Tony Partly Cloudy (14 page)

The man spoke not a word, but waved with one hand at the group of meteorologists while working the bicycle’s bell with the other, all the while sipping from his beer-hat. He pedaled past them and out of sight, the bicycle leaving a small wake in the standing water.

“Only in Key West,” Ryan said. Tony thought he heard a touch of pride in the man’s voice.

After a few more moments of taking in what Tony knew might be a once-in-a-lifetime sight, the group filed back into the terminal. It was time to get back to work.

The remainder of the storm was like watching
Elsa: The Movie
in reverse. A sudden roar as the far eyewall hit the island, followed by the same hour-long cacophony they had experienced earlier. Late in the afternoon the sound finally began to taper off, dwindling to the point where it just sounded like a typical stormy day, not the freaking apocalypse.

But the biggest change Tony noticed was the Gift. It had quieted down, apparently determining that it had completed its job of alerting Tony of the dangers of Elsa. For the first time in days Tony felt his body began to relax. He sagged in his chair, savoring the sensation.

“You okay there, Tony?” Ryan asked.

Caught off guard, Tony quickly sat up straight. “Yeah, I’m good. Just relieved to have this thing past us, is all.” He had to talk loudly to be heard over the sound of dripping water: as Ryan had suspected, the roof had sprung more leaks, and the office floor was littered with strategically placed buckets and wastebaskets that were filling rapidly with water from the continuing rain.

“Well, take a break for a few minutes if you need to,” said Ryan. “But then I need you back on the job. Elsa’s down to a Category 1, and she’s no longer a threat to the Keys, but now our job is to figure out where the bitch is headed next. Everybody else on the island gets to go outside and see what’s left of Key West, but we’re not done concentrating on Elsa.”

“Gotcha,” Tony said. “Let me just grab a Coke and I’ll be good to go. And hey, thanks for letting us take a break so we could look around while we were in the eye. That was freakin’ amazing.”

Ryan smiled. “It was, wasn’t it? Moments like that are why we do this crazy stuff.”

“You got that right.” Tony said. As he ambled to the Coke machine, he repeated, “Freakin’ amazing.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

On Wednesday Tony got a chance to look around the island, and he was surprised by both how powerful and how arbitrary the effects of the storm had been. One house would be missing its roof, while the house next door stood intact. Huge trees had fallen, their massive roots tearing up lawns and sidewalks alike, while wispy saplings and palm trees nearby seemed unperturbed. Three or four small sailboats lay stacked haphazardly on top of each other in one cove, as if put away hurriedly by some absentminded giant. At the airport, a few poorly tethered small planes had broken loose and been flipped over and blown across the tarmac. With the electricity out across the island, the air throbbed with the sound of the gas generators many people were using to power their homes or businesses.

The mood on the island was upbeat – they had weathered worse storms, and would weather worse ones in the future. No fatalities had been reported, and with so many people having evacuated, it was hard to determine whether anybody was missing. Not every hurricane-prone city took such an easygoing attitude toward natural disaster, but then, Key West’s attitude was different than virtually any city on earth even in the best of weather.

At home, Tony helped Martin and Donny clear the foliage and debris that littered their yard, and used a ladder to get up on the roof to check for missing shingles. They had gotten lucky, as had most of their neighbors. But not all of them: countless trees had been blown down, and some had landed on people’s houses or cars. Still, the overlying sentiment on the block was one of relief.

And of course, the departure of Elsa provided the neighborhood yet another reason to celebrate, prompting a number of “post-hurricane parties,” most illuminated by candles or flashlights.

“Could’ve been worse” seemed to be the island’s summation of Elsa’s visit – Tony heard variations of that phrase voiced countless times as the island put itself back together over the days that followed. It was how he found himself describing it when he spoke to his family on the phone:
could’ve been worse
.

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

Elsa was Tony’s first hurricane, but she was far from his last. Over the next several years, numerous hurricanes – some bigger and some smaller – would affect the quirky island he had come to call home.

Each time a hurricane came toward Key West, it reminded Tony of that god-awful book he had suffered through in high school: it was the best of times, and the worst of times. On one hand, each hurricane offered an incredible opportunity to learn more about the weather, with one of the most powerful forces in nature as the teacher. On the other, the danger these massive storms posed was not to be underestimated – meteorologists more than anyone were aware of the death and destruction hurricanes could cause, and the burden of warning and protecting the people in the path of these storms weighed heavy on their shoulders.

