Private Scandals

She was Deanna Reynolds, and she belonged.
    It wasn’t simply an award any longer, a pat on the back for a job well done.
    Now it was a symbol. The culmination of what had started so long ago. It was a symbol of triumph over the deceit, the manipulations, the ugly intrigue that had flashed into pathetic spite in a ladies’ washroom.
    The camera was on her. She could feel that cool, objective eye focus in. She could only hope that for once her emotions weren’t so clearly mirrored on her face. She heard Angela’s name announced, then her own.
    She couldn’t catch her breath. Then Finn lifted their joined hands to his lips and the sharpest edge of tension smoothed.
    “And the Emmy goes to . . .”
    God, how could it take so long to open one envelope?
    “Deanna Reynolds, for Deanna’s Hour, ‘When You Know Him.’ ”
    “Oh.” All the breath that had backed up in her lungs came out in that one long sound. Before she could take another, Finn’s mouth was over hers.
    “I never had a doubt.”
    “Me neither,” she lied, and was laughing as she rose out of the chair to walk through the applause to the stage.
    The award was cool and smooth in her hands. And solid as stone. She was afraid if she looked at it, she’d weep. Instead she looked out into the lights.
    “I want to thank my team, every one of them. They’re the best. And I want to thank the women who appeared on the show, who battled back their fears to bring a painful subject out of the dark. I can’t think of any show I’ve done, or will do, that could be as difficult or as rewarding for me. Thank you for giving me something to remind me. Now I’m going backstage to stare at this beautiful lady.”
     
    After the speeches, the applause, the interviews and the parties, Deanna lay propped up in bed, resting in the curveof Finn’s shoulder. Casually, she crossed her feet at the ankles.
    “I think mine’s prettier than your National Press Award,” she said.
    “Mine’s more professional.”
    She pursed her lips, studying the gold statue standing on the bureau. “Mine’s shinier.”
    “Deanna.” He turned his head to kiss her temple. “You’re gloating.”
    “Yep. And I’m going to keep right on gloating. You’ve won all sorts of awards, Overseas Press Club, the George Polk. You can afford to be jaded.”
    “Who says I’m jaded? And when I win my Emmy it’ll be every bit as shiny as your Emmy.”
    With a delighted laugh, she rolled over to lie on top of him. “I won. I didn’t want to admit how badly I wanted that statue. After that scene with Angela, I felt I had to win. For me, yes, but also for everybody who works with me. When they called my name, I was flying. Really flying. It was great.”
    “An interesting evening all around.” He ran a hand down her spine, enjoying the way her body curved to his touch. “Tell me again how you demolished her.”
    Deanna’s lashes fluttered down. “I did not demolish her. It was a particularly effective but ladylike slap.”
    “Like hell.” Grinning, he tipped her face up, then laughed out loud at the unholy glee in her eyes.
    “I shouldn’t be proud of it.” She chuckled and sat up to straddle him, her body pale and naked. “But for just an instant, before I was horrified, I felt wonderful. Then I was numb, then I was furious all over again.” She linked her fingers, lifting her arms up high. “Besides, she started it.”
    “And you finished it. You can count on her coming after you with both barrels now.”
    “Let her. I feel invulnerable. Impervious.” She stretched high. “Incredible. It just can’t get any better than this.”
    “Yes, it can.” To prove it, he reared up, running a line of kisses up her torso. Her soft sigh glided through him. Herhands fluttered down to cradle his head.
    “You might be right.”
    The sky was pearling with dawn, chasing the shadows from the room. Her body arched back, already fluid and ready for his. They had loved once in delirious haste, and now moved together slowly, letting the needs smolder and the air spark.
    Gliding fingertips, whispering sighs, quiet urgings for more. Torso to torso they pressed together, tangled sheets pooled around them and morning sliding softly into the room. A touch, a taste, a subtle shift in rhythm. They lowered together to roll lazily over the bed, length to length.
    No rush, no hurry. Quiet explosions shuddered through her blood, then streamed away like silk until others built. Her mouth sought