by Naomi Niles
“Don’t get smart. You’re going to write, all right, but I’m going to be looking over your shoulder for the first couple of weeks. I don’t want you turning in a bunch of garbage and expecting a paycheck in return.”
“On my way,” I told him, slamming the lid of my laptop in anger. Only men like John Warner could get away with saying things like that. He was old school and no one would call him on it. No one, that is, except probably my father. I actually agreed with them. I sighed and changed clothes into something more office-like, and with my best Lois Lane appearance, I drove down to the newspaper office and walked in. As I had expected, there were two people there: Martha and John Warner. I was the third.
“So, here I am. Where would you like me to sit?”
“Sit there,” John pointed to a broken-down stenographer’s chair that was laying at a crazy angle against an old, Ludlow lead smelter.
“There? Will that thing even hold me up?”
“We won’t know until you sit down on it.” John was chewing on the stub of cigar in his mouth. It seemed that the cat had found a new mouse to play with. I could see I was going to have to earn my right to be there. This wasn’t a matter of a word count, but of paying your dues, as they used to like to say.
“Not a problem.” I set the chair upright, dusted it with a Kleenex, and rolled it over to one of the old desks where I sat down. “So, where would you like me to start?”
“What were you working on at home?”
I was surprised by the question. “I was writing a piece on a day in the life of a New York firefighter.”
John chewed on the stub of cigar and put one hand beneath his chin as he contemplated the idea. Eventually he nodded. “Not too bad.” He turned around and walked back into his office, slamming the door.
Martha swirled her chair around and looked at me. “Well, you’re off to a blazing start.”
“He’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”
“Pissed at you? Hell no. If he was pissed at you, you’d be standing on the sidewalk downstairs. Write your story and mind your business. He’ll be out pretty soon and take a look at what you’re doing.”
* * *
True to Martha’s forecast, John emerged from his office an hour later. “Print it out,” he ordered me, pointing at my laptop. I connected to the network printed out what I had written so far. He read it, threw it at me, and said, “Rewrite it. Don’t sound like a 22-year-old girl. Sound like a goddamn man who’s carried a family out of a burning building. Your perspective is all wrong.”
With that, he turned, and after slapping Martha on the shoulder, told her he was going to lunch and would see her whenever. She didn’t even look up, so apparently this was normal.
I spent all afternoon rewriting the piece, and I had to admit that he had been right; the new version had a lot more humanity in it. If I hadn’t been the daughter of a fire chief, I don’t know that I would’ve had the insight it took to be real. I made note of that. It was the old adage that a writer should only write what they know. Whoever wrote that knew what they were talking about.
I printed the finished piece out and laid it on John’s desk, packing up my laptop and smiling at Martha. Then, I left to go home. Sean was there, busily measuring with a tape measure when I walked in.
“Hey,” I greeted him.
“Hey, yourself. How was the first day?”
“I should be asking you the same thing. How hard was my dad on you?” I sat my laptop and purse down on an old, wood chair and walked over to where he was measuring. “Do you need me to hold one end?”
“That would be great. If you would just hold this up against that wall, I’ll take it from there.”
“So?”
“Oh, you mean your dad? Was trying to remember numbers. He’s a good guy, Gwyne. He’s tough, no question about that, but that’s the kind of man you need in charge when there’s a family’s life on the line. I’m honored to be working for him. I’ve already begun to learn.”
“My, my. Are we jockeying for a little favoritism here?”
“I’m surprised. That was sort of a nasty thing to say.” He was frowning and I couldn’t see the dimple.
“You know what? You’re absolutely right. That was a totally bitchy thing to say and I’m sorry. Look, I had sort of a rough day, the first one and all. My boss makes my dad look like Mother Teresa. I wrote a story and he promptly threw it out. Made me spend all afternoon rewriting it.”
“Well, isn’t that what you’re paid to do?”
“Now who’s being bitchy?”
“Hey, come on. Admit it. We have this in common. We have to pay dues before earning respect. You know how this works; I don’t have to explain it to you.”
I picked up my purse and my laptop, then turned and faced him. “Once again, two points. I don’t seem to be able to say anything right today.” With that, I trudged up the stairs, went into my apartment, and went straight to bed.
As I lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling, I could hear Sean downstairs. There was the open space around the fireman’s pole and it conducted sound exceptionally well. He was humming to himself, what sounded like an old, country hymn. I could hear the snap of the measuring tape and the scuff of his boots as he paced off general outlines for rooms. It was sort of comforting, to live there and know there was a man downstairs who was one of the good guys. I felt like I could trust him. I couldn’t say that about a lot of guys.
I got up, made a couple of bologna sandwiches, and put on my robe. I padded quietly down the staircase and walked toward him. He looked surprised and that look softened as he saw what I was wearing. I hadn’t intended it to be provocative, but I could see that his eyes had that certain look. I loved that look. I handed him one of the sandwiches and perched back on the wooden chair.
“You need my help?” I offered once again.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I do. Would you come over here?”