Hurricanes were strange. One of the only natural disasters that gave plenty of warning, a hurricane’s approach always seemed slow and plodding, stretching out interminably over the course of several days while viewers nervously tracked its progress on each newscast. But when a hurricane finally made landfall, everything sped up, bigtime. There was no way to anticipate or protect yourself from what winds upwards of 150 miles per hour could do. Hurricanes did what they damn well pleased.

But a hurricane could also make a career. In 1997, Hurricane Clifford surprised everybody by making a hard right turn at the Seven Mile Bridge and plowing upwards through Everglades National Park, on a path toward Homestead, Florida. It was Ryan Culbertson’s coolheaded forecasting that got the warning out to campers and fishermen at Flamingo and Whitewater Bay, and successfully evacuated Homestead, the city that Hurricane Andrew had caught with its pants down five years earlier.

In a move credited with saving hundreds of lives, Ryan spent nearly 24 straight hours on the air – his forecasts being picked up by every station in Florida, as well as most of the networks. By the time Clifford had blown itself out, Ryan’s haggard face had become an icon, its careworn features inspiring confidence and trust. Within a month he was offered a spot on the Weather Channel, for five times the money he’d been making at the NWS. Not being a stupid man, he took it.

Tony was sorry to see Ryan go, having enjoyed working with him over the last three years. But Ryan’s replacement, a kindred New Yorker named Susan Kirkland who had been heading up the Sioux Falls forecast office, hit it off with Tony right away, and the two became an effective team, as well as good friends.

Still, when Tony got home from work each day and instinctively turned on the Weather Channel, there was something that bugged him about seeing his former boss addressing the entire country each night, always clad in what was probably a brand-new suit. It wasn’t that he begrudged Ryan his success. Culbertson was a good man, and an excellent meteorologist. No, there was just this nagging little voice in the back of Tony’s head – a voice that kept saying the same thing over and over:

I could do that
.

“JEEZ, TONY – ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS? I mean, Illinois?”

“Pops, it’s not
ill a noise
– it’s
ill annoy
. You don’t pronounce the S.”

“Then what the hell did they put a goddamn S on the end of it for?”

“Francis!”

“Oh, Rosa – sorry,” Frankie said. “I didn’t know you had picked up the phone yet. It’s Tony, calling us from Florida!”

“And you want our son should hear you speak this way?”

Tony always found talking to both of his parents simultaneously on the phone to fall somewhere between herding cats and refereeing a rugby match.

“Hello, Mama,” he said. “I was just telling Pops about this job I’m looking at, up in Illinois.”

“Oh my God,” Rosa said. “You lost your job?”

“No, Mama! My job’s fine. I’m just thinking of maybe finding a new one. I mean, I been down here going on five years. I’m thinking maybe that’s long enough, like maybe it’s time for a change, you know?”

“Well, at least there’ll be less fags in Illinois, am I right?” Frankie said.

Tony heard his mother sigh in exasperation. “Never mind that, Francis,” she said, “at least Illinois doesn’t have hurricanes, right, Tony?”

Tony cleared his throat. “Uh, no, Mama. No hurricanes.”

“Earthquakes?”

“None to speak of, Mama. As far I know.”

“Blizzards!” Rosa announced triumphantly.

“Well, yeah, Mama, but—”

“Jesus Christ, Rosa – we get those here!” Frankie said. “It’s the tornadoes he’s gonna have to watch out for, am I right, Tony?”

Silence.

“Tornadoes, Anthony?”

Uh oh. Tony hadn’t been called Anthony in quite a few years.

“Well, yeah, Mama, but we get those in New York, too. Remember that one when I was a kid? When we went to the air museum?”

“That was Connecticut,” Rosa said, in a tone that implied there would be no such meteorological nonsense tolerated within New York’s state lines.

“Illinois,” Frankie said, “isn’t that right in the middle of that tornado belt thingie?”

“Pops, it’s called Tornado Alley. And no, Illinois is not in the
middle
of it...” Tony’s voice tapered off.

“Then where?” Rosa demanded.

“Okay, so it’s kinda on the edge of Tornado Alley. But this station is up near Chicago – they almost never get tornadoes up there.”

Tony heard another sigh. He could picture his mother crossing herself.

Frankie tried to rescue him. “So, Tony – what’s the scoop on this new job? You say it’s in Chicago?”

“Well, near Chicago. It’s at a TV station in Rockford – that’s about an hour northwest of Chicago. But they’ve got a really good meteorology team – an actual
team
, instead of just some guy in a suit reading forecasts somebody else sends to him. And they’ve got great toys, too.”

“Toys?” Frankie said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Sorry, Pops. That’s what we call some of the equipment we use – you know, the instruments and gizmos and stuff.”

