Private Scandals Read online

  “Thanks. On both counts.”

  They started toward the building, where fans and onlookers had been parted like the Red Sea by police barricades. Celebrities and press were mingling, creating quick bites that would be shown on the evening news segments.

  She knew some of these people, Deanna thought. Some had come on her show, had sat beside her and chatted like old friends. Others she had met during the benefits and events that became part of the job. She exchanged greetings and good wishes, cheek busses and handclasps as they wandered toward the lobby.

  Mikes slashed out at them, cameras wheeled in their direction, impeding progress.

  “Deanna, how does it feel to be here tonight?”

  “Who designed your dress?”

  “Finn, what’s it like to have a hit show when so many news magazines have failed?”

  “Any marriage plans?”

  “Christ, it’s like an obstacle course,” Finn muttered as they worked their way through the gaggle of reporters.

  “I’m loving every minute of it.” She eased closer, eyes dancing. “Don’t you know when they ask about your dress designer, you’ve made it?”

  “They didn’t ask me.”

  She turned, fussing with his tie. “And you look so nice, too. Very GQ.”

  He grimaced. “Please. I can’t believe I got talked into doing that photo layout.”

  “It was smashing.”

  “I’m a newscaster, not a model.”

  “But you have such cute dimples.”

  They didn’t flash. They didn’t so much as wink as he cornered her with one steely-eyed glare. “Keep that up and I’ll leak the news that you changed your underwear three times before getting into that dress tonight.”

  “Okay, they’re not cute. No matter what Mary Hart said last week on ET.”

  “She said—never mind.” No way was he going to get pulled into that one. “Let’s get a drink before we go in.”

  “Considering the occasion, it’ll have to be champagne. Just one,” she added, pressing a hand to her middle. “I don’t think my system can handle any more.”

  “Wait here. I’ll fight the horde.”

  “I told you you were my hero.”

  She turned, and would have scooted off into a corner, where she could stand and observe, but she found herself face to face with Kate Lowell.

  “Hello, Dee.”

  “Hello, Kate.” Deanna offered a hand and they shook like strangers. “It’s good to see you.”

  “It doesn’t feel as though you mean it,” she said as she straightened her shoulders. “You look terrific, ready to win.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I’d like to wish you luck. Really excellent luck, considering your competition.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t. It’s purely selfish on my part. By the way, Rob Winters said to send his best if I ran into you.”

  Deanna’s stiff smile softened. “How is he?”

  “Dying,” Kate said shortly, then let out a breath between her teeth. “Sorry. We’ve been friends for a long time, and it’s hard to watch.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. I understand about friendships and loyalties.”

  Kate dropped her gaze. “Direct hit, Dee.”

  “Cheap shot,” she corrected. Instinctively she took Kate’s hand again. There was none of the mannered politeness this time. Just support, basic and unstudied. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you.”

  Kate studied their joined hands, remembered how easy it had once been. “Dee, why didn’t you announce Rob’s condition when he told you about it?”

  “Because he asked me not to.”

  Kate shook her head. “That was always enough for you. I’d wondered if you’d changed.”

  “I have, but that hasn’t.”

  “I really hope you win tonight. I hope you cut her off at the knees.” With this, she turned and walked away.

  As Deanna watched the other woman walk through the crowd, she thought she understood the tears she’d seen in Kate’s eyes, but not the venom in her voice.

  “Well, we have come up in the world.” Angela glided into Deanna’s line of vision, a frothy dream of candy-pink silk and icy diamonds. “Smile for the camera, dear,” she whispered as she leaned forward to air-kiss both of Deanna’s cheeks. “Surely you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you.”

  “I haven’t forgotten a thing.” Deanna let her lips curve up. She hated the fact that her stomach jittered with nerves. Hated more the fact that they were bound to show. “It’s been a long time.”

  “It certainly has. I don’t believe you’ve met my husband. Dan, this is Deanna Reynolds.”

  “A pleasure.” As polished as a fine gem, Dan took Deanna’s hand in his. “You’re every bit as charming as Angela told me.”

  “I’m sure she told you nothing of the kind, but thanks. I saw your pre-Emmy special last night, Angela. I enjoyed it.”

  “Did you?” Angela held up a cigarette for Dan to light. “I have so little time to watch television myself these days.”

  “That’s interesting. I’d think that would insulate you from your audience. I love to watch. I suppose I’m really the average viewer.”

  “Average isn’t something I’d settle for.” Angela’s gaze shifted over Deanna’s shoulder, smoldered. “Hello, Finn. Isn’t it interesting that we’d all have to come to Los Angeles to have a reunion?”

  “Angela.” Smoothly, he passed Deanna her glass of champagne, then slipped an arm around her waist. “You’re looking well.”

