Hangin' with My Window Man

Chapter 1-2

A shadow crept down outside the south window of Ryan Halloran’s office. Memories of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center slammed into his mind. He jumped up and whirled toward the window as his heart thudded and his mouth went dry.

Not sure whether to run into the hall or dive under his desk, Ryan stared transfixed as the shadow continued its steady ride down outside the wide panes. It had to be something being lowered from the roof four stories up.

With agonizing slowness, a rectangular framework of honeycomb metal suspended by thick wire cables on each corner came into view.

Two scuff-toed boots descended, and then gradually the khaki work pants of a middle-aged man showed above them. At the other end of the frame, Ryan saw black Doc Martens with white socks doubled over their tops, and strong, tanned legs covered with fine blond hair. The frayed edges of Levi’s ended just below this man’s knees. Ryan’s gaze settled on a crotch that must hide a great banger and balls, and a yearning swept through him unlike any he’d felt since Mason had walked out of his life eighteen months ago. As the platform continued to lower, he looked at the taut abdomen, covered with a tight T-shirt, of a man his age. Each time he lifted his arms to work, his shirt exposed his belly button and the line of golden hair disappearing into his pants. Of course that sent all the circulation in Ryan’s brain down to his crotch. Oh man.

The framework protected the men only to waist level. This man’s arms, solid with bright tattoos, swept the glass with soapy water, rinsed with a natural sponge, and then used a squeegee with a skill that left only gleaming, spotless glass. It was killingly sensual.

Window cleaners. Not terrorists. He felt like a fool. But before he could sit down, the building circled and rolled slightly underfoot. He steadied himself by holding onto the corner of his desk.

Earthquake. Mild.

It was over in about forty-five seconds, Ryan thought, but it had spilled his cafe macchiato all over the papers on his desk.

The new high-rise was built to withstand tremors, but he watched in horror as the big platform cables snapped on the end where the man in the khakis was working. The man’s hands clamped onto the railing and he hung on as it dropped.

Ryan yanked his phone out of its cradle and dialed.

An even, steady voice responded, “Nine-one-one emergency. What are you reporting?”

As he talked, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, pulled his tie loose, and let it hang as he unbuttoned his top shirt button. He couldn’t control the shake in his voice as he explained the dilemma of the window washers. It irritated him when the dispatcher patiently repeated what he’d said and asked for his name and location a second time.

“Get help quick! Oh, God, it’s swinging toward my window!”

Ryan dove under his desk as the dispatcher said, “Stay on the line, sir.”

“I’m on, I’m on!” He curled into a ball and covered his face, cradling the phone to his chest. It took three blows before the safety glass cracked. “It’s broken the window! The Orion Building. Thirtieth floor, suite seven. Hurry!”

When no other blows happened, he ventured out from the desk’s kneehole.

“Are you still with me, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Are you injured?”

“No, but here it comes again. I’m getting back under the desk!” He remembered to stay on the line. The gondola demolished much of the glass remaining in the center of the window, scattering pieces of glass on the expensive gray carpet. Apparently, shatter proof didn’t mean unbreakable. “I’m okay,” he told her as he stood after the platform retreated.

“Estimated time of arrival for fire trucks and ambulance is ten minutes, sir. Can you safely look to see if the window washers are all right? Remember to stay on the line with me.”

He might be a corporate officer, but he was terrified of unguarded heights, and a strong breeze was now blowing in from the opening. Standing timidly to one side of the window, where glass remained, he shouted, “I’ve called nine-one-one. Help will be here soon. Are either of you hurt?”

The men were wearing goggles and yellow hard hats. Doc Martens shook his head for himself, but pointed to the co-worker he supported.

“Dispatcher, the older man doesn’t look good. He’s clutching his left arm and is having chest pain. We need that ambulance. “

“They’re on their way, sir. Estimated time of arrival is now eight minutes. You should be hearing sirens soon.”

He listened, then smiled as he crept to the window and called to the men, “Hear those sirens? Fire trucks and ambulances. Hang on. They’ll be here soon.”

The dispatcher said, “If you can, sir, keep them talking. See if you can get their names and the name of the company they’re with. I’ll notify the owners.” The calm voice irritated him because it didn’t reflect his panic, and yet it soothed as it offered hope everything would work out.

