Thank You for Smoking

would not have had long-ranging effects on those particular extremities.

Jeannette came, twice, sometimes three times a day. She was very concerned, very caring about it all. Nick wondered if he hadn't misjudged her. It's tough being a woman in a man's world, so, clearly, some women get tough, but that doesn't mean they're dykes or dominatrixes. She brought truffles and strawberries from Sutton Place Gourmet and flowers, interesting flowers that, well, seemed rather sexual, frankly. Could she do anything for him? Check on his apartment? Pick up his dry cleaning? Clear his messages? Take Joey to his Little League games?

BR came by, acting like Patton on a surprise inspection, storming off to notify the hospital's chief administrator that this was one Very Important Patient in Room 608 and by God he expected Nick to be treated as such, even if she had to bring the bedpan in herself at four in the morning. He called Nick five times a day with a progress report. The Academy — the entire tobacco industry — was enraged by this and was calling in all its congressional chits, demanding that tobacco state members call on the White House to put pressure on the attorney general to put pressure on the FBI. (Perhaps that explained Agent Monmaney's brusque bedside manner.)

The Captain called regularly with his progress reports as he worked his way through his congressional Rolodex. He had spoken with Senator Jordan, the Gulfstream-hogging whore, informing him that he expected him personally to call the President and instruct him to tell the FBI to get on the hump and nail these sons of bitches. Or he'd had his last free ride on his G-5.

It was very gratifying. Nick was extremely touched. Tobacco takes care of its own.

Heather snuck in after visiting hours so that she wouldn't run into any Academy staffers. She and Nick had decided to keep their little thing between them, just for security's sake. He didn't want BR and everyone else to know he was sleeping with the enemy; not that she'd written an entirely unflattering piece, but in BR's book, all reporters were the enemy.

She sat at the foot of Nick's bed, wearing a light summer dress with her hair up in a Gibson girlish sort of way, strands of hair dribbling down her neck. She looked quite alluring. Nick, however, lacked the energy to talk amorally, her kind of verbal foreplay, so he just listened to her talk about how she'd gotten a job interview with Atherton Blair, the rather self-satisfied, bow-tie-wearing, Ivy League assistant managing editor of the Sun, Washington's legit paper. She was working on a story about the new image guy that the President had hired; she had information that he'd once done some consulting for a close relative of Erich Honecker, the former East German dictator who'd built the Berlin Wall.

Jeannette called the next day to say that she had 'convinced' Katie Couric of the Today show to do a live remote interview from his hospital bed. Nice as Jeannette had been, Nick doubted she'd had to do much arm-twisting to bring about an interview. Nick was frontpage, above-the- fold news, for crying out loud. They'd been deluged with interview requests.

'I don't want you to think that we're in any way capitalizing on this,' she said, 'but if you're feeling up to it, I don't think we should pass this up.'

True enough, Nick's kidnapping had been a godsend, after a fashion. The gasper groups were falling all over themselves trying to distance themselves from the 'nico-terrorists' — as the perpetrators had been dubbed by the tabloid press — and were busily denouncing this 'deplorable,' 'extreme,' 'repellent,' 'intolerable' act. Even Nick's Oprah punching bag, Ron Goode, was quoted in Newsweek as saying that no matter what his personal opinion of Nick was, he certainly didn't deserve to be murdered for his views. Doubtless, he'd been coached, swine; and just as doubdess, it had killed him to say it.

'Thanks, Bryant. Four days ago, Nick Naylor, chief spokesman for the tobacco lobby, was abducted outside his office in Washington,D.C. He was found, later that night, with a sign around his neck that said he had been, and I quote, 'Executed for crimes against humanity.' His body was covered with a lethal number of nicotine patches, the kind prescribed for smokers who want to give up. According to doctors at George Washington University Hospital, he was near death when he was brought in. The FBI is investigating the case, which seems to indicate that at least one element of the anti-smoking movement has adopted the tactics of terrorists. Mr. Naylor joins us this morning from his bed at George Washington University hospital. Good morning.'

'Good morning, Katie.'

'I know this has been quite an ordeal for you. My first question to you — How did you survive? Reports are that you were literally covered with patches.'

'Well, Katie, I guess you could say that smoking saved my life.'

'How?'

'As a smoker, a pastime I happen to enjoy along with fifty-five million other adult Americans, I was able to absorb the dosage, though it did almost kill me. If those policeman hadn't found me when they did, I wouldn't be chatting with you today.'

'We'll get back to the issue of smoking—'

'If I might point out, Katie, this just goes to prove what we've been saying for some time now, namely, don't mess with these nicotine patches. They're killers.'

'But not if you use them as directed, surely.'

'Katie, out of respect for your viewers, I won't go into what these things did to me, the nausea, the projectile vomiting, the paroxysmal atrial tachycardia, the cutting off of blood to the brain, the numbness and cold in your extremities, the horrible skin rash, the blurred vision and migrainous neuralgia. So I won't go into all that, except to say, If that's what a bunch of these patches can do, well, huh, I can only imagine what just one could do to a normal, healthy smoker. So put me down for a big resounding, Just say no.'

'We understand that a note from the kidnappers was delivered to the Washington Sun.'

'I'm not sure I'm supposed to comment on that, Katie.'

'It's in today's edition.'

'It is?'

'So it's already out there. Would you like to hear what it says?'

'Uh… '

'Quote, Nick Naylor is responsible for the deaths of billions—'

'Billions? Millions, surely.'

'No, it says billions.'

'Well, that's absurd. I've only been with the Academy for six years, so even if you accepted the 435,000-a- year figure, which of course is completely nonsense anyway, I would only have been quote responsible unquote for what, two-point-six million. So I don't know where this individual is getting 'billions' from? What am I, McDonald's?'

'Should I go on?'

'Please, yes, by all means, I'm fascinated.'

'He was dispatched as a warning to the tobacco industry. If they don't stop making cigarettes right now, we will dispatch others.'

'Was this by any chance written on the surgeon general's letterhead?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'I thought I recognized her style. No, of course, I'm kidding, Katie. Humor, you know. The best medicine…'

'Do you have any idea who might have done this to you?'

'No, but if those people are listening, as I'm sure they are, being probably big fans of yours as I certainly am, I'd like to say to them, Come forward, turn yourselves in. I'm not going to press charges.'

'You won't?'

'No, Katie, I think people who would do something like this need help, more than anything.'

'That's a very tolerant point of view.'

'Well, Katie, you can't spell tolerance without the t in tobacco. Our position all along has been, we understand there are people who care strongly about smoking. We're saying, Let's work together on this. Let's get some dialogue going. This is a big country, and there's plenty of room in it for smoking and nonsmoking areas.'

The first call was from the Captain. 'Brilliant, son, brilliant.'

BR called. 'I gotta hand it to you, Nick, you blew us all away. We're out of breath here.'