A hit man's phony sympathy for his victim.

This week my column earns its name--though "strange bedfellow" might be a better title for something by David Brock. Brock, in case you've forgotten, is that young, gay, conservative investigative sex journalist who specializes in the reverse beatification of liberal saints in the gay-baiting AmericanSpectator. After making his name with a best seller arguing that Anita Hill had mixed up Clarence Thomas with someone else, Brock became even more notorious by breaking, in the pages of the Spectator, the lurid tale that came to be known as "Troopergate." Though many of the "revelations" by Clinton's former bodyguards were clearly baloney (Vince Foster groping Hillary Clinton in public, Bill consuming whole baked potatoes in a single bite), the fantasy was blended with elements of reality in an artful way. One product of the mixture was the Paula Jones lawsuit, which was filed not only against Clinton but also against one of Brock's own trooper witnesses, who alleged that "Paula" did not flee the governor's hotel room as promptly as she recalls.

Given that background, Brock's The Seduction of Hillary Rodham has been much awaited, eagerly by the Dole camp, less so by the Democrats. The hype succeeded in getting my hopes up, but not for long. Slate has gotten its hands on a bootleg copy of the book, marked "confidential," and embargoed for Oct. 8. Slate is woefully disappointed.

There are only four allegations here that even vaguely resemble news:

1. While running for Congress in 1974, Bill Clinton contemplated buying black votes in order to steal the election, but ultimately did not.

2. In the early '80s, Hillary hired a private detective to find out about her husband's tomcatting.

3. In 1992, the Clinton campaign hired another private detective to intimidate bimbos. This detective obliquely threatened the life of Gennifer Flowers.

4. On the morning of the inauguration in 1993, the Clintons had a frank exchange of views on the steps of Blair house, trading such endearments as "fucking bitch," and "stupid motherfucker."

These nuggets all have the same problems. First, they are remarkably thinly sourced, to 1) a disgruntled former consultant who was disbarred for bribery; 2) a detective who had his license revoked by the State of Arkansas; 3) Gennifer Flowers' ex-roommate; and 4) Park Police. Second, none of them implicates either the president or first lady in anything that is actually or even nearly illegal. It was the consultant, not the Clintons, who wanted to buy votes. Campaigns hire detectives all the time. Profanity isn't a crime. But worst of all, these bombshells aren't particularly juicy, and to find them, you have to wade through 400 pages of stupefying rehash.

Possibly because he returned from Little Rock without the goods, Brock takes a new authorial tack. He casts himself as a fair-minded, quasi-objective investigator, appalled by the Hillary-hating right. To do this, of course, he must distance himself from himself, and this he does with aplomb. A Spectator piece of his about the travel-office firings "was even accompanied by a facetious caricature of Hillary as a witch!" he notes. Fancy that. The new, evenhanded Brock says Hillary is "neither an icon nor a demon."

Actually, he veers drunkenly between these two poles, now mocking Hillary for thick ankles, dowdy outfits, and résumé padding, now excusing her involvement in Travelgate and Whitewater. The troopers see Hillary as "an undesirable, foul-mouthed harridan who had brought the mistreatment and neglect on herself." Not so, Brock assures us, gallantly fending off the rogues. "It seems fairer to conclude that Hillary's flaring temper was an understandable reaction to the humiliation to which she was subjected on a regular basis."