical assistant to an oral surgeon for about seven months. What a mistake. One day I came out of surgery covered with blood, looked down at myself and thought, "I always wanted a career with excitement and challenge ... and this is definitely not it."

After her divorce was final, Mother decided it was time for a change. She left Brinkley and moved to Little Rock to be closer to me. We moved into an apartment together, I started singing again, and the world became an adventure. Singing in bars, being the star of the show, and getting all that attention -- I loved it! I had been tied to Joe, to the University of Arkansas, and to my unfortunate stint as a dental assistant, but now it was like the clouds had parted. I was back with my first love, singing. It was 1970; I was young, talented, and had a job that was the equivalent of going to a party every night. Men were paying a lot of attention to me and I was eating it up.

Joe came to Little Rock that summer, after school was out, with the idea that we would pick up where we had left off when I left the university. But I wasn't going for that idea at all. I was willing to go out with Joe, but I wanted to be able to date other men, too. I was meeting dozens of interesting men, having the time of my life, and I wasn't about to go back to an exclusive arrangement with Joe.

I was also getting serious about my singing. My first long-term singing job in Little Rock actually came about as a result of a contact my mother made. She was working for AAA, selling memberships, and a man named Mike Tipton came in. She quickly learned he was part of a popular singing group in Little Rock called The Common Good. They were performing in the Pebbles Lounge at the Sheraton Hotel, which was the most popular place in town. Actually, every place that was anyplace in the early seventies was busy. There were many live groups singing in bars, unlike today. Cocktail hours were also popular then, with lots of two-for-one specials. It was a high-rolling time. People had money and they enjoyed spending it.

Mike and I formed a quartet called September, focusing on our vocal talents since we were limited in our ability to play instruments. I made a stab at playing a Hammond B-3 organ for awhile, but it wasn't a match. A popular song at the time was "Color My World," by Chicago. During the music break there was a beautiful solo, and almost every time I played it, I'd hit a clunker on that stupid organ, and everyone would groan. They finally took the organ away from me, thank goodness. I never wanted to play an instrument; I wanted to be out in front doing my thing -- I wanted to sing!

Our band auditioned at the Sheraton and was hired to split the week with the band that had been there forever, which didn't go over well with them, needless to say. We started with three nights, then we took four. I was earning enough to support myself and I loved it. With a new white Grand Prix, my own apartment, and lots of gorgeous clothes, life couldn't have been better. And having a band in a town the size of Little Rock provided instant celebrity status.

Mike had some disagreements with the rest of us in the group and left, but the band managed to stay together and continued singing in the Pebbles Lounge at the Sheraton. We kept the name September, but eventually it evolved into Gennifer Flowers and September. We had a long stay at the Sheraton, and we also performed outside Little Rock at private parties around the state. I handled all the business affairs for the band: bookings, finances, everything. It didn't take me long to learn the ins and outs of negotiating contracts and maintaining the delicate balance between expenses and income so we'd stay profitable.

Being responsible for the business affairs of the band didn't dampen my desire to have fun. I was dating several men and taking advantage of my youth and energy to cram as much life and adventure into my nights and days as I could. One of my dates was the hotel's food and beverage director, who was twenty years older than I was, but was outgoing and fun-loving. But then he started getting too serious about me and kept threatening to fire the whole band when I didn't return his feelings. The guys in the band were naturally getting a little nervous about the situation, and so was I. But I didn't know how to end the relationship without getting fired.

That Christmas, Mother and I visited Oklahoma City, and went to a club with my cousin and her husband. I joined the band for a song and, to my delight, they offered me a job. My job status back in Little Rock was still rocky, and I knew this might be a good opportunity to slide out of it if things got unmanageable with the food and beverage manager. Plus, I'd be working in a larger city. Sure enough, when I got back to Little Rock he got mad at me for something and threatened to fire the band again. This time I said, "Fine." It was time to move on.

I packed up and headed to Oklahoma City and sang in this elegant, sophisticated private club. I was there for only three months, but it was an eventful three months. A man named Jim Roderer swept me off my feet, and we became officially engaged. But the romance died almost before it began. I may have been turning into a good businesswoman, but I was still flighty as a hummingbird when it came to romance.

* * * *

It was during my brief time in Oklahoma City that I lost my father. After the divorce, he had remarried, and his wife came to Oklahoma City in 1973 to train to be an airport ground-traffic controller. Daddy came down to visit both of us, and while he was there, decided to go to North Little Rock to visit friends. During his visit to Arkansas, he was giving aerobatics instruction to a young man when something went wrong, and the plane crashed.

I had gone to my fiance's apartment for dinner that night before going to the club to sing. My aunt called to tell me about the accident, and Jim talked to her. He hung up the phone and sat me down on the couch and gently told me, "Your dad has been in an airplane accident, and they're not sure if he's okay. Your aunt wants you to come over to her house immediately."

I remember I wasn't real worried about it at the time. In fact, I left for my aunt's house thinking this was just another one of Daddy's mishaps. In the past, I had seen him crash land in his plane and then crawl out with just a scratch -- and the plane would actually be on fire. I was sure this was another one of those accidents; maybe he was banged up a little, but he'd be okay.

When I got to my aunt's house and she told me he was dead, I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. It had to be a mistake. His body was cremated, and his ashes were sprinkled over a mountain in Alaska. I never saw him in a casket or saw him put in the ground, and somehow I just couldn't accept that he was gone. He and I had been estranged to some degree since the divorce, but we were just starting to communicate again and to deal with some of those old issues.

As I said earlier, my dad was the only man who had ever loved me unconditionally. His death hit me so hard that I shut it out, I just couldn't deal with the grief. We had a memorial service for him in Oklahoma City, and I didn't cry. Although they were divorced, Mother cried her eyes out as she dealt with her memories, but I just sat there dry-eyed and numb. About two weeks later I was at my cousin's house with my mother, and someone mentioned Daddy's death, and it finally hit me -- he really was dead. I would never see him or talk to him again, ever. I started crying and couldn't stop. I was sobbing uncontrollably, from deep down inside. The pain was so strong and I felt so empty and helpless. Finally, Mother had to give me something and put me to bed. Even after that, for a long time, I still kept thinking it wasn't real, and somehow he would walk around the corner and come through the door.

As I've matured, I've come to understand my father better. I still don't condone his womanizing, but I understand him better now as a complete person, and I regret I never had the chance to tell him that. I was so angry with him because of the divorce, and before I was able to completely come to terms with that anger, I lost him. When he died, we had just begun to heal some of the old wounds, but there was still a lot we needed to do and talk about. I know if my dad were alive today, we would thoroughly enjoy each other. He had such an exciting, wonderful personality, I know he would be a hoot to spend time with today.

* * * *

Even though Oklahoma City had a much larger population than Little Rock, there was less going on there. So there I was, twenty-three years old, not much was going on professionally, and my brief engagement had not worked out.

Dallas beckoned. When I had visited there, I saw a lot more opportunity. It didn't take much to persuade me to move. I got to town, rented an apartment, and quickly found a job singing at the Steak and Ale. Almost immediately I realized this had been a good move. I was in a new environment, meeting new people, and I was beginning to accept and deal with my father's untimely death.

Although Mother and Daddy had been divorced several years by then, she took his death very hard. So a fresh start in a new city appealed to her, too, and she followed me to Dallas. And her move paid off in a big way -- because that's where she met my future stepfather.

Mother lived in an upstairs apartment, and Jim Hirst lived downstairs. She was a real doll, my mom -- blonde, tan, weighed about ninety-five pounds -- just adorable. She would go outside to empty the trash, and here would come Jim, offering her a martini. "This guy won't leave me alone," she complained to me. "I can't even go outside without him offering me a drink." I chuckled at the thought and asked, "Well, is he cute?" She thought a minute then smiled, "Yeah, kind of." "Then talk to him," I urged her.

The next thing I knew, they were seeing each other. Mother really liked Jim because he was so stable. He was with Southwestern Bell and later retired after thirty-five years with the company. His personality was similar to my dad's, but they differed radically in that Jim is a straight-ahead guy whereas Daddy was a maverick, constantly taking side paths.

Mother didn't want me to know she was staying the night with Jim occasionally. But one night I went to see her late, around 11:00 p.m. I was wearing five-inch heels and was clomping up the stairs to her apartment, and they heard me from Jim's apartment. Mother knew it was me and whispered frantically to Jim, "Oh, my God, that's Gennifer. Get up. We've got to get up and get dressed. She may come back down here." Jim jumped out of bed, raced around gathering up his clothes, jumped into the bathtub, and closed the shower curtain. He stood there for a minute before he realized there he was, a grown man, holding his clothes, hiding in his own shower!

Meanwhile, Mother quickly dressed and stood by to answer the door. When I didn't get an answer at her place, I thought I might find her at Jim's. So, I clomp, clomp, clomped back down the stairs and knocked on his door. They quickly opened the door and stood there looking like Barney Fife and Thelma Lou from the Andy Griffith Show. Their clothes were kind of askew, their hair was sticking out all over the place, and they both had guilty looks on their faces. I said, "What are you two doing?" And they both said sheepishly, "Nothing, nothing." Mother told me to go back upstairs and wait for her there.

The thought had crossed my mind that they might be sleeping together. But that was something I just couldn't picture my mother doing. Not that I would have objected, but it just seemed so out of character for her. It wasn't until years later that Mother and Jim told me the whole story about that evening. Maintaining decorum was important to her, and it was a long time before she could see the humor in it.

While living in Dallas, I sang in two different locations of the Steak and Ale. I also performed at several other places during the year or so I was there. On one occasion, my agent booked my piano player and me in a supper club in Oak Cliff for a week. Gene and I drove out there for work the first night, with him dressed in his tux and me in my long evening gown. We pulled up to this place that looked like a converted drive-in restaurant. First, we drove by it, then turned around, and drove back. I was puzzled, but said, "That's the address. That's it." Gene protested, "It doesn't look like a supper club," but we decided to poke our heads in and take a look.

Well, it was a real dive, full of rednecks. I called my agent and asked if he'd ever been out to this place. "Of course, I've been out there," he said. "You liar, you have not!" I yelled, "They don't want to hear us." I was singing "Satin Doll," and they wanted to hear "Please Release Me." It didn't look promising. But the owners of the place said, "Look, we're willing to give it a shot if you are." In that business, you work from week to week; there's not a lot of longevity. Plus, I needed the money. So Gene and I agreed to try it, and things actually worked out okay. The customers were very open-minded and warm-hearted.

Dallas was a lot of fun, but I missed Little Rock. No place had been as comfortable for me as Little Rock and I'd never had it as good anywhere else. I didn't have the guts to move to New York City where I might really make a big splash. To me that place was nothing but a big black hole. I simply wasn't brave enough to venture out that far on my own. So Little Rock was very appealing at that point. I had been a big fish in a small pond there, and I was ready to enjoy that again. I made up my mind to go home.

I couldn't have known that by returning to Little Rock I was throwing myself right in the path of an oncoming freight train named Bill Clinton.
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Re: Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn D

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 6:50 am


Little Rock. Home at last! It was 1975, and I now had enough experience and savvy to know just what to do. I got busy right away and formed a band: Gennifer Flowers and Easy Living. I stopped by the Pebbles Lounge at the Sheraton, where I used to sing, and talked to the man in charge of entertainment. He wanted a new band and said he would love to have me come back, along with my new band.

That pleased me. I couldn't believe it was that easy to regain what I'd left behind when I left Little Rock, and I was looking forward to all the fun I had enjoyed before.

We had a wonderful arrangement at the Sheraton. The hotel had us on sort of a mini-circuit, traveling between Sheratons in Fort Smith and Little Rock. We would work for three weeks, then have a week off, but get paid for four weeks. The money was good and we were having a great time. I was running the band and learning how to handle individual personalities. Initially, if someone got out of line, I would just fire him. Even though I might have been justified in doing so, I soon learned it was much smarter to handle each person differently in order to get the most out of him. I became much better at managing people and keeping everyone happy.

A couple of years after I returned to Little Rock, nightclubs began losing favor as a result of stricter drunk driving laws. As was inevitable in the entertainment business, my time at the Sheraton finally ended, and I was struggling a little to keep my schedule filled. There were still singing jobs to be had, but they were getting tougher to nail down. So when someone approached me about making some commercials for the Hot Air Balloon Theater, I was delighted. It was a nice change from singing and nightclubs and I enjoyed it.

The Hot Air Balloon Theater was a children's theater, so they created two characters -- "Miss Heaven Lee" and "Captain Cloud" for the commercials. As it turned out, there was actually a local stripper who went by the name of Heaven Lee, but by the time we found out, it was too late to change my character's name.

Not only were those commercials fun to do, they also brought me to the attention of David Jones, the president of KARK-TV channel four. He saw me in the commercial and contacted my agent to see if I might be interested in coming to work at KARK as a news reporter. I was excited by the prospect, and David assured me that if I showed an aptitude for the business I would rise quickly through the ranks, and the anchorwoman's job would be mine. At the time, women were just beginning to gain access to the anchor desk. Until the early seventies, it had been virtually a men-only occupation, so this would be a chance of a lifetime for me.

This seemed like a perfect opportunity to expand my horizons, and I eagerly accepted the job. I was hoping I could combine television exposure with my singing and travel around making personal appearances. It would certainly be a different approach to my career, and I was game to try.

I had taken a journalism course in high school, and I thought, "How hard could it be?" Not hard at all, as it turned out. I found out early on that I didn't necessarily have to be a skilled writer to do well. I just had to learn how to encapsulate stories in a thirty-second slot, complete with a witty opening and a catchy ending. But that didn't intimidate me. I had been writing my own promotional material for years, and I figured when it came to my on-air style, I could imitate someone I respected, like Jane Pauley, and do just fine.

So I went through the interview process, and David Jones was an elegant, wonderful man -- one of the few men I've met who was kind and professional, but didn't try to get in my pants. I felt like he really respected my ability. I can't say the same about Gary Long, the station's news director at the time, however. What a horrible man. He was a ferret-faced, skinny bastard with acne who had a huge chip on his shoulder. My guess is he'd had little luck with women during his life.

He sat in on my interview and didn't impress me. Apparently, he felt the same way about me. When David Jones called me back in, he said, "I'm going to offer you the job, Gennifer, but I want you to know what you're in for. When I asked Gary what he thought about you, how he felt about your interview, he said he thought you were a pretty girl with big tits." I shot back, "Well, he's right about a couple of things, but I also have brains." I told David I really wanted this opportunity, but if I'd only known how miserable Gary would try to make my life, I might not have been so eager.

As it turned out, Gary wasn't the only one who was unhappy with my being part of the team. The whole atmosphere in that newsroom was negative toward women. I don't know about other stations at that time, but the thinking around ours was that women were strictly there for their looks, and they had absolutely nothing to contribute intellectually. To add insult to injury, all the guys in the newsroom were coming on to all the women at the station. It was really a difficult place to work. And I was trying so hard to learn my job because I didn't know much about news reporting.

I remember one man in particular who was extremely hard on me. He was the weekend news anchor, so he was the one in charge on the weekends and he assigned all the stories. He was so mean to me, saying condescending things and putting me down every chance he got. It got so bad that I finally complained. When David Jones confronted him, this man actually admitted that he had been so cruel to me that he'd been having bad dreams about it. And he actually apologized to me.

I did have an ally at KARK though, a fellow reporter named Deborah Mathis. She was very helpful when I first started working there, answering my questions and helping me with stories. Deborah was also one of the women later named as having had an affair with Bill. Whether that was true or not, I never knew. But I remember him telling me I should be careful what I said to her, because she had a big mouth. Maybe what he really meant was she might let on that the two of them had been involved, and he didn't want me to know that.

