Fran craned her neck and read the neat list Deanna had started. "Now, that's our Deanna. Are you going to eat all those fries?"
"No, help yourself." Already engrossed in her list, Deanna pushed her plate toward Fran.
"A weekend in Hawaii sounds pretty serious." Fran doused the fries with ketchup. "Is it?"
"It could be." She glanced up again, and the bloom in her cheeks spoke volumes. "I really think it could be. I feel comfortable with Marshall."
Fran grimaced. "Sweet pea, you feel comfortable with an old pair of bunny slippers."
"Not that kind of comfortable. I can relax around him. I know he's not going to pressure me, so that I can… just let things happen. When it feels right. I can talk to him about anything."
The words came quickly. Too quickly, Fran mused. If she knew Deanna, and she did, she'd have bet a month's pay her best friend was going out of her way to convince herself.
"He has this incredible sense of fairness," Deanna continued. "We're interested in so many of the same things. And he's romantic. I didn't realize how wonderful it would be to have someone send me flowers and arrange candlelight dinners."
"That's because you were always looking for the trapdoor." "Yeah." Deanna let out a little breath, closed her notebook. "I'm going to tell him about Jamie Thomas."
In an automatic gesture of support, Fran reached out and covered Deanna's hand with hers. "Good. That means you trust him."
"I do." Her eyes darkened with determination. "And I want a normal, healthy relationship with a man. By God, I'm going to have one. I won't be able to do that until I tell him what happened to me. He's coming over for dinner tomorrow."
Fran abandoned the fries to fold her arms on the table between them. "If you need any moral support, you only have to call."
"I'll be fine. I've got to get back," she said after a glance at her watch. "I've got to do a news break at eight-thirty."
"You've got the ten o'clock tonight, too, don't you?" Fran stuffed a last fry in her mouth. "Richard and I'll watch you, while we're all snuggled up in bed. I'll make sure he's naked."
"Thanks." Deanna counted out bills for the tab. "That'll give me a nice visual while I'm reading the news."
It was nearly midnight when Deanna climbed into bed. As always, she checked her alarm, then made certain there was a pencil and pad on the nightstand beside the phone. The phone rang just as she was reaching for the light. Instinctively, she picked up the receiver with one hand, the pencil with the other.
"Reynolds."
"You were wonderful tonight."
The flutter of pleasure made her smile as she eased back against the pillows. "Marshall. Thanks."
"I just wanted you to know I was watching. It's the next best thing to being with you."
"It's nice to know." It felt glorious, snuggling back in bed, pleasantly sleepy, with the voice of the man she thought she might love in her ear. "I've been thinking about Hawaii all day."
"So have I. And about you." He had her taped image freeze-framed on his set, quietly arousing himself with her image and her voice. "I'm very indebted to Angela Perkins for bringing us together."
"Me too. Sleep well, Marshall."
"I will. Good night, Deanna."
Warm and content, Deanna replaced the receiver. Hugging herself, she laughed and indulged in a dreamy fantasy. She and Marshall walking along the beach while the sun dripped color into the water. Soft breezes. Soft words. The gentle tug low in her stomach pleased her. Normal, she told herself. Certainly that proved she was a normal woman with normal needs. She was ready to take the next step toward fulfilling them. She was eager to.
Only seconds after she switched off the lamp and snuggled down, the phone rang again. Chuckling to herself, she lifted the receiver in the dark.
"Hi," she murmured. "Did you forget something?"
There was only echoing silence in response. "Marshall?" Her sleepy voice shifted into puzzlement. "Hello? Who's there?" Then into unease as the dull silence continued. "Hello? Is anyone there?" The quiet click brought on a quick shudder.
Wrong number, Deanna assured herself as she hung up. But she was cold. And it was a long time before she warmed again and slept.
Someone else lay awake in the dark. The ghostly light from the television screen was the only relief. Deanna smiled there, looking out into the room, looking directly into the eyes of her audience of one. Her voice, so smooth, so sweet, so seductive, played over and over on the recorder as it was rewound.
"I'm Deanna Reynolds. Good night.
I'm Deanna Reynolds. Good night. I'm Deanna Reynolds. Good night."
"Good night." The answering whisper was soft, no more than a purr of pleasure.
Angela had planned every detail meticulously. Standing in the center of her office, she turned a slow circle. Everything was ready. There was a faint fragrance of jasmine in the air from the vase of flowers on the table by the love seat. The television set, for once, was blank. The quiet strains of Chopin eased through the speakers of the stereo. Beeker had been very thorough in his report. Marshall Pike preferred classical music, romantic settings and a woman with style. She wore the same trim designer suit she'd worn for that morning's taping, but she'd removed the blouse. The jacket fit with a snug V, and there was a cunning hint of black lace teasing the cleavage.
At precisely eleven o'clock, she answered the buzzer on her desk. "Yes,
Cassie."
"Dr. Pike is here, Miss Perkins."
"Ah, good." A feline smile crossed her face as she walked toward the office door. She liked a man to be prompt. "Marshall." She held out both hands to grip his, easing forward and tilting her head to offer her cheek. And to give him an interesting glimpse of black lace. "I really appreciate your making time for me today."
"You said it was important."
"Oh, and it is. Cassie, would you mind taking those letters right to the post office? Then you can go ahead and take your lunch. I won't need you back here until one." Turning, Angela led Marshall into her office, being certain to leave the door open a few inches. "What can I get you, Marshall? Something cold?" She trailed a fingertip down her jacket. "Something hot?"
"I'm fine."
"Well then, let's sit down." She took his hand again, steered him toward the love seat. "It's awfully good to see you again."
"It's good to see you, too." Puzzled, he watched her settle back, her skirt riding up on her thigh as she crossed her legs.
"You know how pleased I am with the help you've given me on the show, but I asked you here today to discuss something more personal."
"Oh?"
"You've been seeing a lot of Deanna." He relaxed and struggled to keep his eyes from roaming down from her face. "Yes, I have. In fact, I've been meaning to call you and thank you for indirectly bringing us together."
"I'm very fond of her. As I'm sure you are," she added, laying a hand lightly on his thigh. "All that energy, that youthful enthusiasm. A beautiful girl."
"Yes, she is."
"And so sweet. Wholesome, really." Angela's fingers stroked lightly along his leg. "Not your usual type."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You're a man who's attracted to experience, to a certain sophistication. Except in one illuminating case."
He stiffened, drew back. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." Her voice remained pleasant, easy. But her eyes had sharpened like two blue blades. "You see, I know all about you, Marshall. I know about your foolish slip with one Annie Gilby, age sixteen. And all about your previous, I should say pre-Deanna, arrangement with a certain woman who lives on Lake Shore. In fact, I made it my business to know everything there is to know about you."