If you would have told me a year ago I would get a Pulitzer I would have laughed until I cried. If you told me six months ago I would get a call New York offering me a job at the Daily Bugle I would probably have had you committed. But here I am, holding my cat in his carrier and staring up at the impossibly high apartment building. My apartment building.
I had thought living in Sacramento, California for all my life would have prepared me to see skyscrapers. Turns out I didn't really know the full meaning of "skyscraper" until I was looking at buildings that seemed to literally scrape the sky. Sacramento was a small town in comparison to New York. I wish I could say I wasn't scared and that my confidence was as tall as the buildings, but I was about to piss my pants in fear.
No, I was just going to piss my pants.
After paying my taxi driver (a lovely man named Dopinder) and removing my luggage from the trunk, I carefully maneuvered myself through the throng of people toward my apartment. I opened the door, juggling my bags and cat and made my way to the elevator.
When I reached the elevator to my bladder's dismay I noticed that there was a hastily scribbled note written in what looked suspiciously like crayon, "Elevater closed, sorry."
"God damn idiot," I grumbled angrily to myself because taking out my frustration at the poor individual who was misspelled "elevator" was certainly healthy.
Five sweaty floors later I finally made it to my apartment. After entering, I wasted no time in dropping my luggage on the floor and making a mad dash to the bathroom. Luckily for me, the previous tenant left toilet paper so I wasn't stuck there after I had done my business. This was especially good for me considering I hadn't thought to grab some from my bag beforehand.
After leaving the bathroom, I went to my cat's carrier and carefully extracted my angry kitty.
"There, there Pumpkin, it's ok we're home now," I cooed softly into his ear. "I know you're scared, but you'll get used to it soon." I wasn't sure if I was talking to him or myself but these words seemed to soothe both of us. I put down my orange fluffy cat to let him roam his new environment. As he did that, I took that moment to take a look for myself as well.
The apartment had basic furniture and boxes moved in already, as I had had them sent ahead of me. It wasn't necessarily small, but it wasn't big either. At least it had a bedroom. In Sacramento I was stuck in a studio apartment and since I would be getting significantly more money at the Bugle I made sure to get a place with a separate bedroom. There was brick on one wall across from the admittedly cramped kitchen and a small space where a couch was already present. All in all, definitely not a bad set up. I even had a little balcony! Well, okay it was a fire escape but I'm going to count it.
After ordering pizza since I was far too lazy and tired to cook, I put sheets on my bed and laid down. I had to get up early the next morning to meet my new boss, Mr. Jameson.
It was extremely hard to fall asleep that night. The fear of being in a brand new city across the country and the constant sirens and noise kept me up for hours before exhaustion took me. And even when I slept, my dreams were filled with buildings that kept growing up and up and up and sirens blaring loudly as they grew.
The Daily Bugle building was bigger than I expected, and at that point I had already begun to expect more than I had before arriving to New York. It was intimidating and the modern architecture gave it a cold, hard presence very unlike my warm newspaper building I left behind. After gawking at the structure, I took a deep breath and walked through the doors.
As I stood in front of the fully functional (thank god) elevator, I saw a man step next to me out of my peripheral vision. He was taller than me, something that I wasn't used to in comparison to my 6'0" stature. In my curiosity, I snuck a sideways peek at him. Brown hair and glasses was the only thing I could make out from my fast glance. After second look, I saw he was carrying a manila folder and had a pretty beaten up camera dangling from his neck. Ah, a photographer, I thought. I considered introducing myself, but he seemed to be running on barely any sleep and looked grumpy. I decided not to bug him.
After what felt like forever, the elevator doors opened. The man next to me finally noticed my presence as we both nearly ran into each other while starting toward the open doors. He mumbled an apology and gestured for me to enter the elevator first which I did with an equally quiet thanks.
He pushed the button marked "10" which I noticed was the same floor I was headed to. "What floor?" He asked without looking at my face.
"Actually, I'm headed to 10 as well," I responded with a small smile. At this, he finally met my eyes and studied me as if trying to identify me. While he tried futility to remember me, I took the opportunity to freely ogle his face. He was hot. Not in the traditional modelesque sense, but in an adorable nerd, geeky sort of way. While I memorized his face for future reference since I assumed he was a colleague (and definitely not for any other reason) I noticed a bruise above his left eyebrow and a scrape on his cheek. What happened to him?
"I don't know you," he said finally. I laughed.
"Your powers of perception are staggering. I just moved here from California, I'm the new reporter," I offered my hand for him to shake and he took it. "Emily." He finally allowed me a minuscule upturn of his mouth.
"Peter."
