Private Scandals

her nerves were raw and her temper short, but by midmorning Deanna found some comfort in the basic officeroutine. Bookings had to be rearranged and rescheduled, others fell through completely due to the time lapse. New story ideas were devised and discussed. Once word spread that Deanna was back in harness, the phones began to shrill. People from the newsroom popped upstairs, out of both genuine concern and pure curiosity.
    “Benny’s hoping you’ll do an interview,” Roger told her. “An exclusive for old times’ sake.”
    Deanna passed him half the sandwich she was nibbling at her now overburdened desk. “Benny thinks a lot of old times’ sake.”
    “It’s news, Dee. And pretty hot when you consider it happened right here at CBC and involved two major stars.”
    A major star, she thought. What was the difference between a major star and a minor one? She knew what Loren would have said: A minor star sought airtime. A major star sold it.
    “Give me some time, will you?” She rubbed at the tension in the back of her neck. “Tell him I’m thinking about it.”
    “Sure.” His gaze wandered from hers to his own hands. “I’d appreciate it, if you decide to do it, if you let me do the interview.” His eyes cut back to her, then away again. “I could use the boost. There are rumors of cutbacks in the newsroom again.”
    “There are always rumors of cutbacks in the newsroom.” She resented the favor he was asking, and wished she didn’t. “All right, Roger, for old times’ sake. Just give me a couple of days.”
    “You’re a peach, Dee.” And he felt like sludge. “I’d better get down. I’ve got some bumpers to tape.” He rose, leaving the sandwich untouched. “It’s good to have you back. You know if you need a friendly ear, I’ve got two.”
    “Off the record?”
    He had the grace to flush. “Sure. Off the record.”
    She held up both hands as if to gesture the words back. “Sorry. I’m touchy, I guess. I’ll have Cassie set up an interview in a day or two, all right?”
    “Whenever you’re ready.” He walked to the door. “This really sucks,” he murmured as he shut the door behind him.
    “You bet.” Deanna leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes, letting herself hear only the impersonal murmur of the television across the room. Angela was dead, she thought, and that made her a hotter news item than she had ever been when she was alive.
    The really horrid bottom line, Deanna knew, was that she was now hot news as well. And hot news made for hot ratings. Since the murder, Deanna’s Hour —reruns of Deanna’s Hour, she corrected—had spurted up in points, pummeling the competition. No game show or daytime drama could hope to withstand the mighty weight of murder and scandal.
    Angela had given her greatest rival the success she’d hoped to take away. She’d only had to die to do it.
    “Deanna?”
    Her heart flew to her throat, her eyes sprang open. On the other side of her desk, Simon jumped as violently as she. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I guess you didn’t hear me knock.”
    “That’s okay.” Disgusted with her reaction, she chuckled weakly. “My nerves don’t seem to be as strong as I thought. You look exhausted.”
    He tried to smile, but couldn’t bring it off. “Having trouble sleeping.” He fumbled out a cigarette.
    “I thought you’d quit.”
    “Me too.” Embarrassed, he moved his shoulders. “I know you said you wanted to start taping on Monday.”
    “That’s right. Is there a problem?”
    “It’s just that . . .” He trailed off, puffing hard on the cigarette. “I thought, under the circumstances—but maybe it doesn’t matter to you. It just seemed to me . . .”
    Deanna wondered if she grabbed onto his tongue and pulled, if the words would spill out. “What?”
    “The set,” he blurted out, and passed a nervous hand over his thinning hair. “I thought you might want to change the set. The chairs . . . you know.”
    “Oh God.” She pressed a fist to her mouth as the vision of Angela, sitting cozily, sitting dead in the spacious white chair, flashed into her mind. “Oh God, I haven’t thought.”
    “I’m sorry, Deanna.” For lack of something better he patted her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m an idiot.”
    “No. No. Thank God you did. I don’t think I could have handled . . .” She imagined herself striding out on the set, then freezing in shock and horror. Would she have run