1
Ellis
The world feels like it’s ending outside, and I still have to go to work. Drive the van, haul the shit, report to the boss. Day in, day out.
There’s gravel-flecked snow piled up on the sidewalk, already melting into slush under the late afternoon sunlight. Between my constant yawns and the harsh glare stabbing my vision, I’m just trying to stay awake in the Channel 6 News van and keep my eyes on the preview screen.
Lacey Vigil, weathergirl. She has a constant smile for the camera of course, but she’s known for adding in a running commentary about what roads to avoid because some giant mutant fishman crawled out of the marsh to throw some cars around on the Lower East End.
Keeping an eye on her is implicit in my job description, but that I would do for free.
Her big brown eyes have a grip on my soul. There’s something about the way her lashes flutter before she gives a little eye roll, and she launches into her weather report from the street.
Normally I only get to see the live broadcast; this behind-the-scenes look from the news van is a real treat.
I watch her for a few moments, glancing up and down the city streets while she leans precariously close to some kind ofoozy byproduct of yesterday’s supers fight. She waves to her cameraman to take a close-up of the damage to public property, the iridescent ooze that has congealed around a storm-drain grate. Taxpayers are going to love that.
There’s a memo taped to the news van’s dash with Channel 6’s logo about being mindful not to frame any of this particular type of stuff in shots, to keep the composition clean and optimistic. Viewers prefer that, it concludes.
I press the talk button on the headset that’s been left on the dash. “What are we doing, Lace? Did the boss say he wanted glamour shots?”
“We’re getting B-roll,” she replies, chewing her lip as she crouches nearer the discolored snow, and the cameraman focuses the lens.
“Boss would have my ass if you fell headfirst into the ooze. Especially cuz you’re on in two.”
“I’d probably turn into one of Dr. Maestro’s mutant goons.” She laughs; the sound makes butterflies take off in my stomach. She flips through her itinerary and sets off at a brisk pace for the right backdrop. “Do you think it pays better than Channel 6?”
I crack a smile. I can’t help myself and push the intercom talk button again. “Definitely not. But he’s a doctor, right? Now you don’t need health insurance either.”
She stops at some snow piled up high on a street corner out of the main throughway, with plenty of rock salt scattered over the wet pavement. Some city-owned trucks are a little further down, continuing to plow the streets.
“Alright, mic check,” her cameraman says as soon as she tucks an earbud in and starts threading its little wire down thefront of her sweater; she plugs the jack into the transmitter hooked on her back pocket.
A high pitch sounds momentarily, a sensation that grinds the side of my face the way breaking a tooth feels, and then there’s the lull of her voice, soft and intimate in my ear. “One, two, three, can you hear me?”
“Uh, yeah, I have been.”
“Hey, who is this? I thought Adrianna was covering the van today,” she asks and pauses to reapply her lip gloss, concentrating on it just hard enough she doesn’t realize I fail to answer her.
Her camera man starts counting her in; she rolls her eyes and flashes a brilliant smile at me, er, the camera, before launching into her spiel.
“As you can see, it’s still snowing,” she starts to tell me through the microphone, long eyelashes framing her big brown eyes as she looks directly into the camera. “Which is about as much information as you would get by looking out the window.”
I watch, besotted.
“Quit flirting and hurry up,” my coworker growls from the back of the van. He’s been busying himself with peeling the last used edge up off the roll of duct tape, because he didn’t bother to fold the corner down on it ten minutes ago like I said he should.
It would never work, I remind myself. Besides, I have a rule about not asking people out when they’re working. And we’ve really only seen each other during work. Or I’ve seen her. I don’t think she’s ever really seen me.
I wave a hand at my coworker to chill. I’m planning to wait till she’s finished the segment before I bother her again.
There’s a loud, yet muted crackle of buildings being smashed around from further north. I roll my eyes. Another smackdown from Goethal’s resident superhero, Steel Heel.
I check my watch; everything is proceeding right on time, according to schedule. I look up at the camera preview, and she’s gone again.
“For fuck’s sake, Lacey,” her cameraman swears, echoing my own sentiments. How did she disappear so quickly?
The camera man starts walking down the street, shouldering the equipment so that all I can see is a patch of gray slush melting just off a curb, with boot prints in it that I hope are hers. They lead down a corner where the buildings are blocking the sun, but I’m not sure what street that is.
