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issue today, and when I considered it, I realized you would really be the perfect one to handle the guests offstage. That’s Lew’s area, you know, so I’m really in a bind.”
    “What about Simon, or Maureen?” Her brain might have been cloudy, but Deanna remembered the chain of command.
    “Neither one of them are suited for this. Simon doesexcellent pre-interviews over the phone, and God knows Maureen’s a jewel at handling transportation and lodging arrangements. But these guests require a very special touch. Your touch.”
    “I’d be glad to help, Angela, but I’m due in to the station at nine.”
    “I’ll clear it with your producer, dear. He owes me. Simon can handle the second taping, but if you could just see your way clear to helping me out this morning, I’d be so grateful.”
    “Sure.” Deanna shoved her tousled hair back and resigned herself to a quick cup of coffee and a bottle of aspirin. “As long as there’s no conflict.”
    “Don’t worry about that. I still have clout with the news department. I’ll need you here by eight, sharp. Thanks, honey.”
    “All right, but—”
    Still dazed, Deanna stared at the phone as the dial tone hummed. A couple of details had been overlooked, she mused. What the hell was this morning’s topic, and who were the guests that needed such special care?
     
    Deanna stepped into the green room with an uneasy smile on her face and a fresh pot of coffee in her hand. She knew the topic now, and scanned the seven scheduled guests cautiously, like a veteran soldier surveying a mine field.
    Marital triangles. Deanna took a bracing breath. Two couples and the other women who had almost destroyed their marriages. A mine field might have been safer.
    “Good morning.” The room remained ominously silent except for the murmur of the morning news from the television. “I’m Deanna Reynolds. Welcome to Angela’s. Can I freshen anyone’s coffee?”
    “Thank you.” The man seated in a chair in the corner shifted the open briefcase on his lap, then held out his cup. He gave Deanna a quick smile that was heightened by the amusement glittering out of soft brown eyes. “I’m Dr. Pike. Marshall Pike.” He lowered his voice as Deanna topped offhis cup. “Don’t worry, they’re unarmed.”
    Deanna’s eyes lifted to his, held. “They still have teeth and nails,” she murmured.
    She knew who he was, the segment expert, a psychologist who would attempt to cap this particular can of worms before the roll of ending credits. Mid-thirties, she gauged, with the quick expertise of a cop or a reporter. Confident, relaxed, attractive. Conservative, judging by his carefully trimmed blond hair and well-tailored chalk-striped suit. His wing tips were polished to a high gleam, his nails were manicured and his smile was easy.
    “I’ll watch your flank,” he offered, “if you watch mine.”
    She smiled back. “Deal. Mr. and Mrs. Forrester?” Deanna paused as the couple glanced toward her. The woman’s face was set in a resentful scowl, the man’s in miserable embarrassment. “You’ll be on first . . . with Miss Draper.”
    Lori Draper, the last segment of the triangle, beamed with excitement. She looked more like a bouncy cheerleader ready to execute a flashy C jump than a sultry vamp. “Is my outfit okay for TV?”
    Over Mrs. Forrester’s snort, Deanna assured her it was. “I know the basic procedure was explained to all of you in the pre-interview. The Forresters and Miss Draper will go out first—”
    “I don’t want to sit next to her.” Mrs. Forrester’s hiss squeezed through her tightly primmed mouth.
    “That won’t be a problem—”
    “I don’t want Jim sitting next to her, either.”
    Lori Draper rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Shelly, we broke it off months ago. Do you think I’m going to jump him on national TV, or what?”
    “I wouldn’t put anything past you.” Shelly snatched her hand away as her husband tried to pat it. “We’re not sitting