Private Scandals (24 page)

“Angela, I wasn’t—”

“And second,” she interrupted, still frigidly pleasant. “There’s no need for concern. I have no intention of letting
anything go wrong, or of giving the soft-hearted public an unflattering opinion on my stand. Dan’s already seeing to it that it leaks that I, personally, will sponsor the family we’re highlighting on the show. I will at first modestly decline to comment, then, reluctantly, will agree that I have found employment for both parents, along with six months’ rent and a stipend for food and clothing. Now . . .” She gave her hair one last fluff as she rose. “I’d like to look them over before we go on the air.”

“They’re in the green room,” Lew murmured. “I decided to put Walker elsewhere for the time being.”

“Fine.” She swept by him and into the corridor. All graciousness and warm support, she greeted the family of four who sat nervously huddled together on the sofa in front of the television. Waving away their thanks, she pressed food and drink on them, patted the little boy on the head and tickled the toddler under the chin.

Her smile snapped off like a light when she started back to her dressing room. “They don’t look like they’ve been living on the street for six weeks to me. Why are their clothes so neat? Why are they so clean?”

“I—they knew they were going on national TV, Angela. They put themselves together as best they could. They’ve got pride.”

“Well, dirty them up,” she snapped. She had a headache coming on like a freight train and wanted her pills. “I want them to look destitute, for Christ’s sake, not like some middle-class family down on their luck.”

“But that’s what they are,” Lew began.

She stopped, turned, freezing him with eyes as cold as a doll’s. “I don’t care if the four of them have fucking MBA’s from Harvard. Do you understand me? Television is a visual medium. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that. I want them to look like they just got swept off the street. Put some dirt on those kids. I want to see holes in their clothes.”

“Angela, we can’t do that. It’s staging. It crosses the line.”

“Don’t tell me what you can’t do.” She jabbed one frosty
pink nail into his chest. “I’m telling you what’s going to be done. It’s my show, remember.
Mine.
You’ve got ten minutes. Now get out of here and do something to earn your salary.” She shoved him out, slamming the door behind him.

The panic attack had nearly overtaken her in the hall. Chills raced over her skin; she leaned back against the door shuddering. She would have to go out there soon. Go out and face the audience. They would be waiting for her to make the wrong move, to say the wrong words. If she did, if she made one mistake, they would leap at her like wild dogs.

And she would lose everything. Everything.

On wobbly legs, she lunged across the room. Her hands shook as she poured the champagne. It would help, she knew. She’d discovered after years of denial that just one small glass before a show could chase away those cold, clammy chills. Two could ease all those gnawing fears.

She swallowed greedily, draining the glass, then poured the second with a steadier hand. A third glass wouldn’t hurt, she assured herself. Just smoothing out the rough edges. Where had she heard that before? she wondered as she brought the crystal to her lips.

Her mother. Good God, her mother.

Just smoothing out the rough edges, Angie. A couple sips of gin smooths them all right out.

Horrified, she dropped the full glass, spilling bubbling wine over the rug. She watched it spread, like blood, and turned away shivering.

She didn’t need it. She wasn’t like her mother. She was Angela Perkins. And she was the best.

There would be no mistakes. She promised herself that as she turned to the mirror so that her image, glossy and elegant, could calm her. She would go out and do what she did best. And she would keep those wild dogs at bay yet again. She would tame them, and make them love her.

“Satisfied, Lew?” Still riding on the echoes of applause, Angela dropped into the chair behind her desk. “I told you it would work.”

“You were great, Angela.” He said it because it was expected.

“No, she was fabulous.” Dan sat on the edge of her desk and leaned over to kiss her. “Having that kid sit on your lap was inspired.”

“I like kids,” she lied. “And that one seemed to have some brains. We’ll see to it that he gets in school. Now . . .” She sat back, letting the family slip from her mind as casually as she slipped out of her shoes. “Let’s get down to business. Who is
she
looking to book next month?”

Resigned, Lew passed Angela a list. He didn’t have to be told they were discussing Deanna. “The names with the asterisks have already booked.”

“She’s going after some heavy hitters, isn’t she?” Angela mused. “Movies, fashion. Still steering clear of politics.”