Deborah was talented, articulate, professional, and very beautiful. She caused a stir around the station in more ways than one, too. For starters, she talked about sex all the time, which made it hard for me. She succeeded in egging on the men, who were all trying to get in the pants of every woman in the newsroom anyway. It was difficult to be taken seriously when the atmosphere was so sexually charged all the time.
Plus, as I said, most of the men didn't try to hide the fact that they resented our presence.

My assignment editor actually told me, "It's not like this in other newsrooms, Gennifer. Deborah keeps things stirred up. When you move on, you'll find it easier to cope in this business than you're finding it here."

Another person at the station whom I remember fondly was Tom Bonner, the weatherman. He really went out of his way to help me when the situation became unbearable. He even went to David Jones and tried to defuse things with some of the male reporters, and they did settle down some.

Eventually, Tom became president of the station. He was a diehard Clinton supporter, and when the story broke years later about our affair, he told the press, "It was real unlikely that Gennifer would meet Bill Clinton on a story, because she did feature reporting." That statement had one purpose: to protect Bill Clinton. I was not hired as a feature reporter exclusively. Granted, the stories I covered on Bill were not all hard news. Bill spoke to organizations, he spoke at churches, he cut a ribbon here and there. So I guess those could be considered fluff feature pieces, but I did cover hard news, too. I reported whatever I was sent to cover, and that included a multitude of very boring meetings, some so boring I'd rather have been stabbed in the eye and gotten it over with. But I covered them.

I had been with the station just a few weeks when they sent me to cover a story about Bill Clinton. Although the sun had already set, the air was still warm ... but I was shivering a little. Not with the anticipation of meeting Bill Clinton, who to me was just some politician, but because I wanted so badly to do a good job, to appear professional and sure of myself. I knew I looked the part -- I was wearing my favorite burgundy dress that hung loose in the back and tied in front, and high heels. My hair was long and dark then, and I had it styled up. Little tendrils of hair kept escaping and were blowing around my face in the gentle breeze, but I was too focused on the task ahead of me to care.

I had seen Bill before, but had never met him. I tried to imagine if he would be easy or difficult to question, and I didn't think I'd have too much trouble. The prospect of interviewing a politician didn't unnerve me at all, because at that point I was considered somewhat of a celebrity myself. I had been performing all around Little Rock as a singer and was getting plenty of recognition as a television news reporter, too.

I was nervous, but only because I was thinking about how to handle myself and how to present the interview. This was my first assignment out on my own without another reporter along to back me up. There were several other reporters at the airport, too, so when Attorney General Clinton descended the stairway from the plane, I was determined to get his attention. It turned out to be easy. As soon as he heard my voice and turned to look at me, I might as well have been the only reporter there.

When he walked right over to me with a big smile on his face, giving me a seductive once-over and asking "Where did they get you?" I was really irritated. Even though my heart skipped a beat or two, I really just wanted to do my job.

As I headed back to the station, some inner voice told me there was more to Bill's behavior than just a casual flirtation. But that same inner voice neglected to tell me just how serious Bill would soon become.

I saw him often after our first encounter, and he always singled me out and stared at me, as if he were trying to swallow me with his eyes. One day, I was waiting to get a statement from him, standing in the middle of a crowd of reporters. Bill came out of his meeting and, as usual, found me right away. He strolled up to the group, hands in pockets, charming smile already in place, and said to the other reporters, "Sorry guys, you'll have to wait just a few minutes. You understand." Then he gave me his undivided attention, somehow managing to answer my questions while seducing me with his eyes. The other reporters were left cooling their heels.

When he finally made his move on me, I had such ambivalent feelings. But still, I gave in and let him have my phone number. I struggled with the issues. I knew it wasn't right. He was married! But my resolve melted as soon as he called the next day and asked if he could come see me. I was so attracted to him by then that I let the urge to be with him get the better of me.

As I waited for him to arrive at my apartment, I had such mixed feelings about getting involved with him: I didn't want to be just a casual, one-night stand for him ... and I wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't try to get me into bed the minute he walked through the door. But I really did kind of hope we would end up in bed eventually.

My apartment was so small that in the living room I had only two antique chairs with a little table in between them. So that's where we sat, drinking wine and talking about anything and everything. By the time he left that night, after giving me a sweet kiss goodnight, I knew I was hooked.

Bill really was a master of his game. He knew that walking in the door and immediately trying to jump my bones would be a mistake. I would have thrown him out on his fanny. Instead, he behaved like a perfect gentleman. And the result was I was so eager to see him again, I could hardly wait. Bill wasted no time; he phoned me the next day and we quickly made plans for him to come to my apartment again.

I had barely closed the door behind him before he pulled me into his arms and began kissing me. All that sexual tension that had been relentlessly building for weeks in both of us suddenly erupted. A desire far beyond a physical attraction overwhelmed me. Everything about this man excited me: his brains, his charm, and his incredible sexuality.

We stumbled toward the bedroom, ripping off our clothes as we went, reluctant to release each other long enough to step out of them. My apartment may have been small, but my bed was built for a king. It took up most of the room: an imposing four-poster canopy draped with luxurious fabrics and buried in soft, sensuous pillows. But it could have been an army cot for all we cared. We collapsed onto it and eventually covered every square inch of it.

As a lover, Bill was great! Though not particularly well endowed, his desire to please was astounding. He was determined to satisfy me, and, boy, did he! At times I thought my head would explode with the pleasure. This was more than just great sex, it was great everything. I was falling in love with Bill Clinton, inside and out. On this magnificent night, there were no thoughts of "Is that all there is?"

On the contrary! We spent two or three hours together, mostly making love. During our short breathers, he would hold me and stroke my hair. He was so sweet and tender. It was as if I were the only one who existed for him at that moment. Nothing else mattered: not Hillary, not his responsibilities, nothing. He focused on me just as I focused on him. It was beyond my power to do otherwise. This man made me want to give back what he was giving, and what he was giving was sensational.

By the end of the evening, we were both drenched with sweat and my hair was a wet, tangled mess. But he just laughed and held me tighter, assuring me that I looked perfect. He convinced me it didn't matter how I looked; he was as consumed with me as I was with him.

His stamina amazed me. We made love over and over that night, and he never seemed to run out of energy. Had he stayed with me the entire night, I have no doubt he could have kept going 'til dawn. But spending the night was out of the question: Bill had a wife to go home to. I wanted him to stay so badly, but because I felt so happy and content, I was eager to make it easy for him. As he left, I urged him to be careful. I wanted him to come back, and I certainly didn't want to cast a dark cloud over our blossoming affair by making impossible demands.

After he left, I spent a restless but happy night. I had just had the greatest sex of my life with the most remarkable man I had ever met. He left his undershirt for me to hold through the night so that I could keep his scent close to me even after he was gone. I was floating on a cloud and had no desire to come down.

My assignments often included covering stories involving Bill. To my great delight, I saw him the day after our love-filled night together. When I heard that I would be reporting on a speech he was to give, memories of the night before set my body tingling. The thought of seeing him again after our passionate first night together made my knees weak.

I arrived at the hall where he was to speak and stood in the back with my cameraman. The stage was dominated by a large podium, with chairs on either side of it. Bill was seated very near the front of the room. He spotted me almost as soon as I entered -- he seemed to be looking for me. Even though he was sitting in front and I was standing in back, he turned around to look at me -- our eyes locking in silent acknowledgment of the passion we had shared the night before. The problem was that he kept looking back at me so often that other people were turning around to see what he was looking at. Bill was the speaker and the center of attention, so wherever he looked, everyone else looked, too!

To my relief, he finally stood to make his speech, which successfully drew his attention away from me. When he finished speaking, I had no trouble cornering him to get a statement. It was hard to keep a straight face and ask him serious questions when all I could think about was how his hands felt as they caressed my naked skin. It was difficult for him, too. He couldn't keep the smile off his face and was having trouble concentrating on what he was saying. Unmistakable sexual vibes were passing back and forth between us.

Somehow, though, we both managed to play our parts, and I made a beeline for the telephone as soon as we finished the interview. I was in the phone booth calling the station when Bill came over and tried to crawl in the booth with me. I was excited but horrified and I hissed, "Bill, there are people standing around here. This is crazy." He kind of grinned and said, "I don't care." I shot back frantically, "Well, I do. I've got a job to do here." "I've got to see you again," he pleaded. So I told him to call me later in the newsroom.

He did call later and I took the call at my desk in the newsroom, which was crawling with people. But I didn't care. Hearing his voice was more important than anything else right then. We got so involved in the conversation that Gary Long, the news director, snapped at me to get off the phone. I didn't want to hang up, and we kept talking. Gary was giving me nasty looks and finally made it clear that if I didn't end the conversation my job would be at stake.

During the first few months of the affair, our passion and desire for one another was so consuming that we met whenever our schedules would allow -- as often as two or three times a week. It was easier for him then, before he was elected governor, because he didn't have security guards around him all the time. He could come to my apartment or meet me at a hotel without too much fuss.

Although I still occasionally had qualms about our involvement, it became easier each time I saw him. I didn't try to justify it. I knew it wasn't a good idea, but I really felt that any guilt should be on his part. I wasn't married; he was. Words like adultery and fornication came to mind, but I shut them out. What was building between us was too good to be spoiled by recriminations. I did feel guilty later when his daughter, Chelsea, was born. But when it was just Bill and Hillary, it didn't bother me as much as it probably should have.
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Re: Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn D

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 6:56 am


Getting to know Bill was an adventure. He was intelligent and dynamic and so driven to succeed. But at the same time he had a soft side. He couldn't hide his passion for politics and he loved to discuss his favorite issues when we were together. Then two minutes later he would be tenderly making love to me. Every facet of his personality, from his sense of humor to his drive for politics to his gentle demeanor with me, was thoroughly captivating. I was grateful my job gave me an excuse to see him so often in a professional capacity. I felt it broadened my understanding of him as a total person. Seeing him in public so frequently also added to the danger that we both relished. How far could we go without getting caught?

During this time, he called me at the station frequently. Deborah Mathis and I had desks very close to one another, so she often was nearby when he called. I tried to keep my voice low because I knew our affair had to be kept under wraps, but there was so little privacy, and she could tell I was talking to someone special. She finally got the information out of me: the man I was so doe-eyed over was none other than our own attorney general. At the beginning of our affair, Deborah was one of the few people who actually knew Bill and I were seeing each other. Bill and I tried hard to keep our relationship as quiet as possible, but it was difficult to keep it entirely to ourselves.

Both of us had instantly recognizable faces, which made it impossible for us to be seen in public together. But I was singing occasionally at the Camelot Inn in Little Rock, and sometimes Bill would come in to hear me, alone or with a group of friends. One evening, he came in and sat at a table with several friends. The mood was sultry, and the lounge was softly hazy with cigarette smoke. As soon as I saw him, I changed my program and substituted a love song, "Since I Fell for You," which I sang directly to him.

-- "Since I Fell for You," by Lenny Welch

Then I sang the song he had told me reminded him of me: "Here You Come Again."

-- "Here You Come Again," by Dolly Parton

I joined his table during a break, pretending to be a casual acquaintance. When Bill got up to make a telephone call, one of the women in his party leaned over to me and whispered, "He couldn't take his eyes off you while you were singing." Even though I had sung to him intentionally, throwing caution to the wind, her comment almost made me wet my pants. Every time something like that happened, I would get nervous. It didn't seem to faze Bill, though. He was casual about his behavior and never seemed to care that we could get caught.

My mother, on the other hand, was anything but casual when she found out I was seeing a married man. She was staying with me in Little Rock shortly after Bill and I first got involved. He called one night and she answered the phone. She could tell by my side of the conversation that this man meant something special to me, so she questioned me about him when I hung up. When she heard he was married she hit the roof. With her, it was much more than just a religious or moral principal; she had been married for many years to a chronic womanizer, and it had caused her tremendous pain. She couldn't understand how I could even think about getting involved in that type of situation. She was right, of course, and I was wrong. Had I listened to her, my life would likely be completely different today. But I didn't.

[Arthur Dent] You know, it's at times like this, when I'm stuck in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse about to die of asphyxiation in deep space, that I really wish I'd listened to what my mother told me when I was young.

[Ford Prefect] Why? What did she tell you?

[Arthur Dent] I don't know ... I didn't listen.

-- The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams

We had a huge argument about it and she threatened to go see Bill and even to talk to Hillary if I didn't put an end to the relationship. Even though I was twenty-seven years old and thought I was all grown up, I knew my mother would do what she threatened. But I couldn't stop seeing him, so instead, I stopped talking to her about it. We never mentioned it again, although Bill actually called me at her home once when I was visiting, and she answered the phone. She knew who it was and it started another argument, but I was able to convince her not to worry about it.

Years later, when the story started to come out and Bill denied it all, my mother stood behind me one hundred percent. Even though she felt all along that what Bill and I did was wrong, she knew that it was true ... she had suspected for years that I had continued seeing him because I never became attached to any other man. So she hated it when people questioned the truth of my story.

* * * *

During my stint at KARK, I substituted frequently on an FYI-type guest-interview show. One of my guests was a woman who headed an abortion clinic in Little Rock, and the topic of abortion made for quite a controversial interview. Never afraid of controversy, I dug right in and explored both sides of the issue, not dreaming for a minute that I was sitting there at that moment pregnant with Bill Clinton's baby.

Within a couple of weeks of that interview, in the middle of December 1977, I got a little worried because my period was late. So I quickly called my doctor and made an appointment. Even though I had my suspicions, I was still unprepared when he confirmed I was indeed pregnant. I sat there for a moment after he told me, in stunned silence. I had been using a diaphragm for birth control, but really hated it. It was so clumsy, and more often than not I'd accidentally pop it toward the ceiling when I tried to use it. Bill told me he didn't think he could have children since he and Hillary had been married almost two years and she hadn't gotten pregnant. So I got careless and didn't use the diaphragm as often as I should have, and sure enough, I got pregnant.

I was horrified. No way was I ready for a child, but this was Bill's child, so I had mixed emotions about it. I went through the whole thought process of what we might produce together and that maybe this would be a catalyst for him to leave Hillary. These were dangerous thoughts, I knew. As much as my heart wanted to believe he might leave her for me, my mind told me otherwise. Bill had a definite political agenda, and she was a key player in his plans. I knew she was smart and that she was a hard-driving force behind him. Because of that, she was valuable to him, and he knew he needed her to get what he wanted.

What Bill wanted right then was the governorship of Arkansas. The 1978 gubernatorial election was coming up fast, and he was going to have to make a public announcement about his intentions. He had already confided in me that he was definitely going to run, but nothing had been made public yet.

All these things were going through my mind as I wrestled with a decision. I decided to wait and see what Bill's reaction would be before I made up my mind. He came over to my apartment one night shortly after I got the news, and we sat side by side in the same chairs we had sat in the first time he came to see me. I didn't beat around the bush; I told him immediately that I was pregnant.

I watched his face carefully to see his reaction. He was surprised, of course, but he didn't seem stricken or scared. The first words out of his mouth were, "Are you okay?" I burst into tears. I was so relieved he was concerned for me and not angry or accusing. But at the same time, I was scared, unsure of what was going to happen. He took my hand and asked how I felt. "Awful! The smell of almost everything makes me sick to my stomach, and my whole body feels puffy and sore."

