Private Investigator Los Angeles
He had done some work for my friend Kevin Spacey. Kevin was being blackmailed by some guy he met in a gay bar. Gil took care of that business.
Anyway, Gil picked me up at my hotel in Beverly Hills. It was dark already. His face was bruised and battered and his nose had a strange angle. It is probably half broken. Gil has an open top car and where I sat on the passenger’s seat, the windshield had a star in it. He asked me to pay for his medical bills and the windshield and I did so.
We visited Roger’s ex-wife. She gave us a list of places, where we might find him. I pleaded with her to drop the alimony case against my brother, because that is basically the reason a judge is involved. Roger didn’t pay any alimony or child support for his son. I’m the one paying child support for my nephew. I’m also paying his school fees.
His ex said no. To be honest with you, I understand her point of view. She isn’t to blame here. It’s Roger and nobody else but Roger. He didn’t pay up, she took him to court, that’s the reason he is on parole now.
We took the list and drove around Los Angeles for a while. Gil would stop once in a while at a club and go inside to look for Roger. We didn’t find him.
It was around midnight and we were in Orange County. I don’t know where exactly, because I’m not really that familiar with Orange County or Los Angeles for that matter. Gil stopped on the parking lot of a small motel. He took something out of his jacket, which was on the back seat and left the car, the engine still running. He told me to wait, he would be right back.
He disappeared around the building. After a few minutes he appeared at the far end of the motel and looked through the window of one of the rooms. To me it seemed like he was taking pictures. I thought he had located Roger so I got out of the car and walked over to him.
I asked him whether Roger was inside. At that moment, a middle aged guy, more likely in his early sixties, because he had grey hair, he was only wearing shorts, he came out of the room, shouting. Gil got up and took a picture of the guy. The flash blinded the man. Gil screamed at me, “Run Bill”.
I was stunned. Gil was fighting off the guy. He pushed him away and ran to the car. I ran too. I don’t know what happened, but I can’t run anymore. I tried to run to the car, I couldn’t run. It’s like my muscles stiffened up. It’s the strangest thing. I was running, but the speed was gone.
The guy ran after me. He must’ve been older than me, but he out ran me. Gil got behind the wheel and drove in my direction. I tripped and fell, losing my glasses. I looked back. The guy stopped running. I think he recognized me. I got up as fast as possible and kept running. The guy caught up with me and gave me a kick in the behind, just as I jumped in Gil’s car. I hurt myself really bad. I still have pain in my chest, because of that night.
I was furious. I asked him what the hell that was all about. He told me he was trying to catch a cheating husband. He would get a thousand dollar bonus if he had a picture, which his wife could use in her divorce case. I couldn’t believe my ears. I exploded and called him every name I could think of.
I told him he was fired and threw his money in his face. He stopped the car and told me to get out. I did. The bastard drove off. I’m still so angry at this whole episode. I’m so angry at Roger for putting me in such a situation.
I went to a small strip mall closeby and bought a calling card. I was lucky, because I normally don’t have my wallet with me. If it wasn’t for the fact that I had to pay Gil, I wouldn’t have any money with me at all. Very stupid of me. I need to stop thinking I'm the president and others will take care of these things.
I called Bobbi and asked her to come and get me. I gave her the address in Orange County. After that I bought something to eat and sat down on the pavement at the side of the road.
I thought to myself how strangely familiar this whole night seemed. When I was president, I had a staff, aides to help me out. There is something I learned early on in my presidency. Aides in Washington only work for you part time even if you pay them full time salaries. What I mean is, look at Gil. I was paying him to work for me, still he wanted to make a quick buck by making that picture.
That’s almost exactly what happens in Washington. My aides worked for me, but they never forgot number one, themselves. If a journalist asked them for some confidential information, these aides always thought about whether leaking this information to the journalist would be beneficial to their career instead of thinking about whether it could hurt me or my policy initiatives. That’s what I mean. Being the president’s aide was never the end, they were always on the lookout for a better job with more pay or more status.
I can’t tell you how many times my policies were hurt by disloyal aides. Some of them leaked documents to get some recognition from the press, because they were interested in a career in the media after my presidency was over. Some of them talked to political adversaries in the hope of securing a job in the future after I had left office. Others wanted journalists to give them some attention, because they were thinking about running for some kind of office themselves and the journalists would ask for a quid pro quo.
What Gil did is reprehensible, but I’m used to it. In Washington, in politics nobody is loyal. Everybody thinks about his or her own career first. I was also thinking about George Bush’s friend, the one, who taped those confidential conversations and showed them to the media, Doug Wead. In politics you are alone. That really is true.
After an hour Bobbi picked me up in an open top white Corvette. I was just too tired to say anything about that. I had asked her to rent a car. I should’ve known what kind of a car a twenty something girl from Florida, who has never lived in California would rent.
I got in and we drove back to Beverly Hills. She took a detour, but according to her that was the only way she knew. I was looking at her steering with one hand and wiping her long hair out of her face, but the wind kept blowing it right back into her face and turning the dial on the radio to fine tune the sound. Thank God the roads were empty. We listened to some Golden Oldies on a radio station called K-Earth. I remember that name, because they have a very annoying jingle, which they play every few minutes. The music pretty much washed away my anger and made me sad about my life.
It was dark, Bobbi and I were driving on the empty highways of Los Angeles, the wind was blowing through my hair, music on the background, I was looking into the darkness to my right and I was very close to crying.
I don't know why, but I was thinking to myself, what kind of marriage do Hillary and I have? We haven’t seen each other for so long. I went to Asia with former president George Bush on the eighteenth. Before that I had been in Los Angeles. So I haven’t seen my wife since the seventeenth. That’s almost three weeks.
It’s difficult to say, but it almost feels like it doesn’t matter to us whether we’re together or not. We are on the phone all the time, but you can’t smile at the telephone, you can’t take the telephone’s hand and give it a little squeeze to tell it you care.
I never talk about this to Hillary. I never said no, when she asked me for my opinion about her running for Senate. She always supported me and I just wanted to be there for her, because I knew how much it means to her to have her own career and track record in public service.
When I was sitting in the Corvette, looking into the darkness it just was so apparent to me how much I miss her. I’m not going to lie. I wished she hadn’t run for Senate. I just want her to spend more time with me.
The reason I almost cried was because of a song on the radio. I can’t remember it exactly, but it went something like, Take me out tonight, because I want to see people I want to see life. Driving in your car, I never want to go home, because I haven’t got one anymore. And If a ten ton truck crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.
I was thinking about the words and they ring true to me. Do I have a home? If so then why haven’t I seen my wife in three weeks? I didn’t want to think about all these things, but there is nothing else to do then think, when you’re driving on the dark, empty highways in Los Angeles sitting on the passenger’s seat.
I need to talk to Hillary, because we can’t, I can’t go on like this, pretending this arrangement suits me. To be honest, I’ve been feeling this way for a long time, but I just don’t have the guts to tell her how I feel.
It’s my own fault, I made many mistakes, broke her heart too many times with things, which right now seem so stupid and totally not worth it. I forfeited my right to talk to her and tell her something is bothering me about our marriage. I hurt her too many times. I just need to keep my mouth shut, maybe I’m not happy, but she probably is.
And she has every right to be. I just need to think about her and her happiness. She deserves that much after all I did to her.