Chapter 01 #2
I burst out into the street and hurry my way over to the glass building, half a block away. The doorman just shakes his head as he sees me coming, and holds open the side entrance.
“Morning, Miss.”
“Thank you, José,” I call out to him over my shoulder.
By the time I reach our floor, my breathing is ragged and I feel the uncomfortable feeling of perspiration on my face. The humming of computer screens and the ticking of keyboards wash over me.
I know that the editorial office is the happy place of most journalists — it’s where they can boast about their conquests while sipping burned coffee and munching stale cookies — but I simply dread it.
I’d rather be out there, among the people, to see what they do, and how they do it.
Not locked up in a cubicle writing about a world that only exists beyond these walls.
Helen knows this, and she has always given me that freedom. I hope today’s invite doesn’t put an end to that.
When I reach her office, I knock softly, only once. Her reply comes only after a few moments.
“Enter.”
I push the door open just far enough for me to slide in, before silently walking over to her desk. She doesn’t even glance up, but motions at the chairs across from her with an irritated gesture. I sit down and wait for what feels like ages.
“You are late,” she eventually says, but there is no sharpness to it.
I could defend myself and say it wasn’t my fault, but that would only please her. So, I hold my tongue instead and wait for what she has to say.
“I’ve reached out to our local fire station. The Chief owes me a couple of favors and I decided to cash one in. Your next profile will be on their first lieutenant, Elena Gonzales.”
She pauses for a moment and finally raises her gaze to meet mine. My mouth has dropped open at the mention of the fire department. I’ve been trying to do a profile on any one of them for years, but they’ve shut the door in my face every single time. Helen never once mentioned having connections.
I should be furious, but instead I feel that happy sensation of my curiosity creeping to the forefront.
“Helen, that’s…”
She doesn’t let me finish the sentence.
“That folder will tell you everything you need to know.” She nods slightly to the corner of her desk before glancing back to the papers in front of her.
I am clearly dismissed, so I grab the folder and move to stand up. Just as I am about to turn around, she speaks again.
“And Maya,” she glances at me. “Make sure not to embarrass me.”
I grit my teeth and glare at her. A spike of anger shoots through my system as I bite back a retort. Professional. I have to remain professional.
So, instead of replying, I simply turn on my heels and walk away, closing the door with a soft thud. Bitch.
***
When I open the blue folder, I see that there are only two pages in there. The first one contains information on the Chief. His name, his phone number, and underneath the note that he is expecting my call. Nothing more. Three clean lines.
The other page holds a brief biography of the lieutenant. My eyes dart over the words.
Elena Gonzales (39) — decorated firefighter.
Was part of the rescue crew during the 2016 wildfires near Madrid.
Her team got closed in on, but was led to safety under Gonzales’ careful instructions.
Due to her quick wit and knowledge, there were only two people injured and one fatality.
Gonzales got transferred to Barcelona in 2019.
I hear myself gasp at the little piece of information. If I could get her to open up, to really open up, then maybe she would be willing to share her feelings about those deep wounds. The true sacrifices that come with the job.
The page is blank on the other side and I knit my brow. There is no photo, which I hate. It tells you so much about a person, whether they open up easily, are used to putting on masks, or even if they need their space.
I run a quick Google search on my phone, but nothing pops up either. Well, I guess that should tell me something too. My stomach drops and I feel heavy. Suddenly Helen using her connections feels more like a challenge than her actually wanting to help me.
But she is fucking with the wrong journalist. This closing piece will be my best article yet.
When I call the Chief, he answers at the second ring. His voice is deep but smooth and I instantly take a liking to it.
“Salisar speaking.”
“Good morning, Chief, this is Maya Carter from Woman at the Front.”
“Ah, Maya,” my name rolls off of his tongue as if he has spoken it before. “You are calling about Gonzales.”
He goes straight to the point, another thing I like. Too bad he isn’t a woman— he would be the perfect person to interview. No fluff, straight talk, friendly enough to press with more questions.
“Yes, sir.”
“Helen said you usually spend a bit of time with the people you write about?”
Oh good, she at least saved me the trouble of having to explain why a single meeting would not be sufficient for my piece.
“Indeed, sir. It takes a while to really get to know a person, and the stories I write are in-depth. It requires me to… peel some layers before I can get to the core.”
He huffs a laugh, warm and friendly. When he speaks again, there is a playful tone to his voice.
“You’re a brave woman wanting to interview a firefighter then, Carter. Have you not heard about our reputation?”
“You mean the one where they say you guys like to build walls around yourselves thick enough to box yourselves in?”
“That’s the one. It’s true, and Elena is no exception.”
I clench my teeth and close my eyes for a brief moment. Well, fuck. I inhale sharply through my nose and then force a smile back on my lips before speaking, hoping it conveys some confidence I don’t actually have.
“Well, pardon the pun, Chief. But I have faced hotter fires.”
He laughs again at that, full and round.
“Why don’t you come over to the station tomorrow at nine, so that I can introduce you. You can make your appointments with Gonzales and we can get you set up for ride-alongs.”
“That sounds perfect, sir. I’ll be there, thank you.”
He chuckles again, mutters a goodbye, and ends the call.
When I put my phone down, I run my hands over my face. I have a day to prepare for meeting a woman I know nearly nothing about, practicing a profession I know even less about. Did Helen set me up to fail?