Private Scandals

Would Be Saga.”
    “You got a promotion?”
    “Nope.”
    “Richard got one?”
    “No, though a junior partnership at Dowell, Dowell and Fritz may be in the offing.” She drew a deep breath. Her redhead’s complexion flushed like a blooming rose. “I’m pregnant.”
    “What?” Deanna blinked. “Pregnant? Really?” Laughing, she slid down on the couch to grasp Fran’s hands. “A baby? This is wonderful. This is incredible.” Deanna threw her arms around Fran to squeeze, then pulled back sharply to study her friend’s face. “Isn’t it?”
    “You bet it is. We weren’t planning on it for another year or two, but hell, it takes nine months, right?”
    “Last I heard. You’re happy. I can see it. I just can’t believe—” She stopped, jerked back again. “Jesus, Fran. You’ve been here nearly an hour, and you’re just getting around to telling me. Talk about burying the lead.”
    Feeling smug, Fran patted her flat belly. “I wanted everything else out of the way so you could concentrate on me. Us.”
    “No problem there. Are you sick in the mornings or anything?”
    “Me?” Fran quirked a brow. “With my cast-iron stomach?”
    “Right. What did Richard say?”
    “Before or after he stopped dancing on the ceiling?”
    Deanna laughed again, then sprang up to do a quick spin of her own. A baby, she thought. She had to plan a shower, shop for stuffed animals, buy savings bonds. “We have to celebrate.”
    “What did we do in college when we had something to celebrate?”
    “Chinese and cheap white wine,” Deanna said with a grin. “Perfect, with the adjustment of Grade A milk.”
    Fran winced, then shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to get used to it. I do have a favor to ask.”
    “Name it.”
    “Work on that career plan, Dee. I think I’d like my kid to have a star for a godmommy.”
     
    When the phone rang at six A . M ., Deanna pulled herself out of sleep and into a hangover. Clutching her head with one hand, she fumbled for the receiver with the other.
    “Reynolds.”
    “Deanna, darling, I’m so sorry to wake you.”
    “Angela?”
    “Who else would be rude enough to call you at this hour?” Angela’s light laugh came through the phone as Deanna blearily looked at the clock. “I have an enormous favor to ask. We’re taping today, and Lew’s down with a virus.”
    “I’m sorry.” Valiantly, Deanna cleared her throat and managed to sit up.
    “These things happen. It’s just that we’re dealing with a sensitive issue today, and when I considered it, I realized you would really be the perfect one to handle the guests offstage. That’s Lew’s area, you know, so I’m really in a bind.”
    “What about Simon, or Maureen?” Her brain might have been cloudy, but Deanna remembered the chain of command.
    “Neither one of them are suited for this. Simon doesexcellent pre-interviews over the phone, and God knows Maureen’s a jewel at handling transportation and lodging arrangements. But these guests require a very special touch. Your touch.”
    “I’d be glad to help, Angela, but I’m due in to the station at nine.”
    “I’ll clear it with your producer, dear. He owes me. Simon can handle the second taping, but if you could just see your way clear to helping me out this morning, I’d be so grateful.”
    “Sure.” Deanna shoved her tousled hair back and resigned herself to a quick cup of coffee and a bottle of aspirin. “As long as there’s no conflict.”
    “Don’t worry about that. I still have clout with the news department. I’ll need you here by eight, sharp. Thanks, honey.”
    “All right, but—”
    Still dazed, Deanna stared at the phone as the dial tone hummed. A couple of details had been overlooked, she mused. What the hell was this morning’s topic, and who were the guests that needed such special care?
     
    Deanna stepped into the green room with an uneasy smile on her face and a fresh pot of coffee in her hand. She knew the topic now, and scanned the seven scheduled guests cautiously, like a veteran soldier surveying a mine field.
    Marital triangles. Deanna took a bracing breath. Two couples and the other women who had almost destroyed their marriages. A mine field might have been safer.
    “Good morning.” The room remained ominously silent except for the murmur of the morning news from the television. “I’m Deanna Reynolds. Welcome to Angela’s. Can I freshen anyone’s coffee?”
    “Thank you.” The man seated in a chair in the