Private Scandals

Deanna stepped back, hands on hips. “Well,” she said after a minute. “You look good. Really.”
    “I feel good. Really. But as much as I love being a mom, I hate being a homebody. I need work or I’m liable to do something drastic. Like take up needlepoint.”
    “We couldn’t let that happen. Let’s go up and talk about it.”
    “I want to say hi to the crew first.”
    “I’ll be up in the office when you’re finished.” Smiling smugly, Deanna headed to the elevator. She’d won her fifty-dollar bet with Richard. He’d been positive she’d last two full months. On the ride up to the sixteenth floor, she glanced at her watch and calculated time. “Cassie,” she began, the minute she stepped into the outer office. “See if you can reschedule my lunch meeting for one-thirty.”
    “No problem. Great show, by the way. Word is the phones were going crazy.”
    “We aim to please.” With her schedule in mind, she dropped down behind her desk to study the mail Cassie had stacked for her. “Fran stopped by downstairs. She’ll be up in a few minutes—with the baby.”
    “She brought the baby? Oh, I can’t wait to see her.” She stopped, disturbed by the expression on Deanna’s face. “Is something wrong?”
    “Wrong?” Baffled, Deanna shook her head. “I don’t know. Cassie, do you know how this got here?” She held up a plain white envelope that carried only her name.
    “It was already on your desk when I brought the other mail in. Why?”
    “It’s just weird. I’ve been getting these notes on and off since last spring.” She turned the paper around so Cassie could read it.
    “ ‘Deanna, you’re so beautiful. Your eyes look into mysoul. I’ll love you forever.’ ” Cassie pursed her lips. “I guess it’s flattering. And pretty tame compared to some of the letters you get. Are you worried about it?”
    “Not worried. Maybe a little uneasy. It doesn’t seem quite healthy for someone to keep this up for so long.”
    “Are you sure they’ve all been from the same person?”
    “Same type of envelope, same type of message in the same type of red print.” Distress curled loosely in her stomach. “Maybe it’s someone who works in the building.”
    Someone she saw every day. Spoke with. Worked with.
    “Anyone been asking you out, or coming on to you?”
    “What? No.” With an effort, Deanna shook off the eerie mood, then shrugged. “It’s stupid. Harmless,” she said, as if to convince herself, then deliberately tore the page in two and tossed it in the trash. “Let’s see what business we can clear up before noon, Cassie.”
    “Okay. Did you happen to catch Angela’s special last night?”
    “Of course.” Deanna grinned. “You didn’t think I’d miss my toughest competition’s first prime-time program, did you? She did a nice job.”
    “Not all the reviewers thought so.” Cassie tapped the clippings on Deanna’s desk. “The one from the Times was a killer.”
    Automatically Deanna reached into the stack and read the first clipped review.
    “ ‘Pompous and shallow.’ ” She winced. “ ‘By turns simpering and sniping.’ ”
    “The ratings weren’t what they expected, either,” Cassie told her. “They weren’t embarrassing, but they were hardly stellar. The Post called her self-aggrandizing.”
    “That’s just her style.”
    “It was a little much, doing that tour of her penthouse for the camera and cooing about New York. And there were more shots of her than her guests.” Cassie shrugged, grinned. “I counted.”
    “I imagine this will be tough for her to take.” Deanna set the reviews aside again. “But she’ll bounce back.” She shotCassie a warning look. “I’ve had my problems with her, but I don’t wish hatchet reviews on anyone.”
    “I wouldn’t either. I just don’t want you to be hurt by her.”
    “Bullets bounce off me,” Deanna said dryly. “Now let’s forget about Angela. I’m sure I’m the last thing on her mind this morning.”
     
    Angela’s initial tantrum over the reviews had resulted in a snowstorm of shredded newspaper. It littered the floor of her office. She ground newsprint into the pink pile as she paced.
    “Those bastards aren’t getting away with taking a slice at me.”
    Dan Gardner, the new executive producer of Angela’s, wisely waited until the worst of the storm had passed. He was thirty, built like a middleweight with a compact, muscular body. His conservatively styled brown hair