What Really Happened

by Rielle Hunter

  The next morning, without any sleep, Johnny had his run time and workout and then did the Des Moines Register debate. I was surprised that he did a very good job.

  Elizabeth joined Johnny on the bus with the kids later that afternoon. They went to some sledding event; Johnny spent his time doing phone calls about this little tabloid problem that he was still hiding from Elizabeth. She had no idea.

  Johnny told me that, during this time, Andrew and he spoke on the phone and Andrew suggested to him, “Why don’t I just say I am the dad? Nobody will care about two staffers having an affair.”

  “Andrew, that’s crazy.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have problems getting her on board anyway.”

  Unfortunately, the suggestion alone planted the seed. And I’ll bet having Elizabeth right there with Johnny helped that little seed grow into a full harvest within a few hours, changing his thinking from, “That’s crazy,” to, “Uh, maybe that will work.”

  I believe Johnny was looking for a life raft to keep himself floating, without her finding out, while he waited for a natural exit from the race, not to be forced out by a tabloid. I don’t believe his saying yes to Andrew’s idea was ever intended to keep his bid for the White House alive.

  Andrew mentioned his idea to me and I rejected it. Again. “Do you realize how stupid that is? No one is going to believe it.”

  I got a call from Johnny when I was standing in the kitchen of my rental house. It was dark but I don’t know if it was dark outside or just inside because the curtains were still drawn to keep the National Enquirer people away. Johnny said, “Andrew says you are the only one who is not on board with this idea.”

  “What? Cheri is on board?”

  This was the first time that this crazy idea started to seem real to me. I never thought it was going to fly because what woman would ever say yes to her husband publicly claiming paternity for a child that wasn’t his? It never occurred to me that there are people in this world who want to be rich above and beyond everything else. I later learned from the Youngs that Andrew sold Cheri the idea by saying that if they did this, they would be financially set for life. Knowing Johnny like I do, I thought, but did not share with the Youngs, that this was very strange thinking, mixed with very big assumptions on their part. Of course, I didn’t know at the time what was going on with Bunny’s money.

  I also thought that no matter what these crazy men thought, Cheri would be my out. And now I had none. They all wanted to do this.

  I reacted the way most seven-months-pregnant women would: I began to cry. And I cried, and I cried, and then I cried some more.

  I did not want any part of this. It went against all my belief systems. I said over and over, “No one is going to believe this! It’s stupid! It doesn’t make any sense.”

  I remember sitting in my bathroom crying when Rob called. I picked up and said hello through my tears, and he asked what was wrong. I couldn’t believe he was asking me that and lost it. I screamed, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

  He immediately said, “Let me rephrase: any new developments?”

  Somewhere in between phone calls, tears, and the pregnancy pain I was in, I let go. I gave up. I surrendered. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I didn’t want to cry. I made a decision to let go of everything I believed—just let it all go. And what came to me when I did that, when I let it all go was no matter how stupid I thought this was, I would do whatever Johnny wanted me to do. I did not want him to blame whatever was going to happen on our daughter. I didn’t want Johnny to hold over our daughter’s head that his being pushed out of the race or my saying no to this stupid decision was in any way her fault. And more importantly, I didn’t want her to blame herself if he did. After all, she has enough going against her already. Okay, I would go along but I wasn’t actually going to say that Andrew was the father. I was going to say what I believed: it was nobody’s business, and my decision to bring my daughter into the world, my pregnancy, doesn’t have to do with John Edwards. Another nondenial, but it was what I believed.

  Of all the things that happened in my relationship with Johnny, the thing I regret the most is going along with this stupid idea and allowing this lie to go public. After this happened, whenever a choice came up again that I thought was not the right way to go, or I felt that Johnny’s interests were in conflict with what was best for Quinn, which happened more than a few times because Elizabeth was steering his boat, I held my ground. I would not waver: my daughter always won. She still does.

  The next step was for Johnny to tell Elizabeth this fantastic news—Andrew and Rielle had just further ruined their lives. This was to be followed by Andrew talking to Elizabeth. As I remember, Johnny had just finished doing Today. He and Andrew talked and he told Andrew, “The next time we talk, Elizabeth will be here.”

  Johnny told Elizabeth that I had been photographed and that Andrew was the father of the baby. I suspect that because of her trust issues with Johnny, Elizabeth wanted to talk to Andrew directly. And here is what’s so crazy about that: Andrew never flat-out told Elizabeth that he was the father! He alluded to it, saying that he and Cheri were having problems and they were working things out. Elizabeth asked him when it happened, and Andrew told me he said, “The first time it happened was at the Dave Matthews concert.”

  And that was it. Elizabeth just accepted it. It was what she wanted to believe. She thought I was a whore and Andrew was a piece of dirt, so it fit the storyline in her head perfectly. And now she felt really justified for blaming and heaving more of her anger on Andrew and me. We had, after all, nearly ruined her perfect public life.