  “He used to be much more clever with his compliments,” Angela told Dan. She made the rest of the introductions and, spotting a camera out of the corner of her eye, angled herself into a prominent position. “I really must powder my nose before we go in. Deanna, come along with me. No woman goes to the ladies’ room alone.”

  Though Finn tightened his grip, Deanna eased away. “Sure.” Better to face whatever unpleasantness Angela had in mind now, she decided, than wait for it to be played out in public. “Finn, I’ll meet you inside in a minute.”

  To offer the camera a friendly tableau, Angela hooked her arm through Deanna’s. “We haven’t had one of our private talks for ages, have we?”

  “It would be a little tough, since we haven’t seen each other in two years.”

  “Always so literal.” With a light laugh, Angela swung into the ladies’ lounge. It was nearly empty, as she’d hoped. Later it would be full, but now people were eager to be seated. She walked to the mirrored counter, pulled out a chair and did exactly what she’d said she would do. She powdered her nose. “You’ve chewed off most of your lipstick,” she said dryly. “Nervous?”

  “Excited.” Deanna remained standing, but set her glass aside to dig a lipstick out of her evening bag. “I imagine that’s a natural reaction to being nominated.”

  “It becomes routine after a while. I have several awards, you know. Interesting that you’ve been nominated for that show on date rape. I’d considered that more of a self-confessional hour, not a mix of views.” Angela patted her hair, searching for any out-of-place strands as she turned her face side to side. “I imagine Finn will cop one of the prime-time statues himself when they come out. He’s well liked in the industry, and he’s been able to create a show that appeals to the news buffs as well as the viewer looking for entertainment.”

  “I thought you didn’t watch television.”

  Angela’s eyes sharpened. It surprised Deanna that their reflection didn’t leave slices on the glass. “I glance at something now and then, if I think it might interest me. Of course, Finn has always interested me.” Slowly, with relish, she glided her tongue over her lips. “Tell me, do his eyes still go that wicked cobalt shade when he’s aroused?” She dabbed perfume at her wrists. “You do manage to arouse him occasionally, don’t you?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I may do that—if I get him alone. Then again, if I get
him alone, he might forget all about you.” Smiling, she twirled up a spiral of hot pink lipstick. “So what would be the point?”

  Deanna wasn’t nervous any longer, she was simply irked. “The point might be that you’re married, and that Finn stopped being interested in you a long time ago.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Angela’s laugh was as brisk and chilly as a puff of December air. “Darling, if I decided to have an affair with Finn—and Dan’s a very understanding man, so my marriage is no obstacle—he’d not only be willing, he’d be grateful.”

  Moving beyond irked, Deanna felt little knots of tension twine in her stomach, but her smile came easily. “Angela.” There was a laugh in her voice. “Trying to make me jealous is a waste of time. You had sex with Finn. I know that. And I’m not naive enough to imagine he didn’t find you tremendously attractive and alluring. But what I have with him now is on an entirely different level. You’re only embarrassing yourself by trying to convince me he’s like some trained mutt who’ll come running if you snap your fingers.”

  Angela slapped the lid on the lipstick. “You’re very cool, aren’t you?”

  “No, not really. I’m just happy.” She sat then, hoping they could bury at least the sharpest edge of the hatchet. “Angela, we were friends once—or at least friendly. I’m grateful for the opportunity you gave me to learn and observe. Maybe the time’s passed where we can be friendly, but I don’t see why we have to snipe at each other. We’re competitors, but there’s more than enough room for both of us.”

  “Do you think you can compete with me?” Angela began to shake, from her shoulders down to her spine. “Do you really think you can come close to what I’ve achieved, to what I have, to what I’m going to have?”

  “Yes,” Deanna said, and rose. “Yes, I do. And I don’t have to resort to planting lies in the tabloids or low-level espionage to do it. You’ve been in the business long enough to tolerate a little heat, Angela.”

  “You cocky bitch. I’ll bury you.”

  “No, you won’t.” Her pulse was drumming now, a primitive tom-tom rhythm that pumped through her blood in anticipation of a fight. “You’re going to have a hell of a time keeping up with me.”

  On a cry of outrage, Angela snatched the champagne flute and tossed the contents in Deanna’s face. Two women who entered the room froze like statues as Angela followed up with a vicious slap.

  “You’re nothing,” Angela shrieked, her face as pink as the silk she wore. “Less than nothing. I’m the best. The fucking best.”

  She lunged, fingers curled and extended like claws. With a haze of fury misting her vision, Deanna struck out, her open palm cracking Angela’s flushed cheek. In an instant all movement froze. For once at least, they were both on equal terms. Horrified, the two women in the doorway gasped in unison and stared.

  “Ladies, excuse us.” Kate Lowell stepped out from the stalls to the lounge, and motioned to the women. They flew out again, obviously in a hurry to bear tidings. “Well, well, and I thought all the competition was going to be out there.”

