Private Scandals

timing had been poor with Deanna’s Hour steadily closing the distance in points.
    There were other mistakes, other errors in judgment, the largest being Dan Gardner. As the power shifted gradually from Angela’s hands to those of her lover and executive producer, the tone of the show altered subtly.
    “More complaints, Lew?”
    “It’s not a complaint, Angela.” He wondered how many hours of his life he’d spent standing beside her chair in her dressing room. “I only wanted to say again that I think it’s a mistake to have a homeless family on the program with a man like Trent Walker. He’s a shark, Angela.”
    “Really?” She took a slow drag on her cigarette. “I found him quite charming.”
    “Sure, he’s charming. He was real charming when he bought that shelter then turned the building into high-priced condos.”
    “It’s called urban renewal, Lew. In any case, it should be fascinating to see him debate with a family of four who are currently living in their station wagon. Not only topical”—she crushed out the cigarette—“but excellent TV. I hope he wears the gold cuff links.”
    “If it goes the wrong way, it may look as though you’re unsympathetic to the plight of the homeless.”
    “And what if I am?” Her voice cracked like a whip. “There are jobs out there. Too many of these people would rather take a handout than earn an honest living.” She thought of the way she’d waited tables and cleaned up slop to pay for her education. The humiliation of it. “Not all of us were born to the good life, Lew. When my book comes out next month, you can read along with everyone else how I overcame my modest beginnings and worked my way to the top.” With a sigh, she dismissed the hairdresser. “That’s fine, dear, run along. Lew, let me say first that I don’t appreciate your second-guessing me in front of members of my staff.”
    “Angela, I wasn’t—”
    “And second,” she interrupted, still frigidly pleasant. “There’s no need for concern. I have no intention of lettinganything 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 frostypink 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