Free Sunny Says by Jan Hudson Page B

stopped half a block away to deliver
passengers. Sunny stuck two fingers in her mouth, let out an ear-piercing
whistle, and ran for the cab.
    When Kale saw that she was
safely inside, he turned and started back to El Gallo Rojo, cursing the whole
way.
    A few moments later, he slid
onto the stool next to Carlos and ordered a triple shot of tequila. “Women!” he
muttered.
    Carlos glanced at him from his
hangdog pose over his beer. “Sunny give you a hard time?”
    “Yeah. Sorry about what I said
to you earlier. I can’t control her either.”
    “Does this mean I have my job
back?”
    “Yeah.” Kale bit into a lime,
licked salt from the back of his hand, downed the tequila, and ordered another.
“Have you ever done the weather report?”
    *    *    *
    Sunny paid the taxi and walked
gingerly to the front door. Bugs from around the porch light dive-bombed her as
she searched in her purse for her keys. Then she remembered. Her house key was
on the ring with her car keys.
    “Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot . .
. shoot!”
    She rang the doorbell, hoping
that Estella hadn’t left for the station yet. She could hear the bongs resonating
through the house, which seemed as empty as King Seti’s tomb. Since it was
already nine-thirty she really hadn’t held out much hope, but to be sure, she
went around to the back to check the garage. It was empty.
    “Rats!”
    Trudging to the patio, she
tossed her bag on a table and plopped down in a chair to wait. She felt a
little guilty about leaving the news team in the lurch—Hulon would probably
have a coronary or crawl out on the ledge when she didn’t show up—but that was
Mr. Big Shot Kale Hoaglin’s problem.
    Hoisting her feet onto another
patio chair, she crossed her arms and stared at the lights reflected off the
swimming pool. She didn’t need his stupid job. What she’d told Kale was true:
She did have a standing offer from the weather channel on cable TV. And she’d
had a few feelers from some of the smaller stations in Houston and a
major station in Dallas . But most of them wanted her to do the weather. The
street-gang story she’d envisioned would have made a great tape to send out to
prospective employers, showing that she could do something besides talk about
temperatures and storm fronts. Now that idea was shot to smithereens.
    She hadn’t signed a new contract
with KRIP, hoping to take a spot that presented the greatest opportunity for
advancement toward her ultimate goal of being a network correspondent—or
something bigger. Ravinia had known that and had given her blessing. She’d
planned to stay in Corpus until Estella’s baby was born and Ed came home, then
move on. What was she going to do now?
    Certainly she couldn’t stay in
the same house with the pompous sourpuss who was now her ex-boss. She’d rather
have her toes roasted over a burning pit than endure another night under the
same roof with him. Still, she had Estella to consider. They could go to a
hotel for the night, but Estella would be tired when she got home and needed
her rest. She couldn’t go dragging a pregnant woman around at all hours.
    She slapped a mosquito that was
feasting on her neck.
    Tomorrow morning, bright and
early, she planned to find them an apartment.
    She slapped another mosquito on
her arm and checked her watch. Darn Kale Hoaglin! She still had a while to wait
until Estella got home, and not only was she hot and tired and sticky, but the
blasted mosquitoes thought she was the Friday night buffet.
    The shimmering coolness of the
pool looked extremely inviting. Pity her bathing suit was upstairs.
    She slapped another mosquito.
    What the heck? she thought, and
shot up from her chair. She stripped down to her yellow lace panties and bra,
walked to the deep end of the pool, and dived in.
    The water felt heavenly.
    She swam several lazy laps, then
flipped onto her back to float and watch the stars. She’d miss the pool and the
privacy she and Estella had enjoyed in