Private Scandals

some press.”
    “Mmm. And about five hours’ sleep.” Fran fiddled with a toy rabbit that wiggled its ears and squeaked when she pressed its belly. “Do you think Big Ed would like this?”
    Brow lifted, Deanna studied Fran’s belly, where “Big Ed,” as the baby was called, seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds. “You already have two dozen stuffed animals in the nursery.”
    “You started it with that two-foot teddy bear.” Setting the bunny aside, Fran reached among the toys scattered on the office floor and chose a combat-fatigued GI Joe. “Why the hell do they always want to play soldier?”
    “That’s one of the questions we’ll ask our expert. Have you heard from Dave?”
    Fran tried not to worry about her stepbrother, a National Guard officer who was in the Gulf. “Yeah. He got the box we sent over. The comic books were a big hit. Wow!” With a sound between a gasp and a laugh, she pressed a hand to her stomach. “Big Ed just kicked one through the posts.”
    “Is Richard really going to buy the baby a Bears helmet?”
    “Already has. Which reminds me, I want to make sure we get gender molding into this segment. How society, and parents, continue stereotypes by buying this kind of thing for boys”—she waved the GI Joe—“and this sort of thing for girls.” She nudged a Fisher-Price oven with her foot.
    “Ballet shoes for girls, football cleats for boys.”
    “Which leads to girls shaking pom-poms on the sidelines while boys make touchdowns.”
    “Which,” Deanna continued, “leads to men making corporate decisions and women serving coffee.”
    “God, am I going to screw this kid up?” Fran levered herself out of the chair. The fact that she waddled made her nervous pacing both comic and sweet. “I shouldn’t have donethis. We should have practiced on a puppy first. I’m going to be responsible for another human being, and I haven’t even started a college fund.”
    Over the past few weeks, Deanna had become used to Fran’s outbursts. She sat back and smiled. “Hormones bouncing again?”
    “You bet. I’m going to go find Simon and check on last week’s ratings—and pretend I’m a normal, sane human being.”
    “Then go home,” Deanna insisted. “Eat a bag of cookies and watch an old movie on cable.”
    “Okay. I’ll send Jeff in to pick up the toys and move them down to the set.”
    Alone, Deanna sat back and closed her eyes. It wasn’t only Fran who was on edge these days. The entire staff was running on nerves. In six weeks, Deanna’s Hour would either be re-signed with Delacort, or they would all be out of a job.
    The ratings had been inching up, but was it enough? She knew she was putting everything she had into the show itself, and everything she could squeeze out into the public relations and press events Loren insisted on. But was that enough?
    The trial run was almost over, and if Delacort decided to dump them . . .
    Restless, she rose and turned to face the window. She wondered if Angela had ever stood there and worried, agonized over something as basic as a single ratings point. Had she felt the responsibility weigh so heavily on her shoulders—for the show, for the staff, for the advertisers? Is that why she’d become so hard?
    Deanna rolled her tensed shoulders. It wouldn’t simply be her career crumbling if the show was axed, she thought. There were six other people who had their time and energy and, yes, their egos, invested. Six other people who had families, mortgages, car payments, dentist bills.
    “Deanna?”
    “Yes, Jeff. We need to get these toys down to the . . .”She trailed off as she turned and spotted a seven-foot plastic spruce. “Where in the world did you get that?”
    “I, ah, liberated it from a storeroom.” Jeff stepped out from behind the tree. His cheeks were flushed from both nerves and exertion. His glasses slid slowly down the bridge of his nose. His boyishness was endearing. “I thought you might like it.”
    Laughing, she examined the tree. It was pretty pathetic, with its bent plastic boughs and virulent green color no one would mistake for natural. She looked at Jeff’s grinning face, and laughed again. “It’s exactly what I need. Let’s put it in front of the window.”
    “It looked kind of lonely down there.” Jeff centered it carefully in front of the wide pane. “I figured with some decorations . . .”
    “Liberated.”
    He shrugged. “There’s stuff in this building nobody’s