“YOU CAN’T IMAGINE MY humiliation I felt when my best friend, Evelyn Sykes,” began Hillary Chipps. Hillary silenced for a moment so that Mike could process the full potency of dropping the First Lady’s name. Hillary’s lips tightened over her bucktoothed overbite in anticipation of the embarrassment that would surely follow the upcoming disclosure. The lines around her eyes deepened as did the crevices around her mouth. Under different circumstances those crannies testified to her proclivity for fun and laughter, but now these same lines exemplified a serious situation. Hillary was dressed in a simple but expensive manner.
Mike McDonough purposefully did not react to the name Evelyn Sykes. Mike leaned back in his chair and said nothing, to let Hillary Chipps continue, as would any therapist. However Mike was not a therapist, but at times, he did use their techniques.
“Evelyn called and said that she had just seen my husband Justin Chipps with his little whore cavorting in front of the Rodeo Collection. According to her, and she is my best friend, they were practically fornicating … on the hood of his Cadillac for the whole world to see.” Hillary stopped. The wattle in her throat was shaking, as were her hands. A wet sheen emerged over her eyes, as Mike grabbed for the Kleenex and placed the box before her. In a brisk moment, she batted the package off the tabletop. The box bounced off the olive green file cabinets and on to the floor. “I don’t need any more fucking Kleenex!” she roared. “What I fucking want is to have this thing handled discreetly!”
Again, Mike did not react to outburst. “So as I understand it, your husband is having an affair.” He said it simply. Just stating a statement of fact. He wiped his nose. His eyes remained opaque and uncaring. For that was, in fact, his job.
Hillary’s fingers ploughed through her gold tinted hair. For a moment, Hillary could not look at Mike. The pearls around her neck remained decorative and impervious to the emotion that they were circling. “You can see that I am under a great deal of pressure,” she said in a suddenly weak voice. Mike could not ascertain if this was feigned or not. “Because after all, when your husband has carte blanche with the President. The repercussions of this tawdry affair would not only be embarrassing to my friends in Washington but could affect the programs the President wants to implement!”
Hillary looked away at Mike only to return to his gaze. “Betty Ford is right, living in the White House is like living in a fish bowl.” She straightened up and she gazed directly at Mike. “Yes, my husband is having an affair.”
“He has been having an affair for years.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“People talk, Mrs. Chipps. Beverly Hills is a small town.”
“Don’t I know it!”
“People know,” said Mike, in a tired tone that implied all this was after the fact.
“So do you know who his ‘Little Whore’ is?”
“No, but I know people who do. Gossip is a big part of my business.”