I made small talk, deliberately stretching the conversation out to give him time to say what I so desperately wanted to hear. All he had to do was give me the slightest indication he would leave Hillary and marry me, and I would have said yes in an instant. But the minutes were passing, and the words I was waiting for never came. What he said was comforting, but what he didn't say broke my heart. His concern for me was sincere and I was grateful. But his silence told me everything I needed to know ... there would be nothing coming from him beyond concern.

Having a child without a husband was out of the question for me. I made up my mind on the spot. I told him right then and there I intended to have an abortion. His face still showed nothing but caring concern, but I'm sure he was inordinately relieved. He never said a word about keeping the child or even wondered what it might be like if things were different. He was sweet and supportive, but it was very clear that marrying me was the furthest thing from his mind.

Bill gave me some money for the abortion, and I called the woman I had interviewed on TV. She helped me maintain some privacy when I went to the clinic. What a traumatic experience: painful both physically and emotionally. I felt like I had been deceived, too. Bill had assured me he couldn't have children, and I didn't know for sure if he was sincere. I reasoned that maybe he really believed he couldn't and that this was just an unhappy accident, but it still planted a seed of doubt.

The day of the abortion, I drove myself to the clinic. I had hesitated to confide in anyone because I feared that the word might get out about Bill and me. As soon as I opened the door of the clinic, the medicinal smells hit me. The room was colorless and without personality, and a large seating area with sparse decor held only some chairs and a few tables for magazines. I joined the other women sitting and waiting to be called. As I watched them I wondered about their stories. There was a pretty, dark-haired young woman with a deep tan sitting next to a frumpy-looking housewife type. No matter how they looked, or how they ended up here, we all had this one thing in common. We were about to take a painful step.

The clinic did group counseling sessions right before the procedure. We all sat listening and cooperating with the counselor, but as I looked at the faces of the women in my group, I wondered if they were feeling the same conflicting emotions that I was.

The abortion itself was painful, and there was nothing to ease the pain. The procedure is demeaning: the poor woman lies flat on her back, legs up in those hateful stirrups with an impersonal tool ready to enter her body and remove something very personal. After it was over, I went in and sat in a chair and sobbed -- partly from physical pain, partly because I felt totally devastated. Since then, I've wondered how well a man could endure such an experience.

I had the abortion in the afternoon, and Bill called me shortly after I got home to find out how I was doing. I didn't reassure him; I was uncomfortable and very upset. But I was touched by his concern. As soon as I recovered, I got serious about birth control. Since diaphragms only work if you use them, I switched to birth control pills and never missed a one. I never ever wanted to go through that experience again.

As emotionally difficult as that whole situation was, I had no intention of ending our relationship. I was in love -- temporarily insane! Even though hope was dim and fading that he might leave Hillary for a life together with me, I had no desire to see anyone else. Not that the opportunity didn't present itself.

I was still singing here and there, doing some private parties. It was getting me out, and I was seeing people, which seemed to satisfy my need for a social life. In my mind, nobody could begin to compare with Bill. You know that old saying, "thirty minutes of wonderful is better than a lifetime of okay." So I was willing to accept our relationship on that basis and enjoy it for all it was worth. It was terrific, thrilling, and I wanted it to stay that way as long as possible.

Bill was starting to make noises about running for governor. This caught the attention of KARK, and they sent me out to get a statement from him at an event where he was speaking. I already knew he was definitely going to run, but I also knew he wasn't ready to announce it yet. The station wanted me to really put him on the spot, to say to him, "Tell the truth: are you or are you not?" The news director was insistent. "Get this from him!" My heart sank. How was I going to do this? I had a cameraman with me, and I knew I wouldn't have much chance to forewarn Bill.

I waited until he wrapped up his speech, and I cornered him. That wasn't hard. He was more than willing to be cornered by me. The cameraman was behind me, so I looked Bill in the eye apologetically, and said under my breath, "I've got to ask you this." Then I asked him if he intended to run for governor. I had no idea how he would respond but wasn't expecting his reaction. He couldn't help smiling, but he dished out some double-talk and evaded my question! Bill Clinton was already perfecting the tools he would need to be a successful politician. I didn't push him as I would have with someone else. I let it go for his sake.

During this time, Hillary was never allowed to occupy my thoughts for very long. I knew if I let her image creep into my relationship with Bill, a shadow would be cast over our otherwise happy times together. I had never seen her in person -- or even a picture of her -- until I attended a function in Russellville, Arkansas. Colleagues had told me she wasn't particularly attractive and had a real Yankee attitude, which put people off. I was curious about her, but ambivalent about actually seeing her face to face. The Russellville function was a political fund-raiser, and I knew Bill would be attending. It never occurred to me that Hillary might be there, too.

I went to the fund-raiser with a friend and was having a wonderful time chatting with the other guests and catching Bill's eye as often as I could. I wandered over to the bar to get a fresh drink, and while the bartender was pouring and mixing, I glanced across the room and there stood Hillary less than five feet from me. Someone standing near me confirmed that's who it was.

I was shocked. She looked like a fat frump with her hair hanging down kind of curly and wavy. She had big, thick glasses; an ugly dress; and a big, fat butt. My first thought was, "What in the hell does he see in her?" I knew Bill was capable of loving a woman for her mind, but I couldn't understand what I was seeing. Besides looking dumpy, she was behaving oddly -- flamboyantly buzzing around with a drink in her hand talking and laughing. She seemed intent on trying to draw attention to herself, and she certainly was doing that. Everyone was staring at her, wondering exactly what she was up to. All I could see was this fat butt wiggling around. I kept looking at her, and I thought, "What is she doing?"

Seeing her there brought home a few realities, though. Knowing about Bill's wife was one thing, but seeing her in the flesh was another. It angered me. At the time I really wanted him to leave her, and I thought, "Why? Why is he with her?" He was so cute and smart, and she was so unappealing. Surely her brains didn't offset her looks.

I do think Hillary looks good now ... better than she's ever looked. I think she had a lot of help with her appearance during the presidential campaign, and it really paid off. But back then it made no sense to me that Bill could have married her in the first place.

Speaking of Hillary's looks ... a funny thing happened to me at a hotel gift shop in Los Angeles in 1992. I picked up a few items to buy and when I went to the counter to pay, the woman asked me, "You know who you look like?" I figured she was going to say Gennifer Flowers, but she said, "Are you Hillary Clinton?" I was flabbergasted. I said no and looked her right in the face to see if she was teasing, and she wasn't. I signed my name and room number to the ticket and left. I wondered if she looked at my name after I left and thought "Oh, my God. I can't believe I'm telling his mistress that she looks like his wife." Believe it or not, I've been mistaken for Hillary more than once. I think people make a connection between the two of us, but they mix up the faces. At least I hope that's the explanation for it.

Bill and I didn't talk about Hillary much. Every once in awhile he would be exasperated with her over something, and he would complain about her cold nature. He called her "The Sarge" or "Hilla the Hun." But occasionally he would speak respectfully of her, too. He really admired her and the things she tried to accomplish, but I think a lot of times he was put off by her hardness.

The time Bill and I had together was too precious to waste talking about his wife, but when I heard some rumors floating around Little Rock, I had to speak up. He was with me at home one evening, and I cautiously told him, "There's something you need to know. I've been hearing tales around town that Hillary is having a thing with another woman." I watched his face to see his reaction, and couldn't believe it when he burst out laughing. I was stunned! I asked him what was so funny. "Honey," he said, "she's probably eaten more pussy than I have."

Bill said he had known for a long time that Hillary was attracted to women, and it didn't really bother him anymore. His first clue came from her lack of enjoyment of sex with him. He said she was very cold and not playful at all in bed. She didn't like to experiment and insisted on the missionary position and nothing else. Because she wasn't enjoying herself, neither was he. Sex with her became a duty, nothing more.

Their marriage was not a happy one, although he never came right out and said it. He didn't have to. The signs were clear. He was with me, after all, telling me he loved me and seeing me every chance he could.
Even though I knew he wasn't happy with her, he never gave me the impression he intended to do anything about it. During the first several months of our affair, we would engage in bedroom talk to the effect of "If we could only be together ... " or "When we're together ... " But he never came right out and said, "I want to get a divorce," and I never asked him to. I look back now and wonder if he actually wanted me to ask him to get a divorce. Would that have made the difference?

Just about anything Bill did was okay with me. I wasn't about to criticize him for fear of creating distance between us. So when he casually put his hand in his pants pocket and pulled out a joint one night, I was startled but kept silent. I thought how foolish it was of him to carry marijuana around, but it was typical of his bulletproof attitude. He felt comfortable enough to continue smoking marijuana occasionally when he was with me. I didn't object. I didn't like it and was glad when he finally quit using it around me, but I never voiced any disapproval other than the fact that I had no intention of smoking it with him. By the way, he most certainly did inhale.

Terry hadn't noticed a man approach their table. He looked up and saw Bob Nash standing beside him.

"I noticed you were just finishing with your dinner. Bill would like to talk to you outside," Nash said.


"Yeah, he's right over here in the corner ... Oh, here he comes now."

Reed turned around in his chair to get a better look and saw Bill Clinton walking away from the unruly group in the corner and toward Reed's table.

Clinton made eye contact with him and sauntered by without stopping.

"Hi! ... Bye!" was all he said as if speaking to no one.

The young governor continued walking until he reached the exit. It was easy to see by his glassy gaze and relaxed posture that he was under the influence.

Nash shrugged his shoulders and conjured up an apologetic expression, "I guess that means we're going."

"I hope you'll excuse us," Nash said to Janis and the Halls. "I'm sure we won't be gone long."

Terry excused himself from his wife and the wide-eyed Halls.

Outside, Clinton was already seated in the parked security van with the side door open. A man and a woman stepped out of the van as Reed and Nash approached and the governor told Nash: "Bobby ... I'd like to talk to him privately." Reed stepped in and Nash closed the door. Standing guard outside the restaurant watching the van was Arkansas State Police Lieutenant Raymond (Buddy) Young, the governor's chief of security. This was the same vehicle he had witnessed Clinton arrive in for the Agency's meeting at Camp Robinson.

Clinton was comfortably seated in a plush, swiveling captain's chair on the streetside of the van and Reed took the one opposite him on the curbside with his back to the van's side door, which was now closed. His eyes scanned the interior of what was really a mobile command post equipped with an array of electronics that included a computer terminal. It was a much scaled-down, wingless version of Air Force One, he thought.

The governor's invitation had come as a surprise to Terry. He would be even more surprised by what he was about to see and hear.

"Bobby says you've got a problem about going to Mexico because of the deal with Barry Seal," the glassy-eyed governor began. By this time, the smell of marijuana was unmistakable.

Clinton paused for a moment as if trying to sort out his thoughts. "I can see your concern. I understand Seal was a friend of yours. His death does appear suspicious. And Bobby says you got a feeling somebody here in Arkansas may have had a motive to kill him. But nobody here had anything to do with that. Seal just got too damn big for his britches and that scum basically deserved to die, in my opinion ..."

With that, Clinton got up from his chair and went to the back of the van, returning with a half-smoked joint. He reseated himself. He took a long, deep drag. After holding it in until his cheeks bulged, he then exhaled slowly and deliberately.

He extended his arm and offered the joint to Reed. Terry shook his head and gestured, no thanks.

"Go on, I'm the commander in chief here; you won't get busted," the governor said with a straight face while exhaling. Reed felt uncomfortable with a cop standing right outside the van and he sure didn't want to cloud his mind with anything more that the two beers he had already consumed in the restaurant.

"No, thanks. I just want to get all of this straight. You're saying that Seal's death, from what you know, is just as the papers say, he was killed by some Colombians because of his connection to the Medellin Cartel?"

"Yeah. And I think you're makin' a big mistake by passing up the opportunity to go to Mexico for Cathey. It sounds attractive to me. I wish I could go in your place. Terry, these guys are counting on you and they're leaning on me to get you to go. I'm not standing in your way. I just want to tell you that if you wanna still go to Mexico, you'd be leaving here with my blessing. There's no hard feelings about anything that happened here. I wanted you to hear that coming from me."

Clinton took another deep drag, held it and exhaled. In a raspy voice, with smoke still coming from his mouth, Clinton added, "Sure you don't want some of this? This is good shit. We sure do grow lotsa good things besides watermelons here in Arkansas."

"Thanks, again, but I gotta get back inside with my group before they wonder what happened to me."

"So what's your decision, you gonna go or aren't ya? I gotta tell Cathey somethin' ASAP to get him offa my ass. It's ridiculous, but he's holdin' me responsible for your vacillation."

"Tell him I'm goin'."


Terry walked back toward the restaurant entrance and could hear Clinton calling out to Nash. "Bobby, get 'em rounded up. I'm ready to go.'"

How could Terry know then he had just witnessed the future President of the United States smoking a joint and inhaling with expertise.

As he rejoined his wife and friends, Terry felt elation beginning to bubble up inside him. He had spent a miserable evening with boring company and had just left a man close to his age, who was the governor, and who should be on top of the world. Yet this same man had just expressed the desire to change places with Terry. Nobody's really happy, he decided. Like Grandpa said, "The grass is always greener ...'" Somehow the thought of grass seemed fitting.

He had needed a "fix'" and the adrenalin was now flowing. Yes, he was going!

Back at the table, Cherryl, always nosey, was champing at the bit and demanded to know what had just happened. "I didn't know you knew Bill Clinton. What's that all about? Where'd you go?'"

Ignoring the question, Terry turned to Janis and smiled. "We're going to Mexico."

Oblivious to their dinner guests, she asked, "Are you sure you're making the right decision?"

"Yeah. What's the worst that could happen? We're off on an adventure."

On the drive home, he had time to think about what had happened in the governor's van. With all things considered, and even having inside knowledge of the source of "capitalization" of the governor's industrial plan, Terry still liked Clinton. He and Janis had found it refreshing to live in a state that was ruled by someone of their generation. Clinton was doing a lot of good things for Arkansas and was taking it from the "corn cob pipe and moonshine" image of its past to its proper place in the industrialized world.

But he couldn't help but feel let down by the hypocrisy demonstrated by Clinton having the courage to smoke a joint in his presence and yet not possessing the strength to campaign openly to reform marijuana laws. When, he wondered, was someone from his generation going to stand up and tell it like it is to the voters.

Throughout the state that night, Terry was sure, kids were being busted and their lives destroyed for the possession of a few joints of "Arkansas' finest."

-- Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presidency was Co-opted by the CIA, by Terry Reed & John Cummings

I never saw him use cocaine, but he talked about it. He complained about how cocaine really had a bad effect on him. It didn't stop him from using it, though. He told me about a party he had been to, and said, "I got so fucked up on cocaine at that party." He said it made his scalp itch, and he felt conspicuous because he was talking with people who were not aware drugs were at the party, and all he wanted to do was scratch his head. He was afraid if he continued to walk around scratching his head, people would think something more serious than dandruff was going on with him.

I tried cocaine a few times and didn't like it. What is the big deal? It reminded me of going to the dentist. It made my eyes and sinuses swell and I looked like a frog. I just didn't understand what people saw in this drug.

I don't think Bill used cocaine often, but there were several occasions when he mentioned to me he had gotten high on coke. I wondered if he worried about using drugs when he was such a high-profile person. But just as he thought he was bulletproof in his relationship with me, that same reckless attitude extended to his drug use. He seemed to think nothing could ever touch him in an adverse way.

