What Really Happened (22 page)

We left Florida by private jet and stopped in St. Louis to pick up the Youngs’ three small kids, and their babysitter, car seats, toys, and suitcases. The plane was
packed
. Then we all flew to Aspen. Whatever glamour traveling by private plane afforded, it evaporated immediately with the addition of three small children. We were now a traveling circus. Andrew and Cheri were having fun: they had their kids back; the kids were happy too. They were all looking forward to their skiing lessons and all the winter wonderland activities that Aspen has to offer to nonpregnant people. The insanity of it all never escaped me. The traveling was more uncomfortable, especially now with three small, very loud children who weren’t mine. For the most part, though, I was still happy.

But wow—Aspen was
cold
.

I remember Cheri bitching
a lot
about how Fred and Lisa’s person, who was supposed to help, was of no help. And their babysitter was of no help. The reason Cheri and I would never be close pals is that she is really not a happy person nor adapts easily to change. Such behavior makes an uncomfortable environment to be in, to say the least. Thankfully Fred and Lisa’s house was huge, and Cheri stayed very busy out of the house with ski lessons, indoor sports arena activities, and other winter kid stuff.

I spoke to Lisa while we were there and it lifted my spirits greatly. She asked me if I had a name for my daughter yet. I said I liked Frances, but her dad wasn’t sold on it, so I wasn’t sure yet. I never offered up who that dad was. But when I spoke to Lisa, I immediately got the feeling that it was all going to be okay.

Lisa also found me a doctor in Aspen to visit for a checkup. I went and really liked the doctor but was uncomfortable about having my baby in Aspen. I still didn’t know where I was going to give birth, but it was now certain that it wouldn’t be in North Carolina because the
Enquirer
had already staked out my doctor’s office there. I thought often about leaving the country but I really wanted her to be born in America.

We had to leave Aspen because Fred and Lisa had promised the house to someone else for New Year’s and they couldn’t get out of that commitment.

Andrew chose San Diego. Why, I have no idea. We flew privately to San Diego, minus the babysitter this time.

I had a junior suite at the Loews Coronado Bay, where I immediately fell asleep upon hitting my room. The Youngs had big problems with their room and with the hotel service. I don’t know what was going on with them. They were very unhappy but fortunately were in a building far away from me. They ended up in an extra-large, two-bedroom suite on the water, but to Cheri it smelled like pee or something. She was complaining all about it. And then—OMG—the unthinkable happened: Andrew forgot her birthday! She did not let that go. He was punished on and off for that for as long as I was with them.

We spent New Year’s Eve in San Diego having room service in the Youngs’ pee-smelling suite overlooking the water, watching the ball drop in Times Square on TV.

Meanwhile, Johnny was campaigning like a madman, 24/7. He would call Andrew’s cell or Andrew would connect me to him somehow. I just remember Johnny being in that totally different reality—the campaign bubble—surrounded by people who wanted to hear what he was saying, and relying on subjective people for his information. He was also very sweet to me on the phone. I could feel how much he loved me and missed me.

We went on a private plane back to Aspen—more cold and more altitude—which I wasn’t thrilled about. But hey, whatever. The Iowa caucuses were around the corner, and then it would all be over.

At around 5:30 in the morning, I was awakened by Cheri screaming. I got out of bed, and Cheri was in the entryway of their bedroom going at it with Elizabeth on the phone. Elizabeth tracked Johnny’s phone calls and had seen a call to Cheri’s cell. Elizabeth’s tracking had started in December 2006. This is something that never changed, even well into 2010, long after they were separated, until Johnny got a phone under his own name where she couldn’t track his whereabouts or his calls.

I watched the Iowa caucuses in Fred’s den. I couldn’t believe Johnny came in second, but more importantly, I couldn’t believe he was staying in. I had a bit of a reaction to this because I expected that he would be getting out after Iowa. He was planning on getting out and thought he would come in third. Now, he couldn’t exactly make a graceful exit when everyone around him wanted him to continue. Whatever.

I retired to my bedroom. I had more pressing matters to think about, like where I was going to give birth, an issue that became more important each day because I could no longer fly after thirty-six weeks of pregnancy.

I picked Santa Barbara. First of all, that place is heaven on earth. Second, and more importantly, my dear, dear friend of fifteen years, Bob, who is the sweetest soul and a great source of comfort for me, lived there. I wanted him to be with me when I gave birth, no matter where that birth took place, so why not just go to him?

I refused to budge on this. Maybe this was diva behavior, but I was tired of all the traveling, living out of a suitcase, and the cold weather and the altitude. I was at the end of my rope and about to give birth.

Our odd journey across the country ended up putting me in the most divine city for my daughter to come into the world.

I have more admiration for people, especially celebrities, when I learn that they chose to live in Santa Barbara. When Oprah Winfrey, who lives in Santa Barbara, was at my house in Charlotte, we briefly chatted about it. I said to her, “There is nothing wrong with Santa Barbara.” And in total agreement, she replied, “There is
nothing wrong
with Santa Barbara.”

And to be able to be born there? Yes, my daughter is indeed one lucky little girl.

SEVENTEEN

The End of Just Me

“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.”

—
B
HAGWAN
S
HREE
R
AJNEESH

A
FTER THE NEW YEAR, I sent Jonathan Darman a brief email that said, “Thanks for your e-mail. Sorry to hear about your dad, but happy you get to spend time with him. We will talk again one day. Until then, lots of love.”

