The camera cut to an interview with Reed. “I’m certain that Phoebe is doing her best,” he said earnestly. “She’s more accustomed to moving in artistic circles than athletic ones and this is difficult for her. Once she’s fulfilled the requirements of her father’s will, I’m sure I’ll be able to get the Stars back on track quickly.”

She gritted her teeth as Reed went on, smiling into the camera and coming across as the perfect gentlemen to her wild-eyed party girl.

The moussed-up talking head came back on camera. “Despite Reed Chandler’s chivalrous defense of his cousin, January is a long time away. In the meantime, when is Miss Somerville going to provide direction to her general manager? Even more troubling, how can she clamp down on her explosive head coach when a troubling rumor has surfaced. Normally, we would not report this sort of thing, but since it has a direct bearing on what’s happening with the Stars, we feel it’s in the public interest to reveal that a reliable source saw her emerging from Calebow’s Portland hotel suite in the early hours of the morning two weeks ago.”

Dan uttered a blistering obscenity. Phoebe gripped her hands together.

The announcer regarded the camera gravely. “Their meeting might have been innocent, but if it wasn’t, it doesn’t bode well for the Stars. We should also note that Miss Somerville’s indiscretions don’t stop at a rumored fling with her head coach.”

He picked up a copy of Beau Monde magazine, a glossy, upscale publication with a circulation nearly as large as Vanity Fair. Phoebe groaned inwardly. She’d had so much on her mind lately that she’d forgotten all about Beau Monde.

“Our new NFL Commissioner Boyd Randolph would be well-advised to take a look at the latest issue of popular Beau Monde magazine, which will be showing up tomorrow on area newsstands and features our own Miss Somerville in the buff. Perhaps these photographs, which FCC regulations prohibit me from showing on camera, will spur the commissioner to have a serious discussion with Miss Somerville about her responsibilities to the NFL.”

His brows drew together in the studied outrage of a reporter trying to pump up his Nielsen’s. “Professional football has worked hard at cleaning up its image after the drug and gambling scandals of the past. But now a young woman with no interest in the game wants to drag it right through the dirt again. Let’s hope that Commissioner Randolph won’t let that happen.”

Dan pointed his finger toward the announcer. “Isn’t that weasel one of Reed’s buddies?”

“I believe so.” The broadcast had come to an end, and Ron hit the switch on the remote control.