BILOTTI AND SOPHIE were checking the ladders on the rig when he stopped and stared at her. His dark eyes narrowed. “What’s with the smiles, Tyler? We’re on fifteen hours. It’s cold as a bitch tonight. Don’t seem like much to be happy about.”
“Not all of us are sourpusses like you.”
He grunted. “You must be getting some.”
She laughed. “Which means you aren’t?”
“That’ll be the day.” Though Bilotti was divorced, he was big and very male and had plenty of female company. “The TV thing’s on tonight.” He tested a rung on the ladder. “I hate shows about the department. They always manage to make us look bad.”
“Rachel Scott seemed okay, but you can’t trust the media.” She watched him. “Tony, we’re square, right? I mean you had a tough time when I came to the group and now all this shit with Scott going on...”
“We’re square. Don’t let that broad go plantin’ ideas in your head.”
Jules appeared in the bay. “Chow’s on.”
“What’d he cook, probie?” Bilotti asked, putting away the last of the ladders.
“Some kind of fish.”
“I hate fish.”
Sophie sniffed. “It smells good.”
“It’s still fish.”
At dinner, the subject of the TV broadcast came up again. Eleven of them gathered around the table because they ate with the engine’s crew and often Chief Marconi joined them.
“So, Tyler, what’d you say about us?” Murray asked.
“That you’re Neanderthals, but I love you anyway.”
After some talk of the show, the chief leaned back in his seat and his eyes sparkled. Sophie groaned, knowing what was coming. Good thing she was prepared.
Marconi said, “Good dinner. Which reminds me...how do you know that the female firefighter cooked dinner?”
“Don’t know, Chief.” Murray loved when people picked on her. “How?”
“The smoke alarm goes off.”
“Hmm.” Sophie pretended to think. “How many chiefs does it take to change a lightbulb?”
None of the guys responded.
“Chickenshits,” she said under her breath. “It takes one. He holds the bulb up to the socket and the world revolves around him.”
That set them off on all kinds of firefighter humor, much of it black, until they finished dinner. Then they got a call for a kitchen fire. When they arrived, it was a false alarm, and they were back in the firehouse by nine in time for the beginning of Timeline, USA.
Rachel Scott appeared on the screen wearing a dark suit and a peach silk blouse. Her hair was full and styled, and her makeup perfect. She arched delicate brows. “Women in the fire department? Today, it’s a fact of life. Laws and social pressure have forced fire departments across the nation to join the twenty-first century. The numbers are low—there are only three hundred fifty female firefighters, or firefems as they were once called, in the country. The typical fire department is a culture that prides itself on machismo and an old-boy’s-club atmosphere. This, however, is about New York City and the FDNY. The last bastion of firemen who went kicking and screaming into integration of many sorts.”
A shot of a firehouse came on. Engine 46. It was a standard, two-story building, brick front. The camera went inside to find the crew in the kitchen, eating dinner. The lens focused on Hannah Harper. She looked tough and savvy in her fire department blues and was joking with the guys.
The voice over continued, “Though this is a common occurrence today in an FDNY house, when the first woman, Brenda Berkman, forced her way into the department you wouldn’t have seen this kind of camaraderie because the male firefighters wouldn’t buy her food” —the camera panned to a full meal set on a table— “fix her dinner or let her eat with them.”
The next shot was of Sophie, entering Company 14. She was wearing a blue shiny jacket with FDNY on the back and was carrying a backpack. She smiled at the camera, but it was forced.
“You look good, Tyler,” Cooper said. “A little heavy maybe...”
“Back at ya. You’re getting that paunch again.”
The camera followed Sophie into the kitchen, where the guys greeted her without fuss.
“This is another scene that wouldn’t have been the same back in the day. When Berkman walked into a firehouse for the first time, she was met by a group of wives of firefighters who were protesting the entrance of women into the department.” A newspaper clipping of the event came on screen. A slew of women were gathered outside of a firehouse with placards that read, “Not with our husbands.”
Then there was a clip of Rochelle “Rocki” Jones, who was now a very good battalion chief, explaining that on her first day, she was met at the door by a male firefighter who told her he didn’t want her there.
The next cut showed Yvette Trudeau climbing a rope at the academy. Scott’s voice-over continued. “One of the biggest fears of the men in the department was whether woman had the physical ability to do the job.”
Then live footage of the Concord Hotel fire appeared onscreen, showing Sophie descending the ladder with the giant of a guy.
The camera was still on her when they fell.
“Do they really have the physical capability to be firefighters?” Rachel Scott asked.
“Fuck,” Sophie said.
“Goddamn it.” This from Jules. “She shouldn’t get away with that.”
Other more colorful expletives from the guys followed.
