Private Scandals

to each one of them, then miked, waited for her cue.
    Music. Applause. The objective red eye of the camera.
    “Welcome to Deanna’s Hour. Our show today deals with a painful subject. Rape in any form is tragic and horrible. It takes on a different dimension when the victim knows and trusts her attacker. Every woman on this stage has been a victim of what is called date, or acquaintance, rape. And we all have a story to tell. When it happened to me nearly ten years ago, I did nothing. I hope I’m doing something now.”

Chapter Seventeen
    T o celebrate Deanna’s first year on the air, Loren Bach threw a party in his penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan. Over the low music and chink of glasses, voices buzzed. Faintly, from the adjoining game room, came the beeps and bells of video games.
    In addition to the staff of the show and CBC and Delacort executives, he had invited a handful of carefully selected columnists and reporters. The publicity on Deanna since the May sweeps showed no sign of abating. Loren had no intention of allowing it to.
    While the ratings climbed, so did the advertising revenue. As Chicago’s darling rapidly became America’s darling, Deanna’s growing celebrity opened the doors to booking stellar names who breezed on the show to hype their hot summer movies and concert tours. She continued to mix the famous with segments on dealing with jealous spouses, choosing the right swimwear and computer dating.
    The result was a carefully crafted show with an appealing, casual, homey look. Deanna was at the core, as awestruck as her audience by the appearance of a glamorous movie star, as amused as they by the notion of choosing a mate with a machine, as wary and unnerved as any woman of stripping down to a bikini on a public beach.
    The girl-next-door image drew the audience. The sharp, practical mind behind it structured the vision.
    “Looks like you made it, kid.”
    Deanna smiled at Roger as she kissed his cheek. “Through the first year, anyway.”
    “Hey, in this business that’s a minor miracle.” He chose a baby carrot from his buffet plate and bit in with a sigh. He’d put on a few pounds over the past months. The camera gleefully advertised every ounce. “Too bad Finn couldn’t be here.”
    “The Soviets would pick my anniversary to stage a coup.” She tried not to worry about Finn, back in Moscow.
    “Have you heard from him?”
    “Not for a couple of days. I saw him on the news. Speaking of which, I caught your new promo. Very sharp.”
    “Our news team is your news team,” Roger said in his announcer’s voice. “Keeping Chicago informed.”
    “You and your new partner have a nice rhythm.”
    “She’s all right.” He switched to celery, found it just as bland. “Good voice, good face. But she doesn’t get my jokes.”
    “Rog, nobody gets your jokes.”
    “You did.”
    “No.” She patted his cheek. “I pretended I did, because I love you.”
    There was a quick pinch around his heart. “We still miss you around the newsroom.”
    “I miss you too, Roger. I’m sorry about you and Debbie.”
    He shrugged, but the wounds of his recent divorce were still tender. “You know what they say, Dee. Shit happens. Maybe I’ll be looking into that computer dating.”
    She gave a snort of laughter and squeezed his hand. “I have one word of advice on that. Don’t.”
    “Well, since Finn’s busy hopping all over the globe, maybe you’d be interested in a stable, slightly older man.”
    She would have laughed again, but she wasn’t entirely sure he was joking. “There happens to be this stable, slightly older man whose friendship means a lot to me.”
    “Hi, Dee.”
    “Jeff.”
    “I saw you didn’t have a glass, and thought you might like some champagne.”
    “Thanks. You never miss a detail. I pulled a coup of my own when I stole Jeff away from the news department,” she told Roger. “We’d never get Deanna’s Hour on the air without him.”
    He beamed with pleasure. “I just pick up the loose ends.”
    “And tie them up in a bow.”
    “Excuse me.” Barlow James slipped behind Deanna and circled her waist with his arm. “I need to steal the star for a moment, gentlemen. You’re looking fit, Roger.”
    “Thanks, Mr. James.” With a wan smile, Roger held up another carrot. “I’m working on it.”
    “I won’t keep her long,” Barlow promised, and led Deanna toward the open terrace doors. “You look more than fit,” he commented. “You look