On the campus of Yale University, in 1970, an "odd couple," Hillary
Rodham and Bill ("Bubba") Clinton, came together at a Mark Rothko
exhibit at the Yale Art Museum. Before the end of that rainy
afternoon, they had formed an unbreakable bond forged while they
rested on the seat of a Henry Moore sculpture. They were from
completely different worlds-he, a populist from a poverty-stricken
background in Arkansas; she, a former "Goldwater Girl" and
conservative Republican gradually moving into the liberal camp. As
he sat beside her, holding her hand, she gazed into the eyes of
this 210-pound, orange-bearded "Viking," tall and scruffy looking,
with an Elvis drawl. He'd later jokingly claim, "I identified with
Elvis since both of us had hillbilly peckers." Freshly emerged from
Wellesley College, with its "coven of lesbians," she was a budding
feminist-pimply faced, wearing no makeup but with Mr. Magoo
eyeglasses, and walking around on chubby legs. He had all the
pretty women he wanted. What he was looking for was a woman with a
"sense of strength and self-possession-all in all, that afternoon,
I knew I'd found my Evita." He confided to her that since the age
of seven, he had only one abiding ambition-and that was to be the
President of the United States. He promised her, "If elected, I
will pave the way for you to become the first woman president. You
can follow after my administration." He held out the prospect of
making her the most powerful woman on the planet. As she recalled,
"I was giddy with emotion." It took a while, but he finally lured
her to Arkansas, which she interpreted as "on the other side of the
moon." Crossing the welcome mat at his Scully Street house, she
came face to face with her future mother-in-law, Virginia Cassidy
Blyth, Clinton, Dwire, Kelley. She stood in the kitchen in her
stiletto heels evocative of a drag revue, wearing garish
lipstick-"the brighter the better"-and a tight "Dinah Dors"
sweater. As Virginia recalled, "It was an immovable object
colliding with an irresistible force. I extended my hand to this
Chicago carpetbagger with coke bottle glasses." "I'm going to marry
this gal," Bubba announced. "She's going to become the First Lady
of Arkansas." In the days ahead, Hillary was introduced to other
members of this "white trash family" known for its divorces,
violence, alcoholism, drug addiction, adultery, and promiscuity. He
told her, "I'm a bastard. My father, William Jefferson Blythe, III,
had not divorced his wife when he married mama. I took the last
name of another husband, Roger Clinton." Before the end of the
first day of her inaugural meeting with Hillary, Virginia warned
her, "Put a lock on your lingerie. Otherwise, you'll find Bill
dressing up in your finery after midnight." Their trail to the
White House began in Arkansas, with Hillary helping direct her
sex-crazed Bubba into the governor's seat. "With my back-up, he
pursued his dream while I was also chasing a dream of my own. Women
can dream harder than any man-in fact, being what they are, I don't
understand why women don't turn lesbian." Through the tides of the
wars to come, both Hillary and Bill learned that love was a
creature of many faces, with ever-changing rules and compromises on
the road to their horizon. Often threatening divorce, she remained
at his side, interpreting his affairs as minor annoyances. On their
stormy seas, they sailed through triumph and tragedy, setbacks and
comebacks, the good years and the bad ones, bimbo eruptions, serial
infidelities, near bankruptcy with crippling legal bills,
impeachment, the stockpiling of post-Presidential millions, and
surviving vitriolic scorn that rivaled that of Dr. Goebbels against
the Jews. They faced maddening failures and stunning achievements,
their love and loyalty enduring through hurricane winds. She was at
his side as the sex-crazed Arkansas Bubba became the notorious
"Slick Willie," eventually morphing into "The 21st Century's
Greatest Living Elder Statesman." Hillary herself began her own
road to the White House (actually, she had already been there for
eight years as First Lady), with stints as a Senator from New York,
a failed presidential candidate, and a globe-trotting Secretary of
State. She also became one of the country's leading Democratic
visionaries, admired by millions. Of course, that provoked
Apocalyptic attacks from her enemies, Senator Mitch McConnell,
Senior Republican Senator from Kentucky, trumpeting, "If given
power in 2016, she'll lead us to the Gates of Hell." One night on
Martha's Vineyard, Hillary had a candid talk with a former First
Lady, Jackie Kennedy Onassis. "Bill is a charismatic politician,
but also deeply flawed. He has such charm you can always forgive
him." "I know of such men," Jackie said, no doubt recalling her own
years with another charismatic president. "You had Marilyn Monroe
to compete with. I have a lesser light-Sharon Stone. Bill was
hopelessly gone when she crossed her legs in Basic Instinct."
***Hundreds of tantalizing anecdotes fill this book from a writing
team already famous for its exposes of both the Kennedys and the
Reagans. As Hillary stares into her uncertain future, she claims,
"Before the arrival of the Grim Reaper, Bill and I will change
history...for the better, of course." So This Is That Thing Called
Love is not a treatise about politics. It's a love story probing
the boundaries of a relationship between two people who are
committed to each other despite the vagaries of life, come what
may. What a ride it's already been, with more "Second Coming
Headlines" looming in the years ahead. There will definitely be a
second act for this pair. As a critic who despises Hillary, but
only in private, First Lady Michelle Obama said, "Hillary's story
won't be over until the Fat Lady sings."
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