  Of course, Johnny was still trying to get the story killed. The National Enquirer wanted Johnny to sign an affidavit verifying paternity. Johnny tells me that he vividly remembers the look on his press guy Mark Kornblau’s face. Mark was saying, “Okay, so we need to sign this affidavit and it’s done.”

  And Johnny said, “Yeah, I am not going to do that. I am not going to say that under oath.”

  The justification, of course, was—signing an affidavit for a tabloid? Fuck them.

  Johnny said he will never forget the look on Mark’s face. It was the moment when Mark knew the truth.

  So now the statements. Andrew’s new lawyer helped write his, and they sent it to the National Enquirer. I had mine written up without the last add-on line after lots of pressure from the campaign.

  “They won’t believe it unless it comes from you.”

  “Oh, so now I have to say it? No one is going to believe this. What does it matter? I am not saying Andrew is the father of my child. I will say it’s nobody’s fucking business.”

  And then there came the moment: “Whatever you want. I am tired, I hurt, and I want to have my baby in peace. Please—all of you—leave me alone.”

  Here is my statement issued per my instruction only to the National Enquirer:

  “The fact that I am expecting a child is my personal and private business. This has no relationship to nor does it involve John Edwards in any way. Andrew Young is the father of my unborn child.”

  Of course, my statement doesn’t even make any sense. It’s no one’s business, but here, let me tell you who the father is anyway?

  I still can’t believe anyone bought it but they did. The mainstream media did not pursue it. I was very surprised and very happy about it.

  And the fact that I lied? I let it go. I was making a baby, and her emotional and physical well-being was of the utmost importance. She was my priority, and, honestly, it wasn’t that hard to let it go. My reasoning was, “Hey, I lied to the National Enquirer. I lied to liars. Do you really think they expect people to be honest with them?”

  Here’s a newsflash: The National Enquirer is filled with lies, including my own.

  SIXTEEN

  Band on the Run

  “Never go o
n trips with anyone you do not love.”

  —Ernest Hemingway

  After all the statements had gone to the Enquirer, and Johnny did not sign any affidavit, Andrew got it in his head that we needed to get away, specifically to Bunny’s private island. That was all he was talking about. Clearly he wanted to be on an all-expenses-paid vacation via private plane, but at seven months pregnant, I did not want to be flying, traveling, or away from my doctor. Not to mention I had no desire to be in a bathing suit! So once again, I was not happy about a new development. I didn’t want to leave my couch, much less North Carolina.

  I told Johnny over the phone, “Andrew wants to go away when the story comes out.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” he replied.

  Fabulous.

  Andrew took care of all the logistics. I was told to pack clothes for warm weather and that I would not need my passport. I had no idea where we were going or how we were getting there. I was just told that we were leaving at five in the morning on Tuesday. The story was slated to come out on Wednesday.

  I packed for a week, figuring it would be one, maybe two at the longest. I left everything in my house as it was. I felt like running away was stupid. So what if the press surrounded my house? They would get bored and leave in a few days. I would be just fine camping on my couch with the shades closed.

  However, I had already decided that I was going to do what Johnny wanted, and if he thought it was a good idea for me to leave when the story broke, so be it. It wouldn’t be for long. He was going to be out of the race soon. The other thing about me is that once I decide something, I am no victim or complainer, though I do make lots of jokes about the situation. I am on board one hundred percent.

  Normally it’s a path that I choose, and I take full responsibility for it. Whatever happens, I fully accept the consequences.

  But this was a whole different ball of wax.

  I have never been down a road that I knew, before walking down it, was the wrong way to go. So I felt right off the bat that the chances were high that things were not going to end well, especially given the idea sprang from the Youngs’ greed.

  Andrew and Cheri picked me up at around 5 a.m. They were alone because their children were staying with Cheri’s parents in St. Louis.

  It was chilly outside. I was wearing jeans and the black cashmere sweater that Johnny had brought me when I was going to the mountains at Blowing Rock. The sweater was so big and bulky that I barely looked pregnant.

  We met Tim Toben near his house and Tim drove us to the FBO at the airport, where we got on a plane that Fred had chartered for us. I do not know what Fred thought at this time given I hadn’t spoken to him. I really don’t think he actually knew that I was carrying Johnny’s child—not yet. I believe he was just helping us get away from the media because Andrew asked him to.

  Once on the plane, I discovered we were going to the Westin Diplomat in Hollywood, Florida. Of course, I had been there before, more than once with Johnny. It would never have been my choice to stay in a huge hotel with minimal privacy.

  Let the nightmare begin! Leaving North Carolina with the Youngs in the wee hours of the morning, December 2007.