I stayed with KARK for just about a year and finally decided I had had enough of all the harassment and tension in the newsroom. I sent some audition tapes to a New Orleans station and to the NBC affiliate in Atlanta and got a positive response from both, which helped convince me that I had accomplished something in that business and could move on if I wanted. I thought long and hard about it and came to the conclusion that if I were going to be in a back-stabbing business, it might as well be the one I knew best: the entertainment business.

About that time, an agent who had seen me perform in Tulsa contacted a local talent/booking agent to see if I'd be interested in auditioning for country entertainer Roy Clark as a back-up singer. I didn't like country music and wasn't really infatuated with the idea, but my agent told me this would give me the chance to meet a lot of people who could help my career. Jim Halsey was Roy's manager and he had built quite an agency. The Jim Halsey Agency represented acts like The Oakridge Boys, Tammy Wynette, Don Williams and lots of other top-name acts. So being part of that organization was a big deal. That appealed to me. I had spent the last year working myself to death to gain some respect at KARK without much success. I was ready for some positive moves, so I did the audition.

What an experience. I had been told I would get a private audition with the band, so a girlfriend and I got in the car and drove to Tulsa. We found the hotel and went to the ballroom where the audition was to be held. When we walked into the room I was shocked to see several hundred other girls waiting for their turn. Needless to say I was not happy. I told my girlfriend, "Forget this. Let's just head back to Little Rock." But she convinced me to stay, just to see what it was like. So I took a number and waited with the others. I did, however, waylay the music director and make it clear to him that I had been told this would be a private audition. He apologized for the mix-up and begged me to stay and give it a shot.

It took quite awhile to get through all those auditions. They finally moved the last group of us into a small banquet room to wait our turn. I was getting real bored, so I got a beer and sat with my friend until they called me to sing. I remember I sang "We're All Alone," a Boz Scaggs' song that Rita Coolidge had made popular.

-- "We Are All Alone," by Rita Coolidge

I could tell right off that the music director liked me, and I felt the same way about him. They narrowed the group down to six and had us come back to sing our songs again. Then they chose two of us.

I have to admit I was thrilled to be chosen from such a large group, and once I visited the Jim Halsey Agency in Tulsa, I was real impressed with the level of professionalism. Plus, I could practically smell money when I walked into his office. He had it decorated with lots of Indian art, and pictures of all his stars hung on the walls. All of a sudden, I began to feel pretty special.

The only sour note in my excitement was that I had to move to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where Roy was based. I dreaded the thought of leaving Bill, but I needed to go forward. I knew it would probably be better for him if I wasn't around during his 1978 campaign for governor. Before I left the TV station, our sportscaster, Rob Wiley, took a leave of absence to work on Bill's campaign. One night he took a call that came into campaign headquarters, and the caller angrily said, "You better tell Bill Clinton we know about his affair with Gennifer Flowers, and it better stop." Rob turned to Bill, who was there, and told him what the woman had just said. Bill's pretty quick on the uptake, and he replied, ''I'm just flattered that anyone would think Gennifer Flowers would have an affair with me."

Bill told me about the phone call, and it made me a little uneasy. I felt we were getting much too close to exposure. It didn't seem to bother him a bit, though. But the time was right for me to leave. He was disappointed I was leaving town, of course, but he encouraged me to pursue my career.
I told him, "I feel like I really have never gone as far as I could professionally. I haven't tried New York or LA. Although I've performed in other places, I haven't really pursued a career nationwide. I need to do this." He was sad, but said "I think you should; I don't blame you. I want you to do it if that's what you want."

It was tough to leave, and I cried halfway to my new home. I loved Bill so much, and even though I wanted to follow this path, the reality of leaving him nearly broke my heart. As I drove down the highway, putting more and more miles between us, I wasn't certain I would ever see him again. But, as it turned out, I had underestimated his tenacity.
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Re: Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn D

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 7:07 am


Performing with the Roy Clark show was quite an experience. I loved it ... but I wouldn't want to do it again. I had never traveled in such high caliber entertainment circles before. These folks were true professionals, and they drew the audiences to prove it. I had been on lots of stages and sung before plenty of large groups, but to walk out onto a stage and sing in front of 35,000 people -- that's a real thrill. It's also a little scary. Roy was so popular with his fans -- he had just won country music's "Entertainer of the Year" award for the second time -- and there was never any barricade between the stage and all those thousands of screaming, cheering people. A few security guards were all that stood between the crowd and us.

That enthusiasm didn't stop at the stage, either. When we'd roll into town in the bus -- which is the way we traveled most of the time -- the fans would close in. Fortunately, the bus had shades, because if we arrived at concert sites with the shades up, fans could see through the windows and would go wild. We felt like monkeys in a cage at the zoo. The fans didn't realize Roy was almost never with us on the bus -- he flew in on his private plane and would arrive at the actual concert site quietly. We had to go through some elaborate methods of getting off the bus because the fans always seemed to be waiting to swarm over us. I had no illusions that I was the star of this show -- the only star was Roy Clark. But just being part of the show lent me a sort of rub-off celebrity status, and I enjoyed it.

A short time on the road and we had become a fairly tight group. Moving around from town to town meant the only friendships I could form were within the show -- these were the only people I had regular contact with. We had a road band of five guys who traveled with us, three back-up singers, and Roy joined us occasionally.

Roy was a big-hearted guy and very good to the back-up singers, but he had a major cocaine habit, and he drank a lot -- every day. He also, surprisingly, was quite a womanizer. He had a wife, who wasn't on the road with him all the time; a girlfriend on the television show Hee Haw; another girlfriend in Las Vegas; and on top of all that, he became involved with one of the other back-up singers.

Roy was known to have sudden temper tantrums. He'd be all coked up or drunk, and he'd throw glasses against the wall. His personality could change in an instant. One minute he was happy and calm, the next he'd be screaming and yelling.
Despite his temperament, though, he was always ready to party. If a party wasn't happening, Roy would make one. And he didn't like to party alone. He always insisted everyone stay with him until he was ready to call it a night.

I discovered the hard way what happened to those who tried to sneak out early. We were performing in Lake Tahoe, and after the show Roy had a party in his dressing room. The room was fairly large, but people were coming and going all night, so it stayed crowded. Cigarette smoke filled the whole area, and after several hours of partying, the atmosphere was oppressive. By five in the morning I was tired. I didn't use cocaine, didn't feel like drinking anymore, and just wanted to go to my room and get to bed.

Roy was in a back room doing his cocaine when I stood up and announced I was going to my room. The door burst open and he shouted, "If you leave, you're fired!" That was too much. I have a bit of a temper myself, and I said, "Listen, if you want to fire me, go right ahead. But nothing you can threaten me with is going to keep me in this room." Roy's eyes got big, he went back into his little room and slammed the door, and I left. He actually apologized the next day, and I felt I had achieved a minor victory.

Like I said earlier, I never liked using cocaine. And, boy, am I thankful I didn't, because I sure had every opportunity to use it -- day and night. Little bowls of cocaine were set out like appetizers at every party.

The wildest parties took place when we were playing in Las Vegas or Lake Tahoe. It would be easy to blame the ever-present supply of cocaine on the road band; road bands have a reputation as hard partyers who have a free-flowing supply of drugs. But when we were in Vegas or Tahoe, the road band wasn't usually with us. Roy would use the orchestra provided by the hotel where we were performing. So it was up to him to keep himself supplied with cocaine, and he always managed to stay well stocked.

Roy eventually cleaned up his act. When I worked with him again several years later at his theater in Branson, he had quit drinking and doing drugs -- I think his doctor told him to clean up or die -- and he was doing much better. I give a lot of the credit for his recovery to his wife, Barbara. She stood by him through so many shenanigans: drinking, drugs, other women. She was a rock of support when he needed it most. And he combined that support with his own inner strength and made a remarkable turnaround. I have a lot of respect for what Roy accomplished with his personal life as well as his career.

When the show would roll into Las Vegas, it was exciting and a relief at the same time. We'd actually get to stay put for a few weeks, and it gave me a chance to meet a lot of stars, including Bob Hope. Lots of performers who were in Las Vegas at the same time we were would stop by Roy's dressing room. One man I found particularly fascinating was Evel Knievel. He was in town planning another of his famous stunts. A homing device would be implanted in his stomach, and he would jump from an airplane into a haystack. Find the Knievel in the haystack. The deal never came together, but at the time I met him he was actively promoting it.

He was a pompous ass, totally obsessed with himself and his "achievements." And he loved showing off his diamonds. Everything out of his mouth was me, me, me; I, I, I. "I did this; nobody else can do that." Just an idiot. But in spite of that mouth, and all his scars and broken bones, I found him physically attractive. I was getting bored with our routine -- finish the show and go home by 3:00 or 4:00 a.m.; sleep; get up and eat; and it's time to go back to work. So, when he asked me to have a drink with him, I thought it might be an adventure.

We went to a bar at the Circus Circus casino and almost immediately got into a confrontation with a girl who was photographing him for a magazine article. At some point during her assignment she must have developed a personal interest in Evel. She was not pleased to see him with me, and made no attempt to hide her displeasure. We had a few drinks, but she kept hovering around sending me looks that could kill. Add that unpleasant scene to the mindless worship he demanded and got everywhere we went, and I was ready to call it a night. But he would have none of that, and we ended up at his room, and this moonstruck young woman had actually left him a rose in front of his door. And I thought, "Well, this ought to be good, if she's chasing him this hard." And it was!

Evel called me several times after that evening, asking me to come to Palm Beach to join him. If my schedule had been different, I might have considered it, but it was fun to tell him no and prick a little hole in that great big ego of his.

Life on the road with the Roy Clark Show was grueling. We crisscrossed the United States and Europe with only short breaks, then we would return to Tulsa. It was as if our road schedule had been determined by someone throwing darts at a map -- back and forth across the country we would go. It was difficult to see Bill during this time because I was gone so often. But occasionally I would have some time off, and he would come to Tulsa to meet me, or I would go to Little Rock to see him. We kept in touch frequently by telephone, though. It was easy to reach him at his office in the Capitol Building or at the governor's mansion. The chain of command was familiar with my name and I would always be put right through to him.

I hadn't seen Bill for several weeks, but I knew he was due to come to Tulsa for a political function. He called to tell me he was on his way, and I waited for him anxiously. I was missing him badly and looked forward to a few sweet hours together. When he arrived he had the best surprise for me -- he told me he was going to spend the whole night with me. I had always hoped we would have the chance to stay together all night, but I never believed it would happen. We occasionally took short naps together after making love, and there was something so special and satisfying about being able to snuggle up close to him and doze off. Bill would turn on his side and draw his legs up, and I would put my arms around him and curl up behind him -- "getting in his crook" I called it.

That night together was a rare treat. I lay awake for hours, watching him sleep and counting his breaths. I was surprised when he started to snore gently. I wasn't surprised that he snored, only that I had never heard it before.

I was never happy when Bill had to leave me, but I had gotten used to his leaving after a few hours. Watching him walk out my door after a whole night together was a different story. It really pounded home how much he meant to me, how rare and special our time together was. It was excruciating to watch him leave, and it left me feeling empty and alone.

One of my goals in leaving Little Rock was to put our relationship in perspective and create some emotional distance between us. After our night together, I felt I had taken a step backward. But I was still determined to weaken our connection if I could. Although I still held a tiny flicker of hope for a future with him, in my heart I knew it wasn't likely to happen.

I redoubled my efforts to concentrate on my job and to explore relationships with other people. While on the road, I went out occasionally and I often made new friends, and the Roy Clark Show was like a great big family. I felt I was beginning to develop a life beyond Bill. But in spite of my good intentions, I still never hesitated to see him whenever I had the opportunity.

After nearly a year with the show, I was exhausted from being on the road. Even worse, I had gained weight because we never ate on schedule. We ate when we had the chance, not when we were hungry. A lot of our meals were in greasy-spoon restaurants just off the highway, and sometimes I would find myself eating hamburgers and french fries at three o'clock in the morning. I rarely had a chance to get any exercise, and the pounds started to pile up.

The novelty of traveling and performing all over the United States and Europe had worn off. It had become such a grind -- get on the bus, go into a place, get a room, change for the show, do the show, get on the bus, go to the next city, get a room, shower, change for the show, do the show, get back on the bus. We did a stretch like that for almost two weeks once without a break! I was just miserable. I'd find myself looking out the bus window at the neighborhoods we drove through thinking, "I wonder what regular, real people are doing today? I wonder what their lives are like?" Because my life had become surreal, I longed for a return to normal, a chance to put my feet back on the ground.

I began to plan what I would do next. I had relatives in Dallas and had lived there before. Plus, I knew the market there was still good for my business. So I headed straight for Dallas, found an apartment, and started from square one again, which is the way you have to do it in the entertainment business.

Naturally, I thought seriously about going back to Little Rock to be near Bill -- he was a strong pull. But after my year apart from him, I knew I needed to maintain the distance between us to get him out of my system ... as much as I could, anyway. Furthermore, I had gone about as far professionally as I could in Little Rock. In order to continue advancing, I needed to be in a larger city with more opportunities.

By this time my resume was impressive, and I had no trouble finding work in a Dallas club. As soon as I was hired, I assembled some musicians and we were ready. I stayed in Dallas just a short time, though, before I was offered a job in Fort Worth, singing at a new restaurant called Remington's. The owners wanted me to do some public relations for them, as well. This was too good to pass up. I moved to Fort Worth, did public relations during the day, and sang four nights a week. Before long I also became the interim manager of the restaurant.

I was happy with my responsibilities at Remington's, but the restaurant was on shaky ground. It was a popular place, but the owners were having financial difficulties with some of their other concerns and didn't pump enough money into the restaurant to keep it going. It stayed open only about six months ... but what a six months!

During that time, I thought I was making progress in distancing myself from Bill, but it was hard to resist calling him every once in awhile, and he called me, too. Music had always played a part in our relationship, and whenever I performed certain songs, they always brought back memories. I'd always have music playing when he'd come to my apartment. We both loved the Commodores -- "I'm Easy" ...

"I'm Easy," by The Commodores

and "Three Times a Lady" were special favorites.

-- "Three Times A Lady," by The Commodores

We'd also listen to Frank Sinatra, the Chairman of the Board. Bill liked Steely Dan, and Kenny Loggins was someone we listened to a lot. For my part, songs like "Wedding Bell Blues" ...

"Wedding Bell Blues," by The Fifth Dimension

and "Don't Mess with Bill" had a habit of playing over and over in my mind during our early years together.

"Don't Mess With Bill," by The Marvelous Marvelettes

While I was singing at Remington's one night, I was surprised to see Bill come in. He was in Dallas for a conference, and he had made his way to Fort Worth to see me. It had been months since we had seen each other. All the memories came rushing back in an instant. I pictured myself in his arms and could hear him telling me he loved me as he had so often. He listened to me sing for a bit, and as I sang I could feel the passion rising to the surface. There he was with his piercing eyes, staring at me in that familiar way. Not only was I powerless to resist him, I had no desire to resist him.

He took the key to my apartment and said he'd wait for me there. But before he left I introduced him to a dear friend from Fort Worth: Jay Wallace. He told me later how impressed he was with Bill's class and charm. I couldn't have agreed with him more. I rushed home to him, and melted into his arms. Nothing had changed between us. All the love and passion we had shared in Little Rock was back in an instant. It had never really diminished; I had just tried to pretend it had. We were still a perfect fit, mentally and sexually. We had missed each other terribly, and it showed in the intensity of our lovemaking. Later that night, as I lay in bed stroking his hair, I knew that he was deeply rooted in my heart. I could move to Dallas, or California, or to the moon for that matter. But distance wasn't going to get Bill Clinton out of my system.

