“I THOUGHT I told you not to wear high heels!” Barbara Connell barks, striding out of the studio.

I jump, and turn guiltily. I’m standing in the middle of the newsroom, wondering where everyone is, when I hear her coming at me like a steam train.

“Well?”

She comes to a halt in front of me, and stares accusingly at my feet.

I extend one stilettoed boot towards her.

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?”

“That’s not the point!” she explodes. “They’re impractical. They look ridiculous. You can’t do your job in them. When we send you out into the field, you’ll need to be able to move. You might even have to run for your life. How far do you think you’d get in those?”

“I’m used to heels.”

“Not so used to them that you’d be able to run away in a crisis.”

“Oh, yes? Watch this.”

I drop my bag and take off at a run through the empty newsroom.

“That’s an angry mob over there,” I say, pointing at the empty Radio Gauteng desks.

“They’re protesting over poor service delivery. They’re chucking petrol bombs left and right.”

I bob and weave between the desks.

“That’s the police over there.” I point to the producers’ desks. “They’ve opened fire with rubber bullets, but the crowd is responding with live ammunition. It’s chaos! It’s mayhem! But I’m keeping up with the story and managing not to break a nail … or my ankle.”

I dash around the newsroom like a special-forces agent. There are only a couple of people around at this time of the morning, but they’re all looking at me like I’ve lost the plot.

I end with a running jump that lands me back in front of Barbara.

“See?” I say. “Heels don’t slow me down at all.”

Barbara stares at me for a long moment, her face frozen.

That’s it, I think. I’m fired.

Then she bursts out laughing. “You’re nuts, you know that?”

“I know,” I agree. “But can the heels stay?”

“Oh, all right, all right. If you really can’t do without them.”

“I really can’t. My heels and I go together like … like … pap and chakalaka.”

“Hmmm … well, you’d better come upstairs with me to finalise the paperwork. We don’t usually hire people in such a slapdash way. Let’s go and make it official.”

She strides off toward the lifts. Barbara seems to go everywhere in a hurry.

“So, why exactly did you hire me?” I ask, trotting along in her wake. “I totally wouldn’t have hired me. I thought I was coming off as desperate and weird.”

Her face is turned away from me but I can see a slight smile tugging at her lips.

“You reminded me of me, Trinity. Ten years ago I was twenty-two and exactly that desperate. I used to lie in wait for journalists to come out of their offices. Then I’d jump out at them and beg them to give me a job. I’d already been turned down by everyone else in town, but Jozi Talks was where I really wanted to work. Eventually I wore them down and I’ve been here ever since. I thought I recognised something of that in you. That same killer work ethic.” She turns to me suddenly with a ferocious glare. “Don’t prove me wrong!”

“I won’t,” I gulp.

Gosh.

Killer work ethic. I’m not sure that exactly describes me to a T. Killer need to stay in bed until ten o’clock on Saturday mornings, is more like it.

Anyway. We’ll see.

Barbara takes me upstairs and introduces me to Chantal in human resources. Chantal asks me to wait while she prints out an offer of employment.

“Can you spell your surname for me, Trinity?” she asks.

“L-u-h-a-b-e.”

“Oh … right … Luhabe. Any relation to Abel?” She laughs as though she’s not really being serious.

“Um … yes,” I admit. “Actually, he’s my dad.”

Chantal and Barbara both turn to stare at me.

“Your dad?”

“Uh huh.”

“Your actual father?”

“Yup.”

“You mean I hired Abel Luhabe’s daughter without even knowing it?” Barbara asks in disbelief.

“Well, I don’t normally introduce myself to people by telling them who my father is,” I explain.

Barbara’s face breaks into a big smile.

“Oh, this is awesome. This is so cool. This is going to get me out of hot water with the brass. They weren’t at all pleased with me for hiring a new staff member out of the blue like that. They normally give me quite a free hand when it comes to choosing staff, but they like me to go through the proper channels.”

“I don’t want to get you in any trouble,” I say.

“Don’t worry. I can stand a few knocks. And this is going to be a very interesting fact to drop into conversation one day.”

“But I just want to be treated like everyone else,” I say. “I never use my dad’s name to get special favours.”

“I think if my father were South Africa’s most famous Robben Island veteran- turned-mining magnate, I might mention it occasionally,” Barbara says with a laugh. “But don’t worry – when you work here, your connections mean nothing. Now let’s get downstairs for the morning news conference.”

*****

By the time we step out of the lift, the newsroom has completely filled up with people.

The moment they see Barbara, they file into an adjoining conference room and start taking their places around the table, which quickly fills up with coffee cups, notepads and laptops. I slide into a seat near the back.

Barbara introduces me briefly – without mentioning my dad at all – before launching into the stories of the day. She talks fast, using a kind of journalistic shorthand that I can hardly follow.

