Tony Partly Cloudy (26 page)

With that, Trask stormed out of the meeting room. Following his lead, Andrea and Goldman quickly got up and left the room, without another word.

Alone in the conference room, Tony sat quietly in his chair for a moment, reflecting on what had just been said.

“Our gimmick,” he said quietly. “So maybe I should be called OG instead of OE.”

Tony sighed. Then he got up and went back to work. The weather wouldn’t wait for him, he knew. Even if his picture was in
People
magazine.

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

Walking into the WGX commissary the next day, Tony was greeted by Mike Walters, WGX’s morning meteorologist.

“Hey, Tony – nice call on last night’s forecast.”

“Thanks, Mikey. Yeah, I got lucky on that one.”

Tony shook hands with Mike, then sat down for their ritual cup of coffee together. The meteorology team had overlapping schedules, so that they could compare notes and “hand off” any emerging weather conditions they had been tracking.

Mike laughed, “I don’t know about luck. All the other Chicago stations predicted overnight rain – you were the only one saying it would blow over, and it did. Damn, I wish the Cubs could bat like you forecast!”

Tony said, “Hell, I’d be happy if the Cubs could bat like Binky Peters forecasts – even that would be an improvement!” Living proof that it actually was possible for a human female to have the same proportions as a Barbie doll, Binky Peters was a weather anchor for a tiny cable station in Chicago. The standing joke among many meteorologists was that Binky’s forecasting accuracy was as minimal as the outfits she wore. But she had a loyal fan base – all male – and had the distinction of being the only meteorologist featured on her own pinup calendar.

Andrea Finch happened to be walking by as the two men spoke. She froze for a moment, then turned to face them.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but what did you just say?”

Tony held up his hands. “Andrea, sorry – we was just joking around. About this weather anchor at this little cable station. You probably never heard of her.”

Andrea arched an eyebrow. “Do you think there’s anybody in Chicago who doesn’t know who Binky Peters is? And incidentally, there’s no way those boobs are real – you do know that, don’t you?”

Before either man could speak, Andrea said, “But that’s not what I’m talking about.” Turning to Mike, she said, “What did you just say about the Cubs, and Tony’s forecast?”

Mike paused, then said, “Just that I wish the Cubs could hit like Tony forecasts. Maybe then they’d actually win a game.”

Andrea nodded thoughtfully. Then she turned and walked away, smiling as she walked.

“What the hell was that all about?” Tony asked.

Mike shrugged. “Hell if I know. But do you think she’s right about Binky? That they aren’t real?” Mike looked genuinely concerned over the issue, prompting Tony to laugh.

“Yeah, I hate to burst your bubble,” Tony said, “but I think Binky has had some major work done.”

Mike said, “Then there’s a surgeon or two out there that I want to send a thank-you card to.”

“You’re a deep guy, Mikey.”

Mike winked. “Yeah, that’s why chicks dig me.”

Tony laughed, patted Mike on the shoulder, and walked away. In the hallway he passed Andrea, who was talking animatedly on her cell phone. She looked up for a moment, flashed Tony a 200-watt smile, then went back to her conversation.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN you’re not coming here this weekend?” Sarah asked, the edge in her voice carrying through the phone line. “I came into the city last weekend. So this weekend it’s your turn to come here. You know, the way we arranged it.”

“I know, I know,” Tony said, “but something just came up. I—”

“This is the third time something
just came up
, Tony,” Sarah said, “and it’s starting to get old. Real old.”

“Sarah, look, I’m sorry. I mean, you know things have been hectic since I started here. But this is a charity dinner, and they want me to sit at the head table, and, you know, say a few words. And hey, it would be a chance for you to wear one of those killer dresses you have. And I’ll be in a freakin’ tuxedo, can you believe it? That reminds me – I need to go get a tuxedo. How much you figure those things run? You know, for a decent one. Nothing too fancy.”

There was silence on the line.

Finally Sarah said, “Are you done?”

Tony shifted the phone from one ear to the other. This wasn’t going well, he knew. “Well, yeah, I guess I’m done. I’m just trying to tell you, I think you’d enjoy being here for this.”

“What’s it for?” Sarah said, her voice still skeptical.

“Charity, like I said.”

Sarah sighed. “Yes, Tony, but
what
charity? What cause are they promoting?”

Tony fidgeted. “Uh... something to do with kids. Or wait – I think it’s some disease. Or maybe one of those diseases that kids get...”

“You don’t even know what this is for,” Sarah said. It was not a question.

“Well, not exactly, no. But I’m sure it’s a good cause, and—”

“And you’re sure you want to be sitting at the head table, and maybe say a few words, and maybe get your picture in the paper, and maybe meet some more members of Chicago society. You know, climb up another rung or two on the social ladder.”

