44. Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter 44
Risto
L eslie was losing an epic battle. The crew in the booth looked stunned, whispering about how awful it was to treat talent this way. The producer, Maureen, sat visibly tense until she slammed her palm on the desk on the control panel.
“What’s with all of you? Did you already forget the shitstorm she created for us?! Kaelen is right to push back.”
The man next to her leaned over. “That fake protest wasn’t even close. No leaves on the trees in those shots. No sun, no shadows. C’mon, what were you thinking?”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Just then, someone yelled, “I found it! It’s from that rally in Washington. Same people, but the background was swapped for our plaza, and new text overlaid on the picket signs.”
Four staffers crowded around the screen, their disgust speaking volumes.
Maureen whispered into her collar.
A moment later, Reed rose on-set and strode toward the booth, yanking the door open with a bang.
“Is there a problem in here? Hmmm?”
He surveyed the room, and the crew went mumbling back to their seats. “That woman led a mob to our doorstep. She deserves to have her wild accusations challenged.” He slammed the door to return to his chair before the commercial ended.
Meanwhile, my mind raged. The team proved the protest footage was faked. But what could I do about it?
“Camera Two,” Maureen said, and the shot focused on Reed.
“Those were some serious accusations you leveled at your mother,” Reed said.
“Camera One. Slow zoom,” Maureen instructed.
The camera centered on Leslie and gradually narrowed from a wide shot to focus on her face. When Leslie got mad, her jaw clenched. But I could see no signs of it.
What are you up to, my love?
“I’m sure you can relate. Having struggled with your size in the past.”
Reed stiffened. “Me?”
“When I interviewed staff at your elementary school, I heard how hard you worked with Mr. Marinelli, the gym teacher. And that you return often, going as far as to pay for diet programs and gym memberships for the students. Why is that?”
Reed scratched his eyebrow. “My hope is that all children, regardless of means, can be as healthy as possible.”
“Any other reason?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Kaelen said warily.
“How about to avoid bullying?”
“Yes. Of course. That’s tough for everyone.”
“If bullying is bad, why do you harass your guests about their weight? I have witnessed you reduce a talented, award-winning journalist to tears on this very set because you believed she was too fat.”
“That’s not true.”
“Aren’t you perpetuating the same bullying behavior you experienced as a child? That fat is bad and thin is the only way to exist in this world? That if someone lives on their own terms in a larger body that they’re diseased, lazy, and defective?”
“Wait, what?!”
“Isn’t this crusade against me a ruse to cover up how much the network profits from diet plans, pharmaceutical diet products, diet foods, and government grants aimed at pushing a thin agenda? All despite the CDC research and thousands of studies around the world showing that dieting doesn’t work?”
The two sat in a silent standoff.
Reed looked intrigued. Whether genuine or not was impossible to tell. “Tell us why you say diets don’t work.”
“I prepared some graphics. If the control room would air them, I’d appreciate it.”
The crew looked at Maureen.
“Kaelen said no charts,” Maureen spat.
Luckily for Leslie, the guy at the control board ignored her. He clicked a button, and a slide appeared on the screen wall behind them.
“As you can see, dieting works only for a short term. Since it’s not sustainable over time, people gain the weight back, plus some. The more people diet, the fatter they get.”
“But you said fat was fine,” Reed tossed back, obviously pleased with himself.
“The issue isn’t how much people weigh. The problem comes from repeated weight loss-weight gain cycles and the disordered beliefs about food and body size. People don’t fail diets. Diets fail people by making them less healthy, raising their natural set point weight, boosting stress, and leaving people frustrated, hungry, lost, and for most, heavier than before they dieted. If you want a guaranteed path to misery, I suggest a diet.”
A bark of laughter shattered the booth’s silence, earning a sharp stare from the boss.
“What?” the crew member asked. “It’s funny.”
Reed looked puzzled. “If dieting doesn’t work, what is the alternative for people needing to lose weight?”
Leslie leaned forward. “Why do people diet?”
“To lose weight.”
“Why else?”
“To be healthier.”
“But if the data shows that you can be healthy at many sizes—lower blood pressure, stable cholesterol levels, better heart function, etc.—why don’t we focus on modifying lifestyle and forget about weight all together? Next slide, please.”
The graphic swapped.
“This one shows two groups of participants, before and after the study. Both were the same weight by the end. The first group lost and regained the weight within two years. But the second, non-dieting group had much better health outcomes. They were what you defined as healthy, but they lived in larger bodies. If, ultimately, we’re concerned with health and longevity, then our focus on dieting moves us farther away from our goal.”
Realization dawned on Reed’s face, just as it did in the control booth. All eyes were glued to the screen where Leslie’s triumph glowed through the lens. She’d turned the tide. Now the dramatic zoom focused on Reed.
“Well, damn. That makes a lot of sense,” a crewmember said.
“I’ve wasted all this time thinking I needed to drop pounds,” another whispered.
“Quiet!” Maureen commanded.
Reed leaned forward. “So we can sit around eating Twinkies and live to be a hundred?”
“Not necessarily. But if you want a Twinkie, please go eat one. If you don’t, you’ll likely obsess about it for hours, probably consume a lot of unnecessary calories, time, and energy instead of having the damn Twinkie and getting back to your life. The key is to balance that with nutrient-dense foods, movement, and sleep.”
“It sounds so simple.” Reed laughed.
“Yeah. And free.”
“Cut to commercial!” Maureen yelled, pushing out of her chair with such force it collided into me as it toppled over. That’s when she noticed me, her eyes bugging wide as I fluttered my fingers hello .
“Thank you for inviting me to see what happens behind the scenes,” I said. “All the nasty tricks viewers never know about. Someone should tell them, don’t you think?”
She blanched, but quickly recovered.
“Security! Security!” Maureen yelled, pushing past me to yank the door open so hard that it bounced against the rubber stop and slammed back closed. She stormed over to the set, where her noiseless pleading with Reed played out in front of us as the screens displayed a muted commercial break.
Leslie joined the argument, sliding herself in between producer and talent. What the hell was going on? Aching to get to Leslie, I strode toward the door, but a security guy appeared, blocking the way.
“Visiting time is over, sir. You need to come with me.”