When Scott appeared again, she was the picture of innocence. “Let’s take a look at the history of women coming into the department.”
On screen came a shot of the FDNY’s training academy.
“Women candidates who passed the written exam were given a physical test here at the academy, called the Rock. All ninety failed.”
“Damn it, that test was rigged,” Sophie said. “I told her that people testified it was the hardest test ever given. When men were offered the chance to take it, to prove it wasn’t too hard, they wouldn’t risk it.”
“Calm down, Sophie,” Mackenzie said. “Maybe it gets better.”
But the litany continued. A picture of Brenda Berkman came on. “In 1979 Brenda Berkman, a law student, brought a class action suit against the city of New York, forcing the city to reevaluate its test. Many said the resulting test given in 1982 was ‘soft,’ which in department vernacular means easy.”
Lance Callahan’s ugly mug came on. “I think women are a liability in the department. They can’t keep up physically. I always said I wouldn’t want one at my back. It’s why me and another guy transferred out of the house when a woman came on board.”
More rounds of swearing. Sophie got up and stood behind the group, too angry to sit anymore.
Then Mackenzie appeared on screen. “Of course women can do the job. In some ways better. They use up their air slower. They can get in tighter spaces. And their endurance and stamina can beat out ours.”
Bilotti growled, “I don’t know about that.”
The cap shrugged. “My opinion.”
Scott looked out at the camera, her expression puzzled. “But they don’t have the upper body strength of men, do they? For instance, could Firefighter Tyler carry you out of a building?”
A cut to the ladder scene again and of them toppling to the ground.
“Nobody gets carried out of a building if we can help it, Ms. Scott. Victims are dragged. It’s dangerous to the firefighter and the victim to carry them.”
“But victims do get carried down ladders.”
Cut away from Mackenzie.
He slapped his hand on the table. “Fuck it, I answered her damn question, then I told her that Sophie had dragged out some of our own men. That the incident at the Concord could happen to any of us.”
Scott’s face came on screen again, but she was alone. “Despite the protests, in October of 1982, women graduated from the academy. But their entrance, as already indicated, wasn’t a cakewalk. Women reported the following: slammed doors in their faces, firecrackers under their beds, colleagues who wouldn’t trade shifts with them, car tires were slashed, pornographic material displayed everywhere.” She peered out the camera, her expression hard. “However, the worst occurrences were getting beat up at a company picnic, having their air bled out of their tanks only to go undiscovered until right before a fire, and rape and sexual assault.”
Another newspaper clipping came on screen and showed the legal ramifications of the latter. Berkman had been assaulted by a doctor. After pressure from the ranks, the then-mayor had to fire the doctor. “No other legal action was taken, which this reporter finds unconscionable.”
“At least she got that right,” Sophie grumbled.
“In any case, the pressure continued. Much like the nineteenth-century fights for civil rights, when abolitionists and suffragettes banded together, so did the Vulcan Society and the females.”
A black firefighter came on screen. “It’s abominable. Out of nearly twelve thousand firefighters, there are only three hundred and thirty African Americans.”
Scott asked, “Why are there so few?”
“It’s called a hostile atmosphere. Some people—African Americans and women—don’t apply because they’re not wanted.”
Scott alone again. “Still, women persevered and even rose in the ranks of the FDNY. Now, there are women battalion chiefs, captains, lieutenants.
“But it isn’t all warm and fuzzy. Like Berkman took flak from her female coworkers, so it goes today.”
Another flash to Trudeau. “In my opinion, Tyler should have been able to carry the guy down.”
Utter silence in the firehouse.
Then the alarm bell rang.
o0o
THE O’NEIL FAMILY gathered around the pub’s TV but there was none of the usual joking among them.
“I can’t believe Scott’s pulling something like this again.” C.J. sipped a beer. “It’s amazing how she can slant things.”
Dylan’s scowl was fierce. “Clay’s gonna be pissed when he hears she criticized little Tyler’s namesake.”
Liam said, “She’s on again.”
This part of the program started off all right. The camera focused on Sophie, who looked great in her firefighter uniform with a sparkle in those gray eyes. Scott briefly questioned her on her experience with Bailey. Then cut to a shot of the pub. In a voice-over, she said, “This is where Firefighter Tyler works part time. She says many firefighters have second jobs because they can’t make ends meet. When asked about the average salary being $90,000, she admitted...
Cut to Sophie. “That’s a nice chunk of change.” Then she said, “You do the math.”
Dylan swore. “That was taken out of context. You can tell from the hesitation. Goddamn it, I wished I’d listened to the tape she made.”
His mother touched Dylan’s arm. “Son, don’t take the name of God in vain.”
“Sorry, Mama, but geez...”
“So how are you treated today, Sophie, in comparison to the early eighties?”