  When we arrived at the hotel, I sat on a couch in the lobby while Andrew and Cheri checked in. I have heard a lot about me being a demanding diva about hotels and suites and such. I will just say the size of the room never matters to me, but how a room feels does. Andrew and Cheri picked the room and got an ocean-view corner suite; I got the adjoining standard room. I suspect it would be used as the nanny’s room if there were kids in the suite. This would be the case throughout all of our travels: they always got the huge, expensive suite and I got a standard room. At the Four Seasons Resort in Santa Barbara, they had a suite that cost about three thousand dollars a night. I was in the standard room next door to their suite, which cost around seven hundred dollars a night. Don’t get me wrong—the Four Seasons is the Four Seasons, suite or no suite. I’m just saying, they got the suites, not me.

  When I got to my room, I was feeling really sad and couldn’t pinpoint the sadness. It wasn’t related to this stupid drama; it was something else that I couldn’t quite fathom. I called my ex-husband, Kip. I wanted to tell him I was pregnant before he saw it in the National Enquirer. He picked up and said, “It’s so weird that you’re calling—I was just going to call you. Humphrey died.”

  After we reminisced about Humphrey, my little Jack Russell terrier that I had when we were married, I told him my news. “Just wanted you to know, I am with child, a little girl, and is it okay, do you mind if she uses your name?”

  He replied, “I would be honored to have your child have my name, for as long as she wants it. And the father?”

  I was silent.

  Kip said, “I take it you don’t want to talk about the father and I believe it is none of my business.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  When the Enquirer cover appeared on the Drudge Report, it said, “LOVE CHILD” with a picture of me, in pain, walking out of the doctor’s office without sunglasses. Lo and behold, the mainstream media bought it and left me alone. I was surprised to discover that some people are dumber than I thought.

  Naturally, Jonathan Darman chimed in with an email:

  Not sure if you’re still checking your e-mail, but I wanted you to know that I’m thinking of you. Hope everything’s OK and that, apart from all this madness, you’ve been happy. You don’t have to respond to this, understand why you wouldn’t, but it felt weird not to be in touch and let you know that you’re on my mind. A lot has happened in the past few months—I’ve been on leave in Washington, taking care of my father who has been in the ICU, gravely ill with acute leukemia. Lots to talk about . . . someday. Just know that you’re on my mind and would love to talk, whenever and if ever you can. XO J

  Johnny called to tell me that some woman, a big fan of Elizabeth’s, a woman named Melinda who wrote for Slate, told Johnny that she was hearing everywhere that I was talking to everyone and that he should really shut me up. This really upset me, and I started crying. “Let’s see—I have gone against everything I am about and believe in, I have lied, I am in hiding, and now you are accusing me of talking to people? I have not talked to anyone.” It was very annoying, to say the least.

  We hung up and Johnny called back to tell me that, during the whole conversation that we had just had, he had forgotten to turn his microphone off.

  His camera guy assured him that he hadn’t listened in.

  Fabulous.

  Meanwhile, Cheri, shopper of the century, went on a spree and began filling the suite with supplies: food, a coffee maker, whatever, even a little tiny Christmas tree. She kept very busy, as did Andrew with his many massages.

  No matter how much I would have loved to, I couldn’t get into the vacation mode. This was no vacation for me.

  Meanwhile, Elizabeth had amped up her campaign of bad-mouthing Andrew, and it was getting back to him. He started to lose it: “I have done all this, and she just keeps bad-mouthing me.” Emotions were running high in that corner ocean suite. I was privy to the first of many fights that Andrew and Cheri would have.

  Nick Baldick called Andrew. Andrew had stopped working for the campaign in October or November; apparently the campaign was running out of money and staff had to be cut. Nick was Andrew’s new boss at Nick’s 527. (A 527 is a tax-exempt group that raises money in order to advocate issues.) Andrew’s only job appeared to involve getting money for the 527 from Bunny.

  Andrew told me Nick called and said, “Dude, way to take a bullet. Can you get me more money?”

  Andrew was clearly offended by this. After all, he was still taking the bullet. He was very emotional, he was being bad-mouthed by Elizabeth, his wife wasn’t being nice to him, he was very,
very busy getting massages, and now he had to work?

  Andrew didn’t want his vacation to end, and I believe he convinced Fred, that it wasn’t yet safe to go back to North Carolina because the National Enquirer was probably not going to let this go. (Gee, I wonder why?) So it was decided between them that we should go to Aspen and stay at Fred and Lisa’s house for Christmas.

  My warmest clothes were what I left North Carolina wearing. I had packed as I was told to—for warm weather. As for cold weather gear, all I had was Johnny’s cashmere sweater and one pair of jeans. So Cheri and I went to the mall. I bought an extra-large goose down Juicy Couture coat on sale for two hundred dollars and a pair of UGG slippers. That was my entire pregnancy winter wardrobe.

  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.