“It’s not like that,” Tony protested, realizing as he spoke that yes, it
was
like that. Sometimes Sarah’s ability to cut through the bullshit – a trait he usually admired – could be a real pain in the ass.

“Do you even remember what we were supposed to do this weekend?” Sarah asked.

Uh oh. Tony thought frantically, and came up dry. Time to bluff. “Yeah, yeah...” he said tentatively. “We were supposed to go... you know, to that thing...”

“That thing?”

Busted. It was time to wave the white flag, and he knew it. “Listen, Sarah. I’m sorry. I
don’t
remember what we were supposed to do. You’re right – I forgot.”

More silence.

“Sarah, come on. What were we supposed to do?”

After another exasperated sigh, Sarah said, “We were supposed to go to dinner at Bella Luna. I made reservations three weeks ago, to make sure we could get in. And afterwards we have tickets for Rent. It
finally
came to Rockford, and it’s only playing in town for the weekend.”

“Then it’s no problem,” Tony said. “We got shows like that playing every freakin’ day here in Chicago. And there’s tons of good restaurants here. Tell you what – I’ll give you the money to cover the tickets you bought, so you won’t take the hit on that. Then you come here, we do this charity thing, and then the next day we catch one of those musicals you like at a matinee, then we follow it up with dinner at a nice restaurant. Italian, just like Bella Luna. Sound like a plan?”

Yet another silence. Then, “Tony, you don’t get it, do you? Since you got this job, everything is starting to revolve around you. You – not us – you.”

“Sarah, that’s not true,” Tony said, “or at least not entirely true. I mean, we do stuff that’s for you, too.”

Sarah said, “Oh yeah, you’re right. Like that Cubs game you took me to last weekend. That was obviously for me, even though that was the game where they had you come out on the mound and throw the first pitch, while they showed your name – your nickname, that is – on the scoreboard.”

“Jeez, Sarah – I thought you liked baseball. And I’m sorry, but it
is
an honor to get asked to do that.”

Sarah’s voice was calmer now. “I know, Tony, I know. Stuff like that
is
exciting, and I don’t blame you for wanting to do it. And I know your career is really taking off, and I’m happy for you – really, I am.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Tony asked.

“It’s just... it’s just that with all this going on, I really am starting to feel like a third wheel. There’s you, there’s your career, and there’s me. And if I don’t play along with what you and your career want to do, then I don’t get to be with you. I feel like I’m along for the ride, but that sometimes you forget I’m there next to you in the passenger seat, to stretch a metaphor.”

Tony thought for a moment, letting her words soak in.

“Sarah,” he finally said, “I don’t mean to make you feel that way. Honest. And I don’t want you to feel like you’re just tagging along. I mean, we discussed this whole idea, and you were the one always telling me I could really make something of the opportunities I had. Well, I’m doing it. And right now, to do it right, I think I gotta really focus on it.”

Sarah started to speak, but Tony stopped her. “Let me finish, please. The thing I want you to understand is that I see this as just a
phase
. It’s something I gotta do, but it’s temporary. I mean, it’s like this with any new job – you gotta plunge in and really go the extra mile, to prove yourself. Once I get through this phase, I figure things will level out and get more, you know, normal. And if you just hang in there while I go through this, pretty soon things will be more – I don’t know –
balanced
between us. Does that make sense?”

Sarah said, “In theory, yes. And I’m glad that that’s how you hope things will go. But Tony, is it realistic? Do you really think things will level out? It seems like things are snowballing, not leveling out. I mean, you were just featured in
People
, for God’s sake.”

“I know, I know. But I figure that’s probably as far as this stuff can go, so that’s a good thing. That way, I’ve peaked already, and now things can calm down.”

“But
have
things calmed down? Didn’t you tell me other stations keep calling you, offering you jobs?”

Tony squirmed. “Well, yeah. That is still happening a lot. But my contract at WGX has me pretty well locked, plus I’m already making plenty of money. I just bought my old man a new Grand Marquis. You shoulda heard him when I told him about it. I swear, he—”

“Tony,” Sarah said, “
focus
.”

“Sorry. But back to what we were talking about. I really do think things will start to calm down soon. Real soon.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sarah said. Her tone suggested she was unconvinced.

Tony said, “Trust me, I’m right. Forget about it.” Hoping he was past the rough waters, Tony said, “So, about this charity thing. Do you think you can make it?”

“I don’t know – I guess so. But then next weekend, you’ll definitely come back to Rockford, right?”

“
Madonn’
!” Tony said. “Next weekend I’ve got an in-store gig at a Ford dealership – I’m pretty sure I’m going to get a new Explorer out of it, once they figure out how to handle the bookkeeping on the deal. So that weekend’s no good. Maybe the week after that? Hang on, let me check to make sure that weekend is clear, ‘cause I know I got a Blackhawks game coming up where I’m supposed to present some Golden Puck award or something, and—”

Tony stopped talking when he heard the dial tone. Sarah had hung up.

