Been There, Done That

by Al Roker Deborah Roberts

  We know when you get into bed really fast and pull the covers up over your head and pretend to be asleep.

  We know you secretly pray for one of the kids to come into the room, and when they do, encourage them to stay.

  We know when you put on the same old, unsexy pajamas and loudly proclaim how tired you are that what you’re really saying is, “Not tonight, dear!”

  When exactly did “I’m so tired” replace “I’ve got a headache” anyway?

  There aren’t any excuses we haven’t heard or Academy Award–worthy performances we haven’t endured when you are trying to avoid the act.

  WE ALL KNOW!

  It’s no great secret.

  We also know that you love us, love our children, the family and life we share.

  We know you want to keep the relationship going, the fire burning and your man happy.

  We know we want more and you want less.

  We know there are two days a year most guys can count on for sex—their birthdays and Valentine’s Day. Maybe Christmas, but that too comes but once a year.

  After that, we just hope.

  I consider great sex any sex I have that doesn’t require me to beg for it. I hate feeling like I’m holding a cash can in bed with a sign that reads, “Help me. I’m starving—for sex.” There’s nothing more pathetic, is there?

  Thankfully, my beautiful wife knows this about me, and from time to time she will surprise the heck out of me with unsolicited and unexpected moments of bliss. And after more than twenty years together, we’ve learned that “moves” that once worked can sometimes fade over the years—or worse, turn into an irritation—so we try to shake things up, keep it interesting and make sure we aren’t annoying each other (okay, mostly me annoying Deborah with my hints that I’m in the mood). As long as I’m smooth, romantic and not too crass, I’m usually “in like Flynn!”

  While I hope my efforts will pay off with a passionate evening, afternoon, morning (I am not choosy) of lovemaking, believe it or not, every time I light a candle I am not necessarily trying to set the mood.

  I like candles!

  I also make my own bath salts out of Himalayan sea salt, eucalyptus, peppermint and lavender. That doesn’t mean I’m trying to get my wife into the tub—though it wouldn’t be discouraged.

  To be fair, there are plenty of times I am trying to set the mood when I light candles around the house, but there are also times I am just looking to create ambience. Is there any prettier light than candlelight?

  Especially in the bedroom?

  And yet, just when I think Deborah is all on board, the mood feels right with soft music playing in the background and a couple of candles burning on the nightstands, she will lean over and blow them out.

  “I know what you’re up to!” she says.

  Another attempt thwarted.

  “Oh well,” I think. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  But honestly, I am by nature a romantic guy. It really isn’t difficult. Especially for guys, if you can show a modicum of effort, you’ll be deemed romantic. It’s a sad fact, but the bar is set a lot lower for guys than it is for women. Women are impressed when we think about anything besides nachos and beer. So there are times I make a move with no ulterior motive. Sometimes I might massage Deborah’s shoulders because I know she has had a long day.

  “That’s okay,” she says, trying to stop me, thinking I want more.

  “No, sweetie. I’m not going to try to have sex with you. I just want to give you a massage,” I say with the utmost sincerity.

  To me, that is romance.

  As a guy, of course I am thinking, “Maybe she will be so taken that she’ll want to have sex . . .” but I am willing to accept the fact that she probably won’t.

  And there’s the ugly truth that we guys have to face: As we get older, the spirit is willing but while the flesh may not be weak, it is tired . . . and stressed . . . and basically falling apart.

  Let’s face it—when it comes to just about anything, things you could do at thirty, or forty, or even fifty may become a little more difficult as you approach sixty. If you’re like me and you work a long day, by the time evening rolls around, odds are just about even that if your significant other doesn’t show interest relatively quickly, you are off to dreamland, counting those cartoon sheep you see in the mattress commercials.

  That’s why the romancing is so important. Sure, there are medicinal cures that your doctor can prescribe, but given the side effects, I’m not so sure the sex is worth it. Except for the warning about a four-hour erection.

  I love the admonition. “If you experience an erection of four hours or longer, tell your doctor.” Hell, if I have a boner for four hours, I’m telling everyone.

  And while we’re talking about the medications, what’s with the commercial that always ends with the couple in the side-by-side tubs, watching the sunset? You’re in separate bathtubs. How are you having sex if you’re in separate tubs? And, by the way, how sexy do you think you are going to look after spending forty minutes sitting in side-by-side tubs? Either of you stand up, you are going to be seriously wrinkled. Well, if you’ve taken that magic pill, you’ll have at least one part that’s not shriveled!

  All kidding aside, relationships do ebb and flow, especially as we get older. I’ll admit there are plenty of nights when I am too tired to comply even if Deborah were to offer herself up on a platter; the moment I hit the pillow, I am down for the count.

  So, sometimes, I’m not actually after the physical act so much as the reconnection, the reassurance that we, as a couple, are “all good.” In a way, sex is an extension of connection—especially at a certain age or stage in life.

