Private Scandals

Angela.”
    “You cocky bitch. I’ll bury you.”
    “No, you won’t.” Her pulse was drumming now, a primitive tom-tom rhythm that pumped through her blood in anticipation of a fight. “You’re going to have a hell of a time keeping up with me.”
    On a cry of outrage, Angela snatched the champagne flute and tossed the contents in Deanna’s face. Two women who entered the room froze like statues as Angela followed up with a vicious slap.
    “You’re nothing,” Angela shrieked, her face as pink asthe silk she wore. “Less than nothing. I’m the best. The fucking best.”
    She lunged, fingers curled and extended like claws. With a haze of fury misting her vision, Deanna struck out, her open palm cracking Angela’s flushed cheek. In an instant all movement froze. For once at least, they were both on equal terms. Horrified, the two women in the doorway gasped in unison and stared.
    “Ladies, excuse us.” Kate Lowell stepped out from the stalls to the lounge, and motioned to the women. They flew out again, obviously in a hurry to bear tidings. “Well, well, and I thought all the competition was going to be out there.”
    Dazed, Deanna stared down at her hand, which was still burning from the blow it had delivered. She blinked against the champagne stinging her eyes. “Oh hell.”
    Kate nodded to the outside door, still swinging from the exit of the other women. “It’s going to make an interesting sidebar in tomorrow’s Daytime Emmy coverage.” She smiled suddenly, a brilliant flash of perfect teeth. “Would you like me to referee?”
    “Stay out of this.” Teeth clenched, Angela took a step toward Deanna. She’d been humiliated now, publicly. That, above all, was intolerable. “And you stay out of my way. You’ve crossed the line.”
    “I didn’t turn the other cheek,” Deanna returned, “and I don’t intend to. So why don’t we try to stay out of each other’s way?”
    “You won’t win tonight.” With a hand that continued to tremble, Angela picked up her bag. “Or ever.”
    “Lousy exit line,” Kate mused as the door swung shut behind Angela.
    “I don’t know. It had potential.” Deanna closed her stinging eyes. “What now?”
    “Clean yourself up.” Kate moved forward briskly to run cold water on a snowy washcloth. “Put yourself back together and get out there.”
    “I lost my temper,” she began, then caught sight of herself in the mirror. “Oh Jesus.” Her cheeks were suffused withheat, dripping with wine. Her eyes were smoldering and smudged with mascara.
    “Put the image back on,” Kate advised, handing her the damp cloth. “And when you walk out, walk out with a smile.”
    “I think I should—” Braced for the worst, she spun toward the door as it swung open. Her already hot cheeks fired further as Finn strolled in.
    “I beg your pardon, ladies, but as a reporter it’s my duty to ask what the hell’s going on in here. Somebody said—” He broke off, taking in the scene with one pithy glance. “Christ, Kansas, I can’t leave you alone for a minute.” He sighed, picked up one of the dry, fluffy hand towels on the counter and offered it. “I didn’t think that was a maidenly blush I noticed on Angela’s cheek. Which one of you slugged her?”
    “The pleasure was Deanna’s.”
    He leaned over to kiss her damp cheek. “Nice going, champ.” He touched his tongue to her lip. “You’re supposed to drink the champagne, baby, not wear it.”
    Deanna set her shoulders and turned back to the mirror to deal with the damage. She would not be cowed, she promised herself. She simply would not be. “Just keep everyone out for five minutes, will you?”
    “Your category’s coming up,” he said casually as he headed for the door.
    “I’ll be there.”
     
    She was, makeup freshened, hair fluffed, nerves raw. She sat beside Finn, her hand clenched spasmodically over his. Out of camera range, she hoped.
    Her mind was as keen as a sword as she watched the presenters breeze or fumble their way through scripted jokes and into lists of nominees. She applauded politely, or occasionally with enthusiasm, as winners were announced and made their way to the stage.
    She filed every instant, every gesture, every word in her memory. Because it mattered now, horribly. She’d lost a good deal of the sweet excitement she’d felt when they’drolled up in the limo. No, she thought, she wasn’t just the kid from Kansas now, dazzled by the lights and the luminaries.