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

Andrea Finch sat across from Trask in the GM’s cavernous office, pleading her case. It was going well, she thought.

“Let me get this straight,” Trask said. “You want to start advertising Tony’s
batting average
?”

Andrea smiled at Trask, who sat behind his massive desk looking contemplatively upward. She said, “Well, by batting average, I mean tracking his winning streaks. You know, how long it’s been since he got a forecast wrong. I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but this guy hardly ever misses. Nobody on any of the other Chicago stations gets it right as often as Tony.”

Trask nodded, his eyes still focused somewhere on his ceiling. “He is kind of freaky with his forecasts, I’ll admit. I never used to even pay attention to forecasts, because most weathermen get it wrong so much. But if I hear Tony say it’s going to rain, I pack an umbrella.”

“Me too,” said Andrea. “He’s the best I’ve seen, at least in terms of accuracy.”

Trask was frowning. “Do we have hard numbers? I mean, we both think he’s good, but what if his stats don’t end up looking as impressive as we think?”

Andrea smiled. “I had the same thought. That’s why I waited four weeks to pitch this idea to you. I wanted to collect some data first.” She laid a sheet of paper on Trask’s desk. “Behold,” she said, still smiling.

Trask picked up the paper and studied it. A smile began to creep across his face.

“This is good stuff,” he said. “And you’re sure about the numbers?”

Andrea nodded. “Double and triple-checked.”

“And how do you define a forecast being right or wrong?”

“Excellent question,” Andrea said, “and it’s one our competitors are sure to ask. There are a lot of variables we could track, but I talked to Mike Walters and Gerald, our weather producer, and they came up with a pretty slick way of scoring it. And it’s way better than those
5-degree guarantee
promotions some stations are running. Those weathermen just guarantee the temperature range. With Tony, we’re talking the whole forecast.”

Excited by the topic, Andrea stood up and began to pace as she spoke.

“Plus,” she said, “it’s way easier to score somebody like Tony, because he gives such precise forecasts. One thing we found is that a lot of the local weather anchors give pretty wishy washy forecasts. Sort of like horoscopes, you know? They’ll give some middle-of-the-road forecast that has a pretty good chance of being mostly right, but that doesn’t really prepare you for the day’s weather. But with Tony, you can plan your evening or your weekend based on what he says.”

Suddenly aware that she was pacing, Andrea forced herself to sit down, hands folded in her lap.

“Tony really is more than a gimmick,” she concluded. “This guy
knows
the weather. And I think it’s time to capitalize on that. Sure, people thought of him as a gimmick at first, but they
liked
the gimmick. And now we’ve got figures to show that in addition to him being the most colorful weatherman out there, he’s also the most accurate.”

When Andrea was done speaking, Trask nodded. “I like it,” he said. “Let’s get Tony in here, see what he thinks.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

“I don’t like it,” Tony said.

“Why not?” Andrea and Trask asked in unison.

“It just seems kind of – I don’t know –
cocky
, you know? Like I’m some kind of Mister Know-It-All or something.”

Andrea smiled placatingly. “Tony, it’s not bragging when it’s fact. You’re doing a terrific job with the weather, and we want to tell the world. I’d think you’d be honored.”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, shifting in his seat. “It kind of puts some extra pressure on me.”

“Nonsense,” Andrea said. “Just keep doing what you do. You’re already head and shoulders above any of the other local weather anchors, as far as forecasting accuracy. You don’t need to change a thing. In fact, this won’t really be anything that
you
would even concern yourself with. This would be the sort of thing the
other
anchors would say, you know, when they introduce you.”

Trask said, “She’s right, Tony. We’re not asking
you
to go out there and brag about yourself. We’re just
honoring
you with maybe a little intro line each night, and probably a running banner onscreen showing your batting average.”

“Batting average?” Tony said. Turning to Andrea, he nodded and pointed a finger at her. “I know what this is. This is from that time you ran into me and Mikey talking in the commissary, am I right?”

“Bingo,” Andrea said, smiling smugly. “Mike was talking about how he wished the Cubs could hit like you forecast. And that got me to thinking. And, well, here’s the result. So thanks, to both you and Mike, for giving me this idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” Trask said, nodding to reinforce his words. “Now let’s get on this. I want to start airing your average next week, assuming you don’t blow a forecast – or should I say,
strike out
? – between now and then.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

“Batting average? Wow – no offense, Tony, but that’s pretty cheesy.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Tony said, settling down on the couch for his nightly phone call to Sarah. It had taken a lot of flowers – and even more chocolate – but Tony had managed to work his way back into her good graces.

“Whose idea was it?” Sarah asked, talking with her mouth full. From the crunching Tony heard, he assumed he was competing with a bag of Doritos for her attention.

“Andrea. She’s the one I told you about, in Marketing.”