by Naomi Niles
“No, you’re going to have to write some stories, I suppose,” she mocked me. I grinned in return. “You can do that, right?”
“Martha, you remind me of my dad.”
“Well, that’s not somethin’ I hear every day. Why is that?” She had decided to look at me through the bottom part of her bifocals, which evidently were hinged to her jaw. Each time she looked up at me, her jaw automatically opened. It was as if she needed to mouth breathe while waiting upon a response. It occurred to me that she had probably had to do a lot of listening without speaking her part through the years. John was a sort of man who would’ve encouraged that sort of worship.
“You are far more experienced, of course,” I told her, which was my way of saying she was a hell of a lot older than my dad. “But you’ve got that same, no nonsense approach to life. He’s seen a lot in his years and he doesn’t put up with the silly, unimportant things.”
“Huh. Sounds like a smart man. What does your daddy do?” Her mouth was open again so I could tell she really wanted to know.
“Actually, he’s a fire chief. 13th District; and he is actually the reason I’m doing this. While I was never allowed to ride along on the truck, obviously, he did come home with stories of things he’d seen in the people he’d met. He taught me to have respect for every man, woman, and child. Not every person is in charge of their own fate; sometimes life just dishes shit on you. I don’t think there’s enough spotlight on the ordinary guy. I’d like to change that.”
Martha was shaking her head. “Oh, so you’re another one of them.”
“Them?”
She took a breath of resignation. “One of those do-gooders, still wet behind the ears. You’ll learn soon enough. People are what they want to be and you can’t change them. It doesn’t matter how many words you write about them, when the spotlight goes away, they go right back to who they were. Sort of like that hamster on a treadmill thing.”
I considered what she’d said and admitted that she was even more like my dad than I’d originally guessed. I hoped I’d never lose the enthusiasm for life I was feeling at that moment. Perhaps my goal would prove me wrong, but I was out to bring some humanity back to New Yorkers, and if I was lucky, even beyond that.
I picked up all the papers she had given me and stuck them in the cardboard portfolio I held against my chest. “Martha, it’s been a pleasure. I look for forward to hearing more about life from you. I truly mean that. You are one of those left from the days when this country was great. It is truly an honor,” I said, sticking out my hand. She stared at it for a moment and then seemed to be sort of pleased that I had acknowledged her. She reached out a thin, bony hand and briefly clasped mine.
“Go get ‘em, kid,” she said, picking up her cup of cold coffee as a dismissal for me to leave. I obliged and went out the door, thereby entering the newest phase of my life.
Chapter 2
The traffic was heavier than usual. It had snowed the night before and, as was always the case with the first display of winter, people had to learn to drive all over again. I had planned to go straight home and begin writing, but the backup was getting to me. I decided to roll by Dad’s office instead. I was anxious to let him know about my new job.
He had scoffed at my choosing journalism for a career. Men in his line of work seldom saw the press as practical on the scene of a fire or accident. They usually got in the way. Although he knew that I had learned to stay out of the action, I think he believed that I would be better suited to nursing, or maybe running a daycare. Dad was a real man’s men – none of that metrosexual, self-indulgence for him.
I found an intersection that had actual, moving traffic and turned. Although I was only a few blocks from his fire station, the city required a circuitous route. I was anxious to talk to him and probably drove a bit too quickly. I felt the bumper of the car ahead of me before I visually processed it was there.
Okay, I will admit that just maybe I was fumbling around in my purse for the press card and lanyard Martha had given me. It really wasn’t a very hard bump; after all, it was New York City during rush hour. You were lucky to get up steam to go twenty miles per hour. Of course, you couldn’t tell that by the look on the guy’s face, who unfolded his long legs from his car and headed my way. He didn’t look particularly happy to meet me. I wondered why that was. To be truthful, I really didn’t wonder why at all.
“Why didn’t you stop?” asked a deep voice that belonged to a tall, lanky body that practically split his shoulder seams with muscles. Odd; I had never been drawn to someone who spent much time working out, but I had to admit, this one looked damned good.
“Funny, but I’m asking myself that same thing right now. Hey, I’m really sorry. You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
He held out his arms as if to look himself over and then smirked at me. “What would you say if I said I was hurt?”
“I guess I would tell the police to send over an ambulance. Hey, I’m not trying to be smart or anything, I just want to make sure you’re okay. This was totally my fault. I admit it.” My eyes were glued on that set of shoulders. I think I would’ve admitted that I had just robbed a bank if it meant getting to look at him just a little longer.
“Well, I guess maybe there is a heart in there, after all,” he said. “I’ve already called the police.”
“You did? Damn! I was hoping we could sort of settle this ‘out-of-court’, if you get what I mean. After all, it’s really not much damage to your bumper. I could write you a check here and now and we could walk away.”
He shook his head. That’s when I noticed his deep, blue eyes. I felt my knees go a little weak and I think maybe he thought I was going to faint because he reached out and caught me. Of course, I wasn’t going to explain why I had swayed; it was enough to just be held up by those muscled arms. “Sorry, no way. I go by the book. I have to.”
