Hillary Clinton

Hillary Clinton

Summer in south-central Arkansas is hot, muggy, sweaty, sticky.

The humidity is bad, too.

The Hot Springs area, only a possum-throw from Bill Clinton’s boyhood hometown of Hope, is home to a cast of real characters: most upstanding citizens, but some living in on the underbelly of crime and good old-fashioned Southern corruption.

Enter Bill and Hillary Clinton, and a woman they’d prefer to forget: Dolly Kyle.

Kyle, with a law degree from SMU, survived an affair with the future governor and president. And then it got dirty.

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Kyle’s new memoir, “Hillary: The Other Woman,” is a journey down a dark alley of Clinton Corruption. Readers might put hands over their mouths from time to time, but one can’t look away. The book is that riveting.

Kyle, who always called the president “Billy,” gives an up-close and very personal account of the ultimate Power Couple; Bill rising to national prominence after formative years in the South, and Hillary shedding her father’s conservatism for the radical leftist worldview she embraced in college and beyond.

(David Schippers, chief investigative counsel for the Clinton Impeachment, wrote the foreword and says the committee intended to call Kyle to the witness stand in an anticipated trial.)

In her book’s foundational chapter, Kyle digs down:

In order for a reader to understand my relationship with Hillary Rodham Clinton and the source of my observations of her behavior over time, it’s necessary to know a bit more about my relationship with Billy Clinton.

Let loose the hound, Smithers.

Kyle proceeds to peel back layers of the Clintons that only an early association could. The result is a profile of both of them that goes a long way in explaining why, as Kyle herself puts it, “[Hillary] is a liar and a frantically ambitious person who will do anything (including attacking women while purporting to support them) to assuage her unfillable, addictive, emotional need for power.”

She then chronicles her involvement with the Clintons, and her observations of their public life together. It all makes “Hillary: The Other Woman,” perhaps the political thriller of the year.

In Chapter 23, Kyle discusses a sordid episode in Billy’s life (okay, his whole life is sordid), in which rumors he fathered a child with a black prostitute reached the local media. Notice how Kyle exposes how Clinton even then was parsing words in legal-speak and Clinton-speak, when questions surrounded whether he had fathered a “black baby”:

Billy could not have had “a black baby” because Billy is not black. He could, however, have a half-black, half-white baby, but no one asked him about that.

It’s sort of like in the first hours of the Monica Lewinsky story, Clinton sat with veteran journalist Jim Lehrer and declared there “is” no affair going on.

That’s correct. At the moment he was sitting under the hot lights with Lehrer The Softball Thrower, the president was not engaged in an affair.

How gross if he had been.

The real story in “Hillary: The Other Woman,” and the valuable service Kyle provides, is the realization that Hillary is every bit as morally bankrupt as her husband. It is hard to imagine this book not stealing at least a few critical votes away from Hillary (provided she escapes the FBI investigation).

There are so many stories told by Kyle about the Clintons that one has no choice but to see them as the amoral, serpent-like creatures they are.

For example, while arguing with “Billy” one evening in 1974, as they headed to a campaign rally for famed Senator William Fulbright (who had done so much for the young Clinton’s own career), Kyle informed the calculating Clinton that it would be a show of disrespect if he didn’t at least make an appearance at the rally; Fulbright was locked in a tight Senate race that evening in May.

“I don’t want to be seen with a loser,” Billy responded coldly. Kyle looked straight ahead, all the while feeling a cold stare from the “lumpy” Hillary Rodham in the back seat.

The two women had just met.

Hillary: The Other Woman” is certainly lurid; no one is denying that. And, just like a Beyoncé halftime show, one can look away or turn the channel.

But trust me: you won’t be able to look away from this book. It is the ultimate horror flick that makes you wince, briefly shut your eyes, and maybe even scream.

And if the FBI doesn’t get her, Hillary Rodham Clinton might one day look back at this book as her political Waterloo.


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