Authors: Jan Hudson
He seemed relaxed and looked
very handsome with his hair tamed and wearing a tie with a pink dress shirt and
navy blazer. The tie, the first she’d seen on Kale, looked suspiciously like
the one Foster had worn to the office that day. She smiled into her coffee cup.
“Something funny?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Tell me,”
she said, replacing her cup in its saucer, “is pink your favorite color?”
He frowned. “I’ve never thought
much about it. I guess I like blue best. Or maybe yellow. Why do you ask?”
“Because all your shirts are
pink.”
He plucked at his shirtfront. “They
used to be white. And my red shorts used to be a brighter shade.”
She laughed. “I presume laundry
is not your forte.”
“I guess not. But at the time, I
was in a hurry and water was scarce. Would you like some more wine? A liqueur?”
She shook her head. “One glass
is my limit tonight. I still have the
ten
o’clock
weather to do, and I’d hate to
be sloshed on the air. But I’ll have another cup of coffee.”
After Kale signaled the waiter
for a refill, she said, “The show has certainly improved since you’ve been
here. But poor Hulon. . .”. She sighed. “What are you going to do about him? He
really is terrified of being on camera, you know.”
“I’m not sure yet. I have a
couple of ideas. But one thing is clear; I need more than a week for Foster and
me to get the station back on track. I may have to ask the network for more
time away. Another month or so, at least.”
Sunny had been stroking the
tablecloth with the tip of her finger. At his words, her heart lurched and she
glanced up sharply. “That means that you’ll be staying at the house longer.
Should Estella and I find another—”
He reached across the table and
squeezed her hand lightly. “Don’t concern yourself about it. We can keep things
the way they are for the time being. My plans aren’t even definite yet.”
Don’t be concerned, he’d said.
Of course she was concerned. She’d developed a gigantic crush on the man
sitting across from her. How comfortable could she be in the same house with
him for an extended period?
Although she was almost
embarrassed to admit it, more than once she’d found herself fantasizing about
him as she’d lain in bed listening to the shower running at odd hours during
the night. In her fantasy, he’d step out of the tub, fling open the bathroom
door that connected to her room, and pad naked to her side. He’d slip beneath
the covers and whisper lovely things in her ear. He’d stroke her body the way
he was stroking her hand now, and—
Jerking herself out of her
reverie, she quickly pulled her hand from under his and patted her lips with
her napkin.
She gave him a bright smile. “We’ll
worry about that later then. Now I have to get back to the station.”
Kale paid the check, and they
drove the few blocks to the KRIP lot.
As he was helping her from Ravinia’s
Cadillac, she could have sworn he was about to kiss her, but another car pulled
into the lot. They walked inside.
“Come into my office for a
moment,” he said.
He closed the door behind them
and took her into his arms. “Do you mind if I kiss you good night?” His mouth
was already lowering to hers.
Her breath caught. She lifted
her face and her eyelids fluttered shut. “Do you think this is wise?”
“Probably not.”
He brushed her lips with his,
gently at first. Then the pressure deepened arid his tongue eased into her
mouth. She turned warm, then chilled, then warm again.
He lifted her so that her feet
were off the floor and her face was level with his, then kissed her again. He
kissed her as though he were a man who’d spent a week on the
Sahara
without
water and she were an oasis. Her heart beat like rolling thunder, and her toes
tingled as if a blue norther were on the way.
There was a knock at the door.
“Kale,” Hulon called. “You in
there?”
He hissed a curse and let her
slide down his body. “I may throw that man out the window myself.”
* * *
Shortly before Friday night’s
news show, Kale caught up with Sunny. “Have dinner again with me tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I have other plans.”
“Change your plans.”
Her spine stiffened at his
demanding tone. Just because he’d kissed her a couple of times didn’t mean she
was his property. She hadn’t even seen him since the night before in his
office. She’d only heard the shower running at some gosh-awful time in the wee
hours. Lifting her chin defiantly, she said, “I can’t do that. I’m meeting
Carlos and he’s already made the arrangements.”