“You mean like radar or sonar or whatever?”

Tony laughed. “Sonar’s on submarines. But yeah, radar, stuff like that. Hang on, I got the ad right here. It says they have their own Enterprise Doppler radar, and that they’ve got over fifty AWS schoolwatch sites, three live skycams, and NLDN data that overlays on the Fastrac displays, and—”

“Tony, Tony,” Frankie said, “speak English.”

“Sorry. But that’s all good stuff they’re using. Good toys.” Tony was smiling as he spoke.

Rosa spoke up. “I suppose there were no good job openings here in New York? Or maybe in New Jersey?”

“Mama, I looked,” Tony lied, “but there really wasn’t much up there – nothing that was a fit, you know? But this thing in Rockford – this looks real good to me.”

“So what’s the next step?” Frankie asked.

“Well, I’ve sent them my resume, and I’ve talked to them on the phone, and they seemed to like me. So I’m flying up there – I’ve got an interview Wednesday morning.”

“Make sure you take a heavy coat,” Rosa said. “February in Chicago – it’s going to be freezing.”

“Rosa...” Frankie protested.

Tony slapped his forehead. “No, Pops – she’s right! Jeez, Mama – I’m glad you said something. I’ve been down here so long I didn’t even think of that. We got no seasons here. Hell, all February means down here is that maybe there’s a couple days I don’t have to turn the A/C on. God, I would have flown into Chicago wearing shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.”

Frankie whistled. “Hawaiian shirt? See, Rosa? He’s been around all those
finocchios
too long.”

Tony ignored his father. “Wow,” he said, “I gotta see if I even
have
a heavy coat. And if I don’t, I don’t know where the hell I’ll get one here in Key West. I mean, the stores down here don’t exactly feature snowshoes and mittens, know what I’m saying?”

Rosa said, “Maybe those nice gentlemen you rent your room from might have a coat you could borrow.”

Frankie snorted. “Those two? More likely they’ll have a nice sequined gown you could borrow.”

“Francis!”

“Mama, don’t worry about it,” Tony said, trying to intercede. “I’ll figure something out.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

Tony flew into O’Hare Tuesday evening. It took him a little over an hour to get to Rockford in his rented Taurus, but it was another half an hour before he finally checked into his hotel. First he found the hotel, then he drove to the WEFQ studio, making sure his directions had been correct, timing the journey from his hotel to the studio. Then he timed the return trip, and calculated the average of the two.

No surprises – that was the goal. An unattainable goal, but it was something to shoot for – Jimmy Carbone had taught him that.
When you go to a meet
, Jimmy had told him,
always scope it out in advance. And if you’re the one setting the meet up, give yourself time to get there first, to get the lay of the land. Because no matter how well prepared you are, there’s always going to be at least one surprise.

At WEFQ, that surprise had green eyes, and was named Sarah.

The interview went well. The station’s General Manager was pleasant, the studio was small but well-equipped, and each of the station’s on-air weather forecasters was an actual meteorologist, rather than a mere “weather balloon.” That was the scornful term professional meteorologists used to describe the on-air weather forecasters many TV stations employed, who were little more than attractive actors reading scripted forecasts. As a rule, weather balloons were hired for their looks and their voices – actual knowledge of the weather was not a job requirement.

The GM, a fiftyish man named Dale Fletcher with a penchant for expensive suits, took Tony on a tour of the facilities, introducing him to many of the station’s employees. The WEFQ meteorology team was comprised of four people. There was Chip Randall, the chief meteorologist, who presented the weather forecast on the nightly news; Deena Knox, a perky woman in her thirties who handled the morning broadcasts; a “weekend guy” named Ron Dawson, who wasn’t in at the moment; and weather producer Zack Kelly, the “behind-the-scenes” meteorologist whom Tony was hoping to replace, a friendly but rather haggard forty-something who was leaving the station for an on-air position in Iowa City.

As Fletcher continued the tour, Tony was introduced to numerous reporters, camera men, and technicians. After a while the various names and job titles thrown at him began to blur together. Sensing Tony’s confusion, Fletcher said, “Don’t worry if you don’t remember everybody’s name. There won’t be a test or anything. I think you’ll—”

“Shit shit shit!” a voice across the room cried. “I told you I’m no good at parallel parking!”

Tony turned to see a woman in her mid-twenties storming into the room, trailed by a man with dreadlocks carrying a complex video rig on his shoulder.

“That’s what that extra mirror on the back of the truck is for, Sarah,” the man said, struggling to keep up with her.

“What extra mirror?” she asked. The two drew to a halt in front of Tony and Fletcher.

