Finally! A wrap.
Tomiko looked around for R.C., but he’d left without a trace.
When she returned home, it was only ten-thirty in the morning. No one was home. Bonnie had gone grocery shopping, Tomiko assumed, and Herman, the chauffeur who lived over the garage, appeared to be gone as well. Where was R.C.?
Certain that R.C. would at least be home by dinnertime, Tomiko changed into her exercise clothes and worked out for two hours. Afterwards, she took a hot bath and made a cup of lemon tea. By then it was nearly two. Bonnie still hadn’t made it back and the house was as quiet as a woman the first day and a half after she’s married. Tomiko fell asleep.
The doorbell awakened her. The room was flooded in darkness. She had no idea what time it was. She stretched out and waited for Bonnie to get the door. When the ringing continued, she lifted herself up from the sofa and saw by the clock on the nightstand that it was midnight.
Where was R.C.? Had he made it home?
“Bonnie? R.C.?” Tomiko called out after exiting her room. Now the person was knocking on the door. She was starting to get pissed that Bonnie wasn’t attending to her duties. “Hold on,” she said, turning on the lights.
Opening the door, she saw one of their next-door neighbors, his hat in his hand. “Sorry to bother you this late at night,” the man said, “but my wife insisted I bring this letter over tonight. It was delivered to our home by mistake last week.”
When she read the return address on the envelope she was confused—the sender’s name, Johnson, was unknown to her.
“Sorry for the delay,” the man said, turning to leave, “but we’ve been out of town.”
“No problem. Thank you.”
Closing the door, she stopped, listening to the sound she heard coming from down the hall. But by the soft shuffling footsteps, she knew it wasn’t R.C.
Normally wide awake until one in the morning, Bonnie looked tired and haggard. “Evening, Tomiko. Did someone ring the doorbell?”
“Yes. I took care of it.” Tomiko tucked the envelope in her pocket. She had a terrible feeling about it. It terrified her. She immediately decided to put it from her mind.
“What’s wrong with folks these days coming to your home all times of the night?” Bonnie turned off the lights. “And before you ask, Mr. R.C. ain’t home. And don’t ask me where he is because I don’t know.”
Tomiko thought about how nervous he’d been at the shoot and wondered if there was a connection. “I’ll see you in the morning, Bonnie. Good night.”
Once inside her room, Tomiko fell face forward on the bed. Where are you, R.C.? I need you to hold me. She thought about their upcoming trip to the ranch and hoped that spending time there would help bring him closer to home, closer to her. As tender as her falling tears, she hugged herself, and closed her eyes.
Right before she fell asleep, the phone rang.
“Hello, may I speak with R.C., please?” It was a friendly male voice.
“He’s not here. May I take a message for him?”
“Yes. This is Oxford, an old friend of R.C.’s. Is this Bonnie?”
Tomiko laughed, happy that her accent was fading. “No, this is Tomiko, R.C.’s wife.”
“Wife? What wonderful news. When am I going to meet you? When are you two going to visit me in Seattle?”
“I’ll have to talk to R.C. about that.”
After Tomiko hung up the phone, she fell into a heavy sleep.
Later that night, Tomiko was awakened by a whisper.
“This is the last time, I promise. I’ll never do it again. God, please help me win. Please. Goddammit! Please. Just this one last time!” R.C. hollered out in his sleep.
Tomiko turned over onto her side and shook her husband. “R.C.?” He huddled on the edge of the bed, clutching the sheets tightly. His body trembled. As she tried to massage his face, she felt wet tears on his cheeks.
“I don’t have it. I swear.” He was crouched in a fetal position now, his eyes and teeth clenched together tightly. “You can’t take—!” He was shouting, then began tossing and turning.
“R.C., wake up,” she said, shaking him gently.
Tomiko sat there, waiting a few moments until he became still. Then she put her chin into his muscled arm; the smell of sweat and Catalyst cologne filled her nose.
R.C. continued to dream. “I’m sorry, Oxford. I didn’t mean it.”
She started to shake him again, but instead pulled the covers over him and lay her head on his shoulder, knowing that if he awakened, he would feel her loving arms around him, holding him safe.
Oxford? Who exactly was Oxford?
17
__________
“As you know,” John Sandler began, “we’ve been very pleased with your performance. You’ve done an excellent job in Mexico.” Sandler paused. “We’d like to show our appreciation by promoting you.”
Cy stood with confidence. His wine-colored Armani suit fit him well. Gold cuff links sparkled against platinum shirt cuffs.
“We haven’t figured out exactly when or where the position will be, but we’re looking at two possible areas that will further showcase your expertise as a top-level manager.”
They were in Sandler’s office. He had called a meeting this morning with Cy and a man to whom Cy had not yet been introduced. The gentleman was expensively dressed and sitting in the background. He only nodded in Cy’s direction when Sandler made his announcement. Cy had expected his promotion to be announced in this meeting, but he was a bit disconcerted by the presence of the stranger.
“Congratulations, Cyrus,” John Sandler said, shaking his hand. “No one deserved this promotion more than you.”
Cy was smiling as he shook Sandler’s hand. Before Cy could say anything, Sandler continued: “However, there is a condition.”