His eyes narrowed to cold slits.
His molars got a good workout before he snapped, “Carlos is married.”
Her eyes widened. “So?”
She started to walk away, but he
grabbed her arm. “Dammit, Sunny—”
She shook off his hand. “What is
wrong with you, Kale Hoaglin? I swear, sometimes you act crazier than Hulon
does. I have to get on the set.”
* * *
In his office, Kale toyed with a
pencil as watched the weather report. He had a giant-sized ache in his gut
generated by a pint-sized bit of sunshine in a yellow dress. When the news was
over, he clicked off the set, leaned his head against the high-backed leather
chair, and stared at the ceiling. Visions of Sunny’s face played across the
acoustical tiles like afterimages.
In one short week, his world had
suddenly turned upside down. Because his relationships with women had always
been, if not casual, a great deal less than profoundly intense, he wasn’t
prepared for the strength of feeling Sunny ignited in him. But in the brief
time he’d known her, something about her had played mischief with a hidden,
vulnerable part of his nature. He’d been emotionally blindsided. He didn’t like
it. He didn’t like it a damned bit.
Now not only did he have the
mess at the station to contend with, but also this strange fixation with big
blue eyes and a million-kilowatt smile. How had he allowed himself to become so
involved with Sunny Larkin so fast?
Not that he was actually
involved with Sunny. How could he call a couple of aborted kisses “involved”?
But those kisses were from the sweetest lips he’d ever tasted. No, it wasn’t
involvement; he only wished it were. It was obsession. He was obsessed with
her. He must be. What else could explain a thirty-six-year-old man who couldn’t
fall asleep at night knowing that she was sleeping only a few yards away? He
felt like a damned fool, but unbidden fantasies of her kept him so aroused that
he felt like an adolescent in the throes of a hormone onslaught.
Since that day at the beach, he’d
been fighting the urge to steal into her room and slip into bed with her. He
wanted to hold her close and let her radiance thaw the frigid places inside
him. He wanted to bask in her essence and bury himself in her warmth. He’d even
tried the proverbial cold showers, but every time he walked into the bathroom
that separated them, he could smell her scent. And the sight of the shower
curtain roused erotic memories of her naked body, all wet and curvy, wrapped in
its transparent folds.
He’d worked like a demon, stayed
away from the house to avoid her, but it hadn’t changed anything. Being with
her the night before had only made his dilemma worse. He was angered by his
lack of control, but she was in his thoughts constantly. Her image dangled in
his mind like a photograph in a gold locket.
If not obsession, what could
explain the fury he felt when he thought of her with another man?
The pencil snapped in his hands.
He’d be damned if he’d allow her
to go out with Carlos Mondragon!
He shot out of his chair, went
upstairs, and stalked toward the newsroom. He met Estella coming down the hall.
“Where’s Sunny?” he asked.
“Gone,” Estella replied, looking
vexed.
“Gone where?”
“I imagine she’s halfway to El
Gallo Rojo by now.”
Kale raked his fingers through
his hair. “What and where is El Gallo Rojo?”
“Literally translated, The Red
Rooster. It’s a dive in one of the worst parts of town. Personally, I wouldn’t
set foot in the place at high noon. She should have her head examined for going
there now.”
“And you let her go?”
Estella’s eyes narrowed. “Why do
you think I’m hoarse? I’ve been trying to talk her out of this madness for two
days. But would she listen to me? Hell, no. The only way I could have kept her
from going would have been to tie her to a chair, and in my condition, I’m in
no shape for wrestling matches.”
Kale spat out a succinct
expletive and stalked away.
* * *
Sunny got out of her red Ford
Escort and walked down the street to El Gallo Rojo, where Carlos and his cousin
were meeting her. Even though the sun hadn’t set, she felt a little spooky and
out of her element in this part of town. She knew that drugs were dealt in this
area, and the gaudy woman in the tight fuchsia dress who leaned against the
pawnshop wall wasn’t waiting for a bus.
