Private Scandals

and most important, he was wildly popular with women, particularly in the coveted eighteen-to-forty category.
    CBC ushered the show onto the air with plenty of hype. Promos were run, ads were designed, theme music was composed. By the time the set, with its three-dimensional world map and sleek glass counter, was constructed, Finn and the three reporters on his team were already hard at work.
    His vision of the project was much simpler than jazzy promotion spots or expensive props. He was, as he told Deanna, doing something he’d always fantasized about. He was coming in as relief pitcher after the seventh-inning stretch. All he had to do was throw strikes.
    With his first program, he managed to strike out the competition with a thirty-percent share. Around water coolers the next morning, Americans chatted about the U.S. chances for Olympic gold, and Finn Riley’s cagey interview with Boris Yeltsin.
    In the spirit of friendly competition, Deanna scheduled a program featuring Rob Winters, a veteran film actor whose directorial debut was winning critical and popular acclaim.
    Charming, handsome and cozily at home in front of the camera, Rob kept both the studio and viewing audiences entertained. His final anecdote, involving the filming of a steamy love scene and an unexpected invasion of sea gulls, closed the show with a roar of laughter.
    “I can’t thank you enough for doing the show.” Deanna clasped his hand warmly after he’d finished signing autographs for lingering members of the audience.
    “I nearly didn’t.” While security ushered the last of the audience from the studio, he studied Deanna carefully. “To be frank, the only reason I agreed to come on was because I was pressured not to.” He flashed his famous grin. “That’s why I have a reputation for being difficult.”
    “I’m not sure I understand. Your agent advised you against doing this?”
    “Among others.” Deanna studied him, confused. “Got a minute?” he asked.
    “Of course. Would you like to go upstairs to my office?”
    “Fine. I could use a drink.” His quick smile was back. “You’d last about twenty minutes in Hollywood with eyes like that.” He put a friendly hand on her arm as they walked on set toward the elevator. “If you let enough people see what you’re thinking, you’ll be gobbled up and swallowed whole.”
    Deanna stepped inside the elevator, pushed the button for the sixteenth floor. “And what am I thinking?”
    “That it’s barely ten o’clock in the morning and I’m going to start knocking back doubles.” His grin was as fast and potent as a jigger of whiskey. “You’re thinking I should have stayed at Betty Ford a little longer.”
    “You did tell me during the show that you didn’t drink any longer.”
    “I don’t—alcohol. My newest addiction is Diet Pepsi with a twist of lime. A little embarrassing, but I’m man enough to handle it.”
    “Deanna—” Cassie turned from her workstation. When she saw the man beside Deanna, her eyes popped wide open.
    “Did you need me for something, Cassie?”
    “What?” She blinked, flushed, but didn’t take her eyes off Rob’s face. “No—no, it’s nothing.”
    “Rob, this is Cassie, my secretary and sergeant at arms.”
    “Nice to meet you.” Rob took her limp hand in both of his.
    “I enjoy your work, Mr. Winters. We’re all thrilled you could do the show today.”
    “My pleasure.”
    “Cassie, hold my calls, please. I’ll fix you that drink,” she told Rob as she led him into her office.
    The room had changed considerably from the early days. The walls were painted a bold teal, and the carpet had been replaced by oak flooring and geometric rugs. The furniture was streamlined and built for comfort. Gesturing Rob to a chair, she opened a compact refrigerator.
    “I haven’t been up here in four or five years, I guess.” He stretched out his long legs and glanced around. “It’s an improvement.” He looked back at Deanna. “But then, pastel pinks probably aren’t your style.”
    “I suppose not.” She sliced lime and added it to two iced soft drinks. “I’m curious why your agent advised you against doing the show.” Curious wasn’t the word, but she kept her voice mild. “We do our best to make our guests comfortable.”
    “It probably had something to do with a call from New York.” He accepted the glass, waited until Deanna took a seat. “From Angela Perkins.”
    “Angela?” Baffled, she shook her head.