"Roberts, Nora - Private Scandals" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

The knock on the door made her flinch. "We're set, Angela."
She took a deep breath, then another. "On my way." Her voice was perfectly normal. She was a master at pretense.
For a few seconds longer, she stared at her reflection, watching the panic fade from her own eyes.
She wouldn't fail. She would never be laughed at. She would never be ignored again. And no one would see
anything she didn't allow them to see. She rose, walked out of her dressing room, down the corridor.
She had yet to see her guest and continued past the green room without a blink. She never spoke to a guest before
the tape was rolling.



Her producer was warming up the studio audience. There was a hum of excitement from those fortunate enough to
have secured tickets to the taping. Marcie, tottering in four-inch heels, rushed up for a last-minute check on hair and
makeup. A researcher passed Angela a few more cards. Angela spoke to neither of them.
When she walked onstage, the hum burst open into a full-throttle cheer.
"Good morning." Angela took her chair and let the applause wash over her while she was miked. "I hope everyone's
ready for a great show." She scanned the audience as she spoke and was pleased with the demographics. It was a
good mix of age, sex and race--an important visual for the camera pans. "Anyone here a Deke Barrow fan?"
She laughed heartily at the next round of applause. "Me too," she said, though she detested country music in any
form. "I'd say we're all in for a treat."
She nodded, settled back, legs crossed, hands folded over the arm of her chair. The red light on the camera blinked
on. The intro music swung jazzily through the air.
""Lost Tms," "That Green-Eyed
Girl," "One Wild Heart." Those are just a few of the hits that made today's guest a legend. He's been a part of country-
music history for more than twenty-five years, and his current album, Lost in Nashville, is zooming up the charts.
Please join me in welcoming, to Chicago, Deke Barrow."
The applause thundered out again as Deke strode out onstage. Barrel-chested, with graying temples peeking out
from beneath his black felt Stetson, Deke grinned at the audience before accepting Angela's warm handshake. She
stood back, letting him milk the moment by tipping his hat.
With every appearance of delight, she joined in the audience's standing ovation. By the end of the hour, she thought,
Deke would stagger offstage. And he wouldn't even know what had hit him.

Angela waited until the second half of the show to strike. Like a good host, she had flattered her guest, listened
attentively to his anecdotes, chuckled at his jokes. Now
Deke was basking in the admiration as Angela held the mike for excited fans as they stood



to ask questions. She waited, canny as a cobra.
"Deke, I wondered if you're going by Danville, Kentucky, on your tour. That's my hometown," a blushing redhead
asked.
"Well now, I can't say as we are. But we'll be in Louisville on the seventeenth of June. You be sure to tell your friends
to come on by and see me."
"Your Lost in Nashville tour's going to keep you on the road for several months," Angela began. "That's rough on
you, isn't it?"
"Rougher than it used to be," he answered with a wink. "I ain't twenty anymore." His broad, guitar-plucking hands
lifted and spread. "But I gotta say I love it. Singing in a recording studio can't come close to what it's like to sing for
people."
"And the tour's certainly been a success so far. There's no truth, then, to the rumor that you may have to cut it short
because of your difficulties with the IRS?"
Deke's congenial grin slipped several notches. "No, ma'am. We'll finish it out."