Thank You for Smoking

The Captain stopped and said, 'We got to do something. Something big, smart, and fast. This Hollywood project of BR's. I want you to work on it. And report to me, directly.'

'It was BR's idea,' Nick said. 'I wouldn't want to offend him by taking over his brainstorm.'

'Don't you worry about that. I'll handle BR. He seemed to think this gal Jeannette was the person to do it. Thinks the sun rises and sets on her. But I think you're our man.' He put his hand on Nick's shoulder. 'And I am seldom wrong.'

He signaled his driver. They got in. 'HQ, Elmore,' the Captain told him. 'Then take Mr. Naylor here to the airport.'

'I need to pick up my bags at the hotel.'

'That's already been taken care of, sir,' Elmore said. The Captain smiled. 'Tobacco takes care of its own.'

They pulled up in front of Agglomerated Tobacco. There had been no mention of Nick's five-million-dollar monkey wrench. Nick asked him about it.

The Captain nodded to himself thoughtfully. 'That's a significant amount of money, of course. I must say that you do seem to have a penchant for causing extremely large sums of money to be spent.' His face darkened, as if a severe emotional system were moving in over it, and for a moment or two Nick thought all bets might be off and he was headed for the unemployment line after all. But then the thunderclouds headed off. The old man chuckled, 'Well I don't suppose five million dollars is going to bankrupt us. However, I do not expect to be swept off my feet by the persuasiveness of this particular advertising campaign.' He extended his hand. 'Thank you for taking the time to visit with me. I will be in touch.'

At the airport a chain-link fence automatically parted at the car's approach. The plane, a sleek Gulfstream 5, was waiting, engines whining, with a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue — quality stewardess smiling at the foot of the stairs. No wonder the chairman of the Senate Finance Committee had developed a thing for it. 'Hello,' the stewardess said, 'pleasure to have you aboahd!' Nick climbed up. His feet sank softly into lush carpeting. There were oil paintings on the bulkheads, the overhead was quilted, the chairs were enormous, like BarcaLoungers, upholstered in creamy leather that absorbed Nick as he sat down. 'The Captain says that's his favorite chair in the whole world,' said the stewardess. There was fresh fruit on the table next to it, five newspapers that looked like they'd been ironed, and a heavy-stock card that said, welcome aboard, mr. nick naylor of ats, and gave the flight time to Washington along with the airspeed, planned altitude, weather conditions, the temperature in Washington. She leaned over, affording Nick an unavoidable peek into the soft crevasse between her creamy bosoms, from which wafted the most delicate perfume. 'If there's anything I can do to make your flight more pleasant, you be sure to let me know, now.'

7

Flight okay?' BR asked.

'Fine,' Nick said.

'What flight were you on? The four-fifteen doesn't get in until five-twenty, and it's only five.'

'Actually, I came up on the plane.'

'Of course you came up on a plane, for Chrissakes.'

'The Captain's plane.' He hadn't really decided how to handle his new status, but he felt like a spotted owl flitting about the office of the head of the Weyerhaeuser lumber company — protected.

BR stared. 'That was certainly… gracious of him.'

'Yes,' Nick said, enjoying himself. 'That's quite some plane, isn't it?'

'I wouldn't know.'

'Oh?'

'Yet. I was on the old one. I practically lived on it. The Captain's invited me on the new one a dozen times, but I just haven't been able to fit it in.'

'Well, with your schedule. I can certainly see why Senator Jordan likes it. Ashley, the stewardess — very nice person — told me it's quite an improvement over the G-4, in terms of range.'

'Um-huh. What did he say about your five-million-dollar anti-smoking campaign?'

'Said do it. But he doesn't want to be blown away.'

BR's face fell. It was visible, like a glacier melting, only faster.Funny thing, life, thought Nick: thirty-six hours ago he was sitting here in this same office being denied caffeine and told he was finished. Now it was BR whose jaw muscles were twitching and looked like he needed a session with Dr. Wheat. Maybe he should give BR Dr. Wheat's card. Dr. Wheat, D.O. Osteopathic Manipulation. Relax. crrrrack.

'I thought I'd give it to BMG, that new firm I told you about out in Minneapolis. Unless you have any objection.'

'No. Whatever.'

'By the way, BR, the Captain really liked your idea about trying to get movie actors to smoke more.'

BR blushed. 'That was your idea. He must have gotten it mixed up.'

'Of course. With all he has on his mind.'

'At his age.' Nick could almost see the thought-bubble rising above BR's head. He won't be around much longer, Naylor, and ten seconds after they pronounce him DOA, your ass is mine.

'Yes,' Nick said, 'but he seems incredibly sharp. Doesn't miss a thing, does he?'

'He directed,' BR slid a piece of paper across his desk, 'that you get this.'

It was a Salary Increase form. At first Nick thought it must be a typo. From one-oh-five to… two-oh-oh? 'Well,' Nick said, 'thank you.'

'Don't,' BR said sincerely, 'thank me.'

People he passed in the hallways didn't know whether to greet him as a leper or a hero. The air was thick with rumors. Nick was out. But here was Nick with this radioactive smile, so how out could he be? He must be in.

'Hey, Nick, great going on Oprah.'

'I thought Goode was going to strangle you.'

'Nick, we really spending five mil on anti-kidsmoking?'

Gazelle was waiting for him, looking vastly relieved over having a boss who still had a job. The boards from BMG had arrived, which was timely. Not a moment to lose there.

'Let's have a look.'

She propped them up on his couch as Nick studied them. People started to gather around his open door, peering in. What's happening? What's Nick up to? Palpable buzz. Suddenly Nick's office was the red-hot center of things at the Academy. And here came Jeannette, smiling like a cobra in a very fetching suit and tie.

'Nick,' she said, making her entrance, 'you were fabulous on Oprah. We're getting amazing feedback.'

'You seen these death threats?' Gazelle said, holding up a fistful of WHILE YOU WERE OUT.

'You wrote death threats down on message slips?'

'I wouldn't pay any attention to those,' Jeannette said, brushing Gazelle aside. 'Give them to Carlton.' Carlton handled the Academy's security.

'Excuse me?' Gazelle said.

'Nick wouldn't be doing his job if he didn't draw out the wackos,' said Jeannette dismissively. She turned to Nick and said, 'Really, you were amazing.'

'Do you want to read what some of these people had to say?' Gazelle picked one out of her hand like a playing card. ' 'I'm going to pour hot tar down your throat, you rotten scumbag. See how you like it.' 'You're a slick dick aren't you, Nick Naylor? I own a high-powered rifle could drop a sack of shit like you at 250 yards, so watch