A Vast Conspiracy Read Online Free Page B

Jones, it would be almost impossible to file a libel suit and win. (This was especially true because the Spectator identified Jones only by her first name; most readers could not have known that the story referred to her, so it could scarcely have damaged her reputation.) In most circumstances, that would be the end of the matter. A nasty story in a magazine generates either a libel suit or nothing. But at this early moment in the case, the fundamentally political nature of the dispute first revealed itself. Traylor was far from a sophisticated man, but he knew the only potential leverage he had in the situation was against Clinton. The Spectator would likely just ignore the threat of a lawsuit. But if Paula Jones pursued the matter against the president, it might embarrass him—and Clinton might pay something to avoid that fate. Besides, Steve Jones had never shown any inclination to take on the Spectator; Paula’s husband, who was the driving force in the matter from the very beginning, wanted to go after Clinton.
    In truth, Traylor never wanted to go to court at all. He made his modest living doing real estate closings and small commercial deals. The last thing he needed was to embark on a massive lawsuit. To assuage Steve, and to a lesser extent Paula, Traylor proposed that he try to “finesse” the situation. He thought he might be able to persuade Clinton to make a public statement about Paula—at best an apology but at least a statement clearing her of any improper conduct. Traylor might also win a small financial settlement. Traylor didn’t know Clinton or anyone who worked for him; in a city and state full of people with connections to the president, this fact alone demonstrated just how obscure his law practice was. But Traylor made a few calls and figured he’d found the right man to use as an emissary to the White House.
    A few days later, Traylor met George Cook after work around one of the battered linoleum tables at the Sports Page, a seedy bar downtown. By Arkansas standards, Cook, a real estate developer who had raised money for some of Clinton’s campaigns, ranked as only a peripheral friend of the president’s. But when Traylor called him to set up the meeting, Cook said that he could, if necessary, pass a message to the president’s people in Washington.
    As they sat down to their scotch and waters, Traylor described Paula’s story.
    “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Cook told him, in a conversation both men remembered the same way. Cook identified some of the problems. It was old; it was unprovable; the Spectator story didn’t even identify Paula by her last name. “Why would you take a case like that?” Cook asked.
    “I know it’s weak, but it could be embarrassing for the president,” Traylor replied. “Now, I’m sure with my little brain and yours, we could work something out. These people are in dire straits, and they need money badly.” Traylor never said anything about wanting an apology—only money and, later on, jobs. He mentioned that he thought $25,000 would be a good amount to settle on, but later in the conversation said $15,000 might close the deal.
    Cook said it sounded like a shakedown to him. So Traylor tried another tack.
    “What about a job? Her husband wants to work in Hollywood. How about if the Thomasons gave him a job? Wouldn’t that work things out?” (The Clintons’ friends Harry Thomason and his wife, Linda Bloodworth-Thomason, produced television comedies, including Designing Women .)
    Cook said it would be illegal for the president to do that.
    At the end of the evening, Cook did promise that he would call Bruce Lindsey, an Arkansas friend who now worked as a deputy White House counsel, and ask him if he thought the president might make a statement about Jones. A day later, Cook did speak to Lindsey, who told him to forget about the whole thing. “It’s absurd,” Lindsey said. “Just another crazy coming out of the