I stood up and set my sandwich where I’d been sitting. I walked over to where he was standing and looked around to see what he was doing. He was still facing me and when I looked up with a questioning look, he put his hands on my shoulders and bent down. He kissed me softly, but generously.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the first moment I saw you.”
For the first time in my twenty-two years, I was absolutely dumbfounded. I had nothing to say. Then I realized something: I could actually be somewhat attractive when I kept my mouth shut. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a disaster after all.
Chapter 6
John Warner was in a lousy mood again. I had become familiar with that attitude in our short time together and wondered whether this was really worth it. I had heard Sean leave early that morning and I found myself looking forward more to him coming home at night than to working at my new job. That was an interesting realization.
I was sitting at my desk, working on some sideline stories. John had decided that we were going to do an entire series on New York City fireman. The stories behind the scenes, so to speak. “I want you to get your ass down there and follow the trucks. I want some real, human-interest stories. You know, the kind where the fireman saves the family dog, or the house explodes and it’s a matter of coincidence that no one was home at the time. Give me the news behind the news. That’s the only way papers like this survive.”
I nodded, agreeing to do as he asked. “You realize, of course, this means I won’t be around the office very much. If I’m going to do on the scene reporting, I need to be on the scene.”
“You can save the smart mouth stuff. I’m sure you give your Dad plenty of that. Of course you can’t sit around here on your ass. You need to get out there where the stories are. Yesterday was just an experiment to see how far I could push you. As of now, I’d say I can push you pretty far; as a matter of fact, about as far as I want to. But I’m a reasonable man and I understand that you don’t want to sit around here and rot like Martha and I. So, go ahead, get out there, and file your s
tories according to the guidelines on the sheet Martha gave you. If I see you in here again, it’s because I’m expecting to get your resignation. Got that?”
I looked up at John, fairly stunned by what he had just said. If I ever figured him out, I knew I would be in serious trouble. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I snapped my laptop shut, grabbed my purse, and waved goodbye to Martha on my way out the door.
Of course the first place I went was to Dad’s firehouse. There, I at least had some permission to get closer to the scene. When I arrived, I saw Sean was scrubbing floors. I tried not to embarrass him by making any unflattering comments. I knew how Dad worked; he liked to humiliate people, to bring them down to the lowest level, and then he would bring them up where he wanted them to be. It was his way of training them. If a fireman ever thought that his own life was worth more than the person he was saving, there wouldn’t be any more fireman. Therefore, their ethics had to be strong and their desire to help others even stronger. I simply waved at Sean and went up to talk to Dad.
“Dad, I’ve been put on assignment to get some background stories. I think I’ve got a pretty good handle so far on life in the firehouse. I like to go out on some of your calls.”
“No way.”
“Dad, now you promised me, remember?”
“What I agreed to was letting you go with my permission. I’m not giving you my permission. End of argument.” He sat back in his chair, rolling a pencil between his fingertips and looking to see my reaction. I knew that he expected me to blow up, and under normal circumstances, that would have been the first thing that came to mind. I was an adult now, however, and I needed to learn how to deal with characters like my dad if I was going to get anywhere.
“Okay, if that’s the way you’re going to play it. But just be prepared. Every time an alarm comes in, you can expect me to be at your elbow, begging you to let me go along. That might sort of put me in the way. And I know how you don’t like that. So, what do you say to letting me follow the truck? I promise I won’t get near the building, I will stay out of the way, I won’t talk to any of your guys, and who knows? Just maybe we can get some help to some victims who don’t have insurance, lose everything…. You get the idea.”
Dad sat back once again, a thoughtful look on his face. I knew had a soft place in his heart for people who got caught without insurance and had nothing to fall back on. The best thing he could do was refer them to the Red Cross, but that might get them through the first seventy-two hours. After that, they were generally on their own.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I want you to have some basic training. The new guy, Delaney is his name.” I nodded, as though I was slow to recall Sean’s name.
“What about him?”
“I want you to shadow him. I want him to teach you what he knows. It might involve you doing a few sit ups to strengthen your muscles, you need to learn CPR, but most of all you’ll learn how to stay the hell out of the way in a hot situation. One rule though: you will never, and I repeat never, enter a building that is afire. Do we have that perfectly clear?”
Was he kidding? He was putting Sean in charge of me on an ongoing basis and I was going argue about that? “Okay, Dad. Have it your way. It’s really not what I do best, but I guess if I want to get the stories, I will have to do this according to your rules.”
Dad looked at me suspiciously. He wasn’t used to me giving into him quite that quickly. I could see the contemplation on his face, wondering whether I had matured a bit since graduation. It suited me just fine to let him think that I had.
“Are you going to tell Delaney, or shall I?” I asked.
“I’ll have a talk with him. I’m going to be very specific about what he’s going to show you. I don’t want you getting hurt. In the meantime, you’re going to be classified as the firehouse mascot.”
“Are you talking about making me like a freaking Dalmatian?”
“That’s your new name. I don’t want the guys thinking this is about favoritism, even if you’re not a firefighter. Your job is to learn everything that Delaney teaches you and I want you to clean up around the place, chip in on chores, and so forth.”
