Page 12 of Some Like It Hot

Matt is a veteran in the department and he gives me a cynical look and shakes his head. “Still so wide-eyed with enthusiasm. You make me feel fucking old, you cheerful little shit.”

I give him a grin as I carry the step-ladder easily with one hand. “I am not wide-eyed. I just happen to like my job. Oh, and you’re actually ancient, you crusty old fuck.”

Matt just snorts. This is our way of showing camaraderie with each other. Too much kindness makes him visibly uncomfortable. I’m used to it and I’m cool with our dynamic. He reminds me of my grandfather, who retired from the department ten years ago. He shows love with insults.

“I’m assigned to power,” Matt says. “The elevator inspection on file says it’s a traction elevator and the maintenance man is meeting me upstairs to let me in. I’ll radio you from the penthouse. Keep ‘em calm.”

“Will do.” The penthouse isn’t the top apartment with sweeping views of the skyline. In elevator terms, it’s the room above the elevator shaft with the motor and shiv and other mechanics. Matt needs to kill the power to all the elevators in the hoistway before we open the door. Not ideal for a night with lots of guests in the hotel, but it’s necessary for everyone’s safety. We’ll just have to do the recovery as quickly as possible.

I head over to the elevator bank with our third, Wyatt, who is smart and efficient as hell. Wyatt loves to take the lead on the actual mechanics and leave the people part to me. He’s a social guy outside of calls, but on site, he focuses on logistics, whereas I love helping people. I get along with everyone, from kids to the elderly, and everyone in between. I’ve been told I have a reassuring face. I’m better at victim rescue than he is.

“This is a hoistway door. Just a drop-key hole,” he says. “They’re between one and two. Easy.”

I knock on the elevator door and call out in a booming voice, “Chicago Fire Department. Just stay calm. We’re going to get the door open and get you out in just a minute.”

There isn’t a response. Hopefully, they just can’t hear me and aren’t injured. Sometimes the car jumps when it stops. Or more typically, someone panics from the enclosed space. The emergency light and fan should be running, but it’s still unnerving to a lot of people to be trapped even briefly.

“Sucks they almost made it to the first floor,” Wyatt says as we head for the stairs to climb to the second floor. “And it’s thirty minutes to midnight.” He gives me a grin. “Hope they’re feeling friendly in there.”

“We’d better hustle. No one wants to ring in the new year stuck in an elevator. Especially with strangers.”

My younger sister had commented yesterday that it sucked that I am ringing in the new year at work, but I don’t mind. I’d prefer it’s me on duty—single guy, no kids—than the crew with spouses and families. They deserve to be at home with their loved ones.

Though I’d also prefer not to be single. I like being in a relationship, but the past year has been a bit of a dry spell for me. I had a girlfriend for four years in my early twenties, but it ended when she moved to Los Angeles. I loved her, but I love Chicago, my family and my job too. I couldn’t sacrifice all of this to be sitting in traffic on the expressway all day. Or at least that’s my vision of L.A. Then about nine months ago I briefly dated a guy who looked good on paper—until he stole a thousand bucks out of my nightstand. I can be a little too trusting, I admit it.

But I’d rather give people the benefit of the doubt than assume the worst from jump. If that costs me a grand, so be it.

It has me a little hesitant, though. I’ve been sticking primarily to hookups the last few months, which means a kiss at midnight with a special someone wasn’t going to happen tonight anyway. I’m happy to be at work.

Our radios crackle. It’s Matt. “Power’s out. Go ahead.”

“We’re up.” I set the ladder down and open the hoistway door in the shaft. “Gate restrictor.”

I step back to let Wyatt check out the safety door. They all open slightly differently and he loves to figure them out in ten seconds or less. He considers it a fun personal challenge. I consider it boring.

I call out again. “Fire department. Step away from the door please and we’ll have you out in just a minute. Happy New Year, folks!”

Wyatt rolls his eyes at me. He already has the gate restrictor open, but it usually stops at around three inches for another safety mechanism. He pushes down a handle and then the gate is open.

Because the elevator is between two floors, several feet of the car is now accessible. I pop my flashlight and my head in and announce myself again.

What I see are two people making the most of the time trapped. I’m looking down on them, but I see a large man in a suit with his hand up a woman’s dress. A very sexy woman’s dress. I see lots of smooth fair skin, cleavage, and wavy brown hair.

Lucky guy.

They leap apart from each other and blink up at me.

The face of the woman matches the body. She’s gorgeous. Pouty red lips, long lashes, an elegant nose. I bet she has dimples. Damn, I love some fucking dimples. On a woman’s face and on her ass. I love to kiss them. I smile at her. I’d say it’s in reassurance, but it might also just be in appreciation for how beautiful she is.

“Chicago Fire Department. Everyone okay in there?”

“We’re fine,” the man says.

I fight the urge to grin. He doesn’t sound fine. He sounds like he just got cock-blocked and is none too happy about it. Can’t say I blame the guy. The woman is smoothing down her dress and if I’m not mistaken, her purse and panties are lying on the floor of the car.

“Oh, thank God!” the woman says breathlessly. “I’m so glad you’re here! That took forever.”

Her male companion frowns at her. I wouldn’t call him conventionally good-looking. More like rough and tumble, which can be sexy, but the scowl on his face ruins it.

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