J. Randy Taraborrelli - Grace & Steel

It was the end of February 2000. Laura Bush sat in the backseat of a black SUV and watched through tinted glass as people jostled one another while coming and going from the Dallas Morning News office building. On Young Street, traffic was jammed, as was usually the case in these parts. Lauras vehicle was double-parked, a typical demonstration of entitlement by the Secret Service not at all appreciated by impatient drivers trying to get by while leaning on their horns. Behind her car were two more vehicles, also Secret Service agents, all part of a convoy. Laura glanced out the window and shook her head in dismay.

According to photographs taken on the day, Laura was dressed conservatively, as was her way, in a navy blue wool day suit with a long skirt. She also wore a matching tailored jacket cut to her waist, which appeared to be made of merino wool, over a white silk blouse with a high neck. Her hair was a glossy chestnut color. At fifty-three, she was stunning, with her flawless complexion and eyes so deeply blue they were almost violet. Thin creases around her eyes and some at her mouth, too, just made her look more real, more authentic. Her beauty was austere and somehow even autocratic. She was also a powerful woman, as shed demonstrated many times over the years. Sometimes it felt like the best was yet to come for Laura Bush but was it? In her lap was a tabloid newspaper with the startling headline Revealed! Bushs Wife Killed Boyfriend. As the agent watched in the rearview mirror, she nervously rolled the paper into the shape of a tube and then flattened it out again.

It had to happen eventually, and she knew it. How long could any scandal of this magnitude be kept out of the public view? After all, it had been thirty-seven years. It was amazing that this particular story hadnt come to light yet considering the high-profile nature of her life. Her father-in-law, George H.W., had been Vice President for eight years and then President for four. Her husband, George W., had been governor of Texas for the last six years and was now campaigning for the Republican presidential nomination. How was it possible that no reporter had uncovered this scoop before now? Shed been dreading it for so long, maybe she shouldve been grateful that, finally, some writer she didnt even know had relieved her of this burden. But why did it have to be a tabloid reporter, and why did he have to work for something called Star?

Sighing deeply, she folded the newspaper in quarters and quickly stuffed it into her purse, as if making the decision to stop obsessing over it. To hear her recall this time many years later, her primary concern was how the story might affect Georges campaign. Hed worked so hard and, as far as she was concerned, was by far the best candidate. The idea that she could ruin things for him now was crushing. Her next thought was obvious: How would it affect her family? Most people, even close relatives, didnt know about this misadventure. It had taken her years to come to terms with this private heartache. Finally, she had come to understand that in no way did this terrible eventwhich had happened when she was just seventeendefine her. Still, it was mortifying to now have the whole world read about it, and, making it worse, many of the details werent even accurate.

What might people think of her in light of this story? As she sat in the backseat of her car, surrounded on all sides by the maddening cacophony of bustling Dallas, she must have felt completely and utterly trapped. She tried to lower the tinted window to get some air. It was locked. Can we put this down just a bit? she asked the agent. He pushed a button and the window lowered about an inch. A bit more? she asked. He gave her another half inch. Any mores not safe, maam, he told her. I know, she said with a sigh. I know. She asked him to turn on the air. When he did, she tilted her head back and fanned herself with her hand.

The campaign had been a real roller coaster, down one moment, up the next. George was now on top with fresh primary wins in the states of Washington, Virginia, and South Carolina. Yet neither he nor his opponent for the nomination, Senator John McCain, had the momentum for a landslide victory, especially after McCain took New Hampshire. For months, these two men had been viciously attacking each other, and it had gotten very personal. For instance, McCain authorized advertisements that branded George as being anti-Catholic. George was furious, but no more so than his wife. Laura knew that Georges unwavering Christian faith was the rock upon which his whole life was built and that he would never have a pejorative word for anyone elses religion. It was a low blow, and the senator had to know better, or at least Laura thought so. You have to fight back, Bushie, she told George, using her pet name for him. You cant let him walk all over you. Show strength for goodness sake! Even as the words came from her lips, she had to have been astonished by them. When did she become such a brawler, this woman who had once so eschewed politics that shed made George promise upon marrying him that he would never make her give a speech? Now, a little more than twenty years on, politics was pretty much in her bones, and, she had to admit, that was a pretty scary thought.

Over the last year, Laura had been making stops with her mother-in-law, Barbara Bush, usually flying on the official campaign plane with George but sometimes off on their own. Right now, she was waiting for Barbara to emerge from the