Even though Dallas and Fort Worth weren't his home turf, we still had to be careful about being seen together. All the southern states are close together, and the governors' names are well known. Had Bill sat in the bar at Remington's for very long, the manager and some of the regulars were bound to join him and start a conversation. And unless he gave them a phony name, there would have been some questions about why the governor of Arkansas was spending the evening in a bar watching Gennifer Flowers. So we were forced to be just as discreet in Fort Worth as we were in Little Rock. But we were used to it by this time, so it didn't seem like a big deal. It was a small price to pay to be able to snatch a few hours with the man I loved.

When Bill wasn't right in front of me, casting a spell over me, I really believed I could develop an interest in someone else. I knew the only thing that would tear me away from him would be to fall in love with another man. But it had been nearly three years since I had fallen in love with him, and so far I hadn't met anyone who was his equal. But I kept looking.

Fort Worth was similar to Little Rock in that it was easy to be a big duck in a little puddle. A newspaper reporter had written an article about me titled, "Gennifer with a 'G,' Class with a 'C.' "The article couldn't have been more flattering -- it complimented my singing ability and called me the most eligible bachelorette in town. I loved the attention I was getting. Men were asking me out, and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to shift my focus away from Bill.

I was dating one of the owners of the restaurant who was separated from his wife and going through a rather nasty divorce. Not an ideal situation, but at least he was legally separated. His son lived with him, and we would get together every once in awhile at his apartment. I liked him a lot and thought there might be a chance for a future with him. Maybe he was the one who could divert me from Bill. Unfortunately, his wife was unable to let go. Their five-year-old daughter was living with her, and she would call him at all hours of the night saying, "Your daughter is having bad dreams; she wants her daddy." And he would rush off every time she beckoned.

She followed us when we were out together, too. I was trying to be patient, because I still thought if we could get his wife settled down, things might develop for us. But we were starved for some privacy. So one night he told me, "I'll get a room at the Hilton, and when you're finished singing we'll have a late dinner and be able to spend some time together." That was fine with me. I was ready to get serious about this man, and the chance to have an evening alone without being pestered by his wife was appealing.

We had dinner and a few drinks, then went back to the room. Things were just starting to heat up when the phone rang. I heard him protest, "No, no, now don't come up here." His wife had seen both our cars at the hotel and told the bellman she had a sick child; she had to get in touch with her husband. The bellman told her what room we were in!

By this point I had changed into a long negligee, and I panicked! I grabbed my bag, stuffed my nightgown into my underwear, and threw on my fur coat. I told him, "I don't want any part of this. I'm getting out of here." As I tore down the hall toward the stairs and was just opening the exit door, she came off the elevator and headed for her husband, letting out a blood-curdling scream and sinking her fingernails into his face.

I flew down the stairs as fast as I could, but came up short when I found that they ended at the mezzanine. There was no way to get out of the hotel without descending a long, winding staircase that led smack into the lobby. I was trying to walk down those stairs with some dignity, and my nightgown kept falling out from under my coat. I felt like a bad version of Scarlett O'Hara. I finally got to the bottom, raced through the lobby, and ran outside to my car, only to find she had pulled in behind my car and blocked me in. I ran back inside and demanded the desk clerk get me a cab. He pointed to the telephone and said, "You've got to call one." Great. In a panic, I called a cab, but knew I couldn't stay in the lobby in case she came back down. She was a bona fide lunatic and I had no idea what she might do.

I moved back outside and planted myself in a little alcove in the building, looking like a madwoman myself -- hair sticking out everywhere, silk gown hanging down under my coat, and a panicked look in my eyes. I tried my best to become part of the wall, hoping that if she came out, she might not see me. Meanwhile, people were walking by, staring at me, and I kept thinking, "Yep, it's me, Gennifer with a 'G,' Class with a 'C.' " Finally, my cab arrived and I got out of there. The next day I told him I wouldn't see him again. I needed another relationship with built-in problems like I needed a hole in the head! So much for my attempt to get Bill Clinton out of my system.

In the meantime, Remington's closed, and I started looking around for work again. I called a friend from Dallas, Kay Hammond, and she told me she was dating a fellow who was going to be singing at the Fairmont Hotel in Dallas, and he was looking for a female partner. The Fairmont! That was the creme de la creme in my business. His name was Robert Phillips, and I went to his home in the exclusive University Park area of Dallas to meet him. He was divorced and had a luxurious house decorated with chandeliers and animal skins, including mink-covered pillows on his couch. It was the ultimate bachelor pad.

He had a set-up in his living room so he could play music with the voices dubbed out. I sang a couple of songs for him, and he liked what he heard. We talked for awhile and liked each other almost immediately. I was thrilled when he asked me to join him in the Pyramid Room at the Fairmont, and I made plans to move back to Dallas right away.

Robert was a sophisticated, nice-looking man with light colored eyes and dark hair. He looked a little like the singer Vic Damone. In addition to being a talented singer, he was a good businessman. I felt fortunate to have lucked into that deal and was glad my background had prepared me for it. Most singers had to perform around Dallas for years before they could get to the Pyramid Room, and I managed to walk right into it. I quickly brushed up on the old standards like "Satin Doll," and I was ready to go.

"Satin Doll," by Patti Austin

Singing in the Pyramid Room was one of the highlights of my professional career. The room itself was beautiful -- elegantly decorated and set up so it was easy for me to interact with the members of Dallas society that frequented the room. It was the "in" spot at the time. In addition to the Pyramid Room, the Fairmont had the Venetian Room, which brought in big-time talent. The Pyramid became a hang-out for the celebrities when they were between shows or looking for a place to unwind after their show. It was fun seeing well-known faces come in often, and most of the time I was able to meet them. This was my room and I was the star there. It was exciting to meet celebrities like Jack Jones, Nancy Wilson, Harvey Korman, Tina Turner, and many, many others.

Rich Little was appearing at Fair Park in Dallas and came into the Pyramid one evening with friends to have a drink. He was with a date, but slyly invited me to join his table during a break. His date left the table for a few minutes, and Rich asked if he could call me. He was nice looking and obviously very funny, so I gave him my phone number. The next evening he picked me up in a limo with his manager and the now well-known TV personality, Charlie Rose. We went to dinner at one of Dallas' most elegant restaurants, Jean-Claude's.

Rich was charming and hilarious, even without his impressions. We went to the Loew's Anatol penthouse, where he was staying while in town, and it was gorgeous. It had a bathtub so huge my whole bathroom could have fit into it. The room reportedly cost $1500 a night.

I liked Rich and went out with him a few times, and later did an interview with him while I was briefly working for a radio station in Little Rock. I remember a touching confession he made on the way to dinner one night. He told me other entertainers are identified by their singing or acting ability, but half the time he didn't know "who the hell" he was; he was always someone else.

He also told me a funny story about his first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. Knowing this could be a big break for his career, Rich had been practicing for days on the routine he'd done the night Ed had seen him in the club where he was performing. The night of the show, Ed came backstage to greet him. Rich impersonated that great Sullivan voice as he told me that Ed said to him: "I'm real glad you're on my show tonight, but I'd like to give you some advice. I saw you at the club the other night, and I wouldn't do that routine if I were you."

* * * *

Every now and then, Bill would come to Dallas on political business, and he always saw me when he did. There was no denying that the magic was still there, and my attempts to find someone else had gone nowhere. I began to visit Little Rock frequently to see him. I would make a reservation at a hotel, and Bill would reimburse me later in cash. Once the Excelsior Hotel was built, I stayed there exclusively. It was easy for Bill to find a reason to be there -- many conventions were held there, and there always seemed to be something political going on there. So he could be seen at that hotel without raising any eyebrows.

It frustrated both of us not to be able to go out in public together. Even though we treasured the time we were able to spend together, we longed to do things others couples in love do -- like going out for a drink and sharing a romantic candlelight dinner. Even the simplest pleasures were denied us -- movies, clubs, theater -- even a hand-in-hand walk through a park was out of the question.

So Bill tried to get a little creative. He called me from Little Rock one day to tell me he was coming to Dallas, and he asked me to dress up like a man and meet him at the Mockingbird Hilton so we could sit in the bar and have a drink together. "What about my hair?" I asked. "Pull it up under a man's hat and put on a man's suit," he responded. The idea was intriguing, and I considered it. I wouldn't use any makeup, and wearing a man's suit might be fun!

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized what a dangerous idea it was. I'm only five-foot-two, for heaven's sake; I didn't have a man's suit hanging in my closet, or a man's hat; what would I do about shoes? And I have large breasts. There's no way I could disguise that! I couldn't imagine anyone believing I was a man. So we didn't do it. But I did think the idea was a hoot. It would have been interesting to see if we could pull it off.

On one of Bill's trips to Dallas he had some devastating news: Hillary was pregnant. I didn't want to hear this news. I thought back to the child we had conceived together and felt a stab of pain in my heart. Why was he so happy about this baby? Why hadn't he felt that way when I got pregnant? But he was thrilled with Hillary's pregnancy; he considered it a godsend. I was happy for him because he was happy, but I resented him having a child with this woman whom he found it so easy to cheat on.

His eyes glowed with pleasure when he told me. Obviously it never occurred to him that I might be disturbed by his news, but I was. That put the lid on it for me. If I had still entertained even the slightest hope that we might have a future together, the notion disappeared forever that day. It was right there in black and white. So I took my emotional lumps and made a conscious decision to be more open-minded about getting on with my life. I had dated other men and had tried to get serious about a few of them, but I always held something back.

I don't blame Bill for all of my hesitation about getting involved. I know my parents' divorce still weighed heavily on my mind and made me reluctant to commit to any man. But Bill did play a big role. If I met a man and found out he wasn't perfect, I knew I already had someone who was: Bill Clinton. He was always happy to see me and, in fact, went out of his way to see me. When things would get the least bit rocky with another man, I knew I had this little place to run to that was extremely fulfilling, both psychologically and physically. He was my secret haven, my feel-good place.

Although I didn't end our relationship when Hillary got pregnant, I made a mental shift. As far as Bill was concerned, everything was the same and he fully intended to keep seeing me. On the surface, our relationship didn't change. I still loved him, but I also knew I had to pay attention to what I needed. I wasn't sure exactly what that was, but until I figured it out, I intended to just relax and have fun. I had always been a free spirit who liked to have fun, but now I intended to really pursue it.

I quit looking for someone who satisfied me as much as Bill and decided to simply enjoy the different men I did go out with. I didn't need to "bond" with every man I dated -- I just wanted to play and not get serious. Bill could still be my "someone special." Once I mentally erased the complications from our relationship, it made it easier to be with him knowing we had no future together.

I had a wonderful job in the Pyramid Room that gave me the opportunity to meet lots of interesting people, and I decided not to hold back any longer. I would go out whenever I wanted, and, who knows? Maybe I'd actually meet someone someday who would steal my heart away from Bill.

So that's what I did. I didn't meet anyone particularly special, but I had a lot of fun. And while I was still singing at the Pyramid, I met a man who offered to help get me a job at the Cipango Club in Dallas. The Cipango was a prestigious private club, and I would make even more important contacts there than I had at the Pyramid.

I was ready for a change. As much as I enjoyed singing at the Pyramid, the Cipango held a special allure for me. I had gone there once when I was just twenty-one and was so impressed with the place that I stole an ashtray to keep as a souvenir of my evening there. To go back there as a singer was like a dream come true!

My job at the Cipango went beyond just singing, which was fine with me. I was always eager to expand my talents. I was hired as a membership director and sang on weekends. It was something new for me, and I tackled it with enthusiasm. I really enjoyed the change of pace but was glad I still had the opportunity to sing, too.

The Cipango was absolutely beautiful inside -- lots of wood paneling and exquisitely decorated. One thing about the Cipango -- you knew you'd really made it there when the patrons urged you to get up on the bar and dance. It took awhile for me to work up my courage, but I finally agreed one especially busy weekend night. The bar was crowded, I had been singing all night, and was enjoying a break while the band played background music.

I'd had a few drinks or I doubt if I ever would have done it. But some of my favorite members were there that night, I was a little tipsy, and we were all having a wonderful time. Finally someone yelled, "Gennifer, it's time for you to get up on that bar and dance." I didn't hesitate for a second. I climbed right on up, high heels and all, and danced through two complete songs. Everyone was applauding and egging me on, and I was in heaven.

I felt like I was surrounded by a great big family. The members were so nice to me, and several of the other entertainers had become close friends. I was very happy at the Cipango.

But it, too, began to run its course. It was a heavy schedule working during the week as membership director and as a singer on weekends. When I was offered an engagement at another private club in Dallas, I thought long and hard about it. The Cipango had been good to me, but sometimes my instincts tell me when it's time to move on, and for some reason, I felt the time was right.

The booking at the new club was a one-month engagement with a three-month booking guaranteed after Christmas. That was considered reasonably long-term in my business! So I decided it offered me the security of a steady job that I needed as well as the excitement of moving to a new place and meeting new people.

The first month of my booking worked out great. I liked the new club and was enjoying the new surroundings. But then the unforeseen happened. The ownership changed, and my return booking was canceled. It was late in the year and much too late to secure a new engagement, and I was left hanging in the wind.

I looked around Dallas a little bit, putting out feelers to see if anything was available, but I wasn't having much luck. There was no immediate crisis because I had a little money saved, but I knew I would go through it quickly if I didn't find something soon. It was getting close to Christmas, so I made the only decision I could think of at the moment.

I decided to visit my mother and stepdad for a few days and plan my next move. Muzzy and Pappa, as I like to call them, had married and were living near Branson, Missouri. So while I was there I drove over to Branson and stopped by the Roy Clark Theater.

At the time of my visit, Branson was a small town of about twenty-five hundred during the off season. It doesn't have an off season now, but in the mid-eighties the season lasted about six months. While visiting Roy Clark's theater, I met the manager, and he asked me to audition. I did, and he offered me a job for that season. It seemed like a good solution to my problem. Plus, it would be nice to be near my parents for awhile.

There was nothing sophisticated about Branson, and it really didn't appeal to me much, but I stuck it out for the season. I worked seven days a week for five and a half months. It was a brutal pace.

The entertainment in Branson is absolutely wholesome -- family entertainment with women in high-necked collars. I would look out over the audience and see acres of white hair. These were God-fearing folks and they demanded their entertainment be clean. Roger Miller, bless his heart, was performing one night and inadvertently said "shit." He was telling a joke, and the word "shit" happened to be in it. It was a funny joke, too! But the audience went wild. They stormed the office of the management demanding that Roger apologize, be kicked out, get beheaded, and on and on. You'd have thought he slapped their mothers!

I had planned to go back to Dallas after the season ended in Branson. But I had been talking to Bill, and he was trying to persuade me to come back to Little Rock. After my season of hell in Branson, big-city Dallas sounded exhausting. I liked the idea of getting back to a smaller place with a slower pace. I was ready to go home, and I missed Bill, too. I needed to be touched and held by someone who knew me inside and out. I needed Bill to work his magic and recharge me again -- I needed a "Bill fix." Without too much thought, I jumped right back into the tempest with no idea just how stormy it was going to get.
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Re: Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn D

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 7:16 am


It was the mid-'80s when I returned to Little Rock. My relationship with Bill Clinton had endured more than eight years, and in all that time I had yet to meet any man who affected me the way he did. As I drove past the city limits of Little Rock, my feelings were mixed. I anticipated that the intensity of our romance would once again be as strong as it had been during our first months together, and I relished that thought. But by deliberately moving back to the same city as Bill, was I eliminating the possibility of ever falling in love with another man? "Stop it!" I admonished myself. My decision was already made, and there was no sense clouding up my mind with questions that had no answers.

