That's Where He Lost Me

Sitting on the set of Larry King Live on Monday night, I waited nervously for the President to address the nation. I had suspected for months and believed for weeks that Bill Clinton had had a sexual relationship with "that woman," Monica Lewinsky, and now, fresh from the grand jury, he was prepared to admit it to the American people. But would he take responsibility for it, own up both to his behavior and to the price his family, his supporters and the country had paid during nearly seven months of evasion?

I desperately wanted him to; night after night, my talking head implored him to. But I knew him too well.

At 10:02 p.m., a drawn and clench-jawed President appeared on the CNN monitor. "Good evening," he said. And it was mostly downhill from there.

There were some high points. In the first few minutes, the words were right, the tone confessional. He knew what he had to say, and he was choking out an apology of sorts, though he never used the word. And I was with him. I could only imagine how difficult it was for him. Lord knows, it was painful just to watch. I was almost willing to swallow his claim that his answers in the Jones deposition were "legally accurate." I had hoped he wouldn't try to slice his own words into a meaningless pile of razor-thin legalisms, but I told myself his lawyers had probably demanded it. So I set it aside.

When he admitted that he had misled people, even his wife, his voice caught. For the first time, I felt his pain rather than his anger, and I fought the lump in my throat. I wanted more.

But it didn't come. No sooner did he accept responsibility than he shifted it, first to the "politically inspired" Paula Jones lawsuit, then, predictably, to Ken Starr.

When the speech ended, I hoped that Larry King would call on someone else first. He did. I sat there and tried to collect my thoughts, but I couldn't hide my disappointment.

Since January, I've been asked often if I was surprised by allegations that the President had an affair with a 21-year-old intern. I wasn't. After all, as the Clintons are quick to point out, they've been accused of everything from adultery to drug running to murder. What surprised me in this case was this: it was true. I never believed that Bill Clinton would actually risk his presidency--a job he had studied, dreamed about and prepared for since he was a kid--for something so frivolous, so reckless, so small.

I first went to work for Bill Clinton in the fall of 1991. I had been a wary recruit. President Bush was riding high in the wake of the Gulf War; spending a year on the road in pursuit of a lost cause seemed like a waste. But I agreed to interview for the press secretary's job.

That meeting changed my life. Never had I met a candidate who knew with such certainty why he wanted to run. And never had I met anyone in public life who believed so passionately in the potential of politics to do good. His passion was infectious, and within a couple of weeks I found myself on the campaign plane that would become my home for the next year.