Neither were the four young
thugs who lounged around the entrance of El Gallo Rojo. Except for slight
variations in size and facial features, they could have been clones, with their
slicked-back hair and black muscle shirts. Their jeans hung low on their hips,
and their upper arms sported gross-looking tattoos of spiders. One of them
casually cleaned his fingernails with a knife that looked bigger and sharper
than the one her mother used to dismember chickens.
Tiny fingers of trepidation crawled
up her spine as their dark, somber eyes followed her approach. Maybe this
meeting was a stupid idea. Maybe she would be wise to turn tail, jump in her
car, and forget the whole thing.
No! she told herself. She was no
lily-livered sissy. She wanted the story. Swallowing the acrid taste of fear,
she squared her shoulders, lengthened her stride, and pretended that she had
all the confidence in the world.
Prickly beads of perspiration
popped out on her top lip as she walked the gauntlet formed by the foursome,
her purse clutched to her like a breastplate. Just as she was about to enter,
the one with a scraggly black mustache and a bad case of acne blocked the
doorway. She could sense his cohorts circling her from behind.
The one braced across the
entrance gave her a heavy-lidded perusal and said, “You the lady here to meet
Carlos?”
She gave him a tiny smile—or a
stretching of her numb lips that she hoped looked like a smile— designed to be
cordial without being encouraging. “Yes, I am.”
“You the one that does the
weather on TV?”
She nodded.
“I’ve seen you.” He looked her
up and down. “Nice.” He moved aside and gestured with his head. “Carlos is
inside.”
Once through the doorway, she
paused for a few moments to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the hazy
room. The smells of Mexican cooking, which ordinarily set her mouth to
watering, seemed slightly nauseating now, combined as they were with odors of
spilled beer and other smoky substances she didn’t dare speculate on.
A radio was tuned to a Spanish
station, and the loud salsa music masked the hum of conversation. Occasionally
the click of pool balls or a bark of laughter broke through.
The place certainly could use
refurbishing, she thought as she looked around the room, with its dingy walls
and scarred floor. Scanning the patrons, she discovered she was the only female
in the place except for a middle-aged waitress and one other woman, obviously a
sister in trade to the one by the pawnshop, leaning against the bar. Sunny felt
as out of place as she ever had in her life.
She noticed several other young
men whose black T-shirts and indolent expressions matched those of the crew
outside. Two lolled at the bar; five gathered around pool tables in the far
corner; another sat at one of a half dozen rickety tables with Carlos.
Carlos! She wanted to fall on
him and kiss his friendly, familiar face.
He’d spotted her at about the
same time she’d located him, and he rose and waved her over. As she approached,
Carlos kicked the foot of the young man at the table, who then pushed himself
to his feet halfheartedly.
“Sunny,” Carlos said, “this is
my cousin Rico. He’s agreed to talk to you about the street gangs in Corpus.
Much to my aunt Rosa’s dismay, he’s a honcho in the Tarantulas. He should be
studying for college instead of hanging out with a bunch of losers.”
“Tarantulas are the winners. We’re
the best.”
Carlos rolled his eyes. “Or the
worst, depending on your point of view.”
Rico’s eyes flared and he jumped
up. “Hey, man, I don’t have to take this s—”
“Watch your mouth.” Carlos
shoved him back in his chair. “Talk to the lady. I’ll be at the bar.”
Sunny ordered a cola, took a
deep breath, and plunged in. Sullen at first, Rico soon warmed to her as she
pandered to his teenaged machismo. She took copious notes and garnered some
excellent information for the news special she planned to do on the growing
concern about gangs in the city. She’d almost convinced Rico to appear on
camera, with his face and voice disguised, when suddenly he looked distracted,
then wary.