Two Icons, Linda and Christy, Cannes, 1990

Photo:Ellen Von Unwert

“Well send him in to my little part of Eden,” responded T.J. But instead of another visitor from the Pentagon, the visitor was Christy Higginbotham, the former super model and current wife of Senator Clarence Higginbotham. The tall, green eyed woman in her late 40’s approached T.J. He started to rise from the wheelchair, but she said, “Oh, please don’t try to get up.” Instead, she knelt beside him.

“I’m able to now,” said T.J., but he remained in the wheelchair. “Thanks to modern medical science, I’m almost as good as new. In fact, in a few weeks, I’ll be reporting to my new assignment in Belgium.”

“So, I heard,” replied Christy, not sounding overjoyed.

“T.J. went on, “I suspect after our last little visit that you may have had something to do with the Army’s decision not to retire me, but, in fact, give me a new assignment.”

“You seem so happy about it,” said Christy. “I am,” he replied. “I’m a soldier.It’s what I do. And I want to thank you very much for your role in this.” Then T.J. noticed a sad look come over her beautiful face.

“Perhaps I did have a hand in it,” said Christy. “But it didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to. You see, I mentioned to Senator Higginbotham.” (T.J. thought it odd how Christy referred to her husband as ‘Senator,’ but let her continue). I told the Senator that I had met a wonderful man while doing a publicity visit at Walter Reed, a man who had been grievously wounded, a man who had the courage to say what a great many others thought – that he war in Afghanistan is unwinnable, a man who the Army was going to discard because he told an unpopular truth. And I told the Senator that it seemed so unfair.”

Now T.J. did interrupt. “So, your husband used his influence to get the Army to let me stay on?”

Now Christy smiled a sad smile. “Yes. Perhaps some ‘pillow talk’ was involved. Although we no longer sleep together. I think Clarence would divorce me, but that would look bad for a man who may want to run for president. Besides, as he says often – I do look nice on his arm.”

T.J. thought to himself, “What a fool he must be. To even think about divorcing this woman.”

Christy continued, “You see. I know he is having an affair with a staffer – has had several such affairs. I ignore them, because as his wife, I am in a position to do things to help society. Do things like helping you get a fair break. I had hoped Clarence would have you assigned to the Pentagon or at least near Washington, so that we could continue our friendship. But he has a mean streak. He knew that I wanted you nearby, so he made sure you’re being sent to Europe.” Saying this, Christy leaned over and lay her head in T.J.’s lap. Then she looked up at his face, smiled and said, “So, you said you were almost as good as new. Does that mean everywhere?” Her long fingers slid along T.J.’s upper thigh along the cotton, Army issue pajamas that he wore under his hospital robe. She said again, “Everything is in working order?” And she began unbuttoning the pajamas.

T.J. smiled back and said, “Yes. It seems everything is in working order.”

And unseen to the couple, a paparazzi photographer, hidden in the bushes, who had been stalking the beautiful former model began snapping photographs.

The end of the month, as embarrassing photos were on the cover of several tabloids, Colonel T.J. Grey was discharged from Walter Reed Hospital. The next day, he was on a C5 flight to NATO for his new assignment.

As T.J.’s rehabilitation progressed, the two began meeting weekly. The meetings were polite and decorous at first. They developed a friendship. They chatted about college. Christy, while a mature student at Georgetown had been fascinated by the courses in history and linguistics she had taken. She also shared that she had enjoyed modeling – traveling to exotic locations and the camaraderie with other girls. T.J. was fascinated with her green eyes and easy manner. The fact that she was still – in his mind at least – drop dead gorgeous was a bonus.

After the publication in Paris Match of his interview with Lily DeFrage where he had basically said that he war in Afghanistan was lost was published, T.J. became somewhat of a pariah to the Pentagon. He was told that his career was basically over. A lieutenant colonel was sent over to give T.J. the news that he should quietly retire once he was fully recovered. During the next meeting with Christy, he mentioned this to her. She replied, “I am a bit surprised. I would have thought that as a career soldier you would have been all for the war in Afghanistan. I’m sure you regret saying that.”

T.J. replied, “I’ve seen too many lives wasted there. Young men mostly. You’ve seen horribly wounded ones here on your visits and I’ve seen too many dead ones there. And for what – a basically unwinnable war trying to establish a viable government in a place that never has had one. Don’t forget, I was a history major also. Afghanistan has rightly been called the graveyard of empires. No! I don’t regret saying that at all!”

“But you’ve always said that you loved the Army?”

“I do. I just hate that war. Most soldiers at heart hate war.”

“So, you don’t really want to retire?”

“Not really. My brother took over the family farm and there is only so much golf a fellow can play.”

Christy smiled and said, “Well, I have the ear of a senator who is on the Military Appropriations Committee. Perhaps he might put in a polite word to someone at the Pentagon.”

Four days later, the same lieutenant colonel paid a visit to Colonel Grey and said that once he fully recovered he was being assigned to a position at NATO.

Harry Fletcher, the civilian National Security Agency (NSA) specialist who worked in the Intelligence Fusin Cell, had given Colonel T.J. Grey a message that had been intercepted. As he did so, he told the colonel, “This doesn’t make any sense. The heading is ‘If It’s Tuesday, It Must Be Belgium.’ Then the body of the message is just gibberish – letters and numbers.”

Colonel Grey smiled and said, “Let me see what you have.” As Fletcher did so, Grey reached into a bookcase behind his desk and withdrew a small paper bound book, small enough to fit into the pocket of his field uniform. He told Fletcher, “This is an old communications manual that probably dates from before you were born. Then he showed the manual to Fletcher. There were seven chapters and each chapter had 26 pages of columns of numbers and letters. Grey continued, “Back before the invasion of Iraq when Paul, our CIA analyst and I were platoon leaders in a tank company, we had an old moss back NCO for a company commo chief. He was afraid sandstorms might inhibit our high-tech communication gear and we would have to rely on communications gear – radios – similar to those used in Vietnam, half a century ago. As a security precaution, messages were encrypted using these code books. Both Paul and I thought it was a neat idea, even if very old, so we kept the manuals.”

Fletcher still had the deer in the headlights look on his face, so Grey continued. “Paul must have felt he and Captain Ross were being surveilled, so he used the old code and sent a message in the clear. The heading of the message says, ‘If It’s Tuesday, this must be Belgium,’ right?”

Fletcher nodded.

“So, Tuesday is the 4th day. Go to chapter four. Then Belgium stands for page B.” Saying this he handed the message back to Fletcher and said,

“Now, see what you get.” Fletcher dutifully got a pen and paper and began comparing the gibberish letters and numbers on it to the letters and numbers in the manual. After less than five minutes, a broad smile came on his face, and he handed the paper back to Colonel Grey. Fletcher’s transcript read:

“boss, being trailed by possible svr. In cahoots with traffickers? more later when comms secure. ross and I will cm. p26.”

Fletcher said, “I get most of it. SVR – Russian Intelligence – and they may be working with the traffickers.”

“As a wise Viking in a movie once said, ‘Tis possible,” mused Colonel Grey.

“But I don’t get the cm. p26. Page 26?”

“No. This is easy. ‘Paul and Captain Ross will continue the mission. P26 was Paul’s call sign in Iraq – Second platoon commander.”

As Fletcher left Colonel Grey’s office to go back to his cubicle, he thought to himself, “I feel like I work for the oldest man in the world.” And Colonel grey thought to himself, “Russians in cahoots with the traffickers? Possibly.”

Then, “I may have come across as cold and uncaring in my letter to Christy. Perhaps I should send her another letter.”

Colonel Grey was medivacced first to Landstuhl where it was discovered that in addition to a concussion, and the deep wound in his thigh, he had also nerve damage to his spine which could possibly render him a paraplegic. Colonel Grey was then sent to Walter Reed Army Hospital near Washington, DC, for recovery and rehabilitation from his wounds. There, while still bedridden, he was awarded the Silver Star for actions performed in the attack on the Coalition Headquarters in Afghanistan.

Several weeks later while he was there, the wife of a U.S. Senator made a visit. The woman, Christy Higginbotham, had been one of the top models during the 1990’s, often sharing the runway with another model, Stephanie Starnes.

BLOG NOTE: This Stephanie is the same Stephanie that is the wife of Reynard, one of the Roissy Masters. You may recall that in a post from August 2020 we learned that Stephanie had been charged with DUI in Britain and Reynard had to bride a judge to get her out of it. Reynard was not pleased, but that is another story. Isn’t it amazing what a small world we have in ‘Stories of O’?

Back to this story arc…

Christy Higginbotham was still a quite beautiful woman, even at the age of 48. Tall, slender, dark brown hair framing a beautiful face with green eyes. And unlike many models, she was quite intelligent, going back to college after retiring from the runway and obtaining a degree in Humanities from Georgetown University. Now days she did things typical of the wife of a senator who might have higher ambitions.

After talking to each bedridden soldier, she stopped by Colonel Grey’s bed. Noting that hey were both about the same age, she chatted for about ten minutes, before the medical orderlies politely informed her that it was time for the colonel’s physical therapy. There was something about his wounded officer with the tired brown eyes that attracted her. She asked if she might return another time.

T.J. said, “Of course,” but to himself he was thinking, “I may be injured, but I am no fool.” The attraction was mutual.

Hi,

i’m trying a little experiment. i think that if You click on one of the tags below, You should be able to see ALL the posts with the same tag, and therefore see a character’s story(ies). i would appreciate it if some of the Followers of this blog would let me know if it works.

Oh! And by the way, Happy October!

Love, O

911

Christy went into her bedroom and sat in the chair in front of the dressing table. She opened the letter from T.J. It read:

“Dearest Christy,

“Please excuse my abruptness in my previous letter. I guess I let my personal feelings about Afghanistan leak out into your request for information. I know that 911 means a lot to you as it does to all Americans. Afghanistan and 911 will forever be linked in the minds of all of us. But really 911 is about more. I was asked to provide my thoughts about 911 and the aftermath. Below is what I wrote:

“Twenty years ago, a group of zealots seduced by an evil man espousing a perverted brand of Islamic Fundamentalism turned airplanes into guided missiles and attacked us. Twenty long years have passed and while we have brought Osama Bin Laden to justice and have – finally – left Afghanistan, we are still engaged in the conflict that this terrible event precipitated. We have had some victories and some setbacks, and frankly, we may not see the end of this conflict in our lifetime. But like all conflicts it will eventually end. And we will be the victors. I’m no historian but having been in the intelligence and security field for thirty plus years, I believe I know the flow of history. And history does not flow back to the 6th century. History flows, albeit often sporadically, forward.

“The ones trying to take the world back to the 6th century cannot win. Their twisted version of a religion may appeal to some who are dissatisfied with their lot in life, are criminals, or unhinged. And through their propaganda and the marvelous internet, they may seduce even some of our own citizens. They may kill some of us and knock down some of our buildings. They have conducted some attacks since 9/11 and will likely do more in the future. But they cannot win.

"History flows forward, and the flow of history is towards what we should cherish. Just as cultures that inhibit freedom- Feudalism, Slavery and Communism eventually failed, so will the concept of the “New Caliphate.” Western Society/Culture will triumph because it provides individuals with hope. Hope for freedom, hope for a better life.

"But always remember that although they cannot win, we can lose. We lose a little every time we sacrifice some of what makes us special – the rights of EVERYONE to freedom of speech, freedom to worship in a way of our own choosing (or not to worship), freedom of privacy. We also lose when we practice incivility, intolerance and seek to deprive others of their constitutional rights. It is by no accident that many pundits have said that the biggest threat to America is not radical Islamic Fundamentalism, China, Iran or even a resurgent Russia, but the fraying of our own population.

"We should never forget what happened on 9/11. And hopefully, twenty (or even fifty) years from now, we can all look back and see that we have aided the flow of history rather than tried to turn its tide.

“I hope this helps you understand why I feel the way I do about Afghanistan. Please know that I will always care about you, my darling Christy. Especially on this day.

“T.J.”

As Christy read what T.J. had written, she felt tears come into her eyes.

On the Friday before the 20th 911 anniversary Christy had helped a woman’s group plant small American flags along a stretch of the George Washington Turnpike near the nation’s capital. Earlier in the day, she had gone to a demonstration for assisting Third World women. It was almost seven o’clock when she got back to the home in Georgetown that she shared with Senator Higginbotham. She noticed he wasn’t home yet. “The joys of being married to a politician,” she said out loud. Then Christy went to the mailbox. Most mail for the senator went to his office, so she was surprised to see a letter for him in the box. She noticed it was hand addressed. “Not in a feminine script,” she mused. “I guess in these times, affairs are carried on via text.”

In addition to the handwritten letter to the senator there were the usual assortment of advertisements, catalogs and other junk mail. And then Christy saw something else.

It was another letter that bore a handwritten address; to her. In a moment she recognized the script. Her heart raced a little as she thought, “It’s from T.J. I’m somewhat surprised. His last letter in response to me asking his opinion about Afghanistan was quite abrupt, cold even. I have to admit, I was disappointed. I had expected – no, not expected; I had hoped – he would have been more sympathetic to the plight of the Afghan women once the Taliban were back in power.” Christy paused, before continuing, this time out loud, “But what should I expect from T.J. He is a soldier after all. He would look at things from a military perspective and certainly from keeping soldiers out of harm’s way.” Another pause, then, “Afghanistan has fucked over so many people.”

Christy took the letter and kept it with her while she laid the rest of the mail on the table by the door for Senator Higginbotham to see when he came home.

Colonel T.J. Grey sat at his desk and looked over the field report from Captain Ross. He thought to himself, “Well, so far Paul seems to have been keeping my young captain focused. They did a good job liaising with the Policja. I will be curious to see what they might find out in Hamburg or Amsterdam.” Then he thought about the letter he had received from Senator Higginbotham’s wife Christy. “It seems like Christy has human trafficking as one of her ‘causes.’ I know the spouses all politicians who aspire to higher office must have a cause,’ but in Christy’s case, I think her concern is real. She is one of the most genuine, and beautiful, women I have ever known. I only wish we had met under different circumstances.”

Grey put away the report, carefully replacing it in a red bordered folder marked SECRET and reached down and unlocked the bottom drawer of hi soak desk. From there he withdrew the letter from the CIA Interrogator he knew only as Maya, the same Maya who had been instrumental in sending Paul to Grey’s intelligence fusion cell at NATO/SHAPE Headquarters. He re-read her letter. After doing so, he thought to himself, “Maya seems to think that this Sir Stephen S. fellow may somehow be involved in the human trafficking ring that I have Paul and Jo trying to track down. But she admits she has no real proof, only a vague feeling. Let me see what I can find out about this fellow.”

Colonel Grey usually worked problems backwards – going from the most important, or at least most exclusive, information first and working down. So, he went over to the SCIF (Special Compartmentalized Information Facility) that his unit used for highly classified information. He wasn’t there long. AS he came away, he thought, “Not anything on the JWICS and damn little on the SIPRNET. Let me check unclassified sources.” Back in his office, he checked GOOGLE and discovered a little blurb on Sir Stephen S. It stated that he was in the British Special Air Services as an officer; had later resigned his commission; and later had been charged with War Crimes and human trafficking. There were no convictions noted. Again, Grey thought to himself, “Not much to go on. I wonder why Maya has that feeling. Does she know this guy well. Those CIA folks are a bit strange.”

But Grey was still troubled. Once he took on a problem, he was like a dog with a bone, never giving it up voluntarily. As he was assigned to NATO, he knew many officers from other NATO member countries. One was Colonel Sir Basil Hollingsworth, a member of the British Defence Intelligence Service. Grey knew him fairly well, having played golf with him a time or two at the NATO HQ Golf Course. He looked up his number and called. After getting Hollingsworth on the line, Grey asked him if he knew anything about a certain Sir Stephen S. There was a pause on the end of the line. Then Hollingsworth spoke, “Perhaps we should meet at a nearby café for a spot of tea and discuss this off-line.”

Colonel Grey looked up from a CIA bulletin about what went wrong in Afghanistan and said, “Of course, Gudrun. I am planning on leaving in a bit myself.” Grey then put away the report, thinking to himself, “I wonder who wrote it. I wonder if whoever it was had any ‘boots on the ground’ experience there.” Then he picked up an envelope and opened it. It was the letter from Christy Higginbotham. Grey read it for what must have been the 20th time. He thought again, “She said ‘perhaps in a different universe.’ Reminds me of something the poet Andrew Marvel said in the 1600’s, “had we but world enough and time…’ Yes, Christy. In a different universe if we had world enough and time.”

T.J.’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. It was Harry Fletcher, the civilian National Security Agency (NSA) specialist who worked in the Intelligence Fusin Cell. Fletcher said, “Colonel, I hate to bother you, but I just picked up something that I don’t quite understand.”

Grey replied, “You know I’m not really a SIGINT guy, don’t you?” He paused then, “But anyway, what is it?”

Fletcher said, “The heading is ‘If It’s Tuesday, It Must Be Belgium.’ Then the body of the message is just gibberish – letters and numbers.”

Colonel Grey smiled and said, “Let me see what you have.”

Colonel Grey read and reread Christy’s letter as he drank the cup of coffee Gudrun had brought him. Then he began a letter back to Christy. It read:

“Dear Christy,

“Since you asked…My take on Afghanistan, for what it’s worth. President Bush made the correct decision going into Afghanistan way back in 2001. The US had to do something after 911, and at that time our intelligence was sure that Bin Laden was in Afghanistan under the protection of the Taliban. A coalition of NATO forces, Afghan warlords and US Army (mostly special forces) soon routed the Taliban. In December of that year, we were sure Bin Laden was in the Tora Bora mountains. But a political decision was made not to use enough force to capture/kill him then, as we were gearing up for the Iraq invasion – a terrible mistake in my opinion. Anyway, Bin Laden escaped into Pakistan.

“Then we made the decision to ‘nation build” in Afghanistan, bringing to my mind the phrase “the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” Whether it was nation building, occupation, pacification whatever, we ignored history lessons that the Alexander the Great, the Romans, the British and Russians learned the hard way – fighting a war in Afghanistan is a fools’ errand. Especially against the Taliban who had sanctuary in the tribal regions of Pakistan. Bush, Obama, Trump, and finally Biden should have known better.

“While both Republican and Democratic administrations made bad decisions, others did also – our military and State Department first and foremost. One thing I learned as a soldier is that if you have a big hammer, every problem looks like a nail. We consistently underestimated the capability of the Taliban. They had a uniting belief, reprehensible as it was/is in a basically 6th century caliphate. We tried to impose a western style democracy on folks who had no idea of that concept (like we did in Iraq). Their ‘government’ was deeply corrupt, there really isn’t a sense of national unity among the tribal factions, and the will to fight among the ANA (Afghan National Army) was lacking in almost all units. I believe that in their heart of hearts all of the JCS and most senior officers knew that once we left, it would just be a matter of time. However, I do not think they thought it would come so quickly.

“The article that French journalist wrote after interviewing me a couple of years ago captured my thoughts more succinctly than I can say at present. Am I bitter? Hell, yes. And Disappointed? Again, hell yes. Our country has lost over 2000 young men and women. Was it worth it? No!!

“I understand your interest and concern for the rights of women in Afghanistan and worldwide, but in my mind 20 years of women getting to go to school and vote in Afghanistan was not worth it. “Probably the best outcome would have been to pull pitch and leave the day after we killed Bin Laden. Put up ‘Mission Accomplished’ and all that b.s. but left then. President Biden made the correct decision. Unfortunately, it’s several years too late.

“Hopefully, we have learned something. But I remember hearing that same refrain from Vietnam vets.

“Sorry, if this sounds harsh, but you did ask…

“Sincerely, T.J.”

Then Colonel Grey put the letter in an envelope, addressed it and called for Gudrun. She came in, and T.J. said, “Please put this in the afternoon mail.”

Gudrun looked at the address and said, “Are you sure, Colonel?”

And T.J. responded simply, “Yes.”

Colonel Grey sipped the coffee that his German secretary, Gudrun, had brought him. Then he looked at the return address on the letter and immediately knew it was from Christy Higginbotham. He opened it and begin reading:

“Dear T.J.,

“I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I have been watching news clips of the scenes in Afghanistan and naturally thought of you. I remember visiting you at the Walter Reed hospital and seeing how much you sacrificed in that far away country. And I know you must have very mixed feelings about what is happening there now. If you have the time and inclination, I would love to know what you think.

“I ask for a couple of reasons. Of course, I am deeply concerned for all of our military’s safety and that of our allies. But am also concerned about the future of the Afghan population under the Taliban’s rule, especially the women and young girls. As you know, one of my little ‘causes’ is women’s rights – perhaps the one saving grace of my marriage is that as the wife of a U.S. Senator, I have a platform to put a spotlight on women’s issues.

“On a lighter note- you were on my dreams again last night. I truly wish we had met much earlier in life. I feel that we are, in a way, soul mates. Perhaps in a different universe.

“Love, Christy”

Christy took the book from the nightstand and put on her reading glasses, a concession to her age. It was one of those romance novels with heroines with heaving breasts and torn bodices. Christy thought to herself, “I’ve given up so many vices in my life, this may be my one guilty pleasure.” The title was “Marie, Captive of the Barbary Pirates.” As she resumed Chapter Five, she thought again, “At least the historical setting is somewhat accurate. Then, I guess in many ways, things haven’t changed so much in that part of the world since the 17th Century. Women were taken captive and sold as slaves then and now they are trafficked.”

And outside the bar on E Street, the woman known as Maya replied to the man in the suit, “Lawyer or lobbyist?”

He chuckled and said, “Both. And the offer of a drink for you and your niece still stands.” About that time, the coed from the bar, the one Maya had been chatting up and had hoped to bed came out with several other people who looked to be her age. She looked at Maya and said, “Oh, Hi. I ran into some friends from school. We’re going to a bar on Wisconsin Avenue. Want to tag along?”

Maya shook her head and said, “No. You young people go and party.” Then, nodding towards the man in the suit, she said, “This nice man has offered to buy this old lady a drink, and I’m going to take him up on it.” And to herself, Maya thought, “And maybe later, I’ll see how good he is in bed.”

Back at Senator Higginbotham’s home in Georgetown, Christy had gotten to the ‘steamy’ part of her novel. Marie the heroine of the novel had been sold as a slave to a Bedouin Emir called Abdul. He was about to sample her pleasures when an American warship sent by President Jefferson fired a cannon shot into his tent. Christy dutifully dogeared that particular page and put it back on the nightstand. Then she turned out the light and quickly fell asleep.

A couple of hours later, Christy woke up all in a sweat from a vivid dream. In it, she was a slave and about to be violated by an unknown man, but another man intervened and rescued her. Then that man took her in his arms and as he kissed her, he said, “I’ve wanted to have you from the day we first met.” But the man’s face was Colonel T.J. Grey. Christy thought, “I should write to T.J. and see what he thinks about the situation in Afghanistan. I’ll do that first thing in the morning.” Then realizing that her dream had left her wet and aroused, Christy slid her hand down her belly to her waiting sex.

And in an apartment in a less toney area of Washington, a man, no longer wearing a suit, reached over to his own nightstand, took a pack of cigarettes and offered one to the redheaded woman lying beside him. As he did so, he said, “You really are terrific in bed.” Then after a brief pause he continued, “I am terribly sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

And the woman known as Maya responded, “That’s because I didn’t tell you.”

Christy began modeling after school at 15 and after graduating from high school moved to New York. There she became one of the top models of the 1990’s, the era of the first ‘super models.’ She did covers for ‘Mademoiselle,’ ‘Vogue’ and ‘Elle.’ She did advertising campaigns for Marc Jacobs, Calvin Klein, Louis Vuitton and others. Paparazzi photos indicated that she may have an affair with another top model of the time, Stephanie Starnes, but she also dated many men.

In the late 1990’s Christy met movie director Eddie James at a party. The two began dating, fell in love and were married in a ceremony in Malibu, overlooking the Pacific. They seemed exceedingly happy. Christy even had bit parts in two of Eddie’s movies. They had two homes – one near Hollywood, the other in the horse country of Eddie’s native Virginia. After two years, Christy became pregnant. But tragedy struck.

Eddie was directing a movie in set in Alaska. Eddie, a licensed pilot was flying his own small plane from Fairbanks to the set location near the Alaskan coast. Christy in her last trimester, was accompanying him when a sudden storm came up. The plane went down. Eddie was killed in the crash, and Christy’s back was broken. She miscarried and nearly bled to death before rescuers found her. As she was recovering in the hospital, her mother was shot and killed in a botched robbery in Los Angeles. Less than a week later, her father died of a cerebral hemorrhage. The paparazzi said he died of a ‘broken heart.’

Christy eventually recovered; a widow and seemingly an orphan at age twenty-nine. She resumed modeling some, although her heart seemed not to be in it any longer. Christy also moved to Washington and began attending Georgetown University, where she later completed a double degree in comparative religion and history. She was in class on the 11th day of September 2001. Deeply affected by the events of that day at the Pentagon, Christy began doing charity work for the USO and other charitable organizations.

It was at a charity function where she met Clarence Higginbotham, then a second-term Congressman from a mid-south state. He was handsome and had a carefully cultivated image (at the time) as a politically moderate congressman with high ideals and integrity. He was struck by her beautiful looks and courted her like a lion stalking its prey.

And now, seventeen years later, to the paparazzi Christy was known as a former super model who, after heart break, met a man who might would be President. She was a devoted wife who championed various causes. At least that was the image that Senator Higginbotham’s staff portrayed. It was a part that Christy struggled to play.

Of course, things in real life were a little more complicated.