"Yes. But I think you've answered that. Angela was blackmailing you. And the favor was for you to boycott my program."
"That was one of them. I was in a precarious and fascinating position a couple of years ago, when you approached me. I had two whopping box-office successes. And the critics loved me. The wholesomely sexy girl-next-door. Don't believe that hype about stars not reading their reviews. I pored over mine. Every word," she said with a long, dreamy smile. "I could probably still quote a few of the best ones. All I ever wanted was to be an actor. A star," she corrected with an easy shrug. "And that's what they called me. The first movie star of the new generation. A throwback to Bacall and Bergman and Davis. And it didn't take me years. One supporting role in a film that took off like a rocket, and an Academy nomination. Then I costarred with Rob and we burned up the screen, we broke hearts. The next movie, my name was over the title. My image was locked in. A woman who charms with a smile." She laughed at that, drank again. "The good girl, the heroine, the woman you'd like your son to bring home for dinner. That's the image. That's what Hollywood wants from me, that's what the public expects. And that's what I've delivered. They've given me plenty of credit for talent, but the image is every bit as important."
Her eyes slitted. "Do you think the top producers and directors, the players, the men who decide what project flies and what project gets buried would flood my agent with offers if they knew their perfect heroine, the woman who won an Oscar for playing the desperately devoted mother, had gotten pregnant at seventeen, and had given up the child without a second thought?"
She laughed when Deanna's mouth opened. But it wasn't a merry sound. "Doesn't fit, does it? Even in these enlightened times, how many of those ticket buyers would shell out seven bucks to watch me play the long-suffering or feisty heroine?"
"I don't…" Deanna stopped, waiting for her thoughts to settle. "I don't see why it should matter. You made a choice, one I'm sure was anything but easy for you. And you were a child yourself."
Amused, Kate glanced at Finn. "Is she really that naive?"
"About some things." He was, despite his pride in being a sharp judge of character, doing some rapid mental shuffling. "I can see why an announcement like that would have shaken things up. You'd have taken some knocks in the press. But you'd have pulled out of it."
"Maybe. I was afraid. Angela knew that. And I was ashamed. She knew that, too. She was very sympathetic at first. "How hard it must have been on you, dear. A young girl, with her whole life in flux because of one tiny mistake. How difficult it must have been for you to do what you thought was best for the child.""
Annoyed with herself, Kate flicked a tear away. "And you see, since it had been difficult, even horrible, and because she was sympathetic, I broke down. Then she had me. She reminded me that it wouldn't do for certain Hollywood brass to discover that I'd made this tiny mistake. Oh, she understood, she sympathized completely. But would they? Would the ticket-buying public who'd crowned me their valiant princess understand?"
"Kate, you were seventeen."
Very slowly, Kate lifted her gaze to Deanna's. "I was old enough to make a child, old enough to give her away. Old enough to pay for it. I hope I'm strong enough now to face the consequences." She frowned at her glass. If she didn't survive, if she crashed and burned, it would kill her. Angela had known that. "A few years ago, I wasn't. It's as simple as that. I don't think I could have survived the hate mail then, or the tabloids, or the bad jokes." She smiled again, but Deanna saw her pain. "I can't say I'm looking forward to it now. But the simple fact is, the cops are bound to track me down. Sooner or later they'll dig up Beeker and all of Angela's nasty files. I'm going to choose my own time and place for my public announcement. I'd like to do it on your show."
Deanna blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I said I'd like to do it on your show." "Why?"
"Two reasons. First, for me it would be the ultimate payback to Angela. You don't like that one," she murmured, seeing the disapproval in Deanna's eyes. "You'll like this better. I trust you. You've got class, and compassion. This isn't going to be easy for me, and I'm going to need both. I'm scared." She set her drink down. "I hate that reason, but I might as well admit it. I lost the child through my ambition," she said quietly. "That's gone," she said fiercely. "I don't want to lose what I've got, Deanna. What I've worked for. Angela's just as dangerous to me dead as she was alive. At least I can pick my time and place this way. I've got a lot of respect for you. I always have. I'm going to have to talk about my private life, my personal griefs. I'd like to start off talking with someone I respect."
"We'll juggle the schedule," Deanna said simply. "And do it Monday morning."
Kate closed her eyes a moment, gathered what resources she had left. "Thanks."
The sleet had stopped by the time they arrived home, leaving the air chill and damp and gloomy. Clouds hovered, thick and black. There was a light on in one of the front windows, streaming gold through the glass in cozy welcome. The dog began to bark the moment Finn slipped the key into the lock.
It should have been a homecoming. But there was the ever-present smell of paint reminding them their home had been violated. Drop cloths were spread in the hallway, and the dog's barking echoed emptily. So many of the rooms had been cleared out of broken crockery, damaged furniture. It was like being greeted by a mortally ill friend.
"We can still go to a hotel."
Deanna shook her head. "No, that's only another way of hiding. I can't help feeling responsible for this."
"Then work on it."
She recognized the impatience in his voice. She stooped to pet the dog as Finn peeled off his coat. "They were your things, Finn."
"Things." He shoved his coat on the hall rack. In the mirrored surface he saw her head bent over the dog's. "Just things, Deanna. Insured, replaceable."
She stayed where she was but lifted her head. Her eyes were wide and weary. "I love you so much. I hate knowing he was here, that he touched anything that was yours."
He crouched beside her, causing the dog to roll belly up in anticipation. But Finn took Deanna by the shoulders, his eyes suddenly fierce. "You are the only thing I have that's irreplaceable. The first time I met you, the first time, I knew that nothing that had happened to me before, or that would happen after, would mean as much. Can you understand that?" His hand moved roughly into her hair. "It's overwhelming what I feel for you. It's terrifying. And it's everything."
"Yes." She brought her hands to his face, guided his mouth to hers. "I can understand that." Emotions welled up, pouring into the kiss so that her lips were urgent and edgy. Even as Finn tugged at her coat, the dog wriggled between them, whining.
"We're embarrassing Cronkite," he murmured, drawing Deanna to her feet.
"We should find him a wife."
"You just want to go to the pound again and liberate another mutt."
"Now that you mention it…" But her smile faded quickly. "Finn, I have to talk to you about something."
"Sounds serious." "Can we go upstairs?"
She wanted the bedroom, since it was almost fully restored. He'd seen that the work there had been completed first. The things that hadn't been destroyed had been placed there. Above the bed, where she knew a desperate message had been scrawled, the paint was fresh and clean. He'd hung the painting there — the one he had bought out from under her in the gallery so long ago.