Private Scandals

sand and sweat and grit of two days and nights in the desert. He felt a sweet, almost romantic longing for the yeasty tang of an American brew. He settled for orange juice and stretched out on the bed, coolly naked, quietly exhausted. Eyes closed, he groped for the phone to begin the complicated and often frustrating process of calling the States.
     
    The phone woke Deanna out of a dead sleep. Her first jumbled thought was that it was a wrong number again, probably the same idiot who had dragged her out of a soothing bath earlier, only to hang up without apology. Already cranky, she jiggled the phone off the hook.
    “Reynolds.”
    “Must be, what? Five-thirty in the morning there.” Finn kept his eyes closed and smiled at the husky sound of her voice. “Sorry.”
    “Finn?” Shaking off sleep, Deanna pushed herself up in bed and reached for the light. “Where are you?”
    “Enjoying the hospitality of our Saudi hosts. Did you have any watermelon today?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Watermelon. The sun’s a bitch here, especially about ten in the morning. That’s when I started to have this fantasy about watermelon. Curt got me going, then the crew started torturing themselves. Snow cones, mint juleps, cold fried chicken.”
    “Finn,” Deanna said slowly. “Are you all right?”
    “Just tired.” He rubbed a hand over his face to pull himself back. “We spent a couple of days out in the desert. The food sucks, the heat’s worse and the fucking flies . . . I don’t want to think about the flies. I’ve been up for about thirty hours, Kansas. I’m a little punchy.”
    “You should get some sleep.”
    “Talk to me.”
    “I’ve seen some of your reports,” she began. “The one on the hostages Hussein’s calling ‘guests’ was gripping. And the one from the air base in Saudi.”
    “No, tell me what you’ve been doing.”
    “We did a show today on obsessive shoppers. One guest stays up every night watching one of the shopping channels and ordering everything on the screen. His wife finally cut the cable when he bought a dozen electronic flea collars. They don’t have a dog.”
    It made Finn laugh, as she’d hoped it would. “I got the tape you sent. It bounced around a little first, so it took a while. The crew and I watched it. You looked good.”
    “I felt good. We’re getting picked up by another couple of stations in Indiana. Late afternoon. We’ll be going up against a monster soap, but who knows?”
    “Now tell me you miss me.”
    She didn’t answer right away, and caught herself wrapping the phone cord around and around her hand. “I suppose I do. Now and then.”
    “How about now?”
    “Yes.”
    “When I get home, I want you to come with me up to my cabin.”
    “Finn—”
    “I want to teach you how to fish.”
    “Oh?” A smile tugged at her mouth. “Really?”
    “I don’t think I should get serious about a woman who doesn’t know one end of a rod from the other. Keep it in mind. I’ll be in touch.”
    “All right. Finn?”
    “Hmmm?”
    She could tell he was nearly asleep. “I’ll, ah, send you another tape.”
    “ ’Kay. See you.”
    He managed to get the phone back on the hook before he started to snore.
     
    The reports continued to come. The escalation of hostilities, the negotiations for the release of the hostages many feared would be used as human shields. The Paris summit, and the president’s Thanksgiving visit to U.S. troops. By the end of November, the UN had voted on Resolution 678. The use of force to expel Iraq from Kuwait was approved, with a deadline for Saddam of January fifteenth.
    On the homefront there were yellow ribbons flying—from the tips of car antennae and porch banisters. They were mixed with holly and ivy as America prepared for Christmas, and for war.
    “This toy piece will show not only what’s hot for kids for Christmas but what’s safe.” Deanna looked up from her notes and narrowed her eyes at Fran. “Are you okay?”
    “Sure.” With a grimace, Fran shifted her now-considerable bulk. “For someone who’s got what feels like a small pick-up truck sitting on her bladder, I’m dandy.”
    “You should go home, put your feet up. You’re due in less than two months.”
    “I’d go crazy at home. Besides, you’re the one whoshould be exhausted, schmoozing half the night at the charity dinner-dance.”
    “It’s part of the job,” Deanna said absently. “And, as Loren pointed out, I made a number of contacts, and got