"I remember." She tossed up her head, and her face was icy again, eerily controlled. "I remember. She's not getting away with it. With any of it. I'm going to do whatever it takes to make her pay. For the slap, for the award. Everything."
"We'll talk about it later." He'd already gotten word on the incident in the lounge. Too many people — people who couldn't be easily bought off — had heard that Angela struck first. "Now you've got to relax. You have to look your best when we fly home later today."
"Relax?" she spat at him. "Relax? Deanna Reynolds is getting my press, my ratings, now my awards." And there was Finn. Oh, no, she wouldn't forget Finn. "How the hell can you tell me to relax?"
"Because you can't win if you look like a resentful has-been." He watched her eyes flare with fury, then chill to an icy gleam.
"How dare you speak to me that way? And tonight of all nights."
"I'm telling you this for your own good," he continued, assured he had the upper hand when her lips trembled. "You need to project dignity, maturity, confidence."
"She's ruining my life. It's just like when I was a kid. Someone was always taking what I wanted."
"You're not a kid anymore, Angela. And there'll be other awards."
She wanted this award. But she held the words back. He'd only become more remote and disgusted. She needed him beside her, supporting her, believing in her. "You're right. Absolutely right. Tomorrow, in public, I will be gracious, humble and dignified. And believe me, Deanna Reynolds is not going to win another award that should be mine." Forcing a smile, she reached out a hand and drew him down beside her. "I'm just so disappointed, Dan. For both of us. You worked just as hard as I did for that Emmy."
"We'll work harder for the next one." Relieved, he kissed the top of her head.
"Sometimes it takes more than work. God knows I've had plenty of experience there." She sighed and drank again. She'd drink all she wanted tonight, she promised herself. At least she deserved that much. "When I was a kid I did all the chores around the house. Otherwise we would have lived in a pigsty. I've always liked things to look right, to look pretty. To look the best they can. I started doing cleaning for other people. Did I ever tell you that?"
"No." Surprised that she had now, he rose to fetch the bottle. He topped off her glass. "You don't like to talk about your childhood. I understand that."
"I'm in the mood for it." She sipped again, gesturing toward her cigarettes. Obligingly, Dan picked them up, lighted one for her. "I earned extra money that way, so I could buy things. My own things. But I earned more than money. You know…" She took a contemplative drag. "It's amazing what people leave lying around their homes, tucked into drawers, closed in boxes. I was always curious about people. That's why I ended up in this business, I suppose. And I found out a lot about the people I worked for. Things they preferred to be kept private. I might mention to a certain married woman the name of a man not her husband. Then I might admire some earrings, or a bracelet, or a dress." Through the haze of smoke, she smiled at the memory. "It was magical how quickly what I admired became mine. Just for doing the small favor of keeping information to myself."
"You started young," Dan observed. Her voice was only a little slurred, so he added more wine to her glass.
"I had to. Nobody was going to fight for me. Nobody was going to lift me out of that hellhole I lived in but me. Mama drunk; Daddy off gambling or whoring."
"It was tough on you."
"It made me tough," she corrected. "I watched the way people lived, and I saw what I wanted. I found ways to get what I wanted. I improved myself and I broke my back to be the best. No one's going to take me off the top of the heap, Dan. Certainly not
Deanna Reynolds."
He tipped her face back for a kiss. "That's the Angela I know and love."
She smiled. Her head felt light, dizzy, her body free. Why, she wondered, had she been so afraid of relaxing with a bottle or two? "Prove it," she invited, and slipped the robe off her shoulders.
Chapter Twenty-two
The snow outside the cabin was fairy-tale white. Rocks and shrubs caused the white covering to heave into mounds and bumps so that it resembled a blanket under which dozens of elves might burrow, waiting for spring. No cloud marred the eerie, icy blue of the sky, and the sun glinted off the glossy bark of trees.
From the window, Deanna watched Finn and Richard help Aubrey build a snowman. In her bright blue snowsuit, the toddler looked like a little exotic bird who'd lost her way going south. Curling tendrils of hair, as red as a cardinal's wing, escaped from her cap.
Beside her the men were giants, bulky in their heavy coats and boots. She watched as Richard showed Aubrey how to pat and mold a snowball. He pointed at Finn, andwitha giggle that carried through the glass, Aubrey bounced it lightly off Finn's knee, but he crumpled convincingly to the ground as if hit by a boulder.
The dog, the mop-haired mongrel Finn and Deanna had dubbed Cronkite, sent up a din of barks and a shower of snow in his desperation to join the game.
"Sounds like quite a snowman." Fran shifted her infant daughter from her right to her left breast. Kelsey latched on, suckling happily.
"They've started a small war," Deanna reported. "Casualties are light, but it looks to be an extended battle."
"You can go out and spend some of that nervous energy. You don't have to stay in here with me."
"No, I like watching. I'm so glad all of you could come up for the weekend."
"Since it's the first free one you've had in six weeks, I'm amazed you'd share it."
"Getting away with friends is one of those luxuries I've had to do without too much." She sighed a little. There was no use thinking about all the weekends, the holidays, the quiet evenings at home she'd missed. She had what she'd asked for. "I've discovered I need things like this to keep me centered."
"Glad to help. Richard found the idea of fishing in this weather just primitive and macho enough to pique his interest. As for me" — she stroked her daughter's cheek as she rocked gently in the chair Finn had hauled in from the porch and scrubbed down for just that purpose—"I was ready to go anywhere. When we get snow this early in November, it's going to be a long winter."
"And not a particularly pleasant one." Fran was right about the nervous energy, Deanna realized. She could feel it swirling inside — white water in the bloodstream. Deanna turned away from the window to sit on the hearth, where the fire crackled hot and brightly behind her. "I feel like I've been under siege, Fran. All this — this tabloid crap about Angela and me brawling in the ladies' lounge at the Emmys."
"Honey, most of that's died down, and everyone knew it was crap to begin with."
"Most everyone." Restless, she rose again, prowling. "All those sly allegations in the press about her bearing up stoically after I supposedly refused her offer of friendship. Friendship, my butt." She shoved her hands in her pockets, dragged them out again to gesture. "And that nasty undertone of glee in some of the stories. "Talk show divas in cat fight." "Claws bared in ladies' room." And it was just close enough to the truth to make us both look like idiots. Of course, Loren couldn't be happier. The ratings have skyrocketed since the Emmys, and there's no sign of a downswing. People who couldn't care less about the content of the show are tuning in to see if I lose it and punch out a guest."
Fran snickered, then caught Deanna's quick glare. "Sorry."
"I wish I could think it was funny." Grabbing the poker, she stabbed viciously at the flaming logs. "I did think it was funny, until I started getting letters."
"Oh, Dee, the majority of the mail has been supportive, even flattering."