I rolled my eyes, but I did it carefully while looking at the floors so he didn’t see me. Dad wouldn’t tolerate that sort of disrespect. “I’m heading home to change my clothes and I’ll be back in an hour. Tell Delaney I’ll be ready for them.”
I practically flew out of the station house back home. It took me a few minutes to figure out just the kind of outfit I would wear. It had to be just the right combination of utility and sexy. I settled on a pair of bib overalls with a tube top beneath. I thought it showed my curves, and yet the contrasting masculinity of the overalls just emphasized the woman in me. I pulled a ball cap off the shelf of my closet and wound my hair into it.
Returning to the station house, I found Delaney. He was taking a coffee break. I poured myself one and sat down opposite him.
“Do you mind telling me how the hell you talked him into this?” Sean was looking at me with amazement. I just shrugged. “You don’t think this is going to make it just a little bit harder to keep my living arrangements from your dad?”
I looked around to make sure no one had overheard him. “First of all, the guys in the station house are like nosy brothers. They all look out for me and they’d report anything back to Dad in the blind second. So I would suggest that you not bring up your living arrangements, as you call them, if you want to keep your job here. Other than that, I give you my word that I’m truly going to try to learn from you.”
“So, let me get this straight: during the day, I’m the boss, but at night, you’re the landlord and the boss. Do I have that right?”
“Is that going to be a problem?” I looked at him with my brown eyes, using the sorrowful look that always worked on Dad. It appeared that Sean was not immune to it because he immediately smiled and shook his head.
“No problem whatsoever. Let’s get started. Go over there and give me twenty push-ups.”
He thought he could scare me with an exercise routine; what he didn’t know was that I had been doing push-ups since I was ten years-old—dad had seen to that. I got down to the floor did the twenty push-ups, and then an additional ten with one arm. I jumped to my feet and looked at him, a slightly impudent look on my face.
“Not too bad,” he commented. “Let’s see what you can do with sit ups. You get down there and I’ll say when to stop.”
I assumed the position and began the exercise. He let me keep going for a couple of minutes and then he stood up to leave the room. “Hey, where you going?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back. Just keep going.”
The bastard! He wasn’t playing by the rules. Well, there were two ways of doing that. I didn’t need to play by the rules, either. As soon as he cleared the doorway, I stopped the exercise and when I heard his shoes coming back in my direction I picked it up again.
He walked in and stood over top of me, his shoes straddling my shoulders. This gave me the most delicious advantage of looking up at his crotch each and every time I sat up. I think I could’ve done that all day. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Just because I left the room doesn’t mean I wasn’t watching. I watched you from the camera in the office. I saw you stop. I figure you owe me about a hundred more sit ups.” He stifled a grin and walked back over to the lunch table to sit down.
“Are you freaking kidding me? I won’t be able to sit up for a week.”
“Don’t push me. That could introduce some interesting scenarios. Knock them off and then we’ll take a ride over to the tower.” He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down to watch me. Although it was one of the most painful things I had ever done in my life, I wasn’t going to let him defeat me. The last one felt like it ripped the muscles out of my chest.
I crawled to my feet this time, glaring at him. “I hope you’re enjoying this. Payb
ack is a bitch, you know.”
“Now, now, you promised to do what I told you. That’s your first lesson. It has nothing to do with how many sit ups or push-ups you can do. It has to do with following orders. There’s no room for argument when you’re at a fire. If I tell you to stay put, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. You got that?”
I frowned, kicking myself mentally that I hadn’t seen what he was doing. I could barely move and would’ve killed for a hot bath and a half dozen aspirin. Instead, I nodded demurely.
“Okay, climb into my car and let’s go over there.”
How ironic that my slave driver opened the door for me. This was going to be a confusing time. We were both playing roles. At times, I was his boss, at times his landlord, and at times his student. He could pretty much say or do anything to me he wanted and Dad wouldn’t utter a peep. What Dad didn’t know was that I was vying for the most important job of all: I wanted to be Sean’s lover.
We arrived at the tower and had to sit in the car to wait our turn. There were a few guys from another precinct doing the exercise. Sean pointed to them. “Watch what they’re doing.” I nodded, trying not to fall asleep from exhaustion.
“I want you to watch how they work together. They’re always in pairs; one guy is responsible for his partner, and vice versa. This way somebody knows where you’re at and what you’re doing at all times. If you get into trouble, you’re not on your own. I don’t know how much time you spent on the scene, but it can get pretty confusing. Especially at night. You’re standing somewhere that’s completely unfamiliar to you and every second could mean a life being lost. The fire is always unpredictable, so you have to be on high alert. It’s the only thing to light your way and yet you’re trying to put out the flames. People get dirty, they get hurt, bystanders get too close. It can be a real mess. I figured the best place for you is to be in charge of the bystanders. That way you won’t get tangled up in hose or have anything fall on your head, and you’ll be right there with the people that you want to interview. Up front and center, so to speak.”
