Private Scandals Read Free Page A

of her producer in her dressing room mirror. “He agreed to come on the show to hype his new album. Tit for tat, Lew. We’re giving him national exposure, so he’s damn well going to answer some questions about his tax evasion charges.”
    “He didn’t say he wouldn’t answer them, Angela.” The headache behind Lew McNeil’s eyes was still dull enough to keep him hoping it would pass. “He just said he won’t be able to be specific as long as the case is pending. He’d like it if you would concentrate on his career.”
    “I wouldn’t be where I am if I let a guest dictate my show, would I?” She swore again, ripely, then wheeled in the chair to snarl at the hairdresser. “Pull my hair again, sweetie, and you’ll be picking up curlers with your teeth.”
    “I’m sorry, Miss Perkins, but your hair is really too short . . .”
    “Just get it done.” Angela faced her own reflection again, and deliberately relaxed her features. She knew how important it was to relax the facial muscles before a show, no matter how high the adrenaline. The camera picked up every line and wrinkle, like an old friend a woman meets for lunch. So she breathed deeply, closing her eyes a moment in a signal to her producer to hold his tongue. When she opened them again, they were clear, a diamond bright blue surrounded by silky lashes.
    And she smiled as the hairdresser swept her hair back and up into a wavy blond halo. It was a good look for her, Angela decided. Sophisticated but not threatening. Chic butnot studied. She checked the style from every angle before giving the go-ahead nod.
    “It looks great, Marcie.” She flashed the high-powered smile that made the hairdresser forget the earlier threat. “I feel ten years younger.”
    “You look wonderful, Miss Perkins.”
    “Thanks to you.” Relaxed and satisfied, she toyed with the trademark pearls around her throat. “And how’s that new man in your life, Marcie? Is he treating you well?”
    “He’s terrific.” Marcie grinned as she gave Angela’s hair a large dose of spray to hold the style. “I think he might be the one.”
    “Good for you. If he gives you any trouble, you let me know.” She winked. “I’ll straighten him out.”
    With a laugh, Marcie backed away. “Thanks, Miss Perkins. Good luck this morning.”
    “Mmm-hmmm. Now, Lew.” She smiled and lifted a hand for his. The squeeze was encouraging, feminine, friendly. “Don’t worry about a thing. You just keep our guest happy until airtime. I’ll take care of the rest.”
    “He wants your word, Angela.”
    “Honey, you give him whatever he wants.” She laughed; Lew’s headache sprang into full-blown agony. “Don’t be such a worrier.” She leaned forward to pluck a cigarette from the pack of Virginia Slims on the dressing table. She flicked on a gold monogrammed lighter, a gift from her second husband. She blew out one thin stream of smoke.
    Lew was getting soft, she mused, personally as well as professionally. Though he wore a suit and tie, as dictated by her dress code, his shoulders were slumped as if pulled down by the weight of his expanding belly. His hair was thinning out, too, she realized, and was heavily streaked with gray. Her show was known for its energy and speed. She didn’t enjoy having her producer look like a pudgy old man.
    “After all these years, Lew, you should trust me.”
    “Angela, if you attack Deke Barrow, you’re going to make it tough for us to book other celebrities.”
    “Bull. They’re six deep waiting for a chance to do my show.” She jabbed her cigarette in the air like a lance. “They want me to hype their movies and their TV specials and their books and their records, and they damn well want me to hype their love lives. They need me, Lew, because they know that every day millions of people tune in.” She smiled into the mirror, and the face that smiled back was lovely, composed, polished. “And they tune in for me.”
    Lew had worked with Angela for