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    Although I will admit to an odd weave of loathing and envy when I watch the blabbocracy breathlessly weighing in—Hey, I think, they don't even know this chick. A warm patch of water in an otherwise chilly ocean.

    But I am not jumping in because one dinner with Monica enabled me to read her mind as she sits with friends and family at the Watergate, pondering her fate. The simple act of gifting me with a few quarters after knowing me but a few minutes disarmed me. Her long hours and international roadtrips while working as the personal assistant to the deputy Defense secretary precluded much of a social life, and she was anxious to move on to something less demanding.

    Soon enough, Doug was called back to his duties, and I had to start feeding the table quarters. Joe's misgivings aside, his girlfriend Danielle, ever the yenta, was eager to facilitate. We talked about some of her past relationships, though the president's name did not come up.

    Between my former colleague Maloni and me, we could only scrape together three of the requisite four quarters. I didn't work her over for her opinions on Netanyahu, the emotional residue from her parents' split, any of that.

    " He seemed far more crazed than she, but even if the whole thing is unadulterated bullion, I still feel sorry for her.

    3.) As most of us believe, it was some hazy amalgam of the first two choices, a disconcerting land where Chuck Robb's oral-sex-is-OK rules and Monica was addled by a close brush with power. No matter which curtain you pick, there are dozens of people I've met in this town with empty, self-serving, loathsome characters who deserve life-ruining scandals long before Monica does.

    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!

    No matter the permutations, there are really only three options: 1.) It happened the seamy way it looks, in which case I feel sorry for her.I write, clearly, because I want a piece of this story just like everybody else. "Just some extra I had." So, ignoring the usual coy mating rituals, Monica felt free to actually be nice. I was intrigued enough to approach Joe, who was the raison d'être for the going-away party. I thought it odd that she was leaving the Pentagon job without a new one to go to, but she explained that she was anxious to leave D. After a few plans fell through—about which she was unfailingly polite, understanding, and as far from aloof as you can get—I picked her up at her mom's place at the Watergate.That imperative distinguishes me not at all from every other journalist in Washington. Upon gentle inquiry, Joe told me that Monica was bad news, that she had left the White House because she had kept wandering into the Oval Office and inappropriately striking up conversations with the commander in chief. "Stay away." But Washington, in its own polite way, generates more trash talk than a Bulls game. The conversations were terse but friendly; we made plans to get together when she returned from a job interview in N. I'm 15 minutes late for everything, and I always get lost around the Kennedy Center, but she waited in front, no big deal, seemingly psyched. Her job meant she wasn't getting out much, so any place sounded great to her. Her last day at the Pentagon was rapidly approaching, for which she was grateful. Her good mood and light manner indicated that she had no idea that in a matter of days she would become a chew-toy for Ken Starr.The rest of you had been huddling around your cable-news campfires to all hours, swapping "I know a guy who knows a guy"s, riveted by all the mumblenewsing, quidnuncing, hearsaying, tattling, and idle-chattering. But a funny thing happened to me on the way from Cayman to the States.When you scuba dive, if you plunge deep into the abyss—say, deeper than 66 feet, or two "atmospheres"—you can't rise to the surface too quickly or you risk a serious medical problem with a silly name, the bends.

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