Private Scandals

thinking about Hawaii all day.”
    “So have I. And about you.” He had her taped image freeze-framed on his set, quietly arousing himself with her image and her voice. “I’m very indebted to Angela Perkins for bringing us together.”
    “Me too. Sleep well, Marshall.”
    “I will. Good night, Deanna.”
    Warm and content, Deanna replaced the receiver. Hugging herself, she laughed and indulged in a dreamy fantasy. She and Marshall walking along the beach while the sun dripped color into the water. Soft breezes. Soft words. The gentle tug low in her stomach pleased her. Normal, she told herself. Certainly that proved she was a normal woman with normal needs. She was ready to take the next step toward fulfilling them. She was eager to.
    Only seconds after she switched off the lamp and snuggled down, the phone rang again. Chuckling to herself, she lifted the receiver in the dark.
    “Hi,” she murmured. “Did you forget something?”
    There was only echoing silence in response.
    “Marshall?” Her sleepy voice shifted into puzzlement. “Hello? Who’s there?” Then into unease as the dull silence continued. “Hello? Is anyone there?” The quiet click brought on a quick shudder.
    Wrong number, Deanna assured herself as she hung up. But she was cold. And it was a long time before she warmed again and slept.
     
    Someone else lay awake in the dark. The ghostly light from the television screen was the only relief. Deanna smiledthere, looking out into the room, looking directly into the eyes of her audience of one. Her voice, so smooth, so sweet, so seductive, played over and over on the recorder as it was rewound.
    “I’m Deanna Reynolds. Good night. I’m Deanna Reynolds. Good night. I’m Deanna Reynolds. Good night.”
    “Good night.” The answering whisper was soft, no more than a purr of pleasure.
     
    Angela had planned every detail meticulously. Standing in the center of her office, she turned a slow circle. Everything was ready. There was a faint fragrance of jasmine in the air from the vase of flowers on the table by the love seat. The television set, for once, was blank. The quiet strains of Chopin eased through the speakers of the stereo. Beeker had been very thorough in his report. Marshall Pike preferred classical music, romantic settings and a woman with style. She wore the same trim designer suit she’d worn for that morning’s taping, but she’d removed the blouse. The jacket fit with a snug “V,” and there was a cunning hint of black lace teasing the cleavage.
    At precisely eleven o’clock, she answered the buzzer on her desk. “Yes, Cassie.”
    “Dr. Pike is here, Miss Perkins.”
    “Ah, good.” A feline smile crossed her face as she walked toward the office door. She liked a man to be prompt. “Marshall.” She held out both hands to grip his, easing forward and tilting her head to offer her cheek. And to give him an interesting glimpse of black lace. “I really appreciate your making time for me today.”
    “You said it was important.”
    “Oh, and it is. Cassie, would you mind taking those letters right to the post office? Then you can go ahead and take your lunch. I won’t need you back here until one.” Turning, Angela led Marshall into her office, being certain to leave the door open a few inches. “What can I get you, Marshall? Something cold?” She trailed a fingertip down her jacket. “Something hot?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Well then, let’s sit down.” She took his hand again, steered him toward the love seat. “It’s awfully good to see you again.”
    “It’s good to see you, too.” Puzzled, he watched her settle back, her skirt riding up on her thigh as she crossed her legs.
    “You know how pleased I am with the help you’ve given me on the show, but I asked you here today to discuss something more personal.”
    “Oh?”
    “You’ve been seeing a lot of Deanna.”
    He relaxed and struggled to keep his eyes from roaming down from her face. “Yes, I have. In fact, I’ve been meaning to call you and thank you for indirectly bringing us together.”
    “I’m very fond of her. As I’m sure you are,” she added, laying a hand lightly on his thigh. “All that energy, that youthful enthusiasm. A beautiful girl.”
    “Yes, she is.”
    “And so sweet. Wholesome, really.” Angela’s fingers stroked lightly along his leg. “Not your usual type.”
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “You’re a man who’s attracted to experience, to a