Why get their names? Of course—if the remaining cables broke, they’d be dead before anyone could find out who they were. Goose bumps popped up on his arms, joining the dark hairs standing up on them.

He called to them again and transmitted their names and that of the company to the voice on the phone. For one crazy moment, he thought of stopping the movement of the platform by looping his belt over the top railing and pulling, but, hell, he’d be yanked out of the window. Dealing with emergency dispatch was all the help he could give. It wasn’t a good feeling when the need was this urgent.

“It’s time to open your door and wait for the rescue team, please, but stay on the line. Don’t hang up until I do.”

“I’m going to the door to let the firefighters in!” he shouted out the window.

The elevator dinged, and as the door slid open, men in fire gear pushed through. He waved. “This way!”

The first firefighter’s helmet was red and his badge read Captain Barrington. The other firefighters wore yellow helmets. The man whose badge read Garrison seemed to be second in command. The captain briefly paused in front of Ryan to confirm he was the one who had called and this was the correct suite, then he signaled his crew to follow.

As firefighters carrying grappling hooks and an axe rushed past, the elevator doors opened again and paramedics and EMTs in dark blue spilled out, rolling two beds toward Ryan. Soon his office was swarming with men and women in uniform, and the man with the axe was knocking the last of the broken glass from the window frame. He was knocking the glass into the room, mindful of any spectators on the sidewalk below. Another man had commandeered a broom from somewhere. He swept the glass away from the rescue and first aid areas.

“They’re here,” Ryan told the dispatcher. “Thank you so much. You’ve saved these men. Yes, I’ll wait until you hang up before I do.” When she did, he replaced his phone in the charging cradle and stood out of the way of the rescuers.

“What did you do, Boon? Gnaw that cable loose with your teeth?” Captain Barrington asked as he peered out the window at the platform.

Doc Martens said, “No, Bear. We’re out here practicing for a Cirque du Soleil performance in the Music Center. Is Dane with you?”

“I’m here, buddy. We’ll get you off there safe and sound,” the firefighter named Garrison said.

It took several tries before the grappling hook he was tossing caught. A second firefighter hooked another area, and then that man and several other men sat on the floor and braced their feet against the wall below the window. They pulled the gondola tight against the outer wall.

The fire captain said, “Boon, bring Harold to the window. Mr. Johnston, you need to release your safety harness on my command when we have hold of you. Can you do that? Turn your back to us. Keep your eyes on Boon. On the count of three, we’re going to lift you and Boon’s going to raise your legs for us so we can get you over the railing and into this office. Ready?”

Fear the grappling hooks might fail, or the gondola would pull the anchoring firefighters out the window caused Ryan to tense up. Nausea threatened. He ordered himself to take a deep breath and relax.

One man slid his arms under Johnston’s arms and locked his hands across his chest. The second man’s arms encircled his waist. “We have you, sir. Release your safety harness. That’s right, eyes on Boon. One…two…three, lift!”

With amazing smoothness, Johnston cleared the frame and the window.

Ryan watched in fascination as they removed his helmet and goggles, eased him onto a gurney, and rolled him away from the window. A pretty female paramedic questioned him about the pain in his arm and chest. Another paramedic took his blood pressure, pressed white circles on his chest and side, then attached wires to them to run an EKG.

Harold Johnston was receiving good care. Ryan breathed with relief and turned his attention to the window again.

Boon backed up to the opening, and as the firefighters took hold of him he eased his butt up on the railing, released his harness, and let himself be pulled through. He removed his goggles and helmet, but refused to get on the second gurney. “I’m fine. Just a little shaky.”

Ryan thought he was a lot shaky. Shock, he was sure. Shakiness, tattoos, and Doc Martens boots notwithstanding, he was quite a man. He’d not only kept his head, he’d protected his ill co-worker.

“It’s protocol. Get on the damned bed,” Barrington barked.

Boon opened his mouth as if to refuse, but then he got on it and the paramedics advanced on him. They asked what had happened, and he related hearing a freight train just before the cables snapped.

“What you heard was an earthquake,” the captain said. “Each building has its own pitch, just like a tuning fork. When the tectonic plates rub together, the earth shudders and triggers the pitches of the buildings as they vibrate. Put those together and in a city this size they sound like the roar of a freight train.”

“An earthquake? No wonder. The wind was minimal today or we wouldn’t have washed, so I couldn’t understand why the platform swung about as it did. The building’s movement must’ve started it. The spin had to be what caused the cables to snap.”

