Private Scandals

Want Mine.” She lifted the slim volume from the small round table between the chairs, angling it toward Camera Two. “Jonathan, you’ve subtitled this book Healthy Selfishness. What inspired you to write about a trait most people consider a character flaw?”
    “Well, Deanna.” He chuckled, a small man with a sunny smile who was sweating profusely under the lights. “I wanted mine.”
    Good answer, she thought, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to elaborate without a little prompting. “And who doesn’t, if we’re honest?” she said, trying to loosen him up with a sense of comradeship. “Jonathan, you state in your book that this healthy selfishness is quashed by parents and caregivers, right from the nursery.”
    “Exactly.” His frozen, brilliant smile remained fixed while his eyes darted in panic.
    Deanna shifted subtly, laying her hand over his rigid fingers just under camera range. Her eyes radiated interest, her touch communicated support. “You believe the demand of adults that children share toys sets an unnatural precedent.” She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. “Don’t you feel that sharing is a basic form of courtesy?”
    “Not at all.” And he began to tell her why. Though his explanations were delivered in fits and starts, she was able to smooth over the awkwardness, guiding him through the three-minute-fifteen-second spot.
    “That’s I Want Mine, by Jonathan Monroe,” she said to the camera, winding up. “Available in your bookstores now. Thank you so much for joining us today, Jonathan.”
    “It was a pleasure. As a side note, I’m currently working on my second book, Get Out of My Way, I Was Here First. It’s about healthy aggression.”
    “Best of luck with it. We’ll be back in a moment with the rest of the Midday News.” Once they were into commercial, she smiled at Jonathan. “You were great. I appreciate your coming in.”
    “I hope I did okay.” The minute his mike was removed, Jonathan whipped out a handkerchief to mop his brow. “First time on TV.”
    “You did fine. I think this will generate a lot of local interest in your book.”
    “Really?”
    “Absolutely. Would you mind signing this for me?”
    Beaming again, he took the book and pen she offered. “You sure made it easy, Deanna. I did a radio interview this morning. The DJ hadn’t even read the back blurb.”
    She took the autographed book, rising. Part of her mind, most of her energy, was already at the news desk across the studio. “That makes it hard on everyone. Thanks again,” she said, offering her hand. “I hope you’ll come back with your next book.”
    “I’d love to.” But she’d already walked away, maneuvering nimbly over snaking piles of cable to take her place behind the counter on the news set. After slipping the book underthe counter, she hooked her mike to the lapel of her red suit.
    “Another screwball.” The comment from her co-anchor, Roger Crowell, was typical.
    “He was very nice.”
    “You think everyone’s very nice.” Grinning, Roger checked his hand mirror, gave his tie a minute adjustment. He had a good face for the camera—mature, trustworthy, with distinguished flecks of gray at the temples of his rust-colored hair. “Especially the screwballs.”
    “That’s why I love you, Rog.”
    This caused snickering among the camera crew. Whatever response Roger might have made was cut off by the floor director signaling time. While the TelePrompTer rolled, Roger smiled into the camera, setting the tone for a soft segment on the birth of twin tigers at the zoo.
    “That’s all for Midday. Stay tuned for Let’s Cook! This is Roger Crowell.”
    “And Deanna Reynolds. See you tomorrow.”
    As the closing music tinkled in her earpiece, Deanna turned to smile at Roger. “You’re a softy, pal. You wrote that piece on the baby tigers yourself. It had your fingerprints all over it.”
    He flushed a little, but winked. “Just giving them what they want, babe.”
    “And we’re clear.” The floor director stretched his shoulders. “Nice show, people.”
    “Thanks, Jack.” Deanna was already unhooking her mike.
    “Hey, want to get some lunch?” Roger was always ready to eat, and countered his love affair with food with his personal trainer. There was no disguising pounds from the merciless eye of the camera.
    “Can’t. I’ve got an assignment.”
    Roger rose. Beneath his impeccable blue serge jacket, he wore a pair of eye-popping Bermuda shorts.