“We had a tough time getting in. Some of the guys are still in the dark ages. Nothing you can do about backward men.”
“What about your group?”
“My group...well...some guys are Neanderthals.” The camera cut her off.
“Oh, God, she can’t have said just that, left that implication,” Liam put in.
“It was spliced,” Dylan told them.
Scott asked about the guy she dropped.
“Look, I fell carrying a man who weighed twice what you do. Nobody, male or female could have prevented that.”
“Are you taking heat for it?”
“Not to my face.”
Scott turned back to the camera. “And such a pretty face it is. This is Rachel Scott from WNYC News.”
“That’s it?” Pat asked.
“Shit.” Liam was furious. “I know she told the whole story about her connection with the fire department. Where’s that?”
“You should call her, Liam.” This from Brie. “She must be pissed.”
Fishing out his cell, Liam punched in her number.
“This is Sophie Tyler. Leave a message.”
He hung up. “She’s not there. She’s working tonight and they probably got a run.”
“Then she didn’t see this.” Dylan got up, crossed to the TV and took out the DVD he’d taped the show on. “Here, Liam. Take it over.”
Liam was already shrugging into his jacket. “I’m on my way.”
He got to Company 14 just as the trucks were pulling in from a run. It was eleven at night and cold. He waited until the rigs were inside the bay and the crew tumbled out.
Every single one of them had drooping shoulders, blackened faces, and heavy steps. They’d had a fire, a bad one, he guessed. Liam hated to lay this on them, but they needed to know what had happened: while they were out risking their lives and saving people, Rachel Scott was slandering their ranks.
Despite the gravity of the situation, he took pleasure watching Sophie take off her suspenders and bulky pants and boots. She yanked the tie out of her hair and shook it back. There was grumbling, until one of the guys—Murray—looked out of the bay.
Liam strode up to the building.
“Hey, there’s our favorite chef. Come to cook for us?”
“I will if you want. Meanwhile, I got something to show you He held up the DVD. “It’s Rachel Scott’s show. I imagine you didn’t see it.”
Sophie came forward. “We got a call right in the middle of the history part.” Up close, he could see her eyes were bloodshot and she was squinting. She had a headache from the carbon monoxide. He knew it happened to firefighters in most fires. “Is the rest of it bad?”
“Yeah, Soph, it’s bad.”
o0o
DYLAN APPROACHED the TV station at 12:30 a.m. The wind whipped around him and he turned up the collar of his bomber jacket. Rachel Scott had been the live anchor tonight, so he knew she’d be here. He was breathing fire and ready to spit it at her. He waited by the building, and when she came out the door approached a nearby town car, he stopped her with his words. “So, you found new blood.”
Startled, she slapped a hand over her chest. Slowly she turned and saw him in the shadows. “You scared me half to death.”
Her driver had gotten out of the car and come up to her. “Is everything all right, Ms. Scott?”
“Call off your dog. I want to talk to you.”
“It’s very late. And I’m tired.”
“I’m Clay Wainwright’s brother-in-law.” He knew the trump card would work.
She said to the driver, “Give us a minute, Sam. Go inside and get some coffee.” Nodding regally to Dylan, she crossed to the car, opened the door before he could get it for her and slid inside. He followed.
The interior was plush and full of leather. As a connoisseur of good clothes, he noted that her coat was a camel-colored cashmere. “Nice, if you can manage it.”
“I can.” She lifted her chin. “I imagine this is about the Timeline broadcast.”
“You got it, lady. “
“I thought it was all right.” He noticed her fiddling with the strap of her purse.
“You gotta be joking. It was the most biased, inaccurate, glaringly edited show I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, the edits did give it a different slant.”
His newsman’s sixth sense kicked in. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, come on Mr. O’Neil. You know that in broadcasts—and movies and songs I might add—-edits can make or break a show.”
“I’d say it broke yours.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “It most certainly did not.”
“Loyalty is good, Ms. Scott, but it’s going to bury you this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, my family’s had it with you.”
“Your family?”
“You don’t get it, do you? Then listen up. Sophie works at the pub.”
“She’s an employee, I know.”
“She’s more than that. She’s one of ours now, especially since she helped deliver Bailey’s son. You just crossed another line and you aren’t going to like what you find on the other side.”
“I have a meeting with the vice president when he’s in town next. We’re going to clear up the thing about last summer.”
“Don’t bet on it. Once Clay sees your little show, he’ll be angrier than ever.”
She reached out. “Please, Dylan, don’t let that happen. This...wasn’t my fault.”
“Same old, same old. Not only won’t I help you, I’m going after you myself.”
“In your little column?”
Again he laughed. This woman was a piece of work. “My little column, as you call it, has a lot of clout. So watch out, babe.” He moved to the door, opened it and climbed out.
