Thank You for Smoking

"So in the movie print that goes to Japan, they're smoking a Japanese brand, in the one that goes to Indonesia, Indonesian, and in the Hungarian print, a Hungarian brand like Throatscraper. An actual name. In Eastern Europe they want more tar and nicotine."

"Smart."

"Actually," Nick said, "I don't know why we didn't think of it. It's already being done abroad, using transponders to superimpose logos on satellite TV transmissions. So the Madonna concert in Spain becomes the Salem Madonna concert in Hong Kong. You can do things over there you just can't here. Laura Branigan, Tiffany, Stevie Wonder, Roberta Flack, Huey Lewis, Luciano Pavarotti, Tom Berenger, Roger Moore, James Coburn, Jimmy Connors, and John McEnroe have all endorsed cigarettes overseas, either directly or indirectly. And they don't get any grief about it here, because nobody sees it."

"But what about here? The whole idea was to promote the product here, wasn't it?"

"Jeff says no problem. It's only the big actors who pull down eight, ten million a picture who can afford the luxury of quote qualms unquote. He says we'll be in three Christmas movies. By this Christmas."

"How would I go about getting in touch with Jeff Megall?" Polly said.

Under the circumstances, Nick thought it made sense to meet Heather not at Il Peccatore but at a more out-of-the-way place, so he picked the River Cafe in Foggy Bottom. He got there first. It had been a trying day, listening to threats by the governor of Vermont, among others. He ordered a vodka negroni on the rocks, but reminded himself, as it massaged its way up his brain stem, of the need for mental clarity. On tonight's agenda was not how to get Heather into the sack, but how to keep Heather from getting him sacked. At this point, she seemed hotter to impress her prospective employers at the Sun than she was for him.

She arrived, right on time, all smiles, and in a dress that surely had been put on after work, for his benefit. It would have created havoc in any newsroom.

"Hi!" she said. "Am I late? I came right from work."

They started with a little small talk, then moved on to major media gossip — who was going to replace Morton Kondracke on The McLaughlin Group. Boy, Nick thought, the things we care about in Washington.

Finally, after they'd both refused dessert and settled in with their decaf cappuccinos, Heather ventured: "You know, the more I think about the FBI investigating you, the more burned I get."

"Appalling, isn't it?"

"That's why I think it's so important to get it out there. Your tax dollars at work. I think they'll back off the moment this sees print." "Is this seeing print?"

"Yes," she said nervously, "I was able to confirm independently that they're looking into you. So I wouldn't be violating any confidence."

Nick suppressed the urge to congratulate her on having sunk to his own chthonic ethical level. He merely nodded. "Fair enough."

Heather seemed surprised by his compliance. "You're not pissed?"

"No. Actually, I think you're right. I think they probably would back off. Write as you will. Though I'd certainly appreciate it if you didn't quote me."

"No, of course. You're sure?"

"Sure. In fact," he leaned forward in his best revolutionary hunch and whispered, "completely, utterly, and totally off the record, that would be kind of. for the best."

"Oh?"

The hook was in.

"Let's get out of here," Nick said.

They walked down I Street toward the Watergate. An appropriate direction, given what he was up to. Heather said, "What did you mean, 'for the best'?"

"Well," Nick laughed, "would you want the FBI going through your drawers?"

"Nick, are you trying to tell me something?"

Nick grinned. "Only that people will do amazing things if the stakes are high enough."

"You did kidnap yourself?"

"I didn't say that."

He dropped Heather off at her front door with a chaste kiss, confident that there would be no story. She would now have her eyes set on a much bigger story, and there wasn't one. She'd end up stuck in gridlock.

22

Ordinarily, Nick enjoyed appearing before Senate subcommittees. It made you feel that for a brief, shiny moment, you'd taken part in the great serial drama of American history. The bright TV lights, the pitcher and glass of water", the green felt tabletop, the hum and thrum of the spectators, the senators trying to look like Roman busts, the crab-scuttling of their aides as they pretended to avoid the TV cameras, and now, Nick noted, this new twist on stenography — stenographers speaking into cones held over their mouths.