Groupie

Chapter 7: Tiffany, Part 1

The door clicks and unlocks as I put my key fob up to the electronic pad. I push my way in and head straight for the assignments desk, toting my messenger bag and lunch kit with me.

Dropping it on the floor next to the oversized cubicle, I greet my friend Caleb.

"Why is it so quiet in here? Where is everyone?" I ask as I grab a handful of papers from my company mail box and begin to sort through them.

He doesn't look up from his computer. "It's been a strange day. Almost all the reporters had stuff set up for tonight so they're out shooting already. And there are a couple photogs downstairs waiting for something to happen, but the scanners have been really quiet."

I snicker as I toss some random press releases in the recycle bin. "You know what that means for tonight...."

"Do. Not. Say it." He swivels his chair so he can face me. I open my mouth like I'm gonna say it. "Don't say it!"

"Breakingnews," I say as fast as I can with a laugh.

He groans and puts his hands over his face. "I hate you, you know that?"

Still giggling, I pat the top of his head, mocking him. "Aw. Do you think that I jinxed you?"

"It always happens, Tiff." He swivels his chair back around as one of the scanners squawks. I see Caleb stiffen, but it sounds like the dispatcher is only reporting something medical. We don't cover medical calls. He's safe for now.

"Well maybe it'll be breaking sports news."

"Pfft. I have literally never seen breaking sports news before."

"Then you haven't been around long enough, my friend." I grab my bags off the floor and head toward the stairs. "It doesn't happen often. But when it does, it's a doozy."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he says not even glancing up again. Just then, the scanners all start squawking at once. Sounds like a multi-car pile up on 6-10. Those are the worst. "Dammit, Tiffany!" Caleb says as he grabs the phone to start calling in the troops. "I blame you!"

"I love you, Caleb!" I yell over my shoulder. "Don't take any of the sports segment time away!"

I make my way up the stairs, thinking over today's games and which ones we can send our lone sports reporter to.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a sports producer. Preferably for ESPN or some other national network. But that's a long way away. The fact that I'm fresh out of college and already an associate producer in one of the largest markets in the US is practically unheard of.

I got lucky. I don't deny it. I moved to Texas to work on my journalism degree at the University of Houston five years ago. One of my requirements for graduation was to intern at a local TV station. That's how I got here. I guess they were impressed with how hard I worked and how passionate I am about sports. Because when the producer I worked under left the job suddenly, the associate producer was promoted and they asked me to step in while they were in a bind. I worked my ass off for those last two months before graduation. Once I had that degree in my hand, I ended up going full time. And I love it. We literally watch sports all day long and then write recaps of it. It's a dream job.

I drop my stuff on my desk and start getting all my programs booted up. I like being here a little bit before everyone else. I know that as a woman, I have to put in more effort than men to prove myself in the sports journalism arena. Should it be that way? No. But so far my efforts have paid off.

"Hey Tiff," a deep voice says over my shoulder. I swivel around to see my producer, Steve, walking in.

"What are you doing here already? I thought Ashley had a book fair or something today." Ashley, his eight year old daughter, has been bugging him for days to have lunch with her at school so they can go shopping for books.

"I already went. She wanted me to bring you this." He drops a thin paperback book on my desk that I immediately pick up.

"One hundred jokes for the laughing mind," I read out loud. She knows me so well.

"She got "One Hundred More Jokes" so be prepared next time she's here."

I haven't been around kids much, but if they're all like Ashley, I like them. She's funny and witty and loves jokes. We have joke battles every time she's here. She's won every single time. Mostly because I didn't know a whole lot of clean jokes until she started challenging me to the battles. And she likes to surprise me with theme contests. Like, only fruit jokes. Or only people jokes. I never know what she's going to spring on me.

I flip through it quickly. "Oh it is so on."

He laughs. "She said you'd say that."

"She knows me well."

He drops his own belongs on his desk and starts flipping on monitors. There aren't any games on quite yet, but he likes to make sure we don't forget. Not that we would. But he likes the preparation.

"I saw some pics of you coming out of Mack Shivel's apartment last night."

"Yep." I watch as he takes his suit coat off and hangs it on the back of his chair. "He had a small get together for the team after the game."

Steve quirks an eyebrow at me. "Small?"

I laugh. "Well, small for him. The neighbors didn't threaten to call the cops this time, anyway."

"Did it happen last time?"

"Um, I guess it was about six months ago." I shrug. "He learned to keep it contained and stop texting his address to people. If you aren't a close enough friend to know where he lives, you aren't a close enough friend to come to the party."

Steve just smirks and shakes his head. He's never been a partier. Although he never shies away from hearing about what happens at the ones I go to. Not that I tell him about any of the dirty s*x. Just the regular party stuff. "Did you get any good news story ideas out of it, anyway?"

"Nothing that can be used now. But big things are coming, my friend."

He stops going through the papers stacked on his desk to look at me. "Really. Like what?"