She didn’t say anything more and neither did he. Yet!
o0o
SOPHIE TURNED off the recorder. Thank God Dylan had recommended she tape the interview with Scott. After they’d seen the rest of the show, she’d sworn it was edited to make her look bad and played the original interview for her group.
“Can she be sued?” Mackenzie nodded to the TV. “The taped interview and the TV show told a totally different story.”
Jules’s face was red with anger. “She should be more than sued.”
“I don’t think I can go after her.” Sophie ran a hand through her hair. “I did say those things.”
“Out of context,” Liam put in. “Dylan’ll know if you have recourse.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m so buried. The guys in the department will crucify me.”
Liam gave her hand a quick squeeze and let go. “Maybe not.”
“We gotta be able to do something.” Bilotti pointed to the tape recorder. “Can we make this public?”
“We might be able to do that,” Mackenzie said. “HR will get in on it, but we need legal advice.”
Cooper, who’d once been president of the FDNY’s union, said, “We’ll call the UFA in the morning, get advice from them.”
“Meanwhile,” Murray said, “we gotta do some salvage and overhaul.” The aftermath and cleaning up after a fire. “If it’s possible.”
“I can’t believe this. Damn it, I told Marconi I didn’t want to do the fucking thing.”
Liam glanced at the clock. “How about some breakfast? I can make it quick.”
All agreed. Sophie suspected he was giving her some alone time with the guys. When he went to the kitchen, she faced her crew. “I don’t know what to say.”
Murray stood, joined Sophie and slid an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, sure.”
They batted around some ideas until the food was ready. Then when Liam called them, they went into the kitchen, sat down and began to eat.
Just as dispatch came over the PA. “Report of a ten-seventy-five, Box number 98. Engine 33 and Ladder 44 go into service.”
“What’s a 10-75?” Liam asked as they bounded up from the table.
“A working fire.” Sophie waited until the guys were out. Then she bent over and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry about breakfast, Liam.”
He said, “Go. Call me later.”
Instead, for some reason, she reached in her pocket and took out her house key. “Go there? After the kids get off to school?”
“You’re on.”
In minutes they were in the rig. Her mind was reeling from the events of the night. When she forced herself to stop thinking about Scott’s broadcast, she wondered about Liam. How had he taken to seeing the reality of her life?
o0o
FROM THE BATHROOM, Liam heard Sophie enter her apartment. Then she called out his name.
“In here.”
She appeared in the doorway. Fatigue etched itself on every feature in her face. Veins showed in her fair skin and she was squinting again. “What are you doing?”
He held up a bottle. “I found this. Temptress?” he teased about the name of the lotion and bath salts she used.
“Oops.”
“It smells great. Like you do.” He pointed to a pillow on the side of the tub. “I guessed you like baths?”
“My weakness.” She closed her eyes and leaned against the doorjamb. The scent filled the air, blocking the smell of smoke still in her hair. “Every muscle in my body aches.”
“Bad fire?”
“Yeah, pieces of a ceiling fell on me.”
A slight hesitation. “Then, you need to soak.”
“I do.” She crossed to him and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. The smell of smoke still lingered on her. “It means a lot, your being here. What about breakfast at the pub?”
“I cooked it before I came over. Dylan can serve it.”
“You’ve been up all night?”
“I caught a few hours of sleep.” He went for the buttons on her blue uniform shirt. “Let’s get you out of these.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“No funny stuff, lady. You need a bath, food and sleep.” He whispered in her ear, “Besides, I like my women conscious during sex.” He removed the shirt, exposing a serviceable black sports bra. “It’ll all work out, sweetheart.”
“I know.” She turned to the mirror.
“Good Lord.”
She frowned at him in the glass. “What?”
“Your back.”
Pivoting, she pulled out the medicine cabinet mirror. Her upper torso was a series of black and blue marks. “Oh, damn. I knew it hurt.”
“Should you see a doctor?”
“No, this has happened before.”
“How often?”
“Um, I don’t know. A time or two.” She angled around so he couldn’t see the bruises.
Too late, Liam knew. He’d never forget the sight of her battle scars.
Her face was pained, and so he kept his feelings to himself. “Go ahead, finish undressing and get in.” He dipped his hand in the water, feeling the silkiness of the water. “It’s ready.”
“Thanks.”
He knew she didn’t mean for the bath. “I’m okay, Soph.”
“Sure, me, too.”
He left the bathroom and found his way to the kitchen. Opening her fridge, he stared blindly at the contents. Last week she’d said reality sucked; tonight the reality of her job was all over her back.
He said a quick prayer that he could handle the battered and bruised woman he’d left to take a bath. For a few seconds in the bathroom just now, he hadn’t been sure he was man enough to do it.