Bekah rolled her eyes in response. “I know, silly. I’m just joking. But not about girls’ night. In fact, I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m calling Mira tomorrow and setting it up. I’ll text you the time and place. You don’t show up, and I’ll never stop bugging you, so you might as well just give in now to my demands. Everyone does eventually.”
Charlotte's mouth opened, but no words came out. Bekah had completely steamrolled her, and she had no clue what to do about it. If she rejected the offer, she knew Bekah would think she was stuck up or a bitch, but if she went along with this girls’ night idea, it would only be a matter of time until she said or did something to embarrass herself. Faking it at work was one thing, but keeping up the act for an entire night, with alcohol in the mix? No way.
While she searched for a way out of the situation, Bekah once again rolled on with little acknowledgment of Charlotte’s lack of response. “Great, that is settled. Now I really need to get some work done. Mind if I sit up here while I do some research? I hate sitting all alone in the middle of the night. Besides, you could totally use some company. It must be so boring here night after night with no one to keep you company.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it quite like that.” Not at all. Charlotte loved the quiet peace of an empty newsroom. She hadn’t gotten into journalism for the adrenaline rush of a big story, like most of her coworkers.
No, she loved the puzzle of it all. Digging deep and putting the pieces together to form the bigger picture. Her favorite stories were the ones which, on the surface, seemed like nothing, but once you investigated it further, had the potential to affect hundreds of people. Those moments were rare of course, when you got a story with so many moving parts that it took work to sort them all out and get them to jive, but when it happened, she loved nothing more than to sit back and look at what they had discovered.
“So, you’re cool if I work up here?” Bekah asked again.
“I guess so.” Charlotte shrugged half-heartedly. She really didn’t want Bekah hanging around all night trying to talk. But she also didn’t want her to think Charlotte rude.
“Awesome!” Thankfully, the overly friendly reporter turned to the nearest computer and logged in, getting down to business.
Charlotte turned back to her own station, trying to shake the imbalance having someone invade her space caused. Looking at the clock, she realized she was ten minutes late for her first set of rounds calls. Damn it, she hated being thrown off her schedule. Logically, she knew ten minutes one way or the other wouldn’t make much of a difference. But she would always wonder if she had missed something in the amount of time Bekah had distracted her from the job at hand. Routine was important to someone like her, essential, and for the rest of the night, she would be thrown off by those ten minutes.
Steeling herself, Charlotte picked up the phone receiver, ready to make the first of her seven calls. The Pittsburgh emergency services department broke the city up into seven zones. Each zone had police, fire, and ambulance crews assigned to cover those neighborhoods. Each zone also had its own dispatch center. For bigger incidents, crews from other zones could be called in, but for the most part, they stuck to their own territory.
Each night, Charlotte called the non-emergency line at each 911 dispatch center to check in and inquire about the activities of that night. They were her rounds calls. She made rounds three times a night, and she was already late on the first.
Dialing the zone one number, she braced herself for the brief conversation. Talking on the phone came much easier to Charlotte. There was no careful dedication to keeping her face blank. No second guessing her every reaction. Talking on the phone with the dispatcher, she could pretend to be someone else entirely. A confident, take charge journalist who didn’t accept crap from anyone. But with Bekah sitting right behind her and undoubtedly hearing everything she said, it made the act seem silly.
“Pittsburgh dispatch zone one, how can I help you?” The gruff voice of the night supervisor at zone one, Marge, echoed down the line. Charlotte always wondered how much the lady smoked, because she sounded like she should start cutting back.
“Hi, this is Charlotte Orlov calling from WQUZ. Just calling to see if there is anything of interest going on tonight.” She tapped her short nails gently against the letters on her keyboard, ready to take notes on any incidents that may have happened since the swing shift assignment editor had called.
“Charlotte, I can’t believe it. You’re a whole ten minutes late. You feeling okay?” As soon as the dispatcher spoke the question, out a hacking cough, or laugh, burst through the phone straight into Charlotte’s ear.
Lovely.
Forcing out an uneasy chuckle, Charlotte tried to think of a response. She hated when the dispatchers tried to get friendly with her. Theirs was supposed to be a strictly professional relationship. All she needed was information, and every second she spent having to chit chat put her another second behind schedule. “Ha ha, yes, everything is fine, Marge. Just got distracted by a coworker.” Bekah snickered behind her. “So, anything happening?”
“Nothing you’d be too interested in, sweetheart.”
The endearment set Charlotte’s teeth on edge. This woman didn’t know her well enough to be using nicknames. Hell, not even her parents used cutsie terms of endearment with her.
“A couple of muggings, a bar fight or two, ambulance calls. That’s about it tonight. It’s a slow one for once. But the night is still young.”
“Okay, thank you for the information.” Charlotte typed in the little tidbits just in case something turned out to be bigger than originally thought.
“No problem. Talk to you again in a few hours,” Marge barked out.
The rest of the rounds calls went much the same way. Each commented to some degree on the tardiness of her calls. She found it totally embarrassing. Of course, she knew how much she clung to her schedules and routines. But was she really so regimented that even strangers on the other side of a phone line picked up her slightly OCD need to be on time?
By her last call, Charlotte felt shaken. A feeling that only increased when an unfamiliar voice picked up at the zone seven dispatch center.
“Zone seven, this is Trey. What can I do you for?”
Holy shit, that voice. It brought to mind honey, or maple syrup. Something smooth and sticky, that would coat you in the sweet warmth, placating you in its richness until you drowned in it, not caring one bit that it brought with it the end of your life. A deep, bass voice which Charlotte felt straight down to her panties. Something that shocked her more than anything else ever had.
She’d been attracted to people before, got aroused rather easily actually. But when she considered all the horrible outcomes that could come from a night of passion with a man, the fires of desire were quickly banked. And the one time she had tried to get intimate with a guy had been an unmitigated disaster.
But just this man’s voice had her wanting to drop the phone and run to the restroom, so she could shove her hand down her panties and frantically get herself off.
“Hello? Anyone there? Do you have an emergency?”
The deep voice took on a commanding tone, snapping Charlotte out of her dirty thoughts. “Um, no. I mean, yes. I mean, fuck. Yes, I’m here. No, it isn’t an emergency. Sorry.”