“Oh, that’s okay. My dad is going to kill me. He warned me if I got just one more ticket he was going to take me off his insurance. I suppose it’s about time that I pay my own way.”
About that time, a police siren could be heard about a block away. Given the traffic, I knew that only gave me twenty minutes or so to get this guy’s name. “Do you think we should swap names and addresses? I mean, just to be on the safe side?”
He sort of cocked his head at me, as though questioning why I would do this voluntarily when it was obvious the police were going to be collecting that same information. “My name is Sean Delaney, but as for my address, I don’t really have one at the moment. I’m sort of, what you might say, in transit. Just moving to the city and hoping to ace a job interview that I am now going to be late for.”
“Hey, I’m sorry about that. But it was you who called the police. If you hadn’t done that, you’d be a thousand bucks richer and on your way to your interview right now.” I was known for getting my way and that was one of the reasons I thought I would make a good reporter. However, at this moment, it felt more like being sucked down into quicksand. I don’t think Sean Delaney completely appreciated my sense of humor. Nevertheless, I continued on, like a leaky faucet. “Well, I’m surprised, but here they are. The men in blue. I’m going back to my car and sit down in an attempt to look like a helpless victim. I suggest that you do the same.”
With that, I went back to my car and climbed inside, beginning to panic when I couldn’t remember where I had put my proof of insurance and registration. I went through my wallet three times and although I found my missing JC Penney card, there was no proof of insurance or registration. That’s when it occurred to me. Of course! It was in the glove compartment! Sure enough, I opened it up and there they were in the nice, navy-blue, vinyl folder, just as dad had left it for me. Sometimes I guess dads do know best.
As I watched, the officers approached Sean’s car first. They walked around, made note of his license plate number, and leaned inside his window to talk to him. The whole encounter only lasted maybe three minutes and then he put his c
ar in drive and left. I sat there open mouthed.
The officers approached me, walking around my car, and when they saw the fire department sticker on the back window, they looked at one another before tapping on my window. I lowered it and smiled sweetly. “Hello, officers.”
“Miss,” one of them acknowledged. “This is your lucky day.”
“Well, you might call it that, but for me it has just recently turned rather crappy. So, which one of you wants to see my driver’s license?”
They looked at one another. The talking one answered first. “No need.”
“No need?”
“The guy you hit claims that you settled it between the two of you and since there is no complaint being filed, and it’s quite apparent that you weren’t speeding, we’re going to let you go.”
“I don’t suppose the fact that I have a certain sticker on my back window has anything to do with this?” My dad was big on ethics and I felt that I needed to at least make a feeble objection… very feeble.
“It didn’t hurt,” the talking one said. “Now, I suggest you put that car in gear and skedaddle. There are lots of people behind you who have places to go and want to get there today.” With that, they both backed away from the window, turned, and strolled off toward the squad car. Not believing my good luck, I threw the car into drive and made it to Dad’s office in record time.
“Is Dad busy?” I asked one of the men on duty who was reading a magazine outside Dad’s office.
He nodded. “I think he has someone in there. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Gwyne. Why don’t you sit down and let’s catch up a bit?”
“Sure, I’d like that. Today’s a big day for me, you know.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“I got my first job after college.” I was grinning from ear to ear. He looked at me and I sort of remembered his name might be Tom.
Tom smiled slowly and then asked, “Do I dare ask what kind of job that might be?”
“Oh, clean up that dirty mind of yours. I got a job as a reporter, and I’m danged proud of it. There’s not many of those jobs left out there, you know. In fact, most of the country doesn’t even hire reporters on salary. They’re all twittering commentators, if you will.”
“I see. Does this mean we won’t be seeing you around here very much?”
“Heck no. You’ll probably be seeing me all the time. After all, why would I give up one of my best sources for breaking news?”
“Does your dad know that’s what you have planned?”
I frowned. “You know Dad. He doesn’t like the media. Not even when his daughter is part of it. But I have my ways of getting around him and I do know how to stay out of the way.”
Tom turned back to his magazine, shaking his head. “That, I’ve got to see.”
I stuck out my tongue at him and walked across the room to the coffee machine. That was one thing you could always count on at a fire station. There was always a fresh pot of brew. I picked up a Styrofoam cup and filled it, stirring in my normal three sugars and one cream.
Tom was watching me from across the room over the top of his magazine. I always had the idea he had a bit of crush on me. “You gonna drink any coffee with that?” he asked me, grinning.
“Watch yourself,” I told him. “I’ve got connections, you know.”
“So I hear. Does this mean you’re going to ruin my reputation in print?”
“I might do just that,” I swung around to face him, “if you had a reputation.”
“Whewwwwww…” he uttered as he laid the magazine on the table next to him. “Somebody is sure full of herself today.”
“And who might that be?” came a deep voice behind him. Tom snapped upright. My father walked over a little closer and looked down at Tom from his full, six foot four height. “Don’t you have something to polish?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hello, sweetheart,” Dad greeted me, wrapping his arms around me in a bear hug. “What’s my girl doing today?” As he hugged me, I looked around his shoulder and once again went weak in the knees. Standing right behind him was none other than Sean Delaney.