Dane nodded. “Momentum kept it going.”

Johnston, with an IV running and oxygen flowing into his nostrils, was ready to be whisked to the hospital. Before they rolled him out, he looked for and found Ryan. “Thanks,” he said.

Ryan, feeling a little shaky himself, gave him a thumbs up.

They ran an EKG on Boon and started an IV, but when they wanted to take him to the ER for observation, he balked again. “Johnston’s probably having a heart attack, but I’m fine.”

“Hey, man, we brought all these people here, and you’re not going to let them do their jobs? Come on,” Dane reasoned with him. “The money crunchers’ll tell the department they don’t need this much staff and cut our budget. That will hurt everything we do.”

The captain must have received a radio call from the rig’s owners because he spoke to his men as a thick cable with a hook dropped into view. They attached it to the gondola and then released their grappling hooks. Barrington spoke into his radio again, and Ryan watched the platform rise at a lull in the breeze. The dispatcher had done her job well. She’d even reached the business owners.

A disgruntled Boon said, “Okay, I’ll go to the ER. But, wait, I don’t see the dude who called you for us.”

Ryan walked out of the corner and over to him. “This is my office, but I’ve been staying out of the way. I saw the cable break and dialed nine-one-one. Ryan Halloran.” He extended his hand.

Boon sat up and pulled him into a quick hug—man to man. “We owe you for saving our lives. Big time.”

Ryan stepped back, embarrassed and a little unsettled by the hug because it felt too good and didn’t seem necessary under the circumstances. “If I’d known you were just practicing for the Cirque, I might’ve reconsidered.”

Everyone laughed, and Boon gave him a little salute as they rolled him out.

“Be well,” Ryan called after him.

“Boon and Dane and I are good friends,” the captain said, extending his hand. “He’s right—you saved their lives by making that call. Thanks.”

“It was the only thing I could do. Otherwise, I felt pretty helpless. You and your men were the ones who brought them safely off that platform.”

“Which we couldn’t have done if we hadn’t known they needed us,” Dane said as he bumped knuckles with him. “Trust us. You did good.”

Ryan was impressed by how nice they were. He could use more friends like that.

The quiet after the hustle and bustle of the rescue was eerie. Ryan stood alone on a floor littered with the remnants of torn medical wrappers and discarded alcohol wipes. His papers had blown off the desk and been trampled. They ruffled in the breeze blowing through the hole in the window.

Seeing the ruined pages of the projected costs of the film project being considered by DreamMagic, Inc. reminded him he hadn’t informed his boss of what had happened here. He’d had to remain on the line with the dispatcher, and once the rescue parties had arrived, things had moved too fast.

This mess had to be cleaned up and the window boarded over until it could be replaced. His secretary could provide new copies of the projections, but he had no place to work the rest of the day.

Work had been his salvation as he’d struggled with the crippling pain of Mason cheating on him and then moving out. Although no one in the offices understood what was behind it, everyone knew he arrived early and was the last one to leave, usually taking work home. Today, he had no desire to stay. The ordeal had left him feeling wrung out. Too much of an adrenalin surge, he thought. Maybe they should’ve taken me to the ER for evaluation, too.

Sitting on his haunches, he gathered up his soiled and torn work papers and put them in some semblance of order. Sinking into his chair, he called the secretary and put her on speaker phone as he buttoned his collar and tightened his tie. “Clara? I’ve had a little problem here, and I’m going to need fresh copies of the projections I was working on, please. Coffee spilled on them during the earthquake. No, I don’t need them until tomorrow morning.”

He paused to stand and slip into his jacket. “Please notify the building owners the window in my office is broken and needs to be boarded over until it can be replaced. The firefighters and paramedics were in my office to deal with an emergency outside my window, Also, the office needs to be cleaned. I’ll lock my desk and the files and take my laptop with me today, but Buck’ll want security in the office when the repairmen are here. I’m going home to check for earthquake damage, and I won’t be back today. Is Buck in? Thanks so much. You’re a doll.”

While he waited, he thought Buck would be more upset by his advice to turn down the costly project Buck was considering than he would be over two men nearly dying outside Ryan’s window.

He was right. “After Clara replaces the papers, I’ll go over them with you and the accountants. Just let me know when. Your office or mine?”