“Fluff over substance,” Dan said, knowing that comment would please her.

“Fluff or not, we wouldn’t want her to get lucky. She’s already snagged too much press. That damn Jamie Thomas affair.” Her mouth tightened into a thin line of disgust as she thought of him hiding out in Rome.

“We still have the data on him,” Dan reminded her. “Easy enough to leak his drug problem to the press.”

“Leaking that gains us nothing, and would only drum up more sympathetic press for Deanna. Let it go.” She scanned the sheet of paper. “Let’s see who we know well enough on here to persuade to give Deanna a pass.” She glanced up and gave Lew a bland smile. “You can go. I won’t need you.”

When Lew closed the door quietly behind him, Dan lighted Angela’s cigarette. “That hangdog face of his gets old fast,” he commented.

“But he has his uses.” Pleased, she tapped the list with one lacquered nail. “It’s very satisfying to know what our little Dee is planning almost before she does.” Angela checked two names on the list. “I can take care of both of these with a casual phone call. It’s so gratifying to have important people owe you. Ah, now, look here. Kate Lowell.”

“Very hot.” Dan rose to pour them both a Perrier. “One
of those rarities that makes the term ‘actress-model’ a compliment.”

“Yes, she’s very beautiful, very talented. And very hot right now with her new movie burning up the box office.” Angela’s smile was slow and surprisingly sweet. “It so happens Deanna knows Kate. They summered in Topeka together. And it so happens I know an interesting little secret of Kate’s. A little secret that will make certain she won’t be chatting to her old pal on the air. In fact, I think we’ll just book her ourselves. I’ll take care of this one. Personally.”

“I just don’t understand it, Finn.” Deanna snuggled down on the couch beside him, resting her head against his chest. “One minute we were making the travel arrangements, the next we get a line from her publicist about unexpected scheduling conflicts.”

“It happens.” He was more interested in nibbling on her fingers than talking shop.

“Not like this. We tried to reschedule, gave them an open date, and got the same response. I really wanted her on in November, but I didn’t contact her personally because I didn’t want it to seem like calling in a favor from a friend.” She shook her head, remembering how warm, then how distant Kate had been when they’d seen each other in Angela’s office. “Damn it, we used to be friends.”

“Friendships are often one of the first casualties of this business. Don’t let it get you down, Kansas.”

“I’m trying not to. I know we’ll get someone else. I guess I feel snubbed, personally and professionally.” She made an effort to push it out of her mind. Their time was too precious to waste. “This is nice.”

“What is?”

“Just sitting here, doing nothing. With you.”

“I like it myself. Kind of habit-forming.” He stroked a finger over the bracelet she wore. Since his return from Moscow, he hadn’t seen her without it. “Barlow James is in town.”

“Mmm. I heard. Do you want something to eat?”

“No.”

“Good.” She sighed lustily. “Neither do I. I don’t want to move all day. All wonderful Sunday.”

An absolutely free Sunday for both of them, she mused. And she didn’t want to spoil it by mentioning the latest note she’d found mixed with her viewer mail.

I know you don’t really love him, Deanna.
Finn Riley can’t mean as much to you as I will.
I can wait for you.
I’ll wait forever.

Of course, that note had been nothing compared to the one from the Alabamian truck driver who wanted her to see the country from the bed in his sixteen-wheeler. Or the self-ordained minister who claimed to have had a vision of her naked—a sign from God that she, and her checkbook, were meant to join him in his work.

So it was nothing to worry about. Really, nothing at all.

“I had a meeting with him yesterday.”

She blinked. “Who?”

“Barlow James.” Because he could see she was clicking into her think mode, Finn tugged at her ear. “Keep up, will you?”

“Sorry. Where’s he sending you now?”

“I have to leave for Paris in a few days. I thought you might like to fly out there next weekend.”

“Fly out to Paris?” She turned to look at him. “For the weekend?”

“You take the Concorde. We eat French food, see French sights and make love in a French hotel. I might even be able to fly back with you.”

The idea made her sit upright. “I can’t imagine flying off to Paris for a weekend.”

