I’d later hear from friends who still worked at TODAY that things turned frattier after I left. While Meredith had a wealth of experience and didn’t take any guff, it was now Matt’s show. He’d become cocky and reckless, which changed the tone of the place, the control-room guys opining loudly about the anatomy of female guests and staffers and openly playing the crude game Fuck, Marry, Kill. At a certain point, all the PAs seemed to be pretty young women; when passing out the rundown, one of them would plop in each guy’s manspreading lap.
By the time Ann Curry was at the big desk, Matt was the highest-paid anchor in TV history and the top dog in every sense.
November 3, 2017
ME—8:33 P.M.
Hey! John is going out of town （bone fishing） next week. Want to grab dinner on Wednesday? I’m trying to fill my dance card while he’s gone. Lmk! Ps nice dolly outfit. I’m starting to get very worried…
MATT—8:36 P.M.
Wednesday is good!
November 5, 2017
ME—2:36 P.M.
Excellent
Let’s go someplace kind of healthy not your weird burger place!
MATT—2:42 P.M.
You pick it
I was glad we had a date on the calendar. I’d been feeling a bit lonely and nostalgic—I missed the camaraderie of a network news organization. I missed the rhythm of a daily show and working with Matt. And I had an idea I wanted to run by him.
We met at Elio’s, a scene-y Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side. Well-heeled Manhattanites bustled in, unbuttoning their coats and unwrapping their scarves. One of them was Matt. I thought he looked tired, older. I probably did too, but he also seemed a little on edge, without his usual easy smile. As diners whispered and stole glances, I have to admit it was fun to be seen with him again out in the real world.
We exchanged the latest on our kids, our travels. I gingerly asked about Annette.
“She’s great,” Matt said, “she’s doing really well.”
I hoped that was true. Whenever I saw Matt at parties, Annette was MIA. I never knew why—maybe she was antisocial or even agoraphobic. Or maybe the two of them had some sort of “understanding,” whatever that might be.
A few years earlier, when John and I had become serious, I invited friends for dinner in East Hampton: Howard and Beth Stern, Matt and Annette, and a few others. I always liked Annette, even though I didn’t know her well; I was looking forward to getting better acquainted after all these years. So I was surprised when Matt walked in alone.
“Where’s Annette?” I asked.
“She isn’t feeling well,” he said. Disappointing, but not surprising.
At Elio’s, our conversation quickly turned to the topic that was dominating dinner parties all over town—Harvey Weinstein and the cascade of allegations roiling the media.
“This MeToo stuff feels like it’s getting kind of out of control,” Matt said. “It feels like a witch hunt.”
I took it that Matt was worried about a lack of due process, people’s livelihoods and reputations being destroyed by anecdotes and innuendo—something I wondered about too.
I was watching his slender fingers as he carefully cut his chicken paillard when he said to me, quietly, “You know, women come into my office, and sometimes they’re crying and want to talk to me. Now, if they sit next to me on the sofa, I can’t even put my arm around them.”
I tried to imagine such a scene taking place. “No, Matt, you cannot do that. You cannot put your arm around them.”
He looked concerned.
I asked about Andy Lack, an ally to both of us in the blood sport that is TV news. For some reason Matt said, “Andy is my best friend.”
Coming from a 59-year-old man, that sounded a little odd. “Matt. Let me give you some advice,” I said. “Work friends are not best friends. Work friendships are mostly transactional. You can’t necessarily count on them.”
Something like worry flitted across his face.
Blame the pinot noir, but during dinner, I got a little teary-eyed telling Matt how much I missed live TV and working with a partner like him. He nodded and smiled; I could tell he knew what I meant and was feeling nostalgic too. I don’t think we’d ever had such a vulnerable, honest conversation.
Then I described my idea for a show in which we’d revisit some of the biggest news stories of the past several decades. Matt seemed intrigued. “Do you want me to talk to Andy about it?” he asked. I said sure. Out on the sidewalk we hugged and went our separate ways. I felt closer to Matt that night than I had in all my years sitting next to him at the anchor desk.