Bill suggested I rent a place at the Quapaw Tower apartment building. "I go there anyway, because I have aides who live in the building," he told me. "It's not far from the governor's mansion, so why don't you check it out?" The Quapaw was a brick high-rise that was modern and comfortable, and I liked the fact it was so close to Bill, too -- just a few blocks away! I chose a unit I liked and moved in, with the anticipation of seeing Bill often.

We hadn't seen each other the entire five and a half months I was in Branson. Working seven days a week, I just couldn't get away. So before I was even settled into my new apartment, Bill arranged a reunion. Amidst the chaos and confusion of unpacked boxes and suitcases, we explored the new setting for my four-poster bed. Our physical hunger for each other hadn't been satisfied in a long time. I was starved for him, and we made love as if it were our first time. It was wonderful to have him in my arms again. The long days and nights in Branson faded away, and I truly felt like I was where I belonged.

As we lay in bed with Bill's head on my shoulder, I let my mind wander into areas of thought I usually tried to avoid. I wondered how he reconciled our relationship in his mind. I had certainly struggled with a multitude of issues over the years -- his marriage, my pregnancy, Hillary's pregnancy, the clandestine nature of our meetings -- did he wage an inner battle, too? We never talked about it, but I couldn't believe he never seriously thought about what we were doing. Bill is a sensitive, caring man, and as unhappy as he might have been in his marriage, I knew he wouldn't want to cause Hillary pain.

Something happened one night that made me think he really did worry about it. He came to my apartment, and, as usual, we sat on the couch and talked for awhile, then started kissing and playing with each other as we moved toward the bedroom. We crawled in bed and were just beginning to make love when he suddenly jumped out of bed and backed up against the wall, shaking and crying. I was horrified. "Tell me what's wrong," I pleaded, but he wouldn't say. He couldn't talk at all, nor could he stop crying.

I was terrified something awful was wrong, but I couldn't reach him. I put my arms around him and tried to reassure him, but he still was shaking terribly. I very gently said to him, "Bill, Darling, it's just me. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on." He wouldn't speak. After a few minutes the shaking subsided, and he weakly said that everything was okay. I persisted in trying to draw him out, to find out what on earth had upset him so, but he simply couldn't talk about it. And I never learned what it was that had affected him so. I was completely confused and puzzled. What could have made him act that way?

The only thing I could imagine was maybe he finally had experienced some feelings of guilt about what he was doing and was overwhelmed by those feelings. Maybe he had made an effort to be faithful to Hillary, just couldn't do it, and was distraught by his weakness. As much as he cared for me, he was cheating, and that had to bother him every once in awhile.

It broke my heart to think he was so torn up inside and unable to talk about it. Maybe he had come face to face with a part of him he didn't like to acknowledge: his weakness and desire for someone other than his wife. Whatever it was, he got over it within a few minutes and came back to bed with me, ready and eager for oral sex.

The time we spent together was never often enough nor long enough. For that reason, I think both of us were reluctant to squander even one precious moment by stirring up worry and doubt about the right or wrong of our relationship. Those were things we would have to deal with on our own.

* * * *

Once I returned to Arkansas, Bill came to my new apartment as often as he could slip away -- we had so much lost time to make up! He was stopping by three or four times a week. Our relationship heated up again quickly, and the passion was more intense than ever.

But Bill was careless, and the rumors started flying almost as soon as I returned. He would walk right in the front door of the building and take the elevator to the second floor, where I lived. He didn't realize the security guard in the lobby was watching to see where the elevator stopped. The guard knew none of Bill's aides lived on the second floor, and the gossip spread quickly. It got back to Bill, and he called me, concerned. Not concerned enough to quit seeing me, but enough to want to be more discreet. We had to come up with a plan. I told him I would prop the side exit door open with a newspaper when I knew he was coming, and he could slip in and walk up two short flights of stairs without being seen.

From then on that's what we did. But people were catching on anyway. The security guard would walk around the building and see Bill coming in through the side door, and the guard had a real loose tongue. Also, Bill couldn't travel alone any longer; he always had a security contingent with him. While he and I were in bed making love, his driver would be waiting for him downstairs!

Bill loved to jog in the morning, and it was an easy way to get out of the mansion without arousing suspicions. He would jog just over a mile to my place, spend a half hour or so making love to me, then have his driver drop him off a block or two from the mansion, and he would jog the rest of the way. Then he would show up at home properly out of breath. I liked to joke with him that after running all the way to my place he wouldn't have the energy to make love; he gladly proved me wrong again and again.

He had a regular jogging route he liked to follow to my place. From the governor's mansion on Center Street he would turn a few corners until he ended up on Spring Street, which ran behind the Quapaw Tower. My apartment's balcony faced Spring Street, and when I knew he was on his way, I'd wait on the balcony until I could spot him. Then I would run downstairs and prop open the side door. We had our system down pat and continued using it for a long time.

I loved standing on that balcony watching for him. I always recognized him immediately, and it would make my heart jump just watching him run toward me. I was so turned on I could hardly wait for him to get to the door.

Being with Bill again energized me. I was eager to find a singing engagement, but while I was looking for places to sing I took an interim job as a deejay for a radio station. I worked on both the AM and the FM side. An interesting job, but it didn't pay well. Plus, I missed having the face-to-face contact with my audience, and I was anxious to sing again. Luckily, I soon landed a singing job at the Capitol Club, which was an exclusive private city club perched atop the Worthen Bank Building, one of the tallest buildings in Little Rock. The club was a classy place with a fun-loving membership -- perfect for me.

A federal financial investigator consulted by the authors said the millions of dollars that Seal was dropping each week could easily have been laundered and disguised, leaving no clue as to its source, if the right people -- bankers and organizations worked together and kept their dealings to themselves.

All that would be required, the former investigator for the Securities & Exchange Commission said, was "cooperation" among a triad of key financial services willing to enter into a white collar criminal conspiracy to work together for their mutual gain. And such a triad was already in place in Arkansas: ADFA, investment banker Jackson T. Stephens, a stockholder in several Little Rock banks, and Dan Lasater, then the CEO of Lasater & Co., a brokerage firm specializing in bonds.

These three institutions could share top management or simply operate autonomously if the proper amount of "trust" existed among these key conspirators. The Arkansas banking, investment banking, bond business and state development authority does, in fact, orbit around a coterie of very small and centralized power base, in many cases sharing the same boards of directors.

The most likely scenario the investigator outlined, would work as follows:

1. A trusted courier (such as Lasater) deposits the cash in a bank or banks (like Worthen) under various corporate names. No federal banking attention is drawn to the deposits since the banker (like Stephens) waives the requirement of filling out the CTR's.

2. ADFA attracts a "preferred client" (CIA Proprietary) in need of a "loan." This client can be a firm or individual from within the state, which is involved with this secret group (i.e. POM and MRL) or even an out-of-state corporation (i.e. Lasater's Angel Fire project in New Mexico), since ADFA's charter allows it to underwrite business outside of Arkansas.

3. The financial banking firm (Stephens & Co.) announces it is seeking capital to underwrite a bond issue to develop the money needed for the "loan." The bonds will be guaranteed by the state since ADFA will be the issuer, thereby eliminating the SEC scrutiny of the "buyers" (Lasater's fake corporations) of the bonds, and reducing or eliminating the collateral requirements needed by the "client".

4. Lasater announces that he has "sold" the bonds to various customers (Lasater's fake corporations which have large cash reserves on deposit at the Stephen's bank).

5. ADFA handles all the paperwork and contracts at the time of loan "closing", becomes the guarantor (co-signer) of the loan, and retains the right to "sell" the entire loan package to another financial institution in the future, if it wishes.

6. Lasater's customers (his fake corporations) issue checks to Stephens & Co. earmarked for this bond issue. Stephens issues a check to ADFA in order to buy the bonds for Lasater's customers, after deducting commissions (clean money) on the transaction for his firm (Stephens & Co.) and Lasater's (Lasater & Co.). The bond certificates are then issued and are held by Lasater's "customers" as security and collateral.

7. ADFA issues a check to the "client" (the CIA proprietary) and it builds or buys whatever it needs in order to comply with the conditions of the loan.

8. The "client" puts the purchased equipment to use and creates a positive cash now as any legitimate business would and makes monthly payments in order to retire the bonds. The principal and interest received by the lender (Lasater's customers) is clean.

9. At any point during the life of the loan, ADFA is free to find a "buyer" for the entire loan package, retire the debt owed to Lasater's customers and distance itself from the "client's operation" if the CIA wants to "sell off" the assets.

-- Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presidency was Co-opted by the CIA, by Terry Reed & John Cummings

Shortly after I started singing there, the club held a Democratic fund-raiser, and my band provided the entertainment for the evening. When we took a break, Bill McCuen, the secretary of state, cornered me and started putting the moves on me. When Bill Clinton walked in and saw us, he hurried over and stood on the other side of me. Bill McCuen was known to chase women, so Bill Clinton wasn't about to leave me alone with him. It was amusing, because McCuen and Clinton were actually political rivals, and I don't think there was much love lost on either side. So we were all chit-chatting, talking about the horse races, and Bill McCuen said he would send me some passes. Then, without any warning, in walked Hillary.

The room was packed with people, they were literally elbow to elbow, and getting through the crowd was difficult. But she spotted us and made her way right on over. She stood in front of me, no more than two feet away, with an ice-cold look on her face, and politely said hello to her husband. Then she swept her gaze past me and said hello to Bill McCuen, pretending I wasn't there. I didn't expect her to act as if I were her long-lost friend, but there was an awkward silence after she said hello to the men and then ignored me. I was thinking, "Oh, boy. Is this it? Is Hillary going to blow the lid off Bill's and my affair right in front of all these people?" It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

She looked much better than the first time I saw her. Her hair was fixed up and she was wearing a classy-looking business suit. The intensity of her look was real disconcerting and I wanted Bill to do something, but I didn't know what. Panic overtook me for a moment. I didn't know if we were going to have a confrontation or not. I couldn't imagine Hillary making a scene in front of all those people who were so important to her, because she was pretty conscious of her position, but you never know. For all I knew, she might even pop me one on the nose. If the roles had been reversed, that's what I would have been tempted to do to her.

It's funny looking back, but I really had mixed emotions at the time. Here was Hillary staking claim to her territory, which she had every right to do, and part of me wished she would just do it ... take him with her right then. Well, she tried, but he wouldn't go. She reached up and grabbed his lapel, pulled him down to her and kissed him on the cheek. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, she said to Bill, ''I'm going over to the bar for a drink. Would you like to go with me?" Then my feelings changed and I thought, "You son of a bitch, you better not desert me!" He looked at Hillary, smiled, and said, "I'll be over there later. You go ahead." It was a showdown, and I had won -- at least that round.

I was so relieved when she walked away that I reached back and grabbed his butt and gave it a good, hard squeeze. It wasn't a romantic squeeze though, more like a "God, I can't believe that just happened" and a "Thanks for staying -- I love you" squeeze.

Then I heard a chuckle and looked around to see my guitar player standing behind us watching me put this death grip on Bill's butt. Bill hardly flinched. He just stood there with a look on his face that told me everything was under control. I think he was actually enjoying the moment!

Bill McCuen stood there bemused, with a look on his face that asked, "Did I miss something?" I shook my head in disbelief, and went back up onstage to sing. Bill and I spent the rest of the evening making eyes at each other, like we often would do. Hillary walked by me a couple of times but refused to make eye contact. As far as she was concerned I didn't exist.

Bill and I had talked about whether she knew about us, and although we assumed she did, we never really knew for sure. After that night there was no doubt -- Hillary knew.

She and I had another close encounter one chilly fall day at the governor's mansion. Bill and Hillary were hosting a pre-football game party, and Bill arranged for me to bring my band and provide the entertainment.

The governor's mansion! It was a place I'd had dreams and fantasies about. The thought of being where the man I loved lived gave me chills. It also saddened me a bit, though, to know that his wife and child shared that home with him. Would I feel guilty performing there? By putting myself right onto Hillary's turf was I flirting with World War III? I made my decision to enter that danger zone when Bill's secretary called me to make the arrangements.

What a memorable day for me. The party was held outdoors on the beautifully landscaped grounds of the mansion. A grassy incline that flattened out at the top formed a perfect natural stage where my band and I performed. From our vantage point on the hill, we were able to look out over the crowd as we sang. It was a cool day, but the crowd was oblivious to the chill in the air, too excited anticipating a Razorback victory to notice.

The band and I were all set up and performing before I saw Hillary or Bill. She never came near the stage, just wandered around the crowd, greeting people and talking. Bill, on the other hand, spent all afternoon playing his sexy, stare-down game -- eating me up with his eyes. As I sang, I watched him talking with different people, and all the time he would be staring at me. The other person would literally be talking to the side of Bill's head. Every once in awhile Bill would turn and acknowledge that, yes, there was a person speaking to him, but for the most part, he or she might as well have been talking to a wall. The whole thing was a real turn-on for me, and apparently it had the same effect on him.

The band broke for a few minutes, and I headed for the mansion to use the ladies' room. It was such a great day! The exhilaration of the crowd was contagious, and I couldn't help smiling as I strolled along. This was about as close as Bill and I could get to being in public together, and I was enjoying myself thoroughly. I brushed my hair back from my face, breathed in the crisp air, and scanned the crowd, trying to spot Bill. Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone walking down the narrow sidewalk right toward me. Oh, my God! It was Hillary!

Whenever I performed at functions like that, the host or hostess usually cordially acknowledged me, saying, "We appreciate your being here. I hope you're comfortable. Let me know if there's anything I can do." Somehow I didn't think Hillary would be quite that genial, and my heart was racing, wondering just what she would do. As she got closer, I mentally steeled myself for the tongue-lashing I fully expected her to unleash on me. But she passed me by without even a glance, passing no more than a foot from me, so close I could smell her perfume as we nearly brushed against each other. She kept her eyes straight ahead -- not a word, not a look.

I didn't know what to think. Thank goodness she didn't force a confrontation, but her turning an absolute blind eye to the situation puzzled me. My reaction wasn't quite what I expected. I didn't feel angry, insulted, or embarrassed by her deliberate brush-off. She could have slapped me right off the sidewalk and I would have deserved it. I actually sympathized with her. After all, her husband, the governor of the state, had been eyeballing me all afternoon, and any idiot could have seen it. She had to be furious. Whatever my opinions about Hillary might be, I certainly couldn't argue that my having an affair with her husband should endear me to her. Once again, though, I wondered why she tolerated it.

I went on into the mansion and found the rest room. As I came out of the ladies' room, Bill was waiting for me. Our little visual foreplay over the heads of the crowd had managed to get us both steamed up. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him. Then he started kissing me as if we were standing naked in my bedroom, his hand wrapped in my hair, holding my lips against his. He tried his best to get me to go into the men's room with him so we could release that tension we'd both built up. He held me close and I could feel him, warm and hard, straining against me. The danger of the situation added fuel to the flames we were creating. He took my arms and was leading me toward the door to the bathroom, but I roused myself and listened to my inner voice. My close encounter with Hillary had unnerved me, so I put him off, saying, "Hillary could walk in here any minute and see us together." So could anyone else for that matter; it was a miracle no one else came into the building or out of the ladies room while we stood there wrapped around each other.