  I remember many times when my mom was out of town for a few days and my dad was adrift. He’d come over to hang around, and as soon as Mom came back, he was gone. He needed to have some kind of connection to her while she was away, and I suppose as one of her kids, I represented that to him in her absence.

  The act of intimacy is an anchor in a solid relationship. If it gets overlooked you become a rudderless ship.

  And as a couple, if we aren’t in a good place, we aren’t going to be good for the kids. From my point of view, intimate time together is just as important as any school meeting or Little League game.

  Doing anything you don’t normally get to do together, even holding hands, shopping, walking around downtown, having a night out, can be as good as foreplay. Hopefully it will lead to something more, but it doesn’t always have to for it to have a positive impact. I call my wife because I like to hear her voice during the day. For me that’s a connection. When I put my hand on her leg and she grabs it and holds it, that’s a connection. When I surprise her with flowers for no reason and she isn’t expecting it—and I am not doing it for any reason other than to see her beautiful smile—that is a connection. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in our harried lives and forget why we married or fell in love. It doesn’t take a lot to remind ourselves that we are crazy about each other, just a few moments of stopping the noise from the outside world to reaffirm and reconnect.

  And if you happen to get lucky in the process?

  Then it was a great day!

  Or night.

  Or both.

  DEBORAH

  Weathering the Storm

  Although Al and I both work in the fiercely competitive world of network television, for many years there was very little tension or competition between us, especially in the early years of our relationship when we were both at NBC. Work-related conflicts were almost nonexistent because Al and I traveled in clearly marked lanes. Back then he primarily did the weather and I did more hard news reporting, traveling to far corners of the country and the world. He was focused on the battle among morning TV programs, and I fought the good fight on the evening news and in prime-time news magazines, although occasionally I
did fill in and did some sporadic anchor work on the weekend edition of Today. Al was my biggest cheerleader and I was his. All was peaceful at home, albeit chaotic at times. The only frustration between us was due to my travel, which often disrupted planned dinners and events.

  The spring before our wedding in September of 1995, Barbara Walters called me, and I nearly fainted to hear the famous voice of my idol on the phone. She wanted to meet with me to discuss a position on the prestigious news magazine show 20/20. I was flattered beyond measure! My lifelong dream was to be a reporter on the number-one-rated network!

  I excitedly accepted the job at ABC. The idea of any type of rivalry with my husband never entered my mind since Al was happily working in morning television and I was assigned to Friday nights doing investigative reports. These were our dream jobs, putting us both at the top of our fields. It was unimaginable that a kid from Queens and a little girl from Georgia were riding that high!

  Our jobs didn’t define us as a couple, but if anything, I thought they made us stronger because we understood each other’s worlds. He had his orbit and I had mine.

  Within a few years, though, I started to expand my horizons, doing occasional stories on Good Morning America. It was the first time I did any type of work that directly competed with Al and the Today show. Around this same time, Al also began expanding his role at work, doing more mainstream interviews and feature stories that went beyond the weather.

  For the first time, professionally speaking, we began stepping on each other’s toes a bit. We never saw it coming, and neither of us knew how to handle this new wrinkle in our relationship. We had always unconditionally supported each other in our careers. It wasn’t that we suddenly stopped, but now there was an unspoken tension—at least there was for me.

  Things would get even more complicated during a shake-up at Good Morning America. Longtime anchors Joan Lunden and Charlie Gibson were out and the new team of Lisa McRee and Kevin Newman were in. The ratings were tanking, and the publicity around the show was vicious. During the rocky transition, I became the regular fill-in at the news desk—one of the few black women holding such a position. It was exciting and terrifying.

  My profile at the network was growing, and viewers were embracing me. My job was beyond blissful, even with the long, grueling hours. And even more amazingly, I was being considered for the permanent gig. I was flying high. But there was occasional turbulence; with Today and GMA going head-to-head, I started to rankle a little if Al talked about the prowess of the Today show or how well they were doing. But mostly we shook off any personal rivalry; sometimes we even thought it was quite funny.

  There has always been a certain cutthroat competition among the morning shows, and these were very trying times at both GMA and Today. Most people don’t realize that the morning shows are the financial engines of their network news divisions. More than the evening news, more than the established prime-time news magazines, it’s the daily battle for ratings between GMA and the Today show that defines the TV news industry rivalry.

  Why?

  The morning shows make the real money that allows network news to exist, paying for the multimillion-dollar salaries of the top news anchors and the high cost of worldwide news coverage. That’s why every big interview or exclusive story is run to the ground by armies of bookers, producers and reporters. It’s not unusual that anchors themselves are pressed into service to secure the big celeb “gets.”

  In the winter of 2010, Al and I would feel this network rivalry personally and face an excruciating career challenge that put our love and marriage to the toughest test ever.

  When pop star Whitney Houston died a day before the Grammy Awards, there wasn’t a bigger story in the news. Every broadcast outlet was scrambling to cover the story and telling their anchors, reporters, producers, bookers—anyone who had access to the family—to bring in an exclusive interview.

