In his seven years of national fame, Heath Heatherton had adopted and shed a number of identities. Just forty-one years old, he’d already written three best-selling autobiographies. The first, From Nothing, was his up-by-the-bootstraps story of growing up “Greenwich poor,” the son of two midlevel corporate lawyers coming of age in a world of hedge fund families. Next came Man-o-Rexic, a revealing look at his fight to maintain 3 percent body fat through a lean protein and vegetable diet which triggered a years-long struggle with body dysmorphia. In his latest, All of the Above, Heath claimed either a genetic or emotional identification with every racial and religious group and sexual orientation recognized by the US Census Bureau. “I’m an intersex, Judeo-Christian, Islamo-Buddhist, descended from every race on earth,” he’d enthused, insisting his multifaceted identity enabled him to empathize with a wide array of guests and news stories. “When I’m with an interview subject, I sometimes become that subject.”

Critics eviscerated his anchor involvement style of reporting as “an extreme distillation of the narcissism of the TV age.” One New York Times columnist summarized his show this way: “Coming up next, more about me.” But he made for great TV. And thanks to his ratings, Heath had almost unchecked power to do what he wanted on his show.

Seated in such proximity to the great anchor, Natalie did her best to stare at her hands and not at the star while a stagehand untucked her shirt and ran his cold fingers and a microphone up it. The cold fingers stopped at her breasts and clipped the microphone onto the shirt fabric then reached around to repeat the procedure with her earpiece up her back. When the stagehand finished, Natalie retucked her shirt and, glancing down, did up an extra button on top just to be sure there was no cleavage showing. She smiled at Heath but he seemed to be studying his notecards too intently to notice.

“Five minutes to air!” someone shouted.

“We have the video, right, guys? Any ID on the man?” Heath said, talking to the people in the control room. Natalie could not hear their reply.

“Great. And how do you want to play this?” Heath paused. “Mmm-hmm. Natalie. Right. Great. Great.” He looked up and smiled at her again.

On TV, Heath was heart-meltingly alluring, handsome with big eyes, a round childlike face, and the honey-colored skin of a Brazilian model. But Natalie observed that seeing him in person was like standing in front of one of these heat-free TV lights—sunny glow but eerily lacking in warmth.

The door slammed open and Ryan McGreavy bounded into the studio and vaulted onto a stool between Natalie and Heath like a pro gymnast.

“Not late after all!” Ryan declared to the room, then turning to Heath, enthused, “Killer video.”

“Totally!” Heath replied. “We’re gonna crush it!”

Natalie watched as the two men high-fived one another.