“Hi, Dad. I just came to tell you about my new job. Other than that, it’s been a very uneventful day,” I emphasized the last three words. Behind Dad, Sean was grinning, and I knew he would keep my secret. I mouthed the words “Thank you,” in Sean’s direction, and he nodded.
“Well then, come on into the office and tell your old dad all about it,” Dad ushered me in, and as we passed, the sleeve of my blouse touched Sean’s leg and there was an electric current that shot through my body.
Dad pushed the door shut behind us and pointed to a chair. “Sit down, honey. Tell me all about it.”
“Who is that, Dad?”
“Who?”
“That new guy just outside your door.”
“Oh, him? His name is Delaney. I’m thinking of hiring him on.”
“You mean to tell me he’s going to be working for you?”
“That’s generally what happens when I hire someone on. Not sure about him yet, though. Not sure he’s right for us. Why? What is he to you?”
“Just eye candy, Dad. Nothing more. I’d hire him if it was me. Women have a sense about these things, you know. He appears fit, respectful, and he didn’t leer at me like some of your guys.” I proceeded to fill dad in on my new job. As I expected, he frowned, but by the time I laughed, I had him smiling. I had described John Warner and Martha; Dad had always loved it when I told stories. I had to admit, I did have a bit of a knack for it and used it whenever it came in handy.
“We are understood when I say that stories on my firehouse are off-limits, right?”
“Dad! Why would you do that to me? Why should your house not get the full attention that it deserves? Your guys are brave and need to be recognized.”
Dad looked a bit sheepish and I could see that I made my point stick. “Okay, you got me, but only with my approval; got it?”
“Got it!” I wished that all my subjects were as malleable as my own father. That would make my life so much simpler. “So, what are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?”
“I’m headed out to the training center. That new recruit I just hired, taking my daughter’s advice, will be going over there and running some stairs. I thought I’d drive over and take a look. He looks good—as you say eye candy—but let’s see if he’s got what it takes. If not, he’s going to be doing some major push-ups and scrubbing floors around here.”
“Mind if I ride along, Dad? That would be a great way to start my career, to do a feature on you and how you train new recruits. Could make a lot of young guys want to sign up.” I let the words dangle there, waiting for him to pick them up.
“You think you got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?” He grinned. “Okay, hitch a ride with me and we’ll talk along the way. Wait in the car, and before you go, tell that Delaney guy to step in here, please.”
I turned and grinned to myself. Dad was such a pushover.
“Hey, Delaney,” I called to him. Sean walked toward me and I drew him to the side by pulling on his arm. “So, Dad was on the fence whether you had what it took to fit in here. You might say I put in a good word for you; after all, it was my fault you were late. He’d like to talk to you now.”
Delaney stiffened, maybe because he’d left doubt using his own credentials and mine had clenched the deal. He looked at me and my eyes clearly told him not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He glanced over me to the door and nodded. I waited in Dad’s car and felt quite pleased with myself.
* * *
The training center was located at the North Shore, in an industrial area where the occasional explosion and fire didn’t raise any undue attention. The primary building was the tower; it was twenty stories and there were aluminum steps all the way to the top. The only way to get up to the top was the steps. The only way to get down was to jump, or hustle the steps. It was the sort of place that separa
ted the mice from the men.
I thought Dad secretly enjoyed sending new recruits there. He had been a Marine in his younger years and the taste of blood between his teeth still got him excited. As for me, I wasn’t terribly fond of watching people puke from a hundred feet overhead, but they usually had their shirts off by that time and sometimes that made up for the inconvenience. In this case, I was not to be disappointed.
Sean Delaney was in great shape. There was just no other way to describe it. He had stripped off his shirt and tied it around his neck and was hammering up those steps, sometimes two at a time. You had to admire that kind of athleticism. Dad also seemed fairly impressed.
“Where does he come from?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral and made notes on the notepad I carried in my purse.
“Delaney? He’s from out of state. One of those flyover states, you know, Ohio, Missouri, Iowa… does it really make a difference?”
“What’s he doing here in the city?” Again, I tried to keep my voice neutral and reporter-ish.
“Says he wants to fight fires in tall buildings. I guess they don’t have too many of those in Iowa, or wherever. Anyway, I want to see how he takes the heights. Lots of these punks say that, but when they get up there, they start puking their guts out.”
I knew that was the show Dad was hoping to see. I was sort of glad that Mom couldn’t see this. She had died five years earlier; the tumor the doctor said was nothing to worry about, turned out to be something to worry about. Dad had taken it pretty hard and it had made him even more gritty than before. I could take it from him. He seldom showed me that hard side and I didn’t live at home anymore; that made it easier. It would’ve been harder on Mom, but then maybe he would’ve softened if she had still been around.
His attention was on Sean, and I had to admit it was a spectacle to behold. He had made it to the top of the tower and was waving down toward us. Dad gave a single wave back as Sean started back down the stairs, this time leaping three at a time. I held my breath, figuring he’d trip at some point and land on his nose on the broken concrete at the base. I was wrong, though, and secretly my nether regions were screaming for satisfaction. Of course, I could hardly tell Dad this, but if what scientists said was true, Sean should have been able to smell my pheromones even from a hundred feet up.