He responded, “Good, I hope that day is soon. You know where to find me. Love, J.”

While we were staying at the Four Seasons Santa Barbara, Andrew was house-hunting with a Realtor, and he was telling people that I was his sister Jaya. We all went and looked at a few houses. None of them was right for our living situation, which was comical: pregnant mistress in hiding, three small kids, and a never-been-in-therapy, often-fighting married couple. And then just when we thought we would never find anything suitable, a big beige house in a gated community in Montecito, California, became available.

The house also came with a hefty price tag: twenty thousand dollars a month. But it worked because there was enough space for us to have our own ends of the house. As much as I loved the Youngs (and I really did at that point), I needed privacy for my new baby and me. I am a private person and need my own space. We did have some common areas: the kitchen, the TV area off the kitchen, and the laundry. But I would be also able to close my door to my section and shut them out (or so I thought). They had the other end of the house, with the master bedroom, an extra bedroom for the kids, and an office for their busy work of building their five-thousand-square-foot, two-million-dollar dream home back in North Carolina. Of course, I never stopped to think at that point how they could build such a house on a political staffer’s salary. Neither of them came from any money. In fact, it was very clear that they didn’t. So how much money could they have possibly made from the sale of their other house? It’s clear now, but at the time I just never thought about it.

Even as rich as he was, Fred gave Andrew a lot of push back on the hefty rent. I mean, come on, twenty thousand dollars a month is twenty thousand dollars a month. So Andrew basically spelled it out very clearly, stopping just short of directly telling Fred that Johnny was my baby’s father. Apparently this is when Fred went to Johnny directly and asked him for the first time if he was in fact my baby’s father.

And Johnny said no.

Johnny lied to his friend.

Johnny called me screaming. The second and only other time he has ever screamed at me. “What is Andrew doing? Fred said Andrew all but said directly that I was the father of your baby!”

“Stop screaming at me! I didn’t talk to Fred nor do I have any interest in your anger.”

We hung up.

This happened somewhere between January 7
^th
and 11
^th
. It was at the Four Seasons Resort in Santa Barbara, right before we moved into the big beige house. I believe Fred had no idea what the truth was when he offered to help us get out of North Carolina. Nor do I believe he was doing it to follow Johnny’s instructions. I believe Fred was telling the truth when he publicly said that in August 2008. I also believe Fred did not think that his financial help was a campaign violation. The Fred I knew would have never knowingly violated a campaign finance law! I believe Fred helped because that’s what Fred did: he helped people. In fact, Fred continued helping me way after Johnny’s political career was long over.

Also around that time, I found a doctor I trusted. I was still in a great deal of pain. I wasn’t moving much, just to the tub and back, and spent a minimum of five hours a day soaking.

My doctor had a great sense of humor. Naturally, because I was now living under an alias, I had no medical records, so he had to redo all my blood work. He asked me in a very jovial manner, “Who are you running from—the dad?”

“Nope,” I replied, smiling, without offering an answer.

He handed me a copy of all my blood work, and said, “Well, here, you might need this in case you run away from me before your baby comes out.”

The other great thing about being back in California (the land of the free, wacky, and celebrity) is that when you fill out your medical forms, there is a line for your legal name and then next to it a line for your aka. Of course, I wasn’t about to write Rielle Hunter. As much as I liked my doctor, it seemed unwise to trust anyone with my real name right now. I listed only Jaya James.

Once we moved out of the hotel and into the big beige house, I went shopping for baby stuff. I went to a store called Chicken Little and got everything I needed. There was a lady there who was also pregnant with a girl. She was so great—she just flew through the whole store: “You need this, you need this, you need this”—one-stop shopping. You name it, I got it: changing table, stroller, car seat, Baby Björn, baby clothes, Diaper Genie. One day and five thousand dollars later, I was ready to have a baby.

Andrew and Cheri went car shopping and bought a Lexus SUV for Cheri. I don’t know Lexus models very well, but whatever it was, it was pricey—a far cry from Cheri’s minivan that she drove back in North Carolina. They also began shopping for everything under the sun that they felt they needed to make their lives extra happy. Andrew bought a top-of-the-line treadmill, full weight-lifting gym for the garage, a new large HDTV for their bedroom (the ones already in the house were just not good enough), plus toys, basketball nets, motorized cars, and a huge trampoline with a net for the back yard. And clothes! Those kids had more clothes than I had ever seen. They also hired a home school teacher for the kids.

In the big beige house, February 2008. I had ventured way beyond uncomfortable—tipping the scales at a whopping 166lbs!

January 23
^rd
, 2008: I read in the indictment four years later that, on this day, Andrew received another check from Bunny for two hundred thousand dollars. This is crazy to me because the Youngs were still telling me that they needed to be reimbursed for all the money they had spent on me so far, which they claimed came from the sale of their house in Raleigh.
Their
money, not Bunny’s. And they went on to hold this “
their
money” thing over my head a lot of the time. Cheri would scream at me, “This is
our car
! We bought it!” (She was speaking of my used BMW.) And silly, stupid me, I believed them. So in reality, they had now almost seven hundred thousand dollars from Bunny. The checks went to Cheri and were deposited under her maiden name. Andrew was no longer putting any money into my account; that had stopped December 4
^th
, 2007. In total, he had deposited thirty-eight thousand dollars into my account over a period of seven months. To me thirty-eight thousand dollars is a far cry from seven hundred thousand dollars.