The Rationing by Charles Wheelan

Author:Charles Wheelan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2019-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

47.

I WALKED OUT OF THE CNN STUDIO INTO THE BRIGHT MORNING sunlight, not sure what to do next. The rain had cleared and the day was pleasant in an early spring kind of way. There was no car waiting for me. I heard nothing from the Communications Director after my segment. Maybe that was because he was displeased with me; more likely it was because there was so much else going on. I knew I should not have used the cancer analogy. I felt that even as I was saying the words. My impression had been reinforced by Linda Schuham’s reaction as I made the comparison. I saw a glimmer of surprise in her eyes—recognition that she had knocked me off my talking points and unearthed something newsworthy in our conversation. That is what CNN paid her a lot of money to do.

I sat on a bench across from the CNN building, taking in the surreal scene around me: harried, concerned people walking purposefully on a beautiful spring day. Now what? I looked at the cell phone the Communications Assistant had given me. There were 151 voice messages—so many that it seemed pointless to return any of them. Tie Guy had left me a text on my secure phone: “Call me ASAP.” I had not spoken to him since the news broke. I figured he wanted to hear firsthand what was happening, or maybe he wanted to critique my CNN performance. (No one appreciates how difficult it is to stay on message in a very short conversation with a host who is working hard to steer the discussion somewhere else.) Or he might be angry, given that I had been less than forthright with him. In any event, I was not eager to have any of these conversations, so I did not call him back. Instead, I sat on that bench in the sunshine, watching people in face masks scurry by while I waited for someone to tell me what to do next.

Tie Guy sent me a second text on the secure phone: “Call me ASAP. It’s important re: Capellaviridae.” This time I decided to call him back, but as I was searching for his number in my contacts, the Communications Director called. I answered immediately: “Hey, I’m sorry about the cancer comparison—”

“It’s over,” he said quickly. “Don’t do it again. The President is speaking in about thirty-five minutes. Get someplace where you can watch the speech. You’re going to do a satellite radio tour—all the drive-time shows. They’ll give you the details when you get there. Stick to the talking points,” he said, hanging up before I could answer. I had no idea what he was talking about, but he texted me an address for a studio about fifteen blocks away. I would be able to watch the President’s speech there, but I would have to hustle to get there in time. There were far fewer cabs on the street than usual; the safest option was a brisk walk.

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