Words like “astroturfing”, “op-ed”, “vox pop” and “spike” fly around the room. I start off trying to write them all down so I can look them up later, but they’re coming at me thick and fast.

Most of the other reporters already seem to have stories that they’re busy working on. These are discussed after all the new stories have been doled out. By the end of the conference, everyone has plenty to get on with.

Everyone except me.

Unless I’m missing something, I seem to be the only one with absolutely nothing to do.

“All right, people.” Barbara stands up briskly. “Let’s get on with it. And remember, all hell’s going to break loose after that press conference this afternoon, so try to get your other stories cleared and filed before then.”

There’s some good-natured moaning and groaning, but within a surprisingly short time everyone is back at their desks typing away or talking urgently into the phone. One girl is on her way to court. She doesn’t even sit down – just grabs her jacket and heads straight off.

Everyone has important work to do except me. I don’t even have a desk.

I spot Barbara striding towards the news editor’s workstation. By the time I catch up with her, she already has a phone jammed against her ear.

“Oh, hi, Trinity,” she says as she spots me hovering. “Sorry, I forgot you were there for a moment.”

“You didn’t give me an assignment,” I say tentatively. “Isn’t there something you want me to be working on?”

“Right, absolutely.” She puts the phone down and stands up. “Yes, I do have a very important job for you. Come with me.”

I can’t help feeling a tiny bit thrilled as I follow her across the newsroom. This is it! My first assignment, at last. I can’t wait to find out what it is. I hope it’s something really challenging. I’ve been dying to show Barbara what I can do.

*****

Traffic reporting.

I do not believe this.

My important and challenging assignment is traffic reporting.

“This is where you’ll be working,” Barbara says, waving me towards a spare chair at the traffic desk. “Our rush hour traffic reporter is Kallie Kalopoulos. You’ll meet him in a minute when he comes out of the studio. Your job will be to feed him all the information he needs to compile his traffic reports. He’ll show you the ropes.”

“Okay, good!” I smile and nod my head vigorously, to hide my disappointment. “That sounds great … perfect. So … um … not news reporting, then?”

“Trinity – you need to learn to walk before you can run. You’re not ready to be a reporter yet. I still want you to attend the morning news conferences every day to get an idea of how we do things. And obviously you can suggest a story at any time. But this will be a good way for you to prove yourself.”

“Absolutely!” I agree perkily.

Prove myself.

Well, that sounds all right. I can do that. I’ll just be the best damn traffic reporter they’ve ever had, and soon they’ll be begging me to transfer to news.

Simple.

Kallie Kalopoulos is a cuddly bear of a man, with a personality to match. He starts by showing me how to extract the latest traffic information from the Metro Police radio band, the listeners’ SMS line, and the various online traffic-tracking sites that Jozi subscribes to. It’s not all that thrilling, to be honest. In fact, there’s only one thing that could make this job more enjoyable.

“So when do I get to go up in the helicopter?”

“The helicopter?” Kallie stares at me as though I’m speaking gibberish.

“Yes – you know. The one you fly over the city in to spot all the accidents and traffic jams?”

He bursts out laughing. “Trinity, we haven’t done that in years. That helicopter belonged to the good old days when Jozi Talks had a licence to print money, and fuel cost about R2 a litre. These days we sit on our asses and click away at a mouse-button all day – and actually get a better idea of what’s happening on the ground than those jokers ever did pissing about in a helicopter.”

“Oh, right.”

And now that I come to think of it, I haven’t heard a word about the helicopter reporter since I was a kid.

Damn. I was really looking forward to my first helicopter ride.

Just when I think I’m through making a fool of myself, I manage to do it again a few hours later. I’ve been watching Kallie reading the traffic reports on-air for a while now, and I really think I’ve got the hang of it.

“So … can I have a go at that?” I ask as he wraps up the 2 pm report.

“Have a go at what?”

“That.” I point to his headphones and mike. “Reading out the traffic report. I’ve watched you do it lots of times now, and I really think I could manage.”

Kallie starts laughing again, but this time he’s doubled over and slapping his thigh. I notice a couple of people nearby suppressing grins.

“What?” I ask in dismay.

“Trinity, this is your first day on the job. You’re not going to be put on air any time soon, I promise you. Do you see that girl over there – the one wearing black jeans?”

“Yes …”

“Notice how happy she looks?”

“Sure … I guess.”

“She’s been going about with a huge smile on her face the whole day. That’s because she’s been working here for nearly a year, and she heard this morning that they’re using her voice on the radio for the first time ever. It’s only a nine-second segment, and it’ll only run about three times, but she’s completely over the moon. She’s been on voice-training for months.”

“Right.”

Months?

I can’t say I like the sound of that. I mean, didn’t I just spend a full hour on the radio last Friday, with no voice training whatsoever? I hate the idea that it might be a full year before I’m on air again.

Mind you, I’m probably a lot more talented than that girl. And I’ll definitely get ahead much faster than she did.