  Dazed, Deanna stared down at her hand, which was still burning from the blow it had delivered. She blinked against the champagne stinging her eyes. “Oh hell.”

  Kate nodded to the outside door, still swinging from the exit of the other women. “It’s going to make an interesting sidebar in tomorrow’s Daytime Emmy coverage.” She smiled suddenly, a brilliant flash of perfect teeth. “Would you like me to referee?”

  “Stay out of this.” Teeth clenched, Angela took a step toward Deanna. She’d been humiliated now, publicly. That, above all, was intolerable. “And you stay out of my way. You’ve crossed the line.”

  “I didn’t turn the other cheek,” Deanna returned, “and I don’t intend to. So why don’t we try to stay out of each other’s way?”

  “You won’t win tonight.” With a hand that continued to tremble, Angela picked up her bag. “Or ever.”

  “Lousy exit line,” Kate mused as the door swung shut behind Angela.

  “I don’t know. It had potential.” Deanna closed her stinging eyes. “What now?”

  “Clean yourself up.” Kate moved forward briskly to run cold water on a snowy washcloth. “Put yourself back together and get out there.”

  “I lost my temper,” she began, then caught sight of herself in the mirror. “Oh Jesus.” Her cheeks were suffused with heat, dripping with wine. Her eyes were smoldering and smudged with mascara.

  “Put the image back on,” Kate advised, handing her the damp cloth. “And when you walk out, walk out with a smile.”

  “I think I should—” Braced for the worst, she spun toward the door as it swung open. Her already hot cheeks fired further as Finn strolled in.

  “I beg your pardon, ladies, but as a reporter it’s my duty to ask what the hell’s going on in here. Somebody said—” He broke off, taking in the scene with one pithy glance. “Christ, Kansas, I can’t leave you alone for a minute.” He sighed, picked up one of the dry, fluffy hand towels on the counter and offered it. “I didn’t think that was a maidenly blush I noticed on Angela’s cheek. Which one of you slugged her?”

  “The pleasure was Deanna’s.”

  He leaned over to kiss her damp cheek. “Nice going, champ.” He touched his tongue to her lip. “You’re supposed to drink the champagne, baby, not wear it.”

  Deanna set her shoulders and turned back to the mirror to deal with the damage. She would not be cowed, she promised herself. She simply would not be. “Just keep everyone out for five minutes, will you?”

  “Your category’s coming up,” he said casually as he headed for the door.

  “I’ll be there.”

  She was, makeup freshened, hair fluffed, nerves raw. She sat beside Finn, her hand clenched spasmodically over his. Out of camera range, she hoped.

  Her mind was as keen as a sword as she watched the presenters breeze or fumble their way through scripted jokes and into lists of nominees. She applauded politely, or occasionally with enthusiasm, as winners were announced and made their way to the stage.

  She filed every instant, every gesture, every word in her memory. Because it mattered now, horribly. She’d lost a good deal of the sweet excitement she’d felt when they’d rolled up in the limo. No, she thought, she wasn’t just the kid from Kansas now, dazzled by the lights and the luminaries. She was Deanna Reynolds, and she belonged.

  It wasn’t simply an award any longer, a pat on the back for a job well done.

  Now it was a symbol. The culmination of what had started so long ago. It was a symbol of triumph over the deceit, the manipulations, the ugly intrigue that had flashed into pathetic spite in a ladies’ washroom.

  The camera was on her. She could feel that cool, objective eye focus in. She could only hope that for once her emotions weren’t so clearly mirrored on her face. She heard Angela’s name announced, then her own.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. Then Finn lifted their joined hands to his lips and the sharpest edge of tension smoothed.

  “And the Emmy goes to . . .”

  God, how could it take so long to open one envelope?

  “Deanna Reynolds, for Deanna’s Hour, ‘When You Know Him.’ ”

  “Oh.” All the breath that had backed up in her lungs came out in that one long sound. Before she could take another, Finn’s mouth was over hers.

  “I never had a doubt.”

  “Me neither,” she lied, and was laughing as she rose out of the chair to walk through the applause to the stage.

  The award was cool and smooth in her hands. And solid as stone. She was afraid if she looked at it, she’d weep. Instead she looked out into the lights.

  “I want to thank my team, every one of them. They’re the best. And I want to thank the women who appeared on the show, who battled back their fears to bring a painful subject out of the dark. I can’t think of any show I’ve done, or will do, that could be as difficult or as rewarding for me. Thank you for giving me something to
remind me. Now I’m going backstage to stare at this beautiful lady.”

  After the speeches, the applause, the interviews and the parties, Deanna lay propped up in bed, resting in the curve of Finn’s shoulder. Casually, she crossed her feet at the ankles.

  “I think mine’s prettier than your National Press Award,” she