"Nice to meet you Peter," I said smiling.
"Yeah, same here."
We fell into an awkward silence as the elevator slowly inched upward toward the tenth floor. Eventually I couldn't take it and needed to say something to break the tension.
"Rough night?" I asked, gesturing toward his bruised face. He furrowed his brow, confused and absentmindedly touched where I pointed to. He immediately grimaced and let his arm fall back to his side.
"Uh yeah, I got into a fight," Peter said finally. I chuckled a bit.
"Funny, you don't seem like the type to get into fights," I responded. He gave me a full smile now.
"You'd be surprised," he said cryptically. I snorted softly and opened my mouth to say something sarcastic and witty when the elevator jerked slightly and the doors opened. Peter turned to me and said "Welcome to the Daily Bugle," before leaving the cramped space.
"Thanks!" I called after him and stepped out myself.
Glancing around the large room I saw lots of people bustling around cubicles and handing off papers. I heard the familiar clicking of keyboards and printers and breathed in the smell of newspaper ink. Finally, I thought. Something I know.
I maneuvered my way across the floor to the largest room, which had a large plaque labeled "J. JONAH JAMESON" in large bold font next to the door. I glanced around the vicinity looking for a possible secretary when I found a young woman sitting in a desk nearby. She was stunning. I immediately felt a little intimidated by her put together and effortless appearance. I often didn't bother with much make up, only using the bare minimum to make sure my eyebrows and eyelashes were visible to the human eye and my dark circles from sleepless nights writing weren't totally noticeable. But she took make up to a place I didn't think people actually went to in real life besides Instagram and YouTube.
I cautiously approached and looked for her name plate. I located it after a few seconds and read the name "BETTY BRANT" before making it to the desk.
"Hi, my name is-"
"Ah! Emily Anderson, we've been expecting you!" Betty interrupted with a full tooth grin. "I read your piece, it was great, Mr. Jameson really loved it especially, with all the anti-hero business in it. He went on and on about how it was about time that someone say these criminals for who they are- yada yada yada. He was so thrilled to hear you accepted the job offer, I hope you don't get too bored of superheroes, I expect he will want you to write all about them while you are here."
I blinked a few times, trying to register everything she said, even though she had been speaking faster than I had heard anyone talk before.
"Umm, thank you!" I finally said. "Although I wouldn't say it was 'anti-hero,' I was just trying to bring to light some of the things the general public seem to forget about them, like the loss of life, the financial ruin we find ourselves in whenever they disagree with each other-"
"Yes, yes, yes," she interjected again. "I know, but that's not what Mr. Jameson read. He tends to like articles geared more toward 'anti-hero' so he gets what he wants out of it." I smiled hesitantly. "Well, let's have you meet him, shall we? Why don't you wait here for just a moment," Betty gestured toward an empty seat next to her desk. "Peter should be out of his office soon, I think he just came in to drop off pictures. He usually doesn't come in personally, just emails them, but I think Mr. Jameson wanted to yell at him in person this time."
No sooner had the last word left her lips, than Peter opened the door. I met his eyes and nodded my head in greeting. He nodded back and was about to leave when Mr. J Jonah Jameson himself came to the door. He was a middle-aged man with a flat haircut, wild eyes, and a cigar stuck between his teeth. His face was beet red, as if he had already been yelling.
"PARKER. I mean it, I want better pictures or I won't pay you!" Jameson yelled after him. I flinched, even though I wasn't the object of his frustration. Peter, however, was nonplussed.
"I gotcha, Mr. Jameson, I'll do better next time," Peter waved him off without even looking back and walked toward the elevator. Jameson muttered angrily and was about to close his door before Betty spoke up.
"Oh sir! Ms. Anderson is here, sir," she said quickly. Jameson turned back around and looked me up and down.
"Right, the Californian," he said unimpressed. I tried to smile, but wasn't sure if I succeeded.
"That's me, sir, it's a pleasure to me-"
"Yeah, yeah shut up, get in," he said pointing into his office. Good lord does everyone interrupt each other in New York? I walked in nervously, hoping to not get the same treatment as the
man before me.
Author's Note:
Soooooo this is my first story here! I hope that you guys like it, it's just something to keep me occupied when I'm not at work or in class. I'm hoping to update once a week, but I can't make any promises with my schedule unfortunately ?
This story is also on Wattpad, and there I have illustrations throughout the chapters as well. I can't post links here, so https(/www(wattpad(com/myworks/121890891-the-reporter so just replace all the ( with periods except the first where you put in a colon. If you don't want to go through all that, if you just search "girlwhohateswaiting" and "wattpad" my profile should come up from there.
Much love!