Bill didn't care. He was persistent and was convinced we could pull it off. His wife and his constituents were just a few feet away, and he was willing to take the risk. The courting of danger was part of both of our personalities, that love of risk and excitement. But on that day, something told me, "Don't do it, Gennifer." He was being too reckless, and one of us had to behave responsibly. Those warning voices were too strong to ignore. I told him I would be missed if I didn't rejoin the band right away, and I was sure people would be looking for him, too. I pushed him away, headed out the door, and made my way quickly to the bandstand.

It's amazing that Bill and I were never actually caught red-handed, but he seemed to have everything under control. Many people knew of our relationship -- his security people, his aides, my friends -- but no one seemed too disturbed by it. This was Arkansas, and Bill was king. He had a network of "good ol' boys" that would go to great lengths to protect him. Furthermore, no one really seemed to care that he was cheating on his wife, including Hillary herself.

I was always more concerned with appearances than Bill. Most of the time he didn't seem worried about getting caught, but I tried to be very careful. But one time I couldn't resist sending him home with blatant evidence that he'd been with another woman. We'd established a certain good-bye ritual after our lovemaking. Because he's more than a foot taller than I am, I'd walk him to the door, then climb up onto a chair to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him good-bye. On this particular night, I had combed my hair and put on lipstick as usual, climbed up on the chair, threw my arms around him ... and planted my lipstick-covered lips right smack on the back of his collar. I don't know what possessed me, but I did it intentionally. Maybe the thought of Bill leaving me to go home to Hillary was just too much that night. And it wasn't just a smear, it was a perfect, bright red imprint of my lips.


He had no idea what I'd done until he got home and Hillary saw it. He told me later that she demanded to know where the lipstick mark came from, and he brushed it off by saying, "You know women are always hugging me." And she let it go. I was surprised he wasn't mad at me for my deliberate indiscretion; on the contrary, he thought it was funny, and the next day we both had a good laugh about it. I don't think I would have been as tolerant as Hillary. Had he been my husband and come home with a lipstick smooch on his collar, I would have pinned him to the wall.

Hillary, however, never tried to put a stop to my relationship with Bill. In fact, he told me that after he hung up from talking with me one night, she walked into the room and asked, "How's Gennifer?" He looked at her carefully and replied, "Just fine." And that was the end of it. She must have had her reasons for putting up with Bill's infidelity, but it was a mystery to me at the time. In retrospect, I can see that Bill and Hillary's political future was undoubtedly more important to her than her husband's faithfulness. But back then I couldn't imagine why she would close her eyes to his fooling around.

I also think they most likely had some type of agreement about extramarital activities. She didn't ask what he did and he didn't ask what she did. It's obvious the woman isn't stupid, and she's certainly not the type to play doormat. So there must have been a pre-arranged understanding that they would each look the other way. Bill's sexual misadventures have been hinted at for quite awhile and are becoming more known all the time. But now word is circulating that Hillary isn't above reproach in this area either. In the last couple of years, stories have circulated about her reported affairs with people like Vince Foster and possibly Webb Hubbell.

Whatever the case, her lack of concern about my involvement with Bill was fine with me. I felt we could continue indefinitely. Our relationship certainly hadn't harmed his political career, his marriage was still intact, and he and I were happy.
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Re: Passion & Betrayal, by Gennifer Flowers with Jacquelyn D

Postby admin » Tue May 31, 2016 8:17 am


Bill Clinton is truly a sexual animal ... in the best sense of the word. And sex with him was an absolute adventure. From that first heated embrace to our last tender good-bye, we could never seem to get enough of each other. During the twelve years of our relationship, our lovemaking, like the sex act itself, seemed to build from a strong, yet traditional start; through a fun and playful period; up to a mind-boggling, psyche-disturbing climax.

I knew the first night we made love that we were a perfect match sexually. He proved he could go on all night, and I was right there with him. Those early sessions, while dynamic and fulfilling, were somewhat traditional. As we grew more intimate, he wanted to expand, become more adventurous, which was fine by me. It was easy for us to get so turned on that we wanted to experiment and play games.

We would fantasize about what we wanted to do to each other and where we wanted to do it. When Bill passed by a furniture store with a bedroom set in the window, he would imagine having sex with me on that bed, in that window. Not likely to happen, I realize, but I think that fantasy was representative of how confined he felt in our relationship. We couldn't even do something so simple as go out for a drink together. So I think fantasizing about outrageous things made up somewhat for our inability to be together in public.

Bill and I made a pact early on: every day at noon, no matter where we were or what we were doing, we would stop and think of each other. Then he took it one step further: "When we think of each other, let's picture ourselves in bed, making wild, passionate love."
It was our little secret. No one would ever know. I thought it was a sweet and exciting idea, and it reassured me that Bill cared enough about me to make a conscious effort to think of me in the middle of his busy days. Plus, I think it helped build even more passion into our relationship because it kept us turned on and anticipating getting together again.

Giving Bill gifts would have been a wonderful way to show him how much I cared about him. But it was out of the question. How could I give him something personal and not expect Hillary to notice? And how could he go into a store in Arkansas and buy a piece of jewelry, then not give it to his wife? So as much as I like getting gifts, I was happy just to get the occasional bottle of wine or single rose he sometimes brought to my apartment as a token of his affection. The truth is, making love with Bill was the greatest gift he could give me.

Occasionally, however, when he was out of town and away from curious eyes, he would buy me sexy lingerie. He said it was a turn-on just picking out the pieces and thinking about how they would look on me. I still have the things he gave me and will always treasure them.
One is a tiny black teddy with thin straps and a lace inset that reveals just enough of my breasts to be provocative. As much as he loved for me to put that on for him, he was always more eager for it to come off.

He liked for me to model my sexy lingerie, dancing or moving around on the bed while he lay watching me. I loved seeing him get physically aroused. My sheer teddies revealed every curve underneath and really excited him. He would watch me for a few moments, then when he couldn't stand it any longer, he would gently take my hand, pull me to the floor, and slip the teddy off. The feel of his hands caressing my skin made me tremble with excitement, sending a surge of passion through him.

As we grew closer to each other, we naturally developed pet names for one another. I was his "Pookie" and he was "Baby" or "Darling" to me. Someone told me later that Pookie is a common pet name, but I had never heard it before, and thought it was cute. Even today, when I hear that name on TV or in a movie, it brings back warm memories.

Laughter was always a big part of our relationship, so we had fun creating pet names for our private parts as well. I called mine "Precious," and his penis was "Willard." "Why Willard?" I asked him. "Because I always liked that name," he said. "You know, Willard for Willy!" And you know, it kind of had a Willard-like personality. Talking with each other so intimately and with gentle humor only added to our sexual pleasure.

When Bill would call me on the telephone, I knew immediately if other people were in the room with him, because the first thing he would ask was, "How are the girls?" I would laugh, knowing he was referring to my breasts. And I would respond in kind, "Fine. How're the boys?" referring to his testicles. It was our way of saying something intensely private to each other in a very public setting.

The phone also played a part in our relationship when I was on the road or living away from Little Rock. Since we were unable to see each other regularly, he liked to call and entice me into phone sex. He would start by saying something provocative -- Bill loved to talk dirty and to have me say sexy things back to him -- and we would masturbate while we talked on the phone. To me it was fun to talk dirty to him because he got so excited, but most of the time I just pretended I was masturbating, because phone sex really didn't excite me. I prefer human contact ... flesh to flesh. But Bill would keep it up until he climaxed while we were talking. It reached the point where every time he called, he'd want to have phone sex. I got uncomfortable with the whole thing, and I began making up excuses to put him off. Finally, I told him it just wasn't the same for me not to have him there in person, and that put an end to it.

While I was living in Little Rock we spent so much time in my apartment that we started to invent ways of entertaining ourselves. Obviously, sex took up much of our time together, but we both wanted to do other things, too. One night, Bill was watching me fix my makeup and he seemed interested in the whole process. I said "Let me put some of this on you." At first he demurred, but then agreed. I applied eye shadow, then some eyeliner and mascara. Before he could say no, I also put a little bit of blusher on his cheeks. He was astonished at how different he looked and asked me to do it again the next time we were together. He was absolutely fascinated by how different he looked with makeup on. I wonder if now, when the makeup people prepare him for TV appearances, he remembers the times we put makeup on him in my apartment.

Aside from some playful diversions like that, the main focus of our time together was sex, and it was on both our minds constantly. Bill wanted us to make love in his office in the Capitol building. He liked the idea of having sex on his desk or on the floor with all his staffers working right outside. I'm sure no one ever would have suspected anything was going on. Right. Especially Betsey Wright, his aide. I don't think her heart could have stood it. But I actually liked the idea, and one day, without warning, I made my way to his office with plans to fulfill his fantasy. Unfortunately, we met on the stairs as he was leaving for a meeting. He knew immediately why I'd come and the disappointment in his eyes was obvious.

We still had my apartment, though, and Bill continued coming up with different sexual experiments for us. One night he asked me to put on a short skirt with no underwear, then sit in a chair and cross and uncross my legs while he watched. He became so aroused just watching me, it was a thrill. He said he read about that move in a magazine, long before Sharon Stone wowed audiences with it in Basic Instinct! His fantasy was to have that scenario actually take place in a meeting someday.

Bill was happiest, however, with fantasies I could make happen for him. One night, I met him at the door wearing my fur coat with nothing on underneath but a white bustier, a garter belt with fur and lace on it, white stockings, and heels. He closed the door, and I slowly opened my coat for him. A look of astonished delight spread across his face. He drew a sharp breath, grabbed me, and tore at the garter belt as he carried me to the bedroom.

He made love to me that night as if he were possessed. It was enormously satisfying to know I could arouse and please him so easily. Kindling the sparks of passion in him became a challenge for me. I spent hours inventing ways to thrill him. My little white outfit had excited him so much, I decided to surprise him with it again -- only under more dangerous circumstances.

One day he was attending a meeting, and asked me to meet him at the Excelsior Hotel. He had gotten a room and was waiting for me there. I strolled into the hotel wearing my fur coat with Bill's favorite white bustier and little else on underneath. When he opened the door to our room, he knew from the way I was holding my coat closed exactly what was in store for him. He closed his eyes for a second, fighting to control his passion. Then he eagerly pulled me into the room and slowly opened my coat to confirm his expectations. He groaned with pleasure and had me on the floor within seconds.

As time passed, Bill became even more inventive in his sexual games. He was always looking for ways to enhance our sexual pleasure and constantly came up with interesting ideas for us to try. So when he suggested dripping ice on my body, I was eager to try it. The first cold drop sent a little tremor through me. But he soon had me moaning with pleasure as he held the ice over my naked body, slowly letting the icy water drip onto my nipples and slide down to my stomach. As he continued, moving it back and forth, dripping it all over me, I got so excited I couldn't wait for him to make love to me. But he teasingly tortured me, making me wait until I couldn't stand it any longer, then entering me and slowly building the tension even further until we reached a climax beyond anything we'd ever experienced together.

He had a way of making me want to do anything he asked. After all, we both came of age during the sexual revolution of the '60s and '70s and each of us had enjoyed that new-found sexual freedom. For example, with Bill, oral sex seemed like the natural thing to do. I was a little surprised, though, when he came in my mouth the first time we did it. I wasn't expecting it and I guess the shock showed on my face, because he was suddenly very concerned, asking me what was wrong. I told him I wasn't prepared for that (sexual revolution or not) and how I hadn't planned for it to happen until I was married -- or maybe never. He kind of smiled and held me close. I think he enjoyed knowing how much power he already had over me.

It seemed the more I agreed to do with Bill, the further he wanted to go with his games. Mostly that was okay with me, but I reached a point where I became a little afraid. I saw a movie in which a woman dripped candle wax all over some guy. Bill liked the idea and wanted me to do the same to him, but it sounded painful and I couldn't bring myself to do anything that might hurt him. I did, however, agree to spank him during sex play, and he got a big thrill out of it.

I laugh to myself when I hear reporters talk about Bill's love of food, because at one time in our experimenting, food became a sensuous toy for us. I had a little plastic honey jar shaped like a bear. Bill would slowly squeeze the honey all over my body, then sensually rub it all over me. It was very erotic. We also loved to sit on the floor and play sex games using all sorts of food. He would blindfold me, then go to the kitchen and look for things that would feel sensuous in my mouth. I loved it when he would slowly pour juice into my mouth until it overflowed, and little streams of liquid would trickle down my naked body. Before long we'd both be so turned on, he'd be rubbing this smooth, gooey mixture all over me. He'd take me to the bed, I'd pull him down on top of me, and we'd make love. What a sensation!

Being a controlling person myself, it was a huge expression of sexual trust for me to let him blindfold me. Although my hands were free, I felt extremely vulnerable because I didn't know what he might do. But that's what made it so exciting -- not knowing what would happen next! It was exciting to him, too, because he was the one controlling the fantasy. Often we would switch roles and I would be the one controlling the fantasy.

After those food fests we'd both be covered with ketchup and milk and whatever, so we'd hop in the shower. Showering together was one of our favorite pastimes, but Bill especially liked to give me baths. I would sit in the tub, and he would get his hands all soapy and run them over my body. On one occasion I came out of the bath, brushing my hair, and Bill looked at me and said, "Let me do that." He gently drew the brush through my hair, talking to me softly. It became a regular routine after that. I thought it was sweet to have this big, macho guy doing such a gentle, personal thing.

One night he suggested tying me to the bed, but I balked at the idea. As much as I trusted him, I just couldn't bring myself to give him that much physical control over me. When I wouldn't let him tie me up, he asked if I would do it for him. Now that didn't bother me at all. In fact, I loved the idea.

I pulled some silk scarves from my dresser and tied his hands to the metal bedposts. He was completely at my mercy, and I took advantage of it. I teased him and played with him until he was almost out of his mind with excitement. It turned both of us on so much that we did it again several times. Bill, as always, wanted to take it a step further, so the next time I tied him to the bed, he asked me to use a dildo-shaped vibrator on him. It was exciting to see him getting so aroused, and I couldn't wait to untie him so he could use it on me.

Bill loved sexual adventure and he taught me to love it too. But our escapades finally reached a point where I became concerned. The sexual relationship became overwhelming and all-encompassing. All I could think about was our sex games: what we had done to each other the night before and what we might do the next day. I spent my days in a trance, pretending to work and function like a normal person, but all the while being obsessed with all that we were doing.

The title of the film refers to the duration of a relationship between Wall Street arbitrageur John Gray and divorced SoHo art gallery employee Elizabeth McGraw. John initiates and controls the various experimental sexual practices of this volatile relationship to push Elizabeth's boundaries. In doing so, Elizabeth experiences a gradual downward spiral toward emotional breakdown.

Elizabeth first sees John in New York City where she grocery shops and again at a street market where she decides against buying an expensive scarf. John wins her heart when he eventually produces that scarf. They start dating, and Elizabeth is increasingly subjected to John's behavioral peculiarities; he blindfolds Elizabeth, who is at first reluctant to comply with his sexual fantasy demands. Yet she sees him as loving and playful. He gives her an expensive gold watch, and instructs her to use it to think about him at noon. She takes this imperative even further by masturbating at her workplace at the designated time. However, he ultimately confuses Elizabeth by his reluctance to meet her friends despite the intimacy of their sexual relations.

Elizabeth's confusion about John increases when he leaves her alone at his apartment. She examines his closet until she discovers a photograph of him with another woman. John asks her if she went through his stuff, declaring that he will punish her. Their ensuing altercation escalates into sexual assault until she blissfully concedes to his struggle to overpower her. Their sexual intensity grows as they start having sex in public places.

