Things You Save in a Fire - Katherine Center Page 0,27
was that—whether by luck or design—I had always been totally immune to all that nonsense.
Until right now.
Because on the very first morning of the very first day of the rest of my firefighting life—the very moment I needed that immunity more than I had ever needed it before—I lost it.
Nine
THAT’S WHEN THE captain started introducing “our other newbie.” Me.
That’s also when I started to wonder if anybody had mentioned to the crew yet that the other new guy was a girl.
Later, I would reflect back on the captain’s pronouns as he introduced me. Did he ever actually use the word “she”? Maybe not, after all.
Because when he finished describing the new member of the crew to the team, everybody looked around the room.
And kept looking.
Like I wasn’t even there.
I mean, there I was, a total stranger in their kitchen, wearing department-issue Dickies and an unmistakable FD uniform shirt. I walked over and stood next to the captain, for Pete’s sake. I was the only unaccounted-for person in the room. There was no one else it could possibly have been. But their eyes swept past me—more than once—as the room murmured in confusion.
Was this really possible? Could what you expected to see alter so much what you actually saw?
Finally, somebody said, “Check the basketball pole.”
That’s when the captain, who seemed to be enjoying how flummoxed they all were, finally decided to clear things up. “Friends,” he said, sweeping his arm in my direction, “meet the new guy.”
The room fell silent.
“We thought she was a student,” one guy said.
“We thought she was the stripper,” another guy corrected.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Captain Murphy said, meeting my eyes. “New guy—meet the crew.”
Next, the introductions. The captain pointed at the most calendar-like guy in the room. “The ladies’ man right here with the six-pack is Drew Beniretto.”
“You’re too pretty to be a fireman,” Beniretto said to me.
I gave him a look. “Right back atcha, pal.”
The crew chuckled at that, and the captain added, “We call him Six-Pack.”
Six-Pack lifted his shirt to show us his abs, and a couple of guys threw things at him—a paper cup, a Nerf football, a set of keys.
The captain went on. “The plump dumpling next to him is Tom McElroy. We call him Case.”
“’Cause Drew’s got a six-pack…,” one guy called out.
The rest joined in: “And Tom’s got a case!”
McElroy smiled and slapped his round belly. “Tight as a drum,” he said to me.
“Not sure that’s a good thing,” I said.
Case took a step closer to me. “Punch it.”
I shook my head. “You really don’t want me to do that.”
The captain kept moving, now pointing at Sullivan. “This is Sullivan, our engine operator. Stand up, Sullivan.”
Sullivan stood up. I revised my earlier guess. He was six-five, at least. Maybe six-six.
“What do you think we call this guy?” the captain asked me.
It was a challenge—to see if I could think like a firefighter.
“It’s either Shorty or Tiny,” I guessed.
All the guys burst out with laughs and shouts. “She got it!”
Tiny took a bow.
The captain gave me a nod of respect and went on with the introductions. “The cranky one with back trouble is DeStasio. I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you can ever make him smile. Whatever you do, don’t park in his space. He’s taking over cooking duties in the wake of the Patterson brothers’ departure. He can make a total of three different meals, and they’re all burned.”
DeStasio didn’t say hello. In a voice of pure dismay, he asked the captain, “Why is the new guy a girl?”
The captain nodded, like, Good question. “I thought you guys could use a little surprise. Plus, she’s a hotshot medic. And we were desperate.”
Then Six-Pack said, “I for one am all for it. I’m tired of looking at you ugly bastards.”
Another cheer of rowdy laughter and protest.
The captain put his hands out to settle them down. “Now, I know what you guys are all thinking about women.” Here he paused, seeming to think about women himself for a minute. “But this is who the chief hired, and you can be men about it or you can whine like little—”
He caught himself, glanced over at me.
“Puppies,” he continued.
Case piped up again. “But where is she going to sleep?”
“Where’s she going to crap?” Tiny said. “We don’t even have a ladies’ room.”
“Where is she going to put her lady products?” DeStasio demanded, and the whole room moaned in disgust like there was nothing on earth that could be grosser than that. As if