Stop the Press (Chuck)

[Rhea Hartman]

((Back dated to January))

To date, Rhea's interactions with the press had been infrequent. The police academy had imprinted the importance of “No comment” on its graduates, and Rhea took it to heart. She left interactions with the media to the less blunt, more highly paid members of senior staff. Since, “Why do you think I've got blood all over me, get out of my way,” did not translate well to print.

Things were a little different in Pilot Ridge. The town did not have a media so much as one or two enthusiastic journalists printing articles onto newsprint at Kinkos. Or at least that's how Rhea, who was a faithful patron of local news, imagined it.

Chuck Miller was one of these, and he had asked for an interview the instant she was out of the hospital. Rhea had agreed, but only after a talk with the police chief and the symptoms of her concussion faded.

Such it was that she walked into the kiddie bubble tea joint before the afternoon shift on a late, cold Tuesday morning. She wasn't sure why Chuck had wanted to meet here when it was twenty degrees outside, but otherwise she quite liked the place. You couldn't be underdressed anywhere that the walls were painted lime green. Still, since it was an interview, she had upgraded from yoga pants to leggings and a hooded sweater, and her hair still had the freshly-cut sharpness of her recent switch to curling, close-cropped hair. She found Chuck's table before she went to order, and greeted him with a warm smile and a handshake. “Chuck Miller? Rhea Hartman, good to meet you.”

[Chuck Miller]

After hearing about Rhea's heroism in the face of the Holiday Bash disaster Chuck had desperately needed to interview her. After all, who better to discuss what had happened than the heroine herself? It was all well and good to have quotes from other people, but most of the other participants had been too afraid to notice enough to even give him that much.

So he had asked her for an interview at one of his absolute favorite places in Pilot Ridge, the Bubblebeam Tea Shop. It had so much character.

Nice, comfortable character.

When she walked in she took his breath away. Tall, imposing, and with a very attractive short haircut.

Also, apparently she was one of the few other black people in the entire state of Vermont, which he couldn't deny had a certain appeal. Some of the white women he had dated had been perfectly nice, but for the most part they didn't quite understand what it was to be a black man in a painfully vanilla white state.

He tried to school his expression to one that was more professional and less smitten school boy, rising from his seat and offering her a hand.

"Officer Hartman! Thank you for meeting me today."

[Rhea Hartman]

"The pleasure's mine," Rhea replied with a warm smile and flick of her eyes in a once-over. Chuck's attraction wasn't entirely unreturned. Angular-faced, smooth, dark skin, and a well-shaven head. Reluctant to date white men because "I deal with too much white-washing at work to bring it home with me," she was always pleased to meet someone who would never use the word 'ebonics' in a conversation.

"Thanks for asking," Rhea replied, placing her hands on the small metal table and lowering herself into her seat. "Do you want to get started, or do you want to get something first?" She was not planning to partake herself.

[Chuck Miller]

"Do you want something? I want you to be comfortable," Chuck replied quickly. He wanted his sources to be comfortable enough that if he needed to ask them for any followup interviews they wouldn't mind seeing him again; who wanted to talk to a journalist who treated people poorly? He already had to contend with the common conceptions that journalists were nosy and unethical -- thanks in part to scandals revolving journalists hacking the phones of private citizens. Although that had occurred in Britain it was under Rupert Murdoch, who owned plenty of media in the United States, as well.

Chuck absolutely did not want anyone to think he might resort to such lows.

[Rhea Hartman]

Rhea's taste in beverages ran more to sweet tea and cocktails than slushies with tapioca in them, and she declined Chuck's offer. "No thanks, I'm good." She crossed her arms on the small metal table and settled down. Chuck was in luck--no thought of phone hacking or media conglomerates had entered her head.

When the reporter returned, she gave him another small smile. "So, where would you like me to start?"