Private Scandals

in accordance with CBC’s end of the deal, during the probationary period. We’ll be carried by ten affiliates in the Midwest—live in Chicago, Dayton and Indianapolis. We have six weeks to put it together before we premiere in August.”
    “You’re really doing it.”
    With a half laugh, Deanna turned back. She wasn’t smilinglike Fran, but her eyes were glowing. “I’m really doing it.” She took a deep breath, grateful that none of Angela’s signature scent remained in the air. “My agent said the money they’re paying me is a slap in the face.” Now she grinned. “I told him to turn the other cheek.”
    “An agent.” Fran shook her head and sent her cowbell earrings dancing. “You’ve got an agent.”
    Deanna turned toward the window and grinned out at Chicago. She’d chosen a small, local firm, one that could focus on her needs, her goals.
    “I’ve got an agent,” she agreed. “And a syndicate—at least for six months. I hope I’ve got a producer.”
    “Sweet pea, you know—”
    “Before you say anything, let me finish.” Deanna turned back. Behind her, the spears and towers of the city shot up into the dull gray sky. “It’s a risk, Fran, a big one. If things don’t work out, we could be out on our butts in a few months. You’ve got a solid job at Woman Talk, and a baby on the way. I don’t want you to jeopardize that for friendship.”
    “Okay, I won’t.” Fran shrugged, and because there was no place to sit, settled on the floor, grateful for the give of elastic over her expanding waist. “I’ll do it for ego. Fran Myers, Executive Producer. Has a nice ring.” She circled her knees with her arms. “When do we start?”
    “Yesterday.” Laughing, Deanna sat beside her, slung an arm over her shoulders. “We need staff. I might be able to lure in some of Angela’s who got pink-slipped or didn’t want to relocate. We need story ideas and people to research them. The budget I have to work with is slim, so we’ll have to keep it simple.” She stared at the bare, pastel walls. “Next contract, it’ll be a hell of a lot bigger.”
    “The first thing you need is a couple of chairs, a desk and a phone. As producer, I’ll see what I can beg, borrow or steal.” She scrambled to her feet. “But first, I have to go tender my resignation.”
    Deanna caught her hand. “You’re sure?”
    “Damn right. I already discussed the possibility withRichard. We looked at it this way: If things go belly-up in six months, I’d be ready for maternity leave anyway.” She patted her stomach and grinned. “I’ll call you.” She paused at the doorway. “Oh, one more thing. Let’s paint these damn walls.”
    Alone, Deanna pulled her knees up to her chest and lowered her head. It was all happening so fast. All the meetings, the negotiations, the paperwork. She didn’t mind the long hours; she thrived on them. And the realization of an ambition brought with it a burst of energy that was all but manic. But beneath the excitement was a small, very cold ball of terror.
    It was all going in the right direction. Once she adjusted to the new pace, she’d get her bearings. And if she failed, she would simply go back a few steps and start again.
    But she wouldn’t regret.
    “Ms. Reynolds?”
    Thoughts scattering, Deanna looked up and saw Angela’s secretary in the doorway. “Cassie.” With a rueful smile, she glanced around. “Things look a little different these days.”
    “Yeah.” Cassie’s own smile came and went. “I was just getting some things out of the outer office. I thought I should let you know.”
    “That’s all right. It won’t be my territory officially until next week.” She rose and smoothed down her skirt. “I heard you’d decided not to make the move to New York.”
    “My family’s here. And I guess I’m Midwest through and through.”
    “It’s rough.” Deanna studied her, the short, tidy curls, the sad eyes. “Do you have something else?”
    “Not yet. I’ve got some interviews lined up, though. Miss Perkins made the announcement, and a week later she’s gone. I haven’t gotten used to it.”
    “I’m sure you’re not alone there.”
    “I’ll get out of your way. I just had some plants to take home. Good luck with your new show.”
    “Thanks. Cassie.” Deanna stepped forward, hesitated. “Could I ask you something?”
    “Sure.”
    “You worked for Angela for about four years, right?”
    “It would have been four years in September. I