She was wanted. She was desired. She was the best.
"Deanna, are you sure you want to do this?" Fran nibbled on her thumbnail, a habit she'd broken years before, as she stood beside Deanna's desk.
"Absolutely sure." She continued to sign the outgoing mail. Her signature was quick and neat and automatic. "It's a show I want to do. How many carts did we get back?"
Fran frowned down at the forms in her hand, the carts they passed to the audience after each program. These had been typed simply: Do you know of anyone who has experienced date rape? Is this a topic you would be willing to discuss on Deanna's Hour?
There was room for comments, for names and phone numbers. Out of the two hundred carts Fran had surveyed, she had chosen only two.
"These are the ones I thought you should see." Reluctantly, Fran laid them on the desk. "It's going to be painful for you, Deanna."
"I can handle it."
She skimmed the first cart, then went back and read each word again.
He said I asked for it. I didn't. He said it was my own fault. I'm not sure. I'd like to try to talk about it, but I don't know if I can.
Setting the cart aside, she reached for the second.
It was my first date after my divorce. It was three years ago, and I haven't been with a man since. I'm still afraid, but I trust you.
"Two women," Deanna murmured. Yes, it was painful. There was a tight, angry fist lodged in her chest. "Right out of the studio audience. How many more, Fran? How many more are out there wondering if it was their fault? How many more are afraid?"
"I can't stand to see you hurt this way. You know if you do this, you're going to have to bring up Jamie Thomas."
"I know that. I've already run it by Legal." "And if he sues?"
Deanna sighed, barely refrained from rubbing her eyes and smearing makeup. She hadn't slept well — and with Finn in Moscow, she'd slept alone. But it hadn't been doubt keeping her wakeful. It had been anticipation.
"Then he sues. To encapsulate what I got from Legal, he's already gone public with his version. Since it's a matter of his word against mine, I'm going public with my version. I could have done so in a dozen interviews since the tabloids hit. Two dozen," she corrected, with a grim smile. "I prefer to do it this way, my way, on my own show."
"You know the press will jump all over it." "I know." She was calm now, dead calm. "That's why we're going to schedule it during the May sweeps."
"Jesus, Dee—"
"I'm going public with this, Fran, and I hope to God even one woman who watches is helped by what I'm doing." She used the heels of her hands to rub the dampness from her cheek. "And by Christ, I'm going to kill the competition in the ratings while I'm at it."
Deanna's nerves were steady as stone before the show. In her precise manner, she had gone over her scripted question cards while Marcie put the finishing touches on her makeup. Prepared, even eager, she swiveled in her chair toward Loren Bach.
"Now, are you here to observe, Loren, or to offer advice?"
"Some of both." He folded his long, white fingers together. "As you know, I don't make it a habit to interfere with the content of the show."
"I do know that, and I appreciate it." "But I do make a habit out of protecting my people." He sat silently a moment, gathering his thoughts while he studied the orderly room filled with stacks of newspapers, magazines, all current, a shelf of neatly marked videos that could be slipped into the VCR for viewing. The room smelled lightly of cosmetics and lotions. Feminine, yes, he mused, but also tools of the trade. The dressing room was as much a work space as her office.
"It's possible for you to do this show, and do an excellent job, without bringing your personal experience into it."
"Possible, yes." She rose then to close the door Marcie had left open. "Are you asking me to do that, Loren?"
"No. I'm reminding you of it."
"Then I'll remind you that I'm part of the show, not just a host. An intimate part; that's what makes it work for me and, I think, for the viewing audience."
He smiled, and his eyes remained keen. She looked polished and poised, he mused. "I wouldn't argue with that. But Deanna, if you have any doubts about what you're doing, there is no need to go ahead."
"I don't have doubts, Loren. I have fears. I think, at least I hope, that facing them is the answer. You may have concerns that Jamie Thomas will try some sort of legal retribution, but—"
Loren waved that away. "I have lawyers to deal with that. In any case, it seems the brunt of the publicity backfired on him. He is, at the moment, on an extended vacation in Europe."
"Oh, I see." She took a deep breath. "Well then."
"You don't mind if I stay to watch the show?" He rose as she did.
"I'd appreciate it." On impulse she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. When he blinked in surprise, she smiled. "That wasn't for my business associate. It was for your support."
When she opened the door, she found herself instantly scooped up into Finn's arms.
"You're supposed to be in Moscow." "I'm back." He'd pulled every string he could grab to arrive in Chicago in time for the show. "You look good, Kansas. How do you feel?"
"Shaky." She pressed a hand to her stomach. "Ready."
"You'll be fine." He kept an arm around her shoulders and nodded to Loren. "Good to see you."
"And you. You can keep me company while Deanna goes to work."
"Fine." Finn walked Deanna toward the set. "Working tonight?"
"I have a network dinner at seven. But I think I can get out by ten."
"Want to come by my place?"
"Yes." She gripped his hand, hard. The closer she got to the set, the more her stomach twisted. She shot one look at Fran, braced herself. "Like diving into a cold pool."
"What?"
She forced a smile as she glanced up at Finn. "Just some advice I got once. See you in an hour, huh?"
"I'll be here."
Deanna took her place with the three women already fidgeting onstage. She spoke quietly to each one of them, then miked, waited for her cue.
Music. Applause. The objective red eye of the camera.
"Welcome to Deanna's Hour. Our show today deals with a painful subject. Rape in any form is tragic and horrible. It takes on a different dimension when the victim knows and trusts her attacker. Every woman on this stage has been a victim of what is called date, or acquaintance, rape. And we all have a story to tell. When it happened to me nearly ten years ago, I did nothing. I hope I'm doing something now."
Chapter Seventeen
To celebrate Deanna's first year on the air, Loren Bach threw a party in his penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan. Over the low music and chink of glasses, voices buzzed. Faintly, from the adjoining game room, came the beeps and bells of video games.
In addition to the staff of the show and CBC and Delacort executives, he had invited a handful of carefully selected columnists and reporters. The publicity on Deanna since the May sweeps showed no sign of abating. Loren had no intention of allowing it to.
While the ratings climbed, so did the advertising revenue. As Chicago's darling rapidly became America's darling, Deanna's growing celebrity opened the doors to booking stellar names who breezed on the show to hype their hot summer movies and concert tours. She continued to mix the famous with segments on dealing with jealous spouses, choosing the right swimwear and computer dating.
The result was a carefully crafted show with an appealing, casual, homey look. Deanna was at the core, as awestruck as her audience by the appearance of a glamorous movie star, as amused as they by the notion of choosing a mate with a machine, as wary and unnerved as any woman of stripping down to a bikini on a public beach.