Private Scandals

nearly an hour.
    A ridiculous waste of time, she told herself, and rose from the chair to work out kinks. Work, she told herself firmly, and started to shrug out of her suit jacket as she turned back to her desk.
    And there were roses. Two perfectly matched blooms speared up from the water glass in the center of her desk. In instant denial, she stepped forward, her eyes cutting across the room to where she had set the single flower earlier. It was no longer there. No longer there, she thought dully, because it was now on her desk, joined by its mate.
    She rubbed the heel of her hand against her breastbone as she stared at the roses. Cassie might have done it, she thought. Or Simon or Jeff or Margaret. Anyone who’d been working late. One of them had found the second rose somewhere and had brought it in, slipped it in with the first. And seeing her sleeping, had simply left them on her desk.
    Seeing her sleeping. A shudder ran through her, weakening her legs. She’d been asleep. Alone, defenseless. As she sagged against the arm of the chair, she saw the tape resting on her blotter. She could tell from the manufacturer’s label it wasn’t the type they used on the show.
    No note this time. Perhaps a note wasn’t necessary. She thought about running, rushing pell-mell out of the office. There would be people in the newsroom. Plenty of people working the swing between the evening and the late news.
    She wasn’t alone.
    A telephone call would summon security. An elevator ride would take her into the bustle of activity a few floors below.
    No, she wasn’t alone, and there was no reason to be afraid. There was every reason to play the tape.
    She wiped her damp palms on her hips before taking the tape from its sleeve and sliding it into the VCR slot.
    The first few seconds after she hit Play were a blank, blue screen. When Deanna watched the picture flicker on, her forehead creased in concentration. She recognized her building, heard the whoosh of traffic through the audio. A few people breezed by on the sidewalk, in shirtsleeves, indicating warm weather.
    She watched herself come through the outside door, her hair flowing around her shoulders. Dazed, she lifted a hand, combing her fingers through the short cap. She watched herself check her watch. The camera zoomed in on her face, her eyes smoky with impatience. She could hear, hideously, the sound of the camera operator’s unsteady breathing.
    A CBC van streaked up to the curb. The picture faded out.
    And faded in. She was strolling along Michigan with Fran. Her arms were loaded with shopping bags. She wore a thick sweater and a suede jacket. As she turned her head to laugh at Fran, the picture froze, holding steady on her laughing face until dissolve.
    There were more than a dozen clips, snippets of her life. A trip to the market, her arrival at a charity function, a stroll through Water Tower Place, playing with Aubrey in the park, signing autographs at a mall. Her hair short now, her wardrobe indicating the change of seasons.
    Through it all, the mood-setting soundtrack of quiet breathing.
    The last clip was of her sleeping, curled in her office chair.
    She continued to stare after the screen sizzled with snow. Fear had crept back, chilling her blood so that she stood shivering in the slanted light of the desk lamp.
    For years he’d been watching her, she thought. Stalking her. Invading small personal moments of her life and making them his. And she’d never noticed.
    Now he wanted her to know. He wanted her to understand how close he was. How much closer he could be.
    Leaping forward, she fumbled with the Eject button, finally pounded it with her fist. She grabbed her bag, stuffing the tape inside as she dashed from the office. The corridor was dark, shadowy from the backwash of light from her office. A pulse beat in the base of her neck as she dashed to the elevator.
    Her breath was sobbing when she pushed the button. She whirled around and pressed her back to the wall, scanning the shadows wildly for movement.
    “Hurry, hurry.” She pressed a hand to her mouth as her voice echoed mockingly down the empty corridor.
    The rumble of the elevator made her jump. Nearly crying out in relief, she spun toward the doors, then fell back when she saw a form move away from the corner of the car and step toward her.
    “Hey, Dee. Did I give you a jolt?” Roger stepped closer as the doors slithered closed at his back. “Hey, kid, you’re white as a