Private Scandals

going to have to make the choice between parenthoodand career. Which brings up a topic idea I had.”
    Fran picked up her clipboard. “Shoot.”
    “Finding ways to incorporate day care into the workplace. Right in office buildings and factories. I read an article about this restaurant, family-run. They have what amounts to a preschool right off the kitchen. I’ve already given Margaret the clipping.”
    “I’ll check it out.”
    “Good. Now let me tell you my idea about Jeff.”
    “Jeff? What about him?”
    “He’s doing a good job, wouldn’t you say?”
    “I’d say he’s doing a great one.” Fran glanced over as Aubrey sighed in her sleep. “He’s totally devoted to you and the show, and he’s a wizard at cutting through the fat.”
    “He wants to direct.” Pleased that she’d been able to surprise Fran, Deanna sat back. “He hasn’t said anything to me, to anyone. He wouldn’t. But I’ve watched him. You can see it by the way he hangs around the studio, talking to the cameramen, the techs. Every time we get a new director, Jeff all but interrogates him.”
    “He’s an editor.”
    “I was a reporter,” Deanna pointed out. “I want to give him a shot. God knows we need a permanent director, somebody who can slide into the groove, who understands my rhythm. I think he’ll fit the bill. What, as executive producer, do you think?”
    “I’ll talk to him,” Fran said after a moment. “If he’s interested, we’ve got a show scheduled for next week on video dating. It’s light. We could test him out on it.”
    “Good.”
    “Deanna.” Cassie stood in the doorway, a newspaper rolled tight in her hand.
    “Don’t tell me. I’ve only got twenty minutes before shooting the new promo, and after that I’ve got to get across town and charm the Chicago chapter of NOW. I swear, warden, I wasn’t trying to make a break for it.”
    “Deanna,” Cassie repeated. There was no humor in her eyes. Only distress. “I think you should see this.”
    “What is it? Oh, not the tabloids again.” Prepared to be mildly irked, she took the paper from Cassie, unfolded it and glanced at the screaming headline. “Oh my God.” Her knees went to jelly as she groped behind her for a chair. “Oh, Fran.”
    “Take it easy, honey. Let me see.” Fran eased Deanna down into a chair and took the paper.
    SECRET LIFE OF AMERICA ’ S GIRL NEXT DOOR
Midwest’s Darling a Party-Hardy College Girl
Deanna’s Former Lover Tells All!
    There was a big red EXCLUSIVE ! bannering the corner, and a sidebar hinting at WILD NIGHTS ! DRUNKEN ORGIES ! SEX ON THE FIFTY - YARD LINE ! beneath a recent photo of Deanna. Beside her was a grainy photograph of a man she’d tried to forget.
    “That son of a bitch!” Fran exploded. “That lying bastard. Why the hell did he go to the tabs with this? He’s dripping with money.”
    “Who knows why anyone does anything.” Sickened, Deanna stared at the bold headlines. The frightened, broken girl she had been resurfaced. “He got his picture in the paper, didn’t he?”
    “Honey.” Fran quickly turned the paper over. “Nobody’s going to believe that trash.”
    “Of course they are, Fran.” Her eyes were bright and hard. “They’ll believe it because it makes titillating copy. And most people won’t get past the headlines anyway. They’ll scan them when they’re checking out in the supermarket. Maybe they’ll read the copy on the front page, even flip through to the inside. Then they’ll go home and chat about the story with their neighbors.”
    “It’s crap. Exploitive crap, and anybody with a working brain knows it.”
    “I just thought you should know.” Cassie handed Deanna a cup of water. “I didn’t want you finding out from someone else.”
    “You were right.”
    Cassie pressed her lips together. “You’ve gotten some calls on it.” Including one, which she would not pass on, from Marshall Pike.
    “I’ll handle them later. Let me see, Fran.”
    “I’m going to fucking burn this rag.”
    “Let me see,” Deanna repeated. “I can’t deal with it if I don’t know what it says.”
    Fran reluctantly handed the paper to her. As with the worst of tabloid press, there was just enough truth mixed in with the lies to have impact. She had indeed gone to Yale. And she had dated Jamie Thomas, a star tackle. Yes, she had attended a postgame party with him in the autumn of her junior year. She’d danced, she’d flirted. She’d consumed more alcohol than