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I walked in, checked out the crowd, and immediately headed for Doug, the owner. Who knew what the truth was in the shark-infested White House waters? Monica wasn't like that, peppering her monologue with questions for me and actually listening with interest to the responses.I chatted and drank with him, and, in an effort to make myself as unapproachable as possible, I started shooting pool with him. "The one in the black." "You're drunk," said Maloni, a rugby pretty boy. I've been "friends" with a bunch of people who work at 1600 Pennsylvania and have seldom trusted anything they say. She didn't strike me as a classic climber—just a woman looking for a decent, challenging job and a happy life to go with it.The world was beside itself about the latest presidential scandal, this one involving an affair with a then-21-year-old intern—the juiciest story to break in my adult life, a salacious tale of alleged infidelity between the most powerful man in the Milky Way and a girl named Monica. A girl I'd gone out on a date with a few weeks before.

I thanked her, introduced myself, and resumed hunting my target stripes. She struck me as cheerful, open, a bit too much a resident of Planet Hap-Hap-Happy in my acerbic view. She mentioned, more by way of observation than complaint, that her transcribing duties for the DOD were massively challenging for someone who had more skill in communication than in typing—a tidbit now used as bimbo ammo, though it seemed reasonable to me at the time.

In Little Cayman, where the fun is in landing, not eating, the bad-tasting bonefish, normally the fish get thrown back. " a woman—the hostess, the birthday girl—called me Saturday night.

But the fucking barracuda just hover, and wait, and wait. "Everyone is dying to hear about your date with Monica Lewinsky!

But I am not my brother, and it didn't take long—about a second, actually—for me to go from glimpsing the Caymanian Compass to joining my fellow townies in an obsession.

I couldn't watch enough airport-bar CNN-blaring televisions. When the gong of scandal ringeth, count on me to be the first in line for the hanging, salivating in expectation of the next tidbit.

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