Private Scandals

“Can you believe it? He really thinks if he blankets me in enough posies, I’ll forget everything.”
    “Want to have a men-are-scum session? Richard’s playing golf, so he can’t be offended.”
    “No, thanks.” For the first time, she focused on her friend. “Fran, you just rolled up a gray sock with a blue one.”
    “I know. It adds a little excitement to the mornings. I gotta tell you, Dee, Richard’s getting staid. You know, Saturday golf dates, three-piece suits. The house in the ’burbs we’re buying. Jesus, we used to be rebels. Now we’re . . .” Sheshuddered, lowered her voice. “Mainstream.”
    Laughing, Deanna sat cross-legged on the floor. “I’ll believe that when you buy a Volvo and an espresso machine.”
    “I almost bought one of those ‘Baby On Board’ signs the other day. I came to my senses just in time.”
    “Then you’re okay. I haven’t even asked how you’re feeling.”
    “Fabulous, really.” Fran jabbed a loose pin back into her messy topknot. “All these women at work who’ve had kids look at me with scorn and envy. They have all these horror stories about pregnancy—morning sickness, fainting, water retention. And I feel like Rocky.” She lifted an arm, flexed her muscle and managed to make a couple of freckles ripple. “Like I could go the distance without breaking a sweat.” Lips pursed, she held up a checked argyle and a white sweat sock. “What do you think?”
    “Why be subtle?” For the next few minutes they worked silently, folding laundry. “Fran, I’ve been thinking.”
    “I wondered when you’d get around to it. I could practically see the idea hopping around in your brain.”
    “It could be impractical,” Deanna mused. “Hell, it could be impossible. After I run it by you, I want you to be completely honest.”
    “All right.” Fran shoved the laundry basket away with one bare foot. “Shoot.”
    “Delacort, Angela’s old syndicate, is going to have a big hole in their line-up and in their revenue. I’m sure they can fill it adequately enough, but . . . Did you know Delacort’s CEO was Angela’s second husband?”
    “Sure. Loren Bach.” Aside from the occasional grisly mystery, Fran’s favorite reading was gossip rags, and she wasn’t ashamed of it. If you wanted to know what celebrity was doing what with whom, and where, she was your girl. “They hooked up right after she ditched her first one—the real estate tycoon. Anyway, Loren Bach put a lot of money and muscle behind our girl. Made her a star.”
    “And though there were a few rumors, and some itemsin gossip columns to the contrary, they supposedly parted amicably.” That much, Deanna had read. “Knowing Angela the way I do now, I really doubt that.”
    Fran’s eyebrows wiggled. Not only did she love gossip, she loved dirty gossip best. “Word was she cost him a cool two million in the settlement, plus the house and furnishings, so I’d make it four mil. I wouldn’t think Bach would have too much residual affection for our heroine.”
    “Exactly. And Bach has a long-standing relationship with Barlow James, the president of CBC’s news division.” Deanna rubbed her nervous hands on her knees. “And Mr. James likes my work.”
    Fran cocked her head, her eyes bright as a bird’s. “So?”
    “So I’ve got some money saved, I’ve got some connections.” The idea had her heart jittering so that she pressed the heel of her hand against it as if to slow its pace. She wanted this very much, maybe too much. Enough, she realized, to skip several steps of her carefully calculated career plan. “I want to rent a studio, put together a tape. I want to pitch it to Loren Bach.”
    “Jesus.” Fran leaned back against the cushions of the couch and goggled. “Is this you talking?”
    “I know how it sounds, but I’ve thought it through. Bach moved Angela from a small, local show to a national hit. He could do it again. I’m hoping he wants to do it again, not only for his company, but personally. I can put together a series of clips from ‘Deanna’s Corner’ and my news reports. I think I can get Barlow James to back me. And if I had a pilot, something simple and slick, I might have a shot.” She rose again, too excited to sit. “The timing’s perfect. The syndicate’s still reeling from Angela’s defection, and they haven’t groomed a successor. If I could convince them to give me a chance locally, a handful of markets in the Midwest, I know I