"Spangler," my boss, Mike Callaghan, called out. He slapped an assignment
on my desk, then stared down at me. I looked up from my computer, where I
was busily sending emails to my friends and family in Ohio. "I have your
first job for you. It's a real human interest story, something for you to
dabble your little feet into."
"Can't you give me something more interesting? Like a double homicide on Park and 5th, or something along those lines?" I requested without even looking at the assignment. Mike sat on my desk with a little sigh. He looked me square in the eye.
"Listen, Raeanne. You and I both know that you're one of the best journalists in the business. You proved that at your last job. But even Connie Chung had to start somewhere. If I give you a job you want on your second day of work, then I'll have every wacko who has a spell check demanding a decent lead," he told me. "You know after a few weeks I'll get you some better jobs."
"So what's this human interest shit about?" I asked reluctantly. Mike smiled.
"That's the little fireball I hired," he punched me gently on the shoulder. "It's just a piece about the firefighters and police of this specific region in the City, and how they're dealing with the September 11 attacks during the Holidays."
"Mike,"
"Don't argue, Spangler. You're stuck with it,"
"Mike, shut up. I was going to say that I'll take the story. It's the kind of material I can work with," I laughed softly. "In fact, I'll write the sappiest story you've ever read. It'll make everyone cry."
"Those are pretty big shoes to fill, Spangler. I hope you're up for the job,"
"Please," I scoffed. "I was born to be a writer.
"Don't be biased in your story. I don't care how you feel toward the attacks, you're to write about their feelings and their feelings, only,"
"Aye, aye Captain," I teased.
* * *
I tapped my foot patiently in the lobby of the 55th precinct. I had seen cops come and go, some looking me over and some just smiling politely. Either way I had flashed a brief smile, just wanting to get out of the precinct and talk to my new friend. I didn't know if something more would happen, but in the mean time I would just enjoy his presence.
"Hey," a voice spoke up. I looked up from my notebook, where I was busily writing down ideas and angles for my story. Bosco stood a few feet away from me, dressed in sweats and a ripped gray shirt. He had a towel draped around his neck and carried a bag in his hands. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought we were going back to my place so that you could help me move some more stuff," I reminded him, standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder. Bosco's face went from surprised to dumbfounded and back in a matter of moments.
"Oh, shit," he mumbled. "Hey, I'm really sorry. I had one hell of a day today, and I worked it off in the gym for an hour. How long have you been waiting?"
"About a half hour or so. I was a little late, but the secretary told me you hadn't left yet,"
"Jesus, I'm so sorry," he repeated, approaching me. He wrapped his free arm around me, hugging me tightly. "I completely forgot about it. I feel really stupid now. You should've just gone home or something."
"Hey, it's no big deal," I assured him, pulling away.
"I have a way to make it up to you," he smiled suddenly.
"Bosco, you really don't have to make it up to me," I insisted.
"Come on," he whined. "I want to take you out for dinner, or at least a drink. Then after I've blown some major money on you we can go back to your place and I'll be your personal servant for the night."
"Yea, a few Smirnoff's at the bar is really big money," I teased. Bosco grinned his crooked grin, which made my knees weak for a few seconds. He took me by the arm and led me outside of the police station. We sat down on a bench, debating about whether or not we should go anywhere.
"Come on," he urged. "I'm at your disposal, here. Not many women can brag about something like that."
"Oh, is that so?" I started to laugh. Bosco nodded, trying not to crack a smile. I could see it tugging at his lips. "Well, if it's only a couple of Smirnoff's, then I guess you can spend money on me."
"Can't you give me something more interesting? Like a double homicide on Park and 5th, or something along those lines?" I requested without even looking at the assignment. Mike sat on my desk with a little sigh. He looked me square in the eye.
"Listen, Raeanne. You and I both know that you're one of the best journalists in the business. You proved that at your last job. But even Connie Chung had to start somewhere. If I give you a job you want on your second day of work, then I'll have every wacko who has a spell check demanding a decent lead," he told me. "You know after a few weeks I'll get you some better jobs."
"So what's this human interest shit about?" I asked reluctantly. Mike smiled.
"That's the little fireball I hired," he punched me gently on the shoulder. "It's just a piece about the firefighters and police of this specific region in the City, and how they're dealing with the September 11 attacks during the Holidays."
"Mike,"
"Don't argue, Spangler. You're stuck with it,"
"Mike, shut up. I was going to say that I'll take the story. It's the kind of material I can work with," I laughed softly. "In fact, I'll write the sappiest story you've ever read. It'll make everyone cry."
"Those are pretty big shoes to fill, Spangler. I hope you're up for the job,"
"Please," I scoffed. "I was born to be a writer.
"Don't be biased in your story. I don't care how you feel toward the attacks, you're to write about their feelings and their feelings, only,"
"Aye, aye Captain," I teased.
* * *
I tapped my foot patiently in the lobby of the 55th precinct. I had seen cops come and go, some looking me over and some just smiling politely. Either way I had flashed a brief smile, just wanting to get out of the precinct and talk to my new friend. I didn't know if something more would happen, but in the mean time I would just enjoy his presence.
"Hey," a voice spoke up. I looked up from my notebook, where I was busily writing down ideas and angles for my story. Bosco stood a few feet away from me, dressed in sweats and a ripped gray shirt. He had a towel draped around his neck and carried a bag in his hands. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought we were going back to my place so that you could help me move some more stuff," I reminded him, standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder. Bosco's face went from surprised to dumbfounded and back in a matter of moments.
"Oh, shit," he mumbled. "Hey, I'm really sorry. I had one hell of a day today, and I worked it off in the gym for an hour. How long have you been waiting?"
"About a half hour or so. I was a little late, but the secretary told me you hadn't left yet,"
"Jesus, I'm so sorry," he repeated, approaching me. He wrapped his free arm around me, hugging me tightly. "I completely forgot about it. I feel really stupid now. You should've just gone home or something."
"Hey, it's no big deal," I assured him, pulling away.
"I have a way to make it up to you," he smiled suddenly.
"Bosco, you really don't have to make it up to me," I insisted.
"Come on," he whined. "I want to take you out for dinner, or at least a drink. Then after I've blown some major money on you we can go back to your place and I'll be your personal servant for the night."
"Yea, a few Smirnoff's at the bar is really big money," I teased. Bosco grinned his crooked grin, which made my knees weak for a few seconds. He took me by the arm and led me outside of the police station. We sat down on a bench, debating about whether or not we should go anywhere.
"Come on," he urged. "I'm at your disposal, here. Not many women can brag about something like that."
"Oh, is that so?" I started to laugh. Bosco nodded, trying not to crack a smile. I could see it tugging at his lips. "Well, if it's only a couple of Smirnoff's, then I guess you can spend money on me."