The Politician

For once, I didn’t give John Edwards what he wanted. I refused to be on any call involving the two of them. In five days, he left half a dozen messages, asking me to return his call. Mrs. Edwards, who officially loathed me, even left one asking me to call back on a “hard line” instead of a cell phone, presumably for security purposes. I continued to ignore her, but I did stay true to my word, approving the following statement, drafted by Pam Marple, on December 15, 2007:

As confirmed by Ms. Hunter, Andrew Young is the father of her unborn child. Senator Edwards knew nothing about the relationship between these former co-​workers, which began when they worked together in 2006. As a private citizen who no longer works for the campaign, Mr. Young asks that the media respect his privacy while he works to make amends with his family.

This single paragraph was to be offered to the National Enquirer or any other media person who called the Edwards campaign about Rielle Hunter. The senator and the advisers who worked closely with him on this issue-Jonathan Prince and Mark Kornblau-expected the onslaught to begin on Wednesday, December 19, when the new edition of the Enquirer would be posted online. Accordingly, Cheri flew with our kids to Illinois, where they would stay for a while with her parents. She couldn’t tell them exactly why we needed their help, where she was going, or when she might come back. This frightened her mom and dad, but they were supportive. I offered a similar nonexplanation to my family, telling them we were going away, that we were safe, but that I couldn’t tell them anything more.

The Enquirer story, posted online on a Wednesday and distributed to the nation’s newsstands on a Thursday, was as damaging as it could be. The front-​page headline screamed john edwards love child scandal! and Rielle’s picture was included. The most important part of the text came in the first two paragraphs:

Presidential candidate John Edwards is caught up in a love child scandal, a blockbuster Enquirer investigation has discovered.

The Enquirer has learned exclusively that Rielle Hunter, a woman linked to Edwards in a cheating scandal earlier this year, is more than six months pregnant and she’s told a close confidante that Edwards is the father of her baby!

Besides these most pertinent paragraphs, I was struck, of course, by a reference to “Andrew‹o & Young, who’s been extremely close to Edwards for years.” The paper added:

And in a bizarre twist, Young-a 41-year-​old married man with young children-now claims HE is the father of Rielle’s baby! But others are skeptical, wondering if Young’s paternity claim is a cover-​up to protect Edwards.

The Enquirer was right: From any outsider’s perspective, the explanation we had offered to the questions about Rielle was bizarre. But to our relief, no serious newspaper or TV network picked up the story because they couldn’t find a source to confirm it. Our phones and those of our friends and relatives rang constantly with calls from reporters and producers, but we ignored them all. Rielle and the campaign followed the same strategy, and since they still play by the multi-​source rule, the big print and broadcast news organizations were stymied.

The reaction was different in the online world, which exploded with speculation. Two prominent bloggers-Mickey Kaus and Matt Drudge-simply ignored the claim that I was the baby’s father and a

While Cheri had been in Illinois, Mr. Turtle ended up in a lake, and Meebo went to stay with her brother along with Gra

At four A.M., Cheri and I left the Montross house in my car and went to pick up Rielle, who traveled light-just a few clothes and a bag of makeup-and wore a black banda

At the FBO, we drove into the hangar and parked next to the jet so no one could see Rielle get out of the car. We were met by a pilot and copilot who ushered us aboard. I noticed that the cabin had been stocked with food, coffee, and liquor. We were the first flight out when the airport opened for the day. The takeoff was smooth, and the plane climbed sharply until it reached an altitude where we could see the sun breaking over the eastern horizon. Rielle grabbed a copy of The New York Times and pored over it for political news. She and I talked quietly about politics while Cheri fell asleep.

A hired car and driver met us at our destination airport and took us to the hotel, where Rielle went into full diva mode. Unwilling to accept just any room, she left the luggage in the lobby while we all traipsed upstairs to inspect the accommodations. The first room had “bad energy,” the second exuded the wrong “ambience,” and the third simply “didn’t feel right.” Since, as she said, “Fred was paying and wouldn’t care,” she kept harassing the desk clerks until we wound up in expensive adjoining suites overlooking the ocean from the top floor. While I booted up my laptop and began nervously checking for news about us, Rielle took off her traveling clothes, put on the thick robe she found hanging in the closet, and called room service.

Of all the people who tried to contact me during this first stage of our life on the run, the most persistent was John Edwards, who, despite being on the road as a presidential candidate, managed to leave a message every few hours: