I Had to Say Something (27 page)

“I'd like Mike to take the test again when he isn't so tired,” John added.

John's comments made me feel somewhat better, but I was still a train wreck. Fortunately, I did not have to take any calls from listeners that day. If I had to be called a liar and a dirty whore and a goddamn fag all in one morning, it might as well have been the end of whatever this circus was.

By the end of the hour, all I wanted to do was leave, but the mob of reporters was still there, laying in wait. These were hardworking people who are just doing their jobs, so I stayed and talked with everyone.

“We understand you failed the polygraph test. Do you have any comment?” This was a common question.

I gave them the same answer I gave Peter. I took other questions and tried to smile. I stayed about another hour talking to reporters, including going back into the building to do another interview with one of the FM stations. Even as I did all this, I feared that the next morning I would see a banner headline that read “Mike Jones is a liar.”

At about nine o'clock, I was done, and I wanted to get home. Actually, what I really wanted to do was start over, but I knew I couldn't. I hadn't eaten, I hadn't slept, I was still having trouble breathing. I was a wreck, but I didn't think it was showing.

Another radio staffer escorted me to my car, and I drove off. No one was following me, and I even had mixed emotions about that. It was not a fun drive home. I was already sick and depressed, and then, just like the night before, my cell phone started ringing.

Did I really want to answer it? What did I have to say that I hadn't said already? One time I saw that it was Paula calling, and I definitely wanted to talk to her.

“How are you, Mike?” she asked in a very sincere tone. “Are you okay?”

I spilled my guts to her and started crying. I was so desperate for someone to listen to me.

“Everything will be okay, Mike,” she assured me. “We are having a voice expert listen to your tapes.”

“Really?” I said with excitement. “What did he say?”

“I'll tell you more later, Mike. Everything will be okay. I just wanted to make sure that you're all right.”

Before I knew it, she had hung up. She was like that. She'd say what she needed to say and then be gone. Well, at least I got to talk with her.

Her call did make me feel better. If they can match Ted's voice with the voice on the tapes, then everyone will know that I was telling the truth. Right?

I still felt like crap when I got home, only to find my picture on the morning newspaper staring right back at me. “Revelation: Male escort states he had sex with evangelist.” I guess I was feeling better because all I could see was how bad my face looked. Yet rather than go back to bed, I decided to sit and return phone calls. Once again, it was quite an impressive list of callers from all over the world.

I was trying to prioritize. MSNBC asked me to do a live interview at noon. “Sure, I'll be ready when the limo arrives,” I told the woman who called. That made me feel better. If they're still sending limos, they must not think I'm a liar. Right?

Moments later, the interview with Ted Haggard that would prove me correct aired on Channel 9's noon newscast:

After that clip ran on Channel 9, news outlets throughout the world picked it up and ran it, usually unedited.

My driver took me to a nondescript building in downtown Denver. You would never know it was a television studio from the outside. I hung out for about ten minutes, used the restroom, drank some water, and made sure my hair looked all right. Then it was show time at 12:30 p.m.

Rita Cosby was my first national live interview, and to my surprise, I wasn't very nervous about it. There wasn't any noise or other people in the studio, so it almost seemed like I was talking to myself. I took a deep breath, asked my mother for help, and watched the show start.

Then out of nowhere came Rita's voice. One of the studio guys pointed at the camera, signaling me to just talk to the camera. I might have felt uncomfortable, not being able to see what was happening, but that afternoon this was the closest I got to relaxation.

Rita first talked about Ted's just-released comments: the meth, the massage, and so on. “What do you think?” she asked me.

At that moment, I had not yet seen the tape of him talking from his SUV. “That reminds me of . . . Clinton—I smoked but I didn't inhale,” I replied. Not my best answer, but I was trying to show that Ted's answer sounded more like denial than truth.

She also asked me about Ted's assertion that I sold him meth. Here, I had to make my case and hammer away at it.

“I never sold him the meth,” I proclaimed. “He contacted me three years ago, as an escort. He asked me, ‘What do you know about meth? I've always been curious about it, do you think you can get me some?'” I was prepared for that question, so I made sure that my side of the story got out fast and hard. I also told her that Ted did some meth each time before we got naked.

“So would it be accurate to say that you're alleging, what, more than a dozen times you saw him snort?” she asked, rather pointedly.

“Yes,” I replied.

“For sure?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said again. I was beginning to understand why reporters were asking me these questions over and over again. If I were in their shoes, I, too, would want to be absolutely sure that this escort's story didn't change.

“Do you have any proof that he actually paid for sex, that he actually hired a prostitute?” she asked.

I told her no, I did not have any proof. There were no cancelled checks or receipts, and I certainly wasn't going to show her my bank statements. I went on to tell her about the envelope that was mailed from Colorado Springs and how it contained two hundred-dollar bills.

Then she asked me to show the envelope to the audience, and I did. There was an incredible glare from the studio lights that blinded me.

“You know Reverend Haggard is married and has five kids,” she said and then asked what Ted and I discussed about his personal life during our sessions. I told her that we never discussed his personal life, though he did tell me that he was married.

“There were no emotions in this relationship at all. It was strictly business,” I asserted.

“Strictly sex?”

“Strictly sex.” I went on to say how he normally paid me two hundred dollars a visit and that our visits suddenly ended in August for no apparent reason. She pushed me a bit, and I said I was probably paid two hundred dollars every month for three years, which comes to about seventy-six hundred dollars in total.

“What other evidence do you have?”

I told her about the two voice mails.

“Why are you revealing this now?” she asked pointedly. “A lot of people are wondering what's up with the timing.”

I told her truthfully that I did this right before the election because I was upset about the proposed amendment to the Colorado constitution that would limit marriage to the union of a man and a woman.

“Were you ever paid off? Did any political party get to you?”

“I made this decision myself,” I insisted.

“You failed a lie detector test this morning. Why do you think you failed?” Before I had a chance to respond, she threw in, “Why should we believe you?”

I told her, just as I told Peter's audience earlier that morning, that I don't know why I failed the test. Still, I was calm talking to Rita, perhaps too calm.

I knew she was wrapping up when she asked, “If Reverend Haggard is watching right now, what do you want to say to him?”

“I want to tell him that I'm really sorry that he's in the position he's in. You know, what this proves is we are all human, we are all sinners. But when you're in a position of authority and a role model for millions of people, you really need to practice what you preach. And I hope that after this passes he
can continue in the church if that's what he chooses. And I wish the best for him . . .”

“This could be criminal activity, hiring an escort. Are you planning to go to the authorities? My final question to you.”

“I am not.”

“What if they ask for it? Will you hand over whatever you have?”

“Sure,” I told her, “if I am forced to do so.” Quick as a wink, she said thanks and I said thanks and it was over.

Some friends have since commented that I should have smiled more and been more lively. You have to remember that as far as I was concerned, there was nothing to smile about. I was not happy about anything that had happened, including Ted losing his position as president and his pastorship. I feared that if I smiled or came off as lighthearted, I would have been seen as suspect. What is surprising to me is how well I did on almost no sleep in two days.

I had barely unhooked my microphone when someone asked me if I could stay seated for another interview on MSNBC, this time with Tucker Carlson. I figured why not and remained seated right where I was.

Tucker started the interview with some incorrect information.

“[Ted] had a three-year relationship with a gay prostitute called Mike Jones, who worked for a company called Rent-Boy. com.”

I never worked for
RentBoy.com
. Who told him that? I had advertised there, which must be what had caused the confusion.

“Jones says he had sex with Haggard once a month over that period, sex Jones described as ‘vanilla.'” He then played the Channel 9 tape. I found it fascinating. That was the first time I had heard Ted talk about what happened.

“You heard the Reverend Haggard describe the massage that took place between you. You described what took place as ‘vanilla' sex. Could it be you are talking about the same thing?”

“No, I mean, massage is not sex.”

“So you are maintaining that without question there was sexual activity between you, there's no mistaking it, you two had sex?”

“Absolutely.”

“So . . . you believe the Reverend Haggard is lying?”

I had to repeat myself a lot on this question, but it was important. If I didn't come right out and say Ted was lying, it would have made me seem ambiguous, and everyone would have jumped all over that. I had to say again that Ted was lying when he said a hotel had referred him to me. “No concierge in Denver would have referred me.”

We talked about Ted's mode of transportation. I said I had observed him driving an SUV during the winter and a motorcycle during the warmer months.

“And, of course, he was famous for riding a motorcycle, Mr. Haggard was,” Tucker added.

“I didn't know that,” I replied.

I was again asked about selling meth to Ted, and I denied it again, emphatically.

“So why was he sending you the money for the crystal meth?”

“Apparently, he couldn't get any on his own, and he was, I guess, hoping that I could find someone to get some for him.” So far, so good, I felt.

“Why did you decide to go public with this?”

Nice softball, Tucker. “The more I investigated and looked into his church and his teachings, I just thought, you know
what? This is so hypocritical. How dare he say it's wrong for homosexuals to be able to have marriage with their partner, as consenting adults, whom they love, and he can go behind his wife's back and have gay sex? That is just hypocritical.”

“Yes. Well, I mean, it is hypocritical. Of course, you're absolutely right.” Wow, this was as good as it gets. “[Ted has], I suppose, destroyed his own life, but you've made it possible. And, you know, he has five children.”
So it's my fault he and his wife have five children who are now hurting?
Tucker asked me, just like everyone else had, if I had thought about calling Ted to discuss all this first. I told him I had. I said again that I had no help and made the decision to proceed totally on my own.

Tucker was a bit more pointed when he asked me about failing the polygraph test. “People typically don't, as you know, fail these if they are telling the truth. Were you lying about anything?”

“No, I was not lying.”

This was going much smoother than Rita's interview, and he was freely telling his audience what he thought of me, so even better. “Yes, I mean, you are a gay prostitute, and he admits he went to you. So kind of ‘case closed' as far as I'm concerned, but it is sort of weird that you failed.”