  During a brainstorming session with my producers at 20/20, I mentioned that I knew a particular music legend who was very close to Whitney and her family. Al had interviewed her once or twice, and we had been invited to intimate concerts and dinner with her. I felt we had a nice rapport. I had her phone number and felt comfortable reaching out to her even during this tragic moment. My executive producer, David Sloan, was thrilled by the prospect of landing such a huge get. Since 20/20 airs on Friday night, we had three days to land a powerful interview. Al wasn’t covering Whitney’s death for NBC, so I never imagined there could potentially be any conflict regarding my suggestion. In fact, he helped. I tried for thirty minutes to get the singer on her personal line, but I got no answer, not even voice mail, and I didn’t have an e-mail address. The pressure was mounting. So I called Al, and he said I was using an outdated phone number. He happily gave me the famous singer’s new phone number and her e-mail address. Al was thrilled at the thought of me scoring a huge scoop and wished me luck. I sent off a heartfelt e-mail and text message right away, expressing my condolences and explaining how awkward I felt about intruding during such a personal tragedy. I expressed my desire to do an interview with her and hoped she would trust me with her stories and memories. Much to my surprise, my phone quickly lit up with a reply from the singer. She graciously thanked me and said she was coming to New York later that week and would be happy to sit down and talk to me. She said it would be a wonderful way to honor Whitney and the relationship she felt she had with Al and me.

  I was ecstatic! Getting an exclusive with this elusive megastar on everyone’s list was a major coup. I conveyed the good news to David Sloan, who was beyond thrilled too and informed the executives throughout the network that I had snared the scoop of the week. Good Morning America, World News Tonight and Nightline were all happily anticipating a slice of this coveted interview.

  I touched base with the singer one more time before she arrived in New York, and she assured me she was committed to doing the interview with me.

  When she got to New York on Tuesday night, I called her as planned. Much to my surprise, she didn’t call me back. This is never a good sign in journalism, especially the day before a big interview is set to air.

  I was sitting on pins and needles, waiting for the phone to ring.

  Nothing.

  Unbeknownst to me, she had been approached by someone . . . from the Today show. And, astonishingly, she agreed to also do an interview for them, but only with Al.

  I had no clue that this was happening and neither did Al! He didn’t know that his producer had pursued the singer, much less that he was expected to interview her.

  It only got worse. At three p.m., forty-eight hours before 20/20 was planning to air my big get, one of our show bookers called to say the singer had changed her mind and was only interviewing with Al.

  I was devastated.

  How could this happen?

  I had her word!

  The network was counting on my promise to deliver this get.

  I frantically called Al, who was befuddled. He had no idea how this had happened. He was as rattled to hear this news as I was heartbroken.

  I had a lot riding on that interview, and Al knew it.

  I felt humiliated, angry and betrayed. My reputation, my credibility and everything I had promised to deliver was on the line. I wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

  I immediately made a distress call to the singer and left a distraught message. I phoned her manager and did my best to plead my case. I sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers to her hotel with a note begging her not to cancel. I called her manager again, who felt horrible but was at the mercy of her capricious client. I did everything except go to her hotel and camp out.

  And still I got no response—until finally someone from her camp called to say she was so distraught and stressed by Whitney’s death that she needed to rest. It was a passive way of telling me to back off. I had no choice but to accept that as her final answer and let it
go. I was sick with disappointment. I finally had to call David Sloan, who was deeply upset.

  How would we fill our program without an interview from someone in Whitney’s life?

  I was devastated because I felt I had let my show and my network down.

  Al felt terrible about the situation too. He didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t his fault that the singer had bailed on me or that she wanted him to interview her. He must have called my office ten times that day, but I couldn’t answer.

  Finally I picked up and I told him, “You have to tell them no, Al.”

  I realize I was being selfish, but I reasoned that Al was at a big enough place in his career to decline without a penalty. I, on the other hand, needed a boost. It never occurred to me that I was not being fair to my husband, who was also under pressure in the ever-present and ongoing morning-show war we were now inadvertently fighting.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon crying in my office.

  Was my reputation damaged . . . my career over? What could I do to salvage this?

  When Al came home that night, I was completely exhausted and overwhelmed. While we prepared dinner, I struggled to keep my cool in front of the kids, but they could tell I was very upset. My eyes looked puffy, and they could hear Al and me talking about the situation. We weren’t fighting, but they heard us discussing it with some gusto.

  Finally, Nicky came into the kitchen and blurted out, “Daddy, don’t take Mommy’s story away. She needs it for her job!” Of course, he couldn’t possibly understand what he was saying, but he went on, “Don’t hurt Mommy. She’s sad.” I could immediately see the pain in my husband’s eyes.

  That wasn’t what I wanted.

  I knew in my heart that Al was hurting too, but to hear it from his son must have been a blow.

  I did my best to reassure Leila and Nicky that wasn’t the case. That this was just work and it wasn’t a big deal.

  But when they left the room and we had a quiet moment together, despite the anguish I knew we both were feeling, I pleaded with Al to change his mind.