“You’re a celebrity,” he reminded her. “You’re supposed to do things like that. Don’t you ever read fan magazines?”

Her eyes were alight with the possibilities. “I’ve never been to Europe.”

“You’ve got a passport, don’t you?”

“Sure. I even renewed it recently, a habit from my reporting days, when I nursed the vague hope of copping some exciting foreign assignment.”

“So, I’ll be your exciting foreign assignment.”

“If I could clear my schedule . . . I
will
clear my schedule.” She twisted around to throw her arms around him.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, tightening his grip when she started to wriggle away.

“I have to make a list. I have to get a Berlitz tape and a guidebook, and—”

“Later.” He laughed his way into the kiss. “God, you’re predictable, Kansas. Whatever I toss at you, you make a list.”

“I’m organized.” She thumped a fist against his chest. “That doesn’t mean I’m predictable.”

“You can write up six lists later. I haven’t told you about my meeting with Barlow.”

But she wasn’t listening. She’d need one of those mini video recorders, she decided. Like Cassie had. And a phrase book. “What?” She blinked when Finn tugged on her hair. “The meeting with Barlow,” she said, tucking her mental list aside. “You just said he was sending you to Paris.”

“That’s not what the meeting was about. It was a continuation of discussions we’ve been having on and off for about a year.”

“The news magazine.” She grinned. “He won’t give up, will he?”

“I’m going to do it.”

“I think it’s—you’re what!” She jerked upright again. “You’re going to do it?”

He’d expected her to be surprised. Now he was hoping she’d be pleased. “It’s taken us a while to agree on terms and format.”

“But I didn’t think you were interested at all. You like being able to plug into any story that comes along. Toss your garment bag over your shoulder, pick up your laptop and go.”

“The paladin of newscasters.” He toyed with her earring. “I’d still do that, to an extent. When something breaks, I’d go, but I’d be covering it for the show. We’d do remotes whenever they were called for, but we’d base here in Chicago.” That had been a sticking point, since Barlow had wanted him in New York. “I’d be able to take a story and explore all the angles instead of fitting it into a three-minute piece on the news. And I’d spend more time here. With you.”

“I don’t want you to do this for me.” She got to her feet quickly. “I won’t deny that it’s hard for me to say goodbye so often, but—”

“You’ve never said so.”

“It wouldn’t have been fair. God, Finn.” She dragged both hands through her hair. “What could I have said? Don’t go. I know there are world-altering events taking place, but I’d rather you stay home with me?”

He rose as well, brushed a knuckle down her cheek. “It wouldn’t have hurt my ego to hear it.”

His quiet words shivered through her. “It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. And you changing the thrust of your career because of me won’t be fair either.”

“I’m not just doing this for you. I’m doing it for myself, too.”

“You said you didn’t want to put down roots.” She was distressed, because she realized she was near tears. She wouldn’t have been able to explain them to him, or to herself. “I remember that. Finn, we’re professionals, and we both understand the demands of the career. I don’t want to make you feel pressured.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” His impatience was back. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Deanna. Things have changed for me in this past year. It’s not as easy for me to pick up and go. It’s not a snap for me to fall asleep in some hotel halfway around the world. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she said. “Does that make you happy?”

“Damn straight it does.” He eased her forward, kissed her softly, gently, until her mouth grew greedy and hot under his. “I want you to miss me. I want it to kill you every time I go
away. And I want you to feel as baffled and uncomfortable and as frustrated as I am with this whole mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

“Well, I do, so that’s just fine for both of us.”

“Fine and dandy.” He released her. If she wanted to fight with reason, he’d give her plenty of it. Objective words were, after all, his stock-in-trade. “I’ll still have to go. I’ll have more control over where and when, but I’ll have to go. And I want you to suffer whenever I do.”

“You,” she said precisely, “can go to hell.”

“Not without you.” He caught her face in his hand, holding tight when she would have jerked away. “Goddamn it, Deanna. I love you.”

When his hand went limp, she stepped back on shaky legs. Her eyes were huge and fixed on his face. It took her a moment before she could breathe again. Another moment before she could form coherent words. “You’ve never said that before.”