There was also a dark room that had bunk beds (four of them, lined head to foot against the walls) another room with a beat up couch and a couple of even more beat up recliners, all facing a massive, old console TV I knew for certain didn’t provide HD. That room also had mismatched end tables with ring stains in the top of the wood, these dotted around for easy reach.
And last, there was a kitchen that had once been new and state of the art.
In 1956.
Now it was dinged up and old.
And even though the entire house was spic-and-span (this, Mickey explained was because the new guys had to go through a period of serving the station, the men testing their mettle in a variety of ways, including the duties of keeping the entire house, rig, equipment and gear performance ready and exceptionally clean), at its age, it couldn’t be anything but dingy.
I couldn’t spend a lot of time upset at the fact that, although their rig and gear seemed to be in good shape, the rest of the space was an afterthought. That these men spent a lot of time there, did that without pay and did it with the possibility they’d be saving lives, property and putting their own lives on the line. And because of that, they deserved at least a nice flat screen with HD and a microwave that didn’t look like it was the prototype before the prototype before the prototype they actually produced the year microwaves were introduced to the masses.
I couldn’t spend this time because Mickey introduced me to the crew.
There was Jimbo, the driver, who I’d already met.
There was also Stan, a man I figured was around Mickey’s and my age (in the dearth of communication with Mickey the last two weeks, I had learned during our thirty minute phone call that he was forty-eight). But Stan was shorter and losing his hair. Then there was Mark, who I’d put in his thirties, who had a gleaming wedding band, a smile almost as easy as Mickey’s and really nice biceps.
And last, there was Freddy, who was young, maybe mid-twenties, but that was at a push. He had a shock of thick, dark, messy hair, a smile he knew was effective, veins that ran his forearms and biceps (Mickey had these too) and he was perhaps four inches taller than me and I was five three.
He was their recruit.
After I got my introductions and shook hands with everybody, I was offered a seat.
I noted that the contents of one of the three containers of brownies was decimated (and I bit my mother’s tongue not to remind them they shouldn’t spoil their dinner at the same time delighted they dug in so quickly).
I sat and saw that Freddy was making dinner with Jimbo and Stan busting his chops as he did it (Mark was more quiet and less of a ball-buster).
Freddy didn’t appear to care. Freddy appeared to care solely about flirting outrageously, if innocently, with me, something Mickey didn’t protest because, it seemed, it gave him fodder to join in busting Freddy’s chops.
It was teasing. It was lighthearted. It was funny. It was quite an experience to have the opportunity to sit with these men who spent a lot of time together, perhaps did some harrowing things trusting each other, and had an easy camaraderie.
The dinner was sloppy joes and baked frozen tater tots with brownies for dessert.
I ate it and almost the whole time I did it smiling.
Or laughing.
When everyone was done, we lounged while the guys started busting Freddy’s chops again as he did the cleanup.
Then Mickey tugged a tendril of my hair.
I turned my attention to him and he said quietly, “Time to get you on the road.”
I nodded and pushed away from the table without objection. They were hanging around waiting for a call that might not come, but if it did, they couldn’t have distractions.
And regardless of how clean and neat it all was, it was very much their world, their space, and although they’d all been welcoming, I got the sense that they were on their best behavior because of me and it would be better that they were free to let loose and do and say what they pleased.
Farewells were exchanged and Mickey took my hand and walked me downstairs.
We were at one of the two opened bays to the house when he gave my hand a tug to stop me.
I turned into him and pulled our hands free so I could put both mine to his chest. In return, Mickey curved an arm around me.
“You need a new microwave,” I announced and he let out a deep chuckle.
But he didn’t say anything.
“And a TV,” I went on. “And it’s shocking you have a kitchen that’s surely a fire hazard situated in a firehouse.”
His eyes were still amused when he replied, “We make do, Amy.”
“I would be of the opinion that men volunteering to put their lives on the line should expect more than making do.”
He didn’t lose any amusement but I could still see a hint of serious seep into his eyes when he said, “Okay, you don’t got a dick so you’re just gonna have to go with me on this when I say it’s okay for my girlfriend to make the guys brownies. It is not,” his arm gave me a squeeze, “okay for you to buy us a TV.”
That was precisely what I intended to do (plus a microwave) but I read the seriousness in his eyes and decided not to push that partly because I didn’t have a dick, he was right. He did, it was a very good one and he knew how to use it.
But mostly because he’d called me his girlfriend and I liked that a lot.
I didn’t want to appear eager and scary by sharing that fact with him so I asked, “Does the town give you any money?”
“Bobby’d lose his mind and the boys would not show up if our rig and gear was not all it needed to be. They keep us equipped that way, Amy. We’re guys. We don’t need a lot more.”
“Not even a better TV?” I queried incredulously.
“Gotta admit,” he mumbled, lips twitching. “That TV sucks.”
“Even when Archie Bunker was watching it, it sucked,” I mumbled back and he chuckled again. “Do you do any fundraising?”
He nodded. “Every year ’round Christmas, the wives and some wealthy broads in town throw a Fire and Policemen’s Ball, and ’round Valentine’s Day all the guys in the county step up for a Firefighter and Police Officer Bachelor Auction. But what we make on that goes into a pot to divvy out in case something happens in the line of duty.”
I ignored the “line of duty” business and asked, “Bachelor auction?”
He grinned and replied, “Things keep goin’ the way they are, this year, I won’t participate.”
This year?
I ignored that too and stated, “Oh yes you will. I’m loaded. I could go the distance to beat any woman who thought she could get her hooks in you for a dinner.”