Elizabeth's heightened need for psychosexual stimulation drives her to stalk John to his office and to obey his injunction to cross-dress herself for a rendezvous. On leaving the establishment, two men hurl a homophobic slur when they mistake John and Elizabeth for a gay couple. A fight ensues. Elizabeth picks up a knife from one of the attackers and stabs one of them in the buttocks and both attackers flee. After the fight, Elizabeth reveals a wet tank-top and has sex onsite with John with intensely visceral passion. Following this encounter, John's sexual games acquire sadomasochistic elements.

Rather than satisfying or empowering Elizabeth, such experiences intensify her emotional vulnerability. While meeting at a hotel room, John blindfolds her. A prostitute starts caressing Elizabeth as John observes them. The prostitute removes Elizabeth's blindfold and starts working on John. Elizabeth violently intervenes, and flees the hotel, with John pursuing her. They run until they find themselves in an adult entertainment venue. Moments later, John and Elizabeth gravitate towards each other, finding themselves interlocked in each other's seemingly inescapable embrace....

Release: In a preview screening of the film for 1,000 people, all but 40 walked out. Of the 40 who filled out cards, 35 said they hated it.

--- 9-1/2 Weeks, by Wikipedia

In looking back, I believe we were addicted to the sexual excitement. It was almost like being addicted to a drug. As the addiction increased, we craved more and more sex at a higher intensity. The whole experience is something that I've never gotten over psychologically. And, though I can't deny enjoying it -- it was indescribably erotic -- I never want to repeat it.

* * * *

During our twelve years together, Bill rarely asked me to do something that was totally repugnant to me. Except for one time. He tried to set up a threesome with another woman, but I told him in no uncertain terms that I was not interested. I know people say, "Never say never," but anything that goes beyond two people is too kinky for me and I thought he knew that.

At times, through the years, I had wondered just how far he would take his experimentation, but he'd never mentioned wanting to see me with another woman. And I had certainly never given him the idea it was something 1 wanted to do. Yes, we had discussed a threesome before, but never as something that would be a possibility for us. I guess I had just given him so much leeway already, he thought he'd give it a try. He apologized for suggesting it, and never did so again.

When the Troopergate scandal broke and allegations surfaced of Bill's having used prostitutes, I figured he fulfilled his fantasy of a threesome with them. I became concerned about my health in light of the charges that he had been with prostitutes. If the stories were true, what diseases might he have exposed me to? He never used a condom when we had sex, and I never asked him to. I thought the only thing I had to worry about was birth control. Since then, I've been tested for AIDS and, thankfully, have tested negative. But I was angry that he so casually exposed me to that kind of danger without my knowing it.

When I first saw the list of women named in Larry Nichols' lawsuit, there was only one woman I suspected might have had an affair with Bill -- Deborah Mathis. From our days together as reporters at KARK-TV, I knew Deborah was an attractive, sexual person. Well, so was Bill. They would have spent lots of time together while Deborah was doing stories, just as Bill and I had. And early in our relationship he had warned me not to get too chummy with her.

He and I talked about that list of women when it was released. He went down the names and explained them all away. All except Deborah. He said, "I've talked to Elizabeth Ward maybe three times in my whole life." Elizabeth Ward was a former Miss America whom Larry had linked to Bill. He went on to explain his connection with Lencola Sullivan, a former Miss Arkansas, whom Larry had also named. "At least Lencola Sullivan is a friend of mine even though I haven't ever slept with her," Bill told me. Susie Whitacre was his press secretary, and of her he said, "Poor little Susie's a good Catholic girl. She came to the mansion once or twice to do work with me. That's how her name made the list." But nothing about Deborah.

Today, Deborah Mathis has her own syndicated column with Tribune Media Services. She's frequently seen at White House press conferences, and Bill never fails to call on her. Coincidence? I seriously doubt it.

I could brush aside that group of women, but when Bill's former state troopers started spilling the beans about his escapades with dozens of other women, I thought long and hard about it. I have no way of knowing if this is true about the other women, but I think Bill felt an enormous sense of power from leading me into sexual adventures, so he very likely enjoyed using that power and influence he had as governor to conquer other women, too. Lots of women have the "groupie" mentality and make themselves available to men of power and fame. I think Bill was addicted to the chase, not the sex act itself, but the actual conquering of all those women. The challenge of finding the places and times he was able to pull it off added to the excitement. And it must have been enormously flattering to have women seek him out and want him sexually.

Back in his high school days, he was just a guy in the band. He wasn't a big, muscular football hero who had girls falling all over him. Then all of a sudden, he became a politician and started getting the kind of attention he had only dreamed of. My gut feeling is that, yes, there were a lot of other women, particularly when I was living away. But if he managed to play nasty with as many women as they say he did, he's even more of a man than I thought he was!

When I came back to Little Rock, we were seeing each other so frequently that if he was able to carry on with a number of women besides me, then the son of a bitch deserves a medal. I would have to question when he had time to be governor, because he would have had to be having sex all the time, practically day and night. He may have stepped up his activities after we broke up, because I really felt I left a gaping hole in his life. Maybe he set out to do whatever he could to try to fill that emptiness.

Bill knew I saw other men occasionally during our twelve years together; that was never a secret. But if I'd had the slightest suspicion he was seeing women to the degree people have claimed he was, I would have booted his butt out.

In 1994, when I learned that Paula Corbin Jones was suing Bill for sexual harassment, I was shocked. I find it difficult to believe that he sexually harassed her in the true definition of the term. I'm betting she willingly went to that hotel room. She's a girl from a little town who was excited about Bill showing her some interest. They may have played around a little bit, but I imagine it was consensual. I think after the troopers made her name public, she felt a need to cover herself and save her reputation.

Paula said right out that Bill told her he didn't want her to do anything she didn't want to do. That statement in itself makes the sexual harassment charge look pretty shaky. She is probably typical of girls like her who were raised around that area. They don't like to admit that they're too far beyond a virgin. Bill didn't need to force women to have sex with him. He had no trouble finding any number of willing participants.


We talked for a few minutes. Mr. Clinton asked me about my job. He told me that Dave Harrington (who at that time was in charge of the AIDC) was his 'good friend'.

Mr. Clinton then unexpectedly reached over to me, took my hand, and pulled me toward him, so that our bodies were close to each other. I removed my hand from his and retreated several feet.

Mr. Clinton approached me again, saying 'I love the way your hair flows down your back' and 'I love your curves.'

While saying these things, Mr. Clinton put his hand on my leg and started sliding his hand toward my pelvic area. I did not consent to him doing this. He also bent down to kiss me on the neck, but I would not let him do so.

I exclaimed, 'What are you doing?' and escaped from Mr. Clinton's reach by walking away from him. I was extremely upset and confused and I did not know what to do. I tried to distract Mr. Clinton by asking him about his wife and her activities, and I sat down at the end of the sofa nearest the door.

Mr. Clinton then walked over to the sofa, lowered his trousers and underwear, exposed his penis (which was erect) and told me to 'kiss it'.

I was horrified by this. I jumped up from the couch and told Mr. Clinton that I had to go, saying something to the effect that I had to get back to the registration desk. Mr. Clinton, while fondling his penis, said: 'Well, I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do.'

Mr. Clinton then stood up, pulled up his pants and said: 'If you get in trouble for leaving work, have Dave call me immediately and I'll take care of it.'

As I left the room, Mr. Clinton detained me momentarily, looked sternly at me and said: 'You are smart. Let's keep this between ourselves.'

-- 'Don't let Bill back in the White House, he abused women and he'll do it again.' Paula Jones warns against voting for Hillary -- because she also lied about sex case which almost cost him presidency, by Paul Thompson

While I talked, President Clinton looked at his watch a couple of times. Nancy had told me that he had an important meeting with cabinet members at three o'clock, so I knew I should finish talking and leave. I added a comment about the Social Office and some of the problems there, and again he looked at his watch. Time to leave. We moved back into the hallway toward the door to the Oval Office.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the Oval Office door. "Mr. President," Andrew Friendly called out. "It's time for your meeting!"

The president ignored him. I said I should leave and moved toward the door, but the president told me not to rush, said he had time. He looked at his watch again. I mentioned his important meeting and he again encouraged me to stay. But then Andrew Friendly began banging on the door and calling more loudly, "You're late!"

I turned and went through the small hallway toward the Oval Office and President Clinton followed closely behind me. When I turned around at the end of the small hallway, he was right next to me. He expressed his regret for my situation and gave me a big hug, but his hug lasted a little too long. I pulled back. All of a sudden, he was running his hands in my hair and around the back of my neck.

What the hell?

He kissed me on my mouth and, before I knew it, I was backed up into the corner, against the closed bathroom door and the wall behind the Oval Office. The president's hands were all over me, just all over me. And all I could think was, What the hell is he doing? Just what is he doing?

I tried to twist away. He was too powerful. President Clinton is almost a foot taller than I am and nearly double my weight. I couldn't get away and could barely think. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. He was my friend. And he was the president of the United States.

I finally managed to say, "What are you doing?"

"I've wanted to do this," he said, "since the first time I laid eyes on you."


I was terrified for my husband, for my family, for our future, and the president says he's wanted to do this since he laid eyes on me? I was totally unprepared for that.

Then he took my hand. I didn't understand what he was doing. The president put my hand on his genitals, on his erect penis. I was shocked! I yanked my hand away but he was forceful. He ran his hands all over me, touching me everywhere, up my skirt, over my blouse, my breasts. He pressed up against me and kissed me. I didn't know what to do. I could slap him or yell for help. My mind raced. And the only thing I noticed was that his face had turned red, literally beet red.

I reminded him that Hillary or Chelsea could come into the room. I thought that would give him pause, but he said he always knew where they were and he wasn't concerned about them just then.

Andrew Friendly banged on the door and yelled. But he didn't walk in. I didn't understand why he didn't come in. If the president of the United States doesn't answer, wouldn't the Secret Service come and check on him? Someone should have come in. Finally, I realized why no one came: The president had told them to stay out!

In a different setting, with a different man, I probably would have yelled for help. Were it not for Andrew Friendly banging on the door and Bentsen and Panetta pacing outside, I would have felt more vulnerable. Indeed, I would have been more vulnerable. Had he the opportunity -- the time and the privacy -- I believe Clinton would have raped me that day, just as, I believe, he raped Juanita Broaddrick.

-- Target: Caught in the Crosshairs of Bill and Hillary Clinton, by Kathleen Willey

[Lisa] Juanita Broaddrick's story begins in 1978. She was a registered nurse who had started her own nursing home in Van Buren, Arkansas. Bill Clinton, the state attorney general, was running for governor.

[Bill Clinton] I believe the people expect me to be ready to be governor if I'm elected.

[Juanita] I thought he was just something that was really going to be good for Arkansas. I thought he was a very charismatic man that had bright ideas for our state, and I just really liked him.

[Lisa] Broaddrick, whose married name at the time was Juanita Hickey said she was so impressed with Clinton that she volunteered to hand out bumperstickers inside, her first and only political campaign. Broaddrick says she met Bill Clinton for the first time when he made a campaign stop at her nursing home in the Spring of 1978 when these pictures were taken.

[Juanita] While he was there visiting, he said, "If you're ever in the Little Rock area, please drop by our campaign office." And he said, "Be sure and call me when you come in; call down to the campaign office."

[Lisa] Broaddrick says not long after that conversation, she did go to Little Rock for a nursing home meeting held at the Camelot Hotel, now the Doubletree. She said she checked into the hotel, and the next morning called Clinton campaign headquarters. She said she was told Clinton was at his apartment, and to call him there.

[Juanita] I did call and asked him if he was going to be in the headquarters that day. And he said, "No, that he didn't plan to be there." He said, "Why don't I just meet you for coffee in the Camelot coffee shop?"

[Lisa] But Broaddrick said Clinton called later -- she thinks it was around 9:00 in the morning -- and asked if they could meet in her hotel room, because there were reporters in the coffee shop. Did you think that his interest in you at the time was personal or professional?

[Juanita] I thought it was professional completely.

[Lisa] So you thought this was going to be a business meeting?

[Juanita] Yes I did. Yes, I really did.

[Lisa] Did you have any qualms at all about him going to the room?

[Juanita] I was a little bit uneasy, but I felt a real friendship towards this man. And I didn't really feel any danger in him coming to my room. And I sort of ushered us over to the coffee -- I had coffee sitting on a little table over there by the window -- and it was a real pretty window view that looked down at the river. And he came around me and sort of put his arm over my shoulder to point to this little building, and said that he was real interested if he became governor to restore that little building. And then all of a sudden, he turned me around and started kissing me. And that was a real shock.

[Lisa] What did you do?

[Juanita] I first pushed him away; I just told him, "No," you know, "Please don't do that." And I forget -- it's been 21 years Lisa, and I forget exactly what he was saying -- it seemed like he was making statements that would relate to "Well, did you not know why I was coming up here?" and I told him at the time, I said, "I am married, and I have other things going on in my life, and this is something that I am not interested in."

[Lisa] Had you that morning, or any other time, given him any reason to believe you might be receptive?

[Juanita] No. None. None whatsoever.

[Lisa] Then what happens?

[Juanita] Then he tries to kiss me again, and the second time he tries to kiss me, he starts biting on my lip. [Breaks down crying and sobbing and covering her face with her hands] Just a minute. He starts to bite on my top lip, and I try to pull away from him. And then he forces me down on the bed. And I was just very frightened. And I tried to get away from him, and I told him, "No." I didn't know what to say. But he wouldn't listen to me.

[Lisa] Did you resist? Did you tell him to stop?

[Juanita] Yes. I told him, "Please don't." He was such a different person at that moment. He was just a vicious, awful person.

[Lisa] You said there was a point at which you stopped resisting?

[Juanita] Yeah.

[Lisa] Why?

[Juanita] It was a real panicky, panicky situation. And I was even to the point where I was getting very noisy, you know, yelling, telling him to please stop. That's when he would press down on my right shoulder and he would bite on my lip.

[Lisa] Broaddrick also says the waist of her skirt, and her pantyhose, were torn.

[Juanita] When everything was over with, and he got up and straightened himself -- I was crying at the moment -- and he walks to the door, and calmly puts on his sunglasses, and before he goes out the door he says, "You better get some ice on that." Then he turned and went out the door.

[Lisa] On your lip?

[Juanita] Yeah.

[Lisa] She estimates that Clinton was in her room less than 30 minutes. Is there any way at all that Bill Clinton could have thought this was consensual?

[Juanita] No, not with what I told him, and with how I tried to push him away. It was NOT consensual.

[Lisa] You're saying that Bill Clinton sexually assaulted you, that he raped you?

[Juanita] Yes.

[Lisa] And there's no doubt in your mind that that's what happened?

[Juanita] No doubt whatsoever.

I often wonder if Bill has continued his womanizing ways now that he's in the White House. My guess is he probably has. I don't imagine it's been easy for him, but a leopard doesn't change its spots that quickly. I've heard speculation that he and Barbra Streisand had a thing. She went so overboard while Bill was campaigning, gushing over him and buddying up to his mother. She seemed like a woman hypnotized, and Bill loves that kind of mindless adoration. But, boy, can I relate to feeling hypnotized. He certainly has that effect on women.

Every time I hear new reports about Bill and the women he's allegedly been with, it hurts. I still believe that what we had was not a 12-year affair, but rather a relationship. I really loved that man and still carry warm memories of him in my heart. Not a day goes by that I don't think about some of the good times we had, the loving times, and it's sad that so much pain has happened to both of us since then.
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