"You bet your sweet ass."
Francesca stared at her. "But what about the sponsor, the man who just called you?"
"Screw him. Sit down, chicky. We're going to make ourselves a radio show."
Within two months, Francesca's ninety-minute talk and interview program had been firmly established as the closest thing KDSC had ever had to a hit, and Clare's hostility toward Francesca had gradually settled into the same casual cynicism she adopted with the rest of the announcers. She continued to berate Francesca for practically everything- talking too fast, mispronouncing words, playing two public service spots back to back-but no matter how outrageous Francesca's comments were on the air, Clare never once censured her. Even though Francesca's spontaneity sometimes got them into trouble, Clare knew good radio when she heard it. She had no intention of killing the goose that was so unexpectedly laying a small golden egg for her backwater radio station. Sponsors began demanding air time on her show, and Francesca's salary quickly rose to one hundred thirty-five dollars a week.
For the first time in her life, Francesca discovered the satisfaction that came from doing a good job, and she received enormous pleasure from the realization that the other staff members genuinely liked her.
The Girl Scouts asked her to speak at their annual mother-daughter banquet, and she talked about the importance of hard work. She adopted another stray cat and spent most of one weekend writing a series of public service announcements for the Sulphur City Animal Shelter. The more she opened up her life
to other people, the better she felt about herself.
The only cloud on her horizon centered on her worry that Dallie might hear her radio show while he was traveling on U.S. 90 and decide to track her down. Just thinking about what an idiot she'd made of herself with him made her skin crawl. He had laughed at her, patronized her, treated her like a mildly retarded adult, and she had responded by jumping into bed with him and telling herself she was in love. What a spineless little fool she'd been! But she told herself she wasn't spineless any longer, and if Dallie Beaudine had the nerve to stick his nose back into her business, he would regret it. This was her life, her baby, and anybody who got in her way was in for a fight.
Acting on a hunch, Clare began to set up remote broadcasts for Francesca's show from such diverse locales as the local hardware store and the police station. At the hardware store, Francesca learned the correct use of a power drill. At the police station, she endured a mock jailing. Both broadcasts were runaway successes, primarily because Francesca made no secret of how much she hated each experience. She was terrified that the power drill would slip and bite through her hand. And the jail cell where they'd set up the remote was filled with the most hideous bugs she had ever seen.
"Oh, God, that one has pincers!" she moaned to her listeners as she raised her feet off the cracked linoleum floor. "I hate this place-I really do. It's no wonder criminals act so barbaric."
The local sheriff, who was sitting on the other side of the microphone gazing at her like a lovesick calf, squashed the offender with his boot. "Shoot, Miss Francesca, bugs like that don't hardly count. It's centipedes you got to watch out for."
The KDSC listeners heard something that sounded like a cross between a groan and a squeal, and they chuckled to themselves. Francesca had a funny way of reflecting their own human weaknesses. She said what was on her mind and, with surprising frequency, what was on theirs, too, although most of them didn't have the nerve to cne out and acknowledge their shortcomings in public th‹i way she did. You
had to admire someone like that.
The ratings continued to rise, and Clare Padgett mentally rubbed her hands together with glee.
Using a part of the increase in her salary, Francesca bought an electric fan to try to dispel the stifling afternoon heat in her garage apartment, purchased a Cezanne museum poster to replace the string guitar, and made a down payment on a six-year-old Ford Falcon with body rust. The rest she tucked away in
her very first savings account.
Although she knew her looks had improved now that she was eating better and worrying less, she paid little attention to the fact that a healthy glow had returned to her skin and a sheen to her hair. She had neither the time nor the interest to linger in front of a mirror, a pastime that had proved so completely useless to her survival.
The Sulphur City airport advertised a skydiving club, and Clare's normally testy temper took a turn for the worse. She knew a good programming idea when she saw one, but even she couldn't order a woman who was eight months pregnant to jump out of an airplane. Francesca's pregnancy greatly inconvenienced Clare, and as a result she made only the smallest concessions to it.
"We'll schedule the jump two months after your kid is born. That'll give you plenty of time to recover. We'll use a wireless mike so the listeners can hear you scream all the way down."
"I'm not jumping from an airplane!" Francesca exclaimed.
Clare fingered the pile of forms on her desk, part of her attempt to straighten out Francesca's affairs with the U.S. Bureau of Naturalization and Immigration. "If you want these forms filled out, you will."
"That's blackmail."
Clare shrugged. "I'm a realist. You probably won't be around for long, chicky, but while you are, I'm going to suck out every last drop of your blood."
This wasn't the first time Clare had alluded to her future, and each time she did, Francesca felt a surge
of anticipation pass through her. She knew the rule as well as anyone: people who were good didn't stay at KDSC for very long; they moved on to bigger markets.
She waddled out of Clare's office that day feeling pleased with herself. Her show had gone well, she had almost five hundred dollars tucked away in the bank, and a bright future seemed to be waiting for her on the not-so-distant horizon. She smiled to herself. All it took to succeed in life was a small bit of talent and a lot of hard work. And then she saw a familiar figure walking toward her from the front door, and the light went out of her day.
"Aw, hell," Holly Grace Beaudine drawled as she came to a stop in the center of the reception area.
"That stupid son of a bitch knocked you up."
Chapter 21
The bubble of Francesca's self-satisfaction abruptly popped. Holly Grace planted five frosty mauve fingernails on the hip of a pair of elegantly tailored white summer trousers and shook her head in disgust. "That man doesn't have any more sense now than he did the day I married him."
Francesca winced as every head in the office turned her way. She felt her cheeks fill with color, and she had a wild urge to cross her hands over her bulging abdomen.
"Do you girls want to use my office to chat?" Clare stood just inside her doorway, obviously enjoying the mini-drama that had sprung up before her.
Holly Grace quickly sized up Clare as the person in authority and announced, "Us girls are gonna go someplace and have ourselves a stiff drink. That is, if you don't mind."
"Be my guest." Clare swept her hand toward the door. "I do hope you'll be ready to share some of this excitement with your listeners tomorrow, Francesca. I'm sure they'll be fascinated."
Francesca stayed several steps behind Holly Grace as they crossed the parking lot toward a sleek silver Mercedes. She had no desire to go anywhere with Holly Grace, but she could hardly play out this particular scene in front of her rabidly curious co-workers. The muscles in her shoulders had tightened into knots and she tried to relax them. If she let Holly Grace intimidate her so quickly, she would never recover.
The Mercedes had a pearl gray leather interior that smelled like new money. As Holly Grace got in, she gave the steering wheel a light pat and then pulled a pair of sunglasses from a purse that Francesca instantly recognized as Hermes. Francesca drank in every detail of Holly Grace's wardrobe, from the marvelous turquoise silk halter top that crisscrossed in the back before disappearing into the belted waistband of her beautifully cut trousers to the stunning Peretti chrome cuff bracelet and luscious silver kid Ferragamo sandals. The Sassy ads were everywhere, and so Francesca wasn't surprised to see how well Holly Grace was doing for herself. As casually as possible, Francesca draped her arm over the