“Fletch,” the woman said to the GM, ignoring Tony, “I screwed up. I was trying to park Mobile News One, and I clipped somebody’s car.”

Fletcher grimaced. “Is the guy okay?” he asked.

“What guy?”

“The guy in the car you clipped!”

“There was no guy,” she said. “The car was parked. Nobody was in it.”

“Well, did you leave a note stuck on the car or something?”

The dreadlocked cameraman said, “Hell, she didn’t leave no note – she left the whole damn truck stuck to the car.”

“What?”

The woman held out her hands in a
calm down
gesture. “Fletch, the bumper of the truck is... well, it’s sort of attached to this car I hit. I couldn’t get them separated. When I started to pull away, it looked like I was about to pull the car’s fender off. So I left it there for now.”

“You mean...”

“What she means,” the cameraman said, “is that Mobile News One has been...
immobilized
.”

“Shit,” Fletcher said.

“My sentiments exactly,” she said.

“What kind of car is it?” Fletcher asked.

“A blue Ford Taurus.”

“Shit.” This time it was Tony who spoke.

Fletcher turned to Tony in horror. “Oh my God, Tony. Are you driving a blue Taurus?”

The woman blanched. “It’s your car?”

Tony said, “Well, if it’s over on the side of the building, yeah, that’s probably me.”

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” the woman said. “Are you here visiting the station?”

Fletcher said, “Sarah, this is Tony Bartolicotti – he’s here interviewing for the weather producer spot.”

Sarah cringed. “God – this is awful. I am so sorry.” She paused for a moment. “But wait – you’re from out of town, right? Please please
please
tell me that’s a rental car?”

Tony sighed, shaking his head. “Man, I just got that car yesterday. It’s brand new!” He watched as Sarah’s eyes grew wide. “At least that’s what the guys over at Avis said – they said I was the first one to rent it.” Tony smiled.

“You bastard!”

“Sarah!” Fletcher said, raising his voice in shock.

But both Tony and Sarah were smiling. Then they were laughing. Tony liked the way Sarah laughed. She laughed with her whole body, enjoying the sensation, surrendering to it.

Fletcher broke the mood by clearing his throat loudly. “Why don’t we go outside and survey the damage?”

Mobile News One was a large Ford van with a radar dish mounted on its roof. And its rear bumper was imbedded in the front wheel well of Tony’s rental, like a fishhook in the mouth of a carp.

Fletcher said, “Well, Tony – is that your car?”

“Yeah,” Tony said.

“Shit,” Sarah said again.

“Yeah.”

“I’m usually okay driving the truck,” she said. “Really, I am. But I’m not so great in reverse.”

“Forget about it,” Tony said.

Sarah giggled, a sound that made Tony feel suddenly very warm inside. In addition to liking her laugh, he liked her giggle. And those eyes, those green eyes...

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

Sarah said, “What you just said.
Fuggedaboudit
. It sounds like those guys on TV – you know, those Mafia guys who – oh, shit – what am I saying? First I hit your car, then I make fun of the way you talk?” She was blushing now. Tony liked her blush. First the laugh, then the giggle, and now the blush. Tony was beginning to think he’d probably like the way she flossed her teeth, or swatted flies. He was finding her altogether likable.

Taking her cue, he laid it on thick, a laughably bad DeNiro. “You talkin’ to me?”

This got the laugh, not the giggle. The big, full-body laugh that made you want to laugh along. Tony was in heaven.

Fletcher stared at the two younger people, laughing their asses off while they stood in front of an easy five grand worth of car repair bills. Turning to walk back into the building he said, “Maybe you two might want to start making some phone calls? Tony’s going to need another rental car, and we need Mobile News One to be, well,
mobile
in time for the rush-hour remote.”

Embarrassed, Tony and Sarah stopped laughing and followed Fletcher back inside, grinning sheepishly at each other as they walked.

Ten minutes later, they had a tow truck on the way, and Fletcher asked Tony into his office.

“Tony, this is an unusual way for an interview to end, to say the least.”

“That’s all right,” Tony said. “Nobody got hurt, and it looks like none of the equipment in the truck got damaged.”

“True,” Fletcher said. “Well, I think everybody here was very impressed with you. We do have several more candidates scheduled for interviews over the next few days, but I should be able to tell you something conclusive by the end of next week. Assuming that you’re interested.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Fletcher. I’m definitely interested. This seems like a great operation – everybody here seems real nice, and very professional.”

Fletcher smiled. “Even if some of them aren’t the best drivers on earth?”

Tony laughed. “Next time I’ll rent a tank instead of a Taurus.”