Suddenly Cy caught sight of an imposing file on Sandler’s desk with Cy’s name on it.
“There’s another matter we feel that we need to discuss with you, Cy,” said Sandler. He signaled toward the unknown gentleman. “This is Brian Manning, one of our attorneys.” His voice was resonant. “He has a few questions to ask you.”
Cy took a seat on the sofa. He felt the anger rising in his gut.
Brian accepted the brown and gold file handed to him by Sandler. “We’re very concerned about a lawsuit that was recently filed. As you no doubt are aware, Mr. Tyler, your wife has filed a discrimination suit against the company. Several of our high-level executives have been subpoenaed.”
Cy felt himself turning as red as the rains of hell. So that’s what this is about. Why didn’t she listen to me? I knew this would happen.
“At this point, there are several plants on strike. The company is losing millions because of the labor disputes. We feel that a lawsuit by one of our plant managers will reflect poorly upon everyone concerned and give us negative press. With the upcoming contract negotiations, we can’t afford that.”
Cy finally spoke up. His voice was measured. “I’m not aware that a suit was filed, gentlemen.” If they could sling bullshit, he might as well get his shovel out, too. “I know nothing about this issue.”
“We’re hoping that you can convince Mrs. Tyler to drop the lawsuit,” Manning said. “That way, we could go through with processing your promotion.”
Cy received the gazes of the two men as if he were in front of a firing squad.
Without hesitating, Cy said, “Certainly. I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
Back in his office, Cy loosened his tie. He tried calling Thyme. Elaine said she was visiting another plant and wouldn’t be back in the office that day. Damn, he’d forgotten. Thyme had mentioned it to him this morning before she’d left for work. Now he’d have to wait until this evening to speak with her.
How could Champion do this to him? After all his years of service?
Since Champion planned on selling Troy Trim by the end of the year, half the jobs were going to Mexico, and the other half would be farmed o
ut to the new buyer. Cy became suddenly aware that he had not mentioned any of this to Thyme. In his mind, he’d been protecting her. Up to this point, Sandler had guaranteed that Thyme would be given a position at World Headquarters. Now, with her filing the lawsuit, that promise was as good as a Confederate twenty-dollar bill. And so was his promotion.
Damn!
It was a fact that Champion Two Thousand was predicated on the company’s succeeding at the huge risk they’d taken in developing their Mexican factories. If things went right, the company could save a half-billion dollars when all the Mexican operations were in place.
There was no denying on Champion’s part that the Mexican operations could provide that much in savings. The Japanese automaker Kutani Motor Co. had just reported a $690 million profit. Because of the improved earnings from their subsidiaries in Mexico and Europe, Kutani was able to post the highest group profit in five years.
But what Champion wasn’t disclosing, Cy knew, was that not just Troy Trim, but all the trim operations in the United States would eventually be lost to the Mexican workers. That meant the assembly plants here in the States would be affected as well.
Looking up, he noticed that the sky had turned dark. A storm was brewing. It would rain soon. He made a few phone calls, checked his e-mail, and sent out two faxes to the Mexican plant. There was very little else for him to do, and with each passing second, he felt less and less like faking being busy.
Fuck it. He was too keyed up to do any more work today. After letting his secretary, Mary, know that he would be gone for the remainder of the day, he grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door.
There was little traffic at that hour of the afternoon. He headed down Jefferson Avenue and then exited onto Interstate 375, which would turn into Interstate 75 and take him home to Bloomfield.
His thoughts turned to the evening he and Thyme had planned for tomorrow night. They had box seats at the Fisher Theater to see Titanic. Thyme had told Cy that even though everyone knew how the play ended, she’d heard that the gripping fate of the passengers on the ship still moved the audience to tears.
Ironic choice. With both of their futures at Champion possibly ill fated, maybe they were on their own Titanic voyage.
His anger at Thyme returned and Cy pressed down the accelerator. How could Thyme be so selfish?
He needed to talk to someone, so he punched in Sydney’s number on his car phone as he changed lanes. The line was busy. He and Sydney were so much alike; professionalism and getting ahead in the business world were their prime motivations in life.
He thought again of Sydney’s offer to go into business as her partner in a Champion superstore. He knew that his and Thyme’s combined yearly income paled next to Sydney’s. Maybe now was the time.
For some reason, this line of thought made Cy feel even more sullen than he had felt earlier, and he was glad in a way that he hadn’t reached Sydney. As he parked his sports car in the third slot of his garage, Cy sighed.
Once inside, he shed his business clothes and changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. With three hours to kill before Thyme came home, Cy decided to go downstairs and work out. That would keep his mind off his confusion about what to do about his career. After pouring himself a cold glass of orange juice, he listened to the phone messages. It was no surprise there was a message from Sydney. “Cy, we need to talk. Please stop by today—without Thyme.”
He knew that tone—it meant trouble.
He called Sydney again, and this time she picked up. “Cy, you should come over. I don’t want to discuss this over the telephone.”
“What is it, Sydney? I was just about to work out.” Cy could hear the note of confrontation in his sister’s voice. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight.
“About your other family in Mexico.”
Her words lay flat in the air between them.
How in the hell had she found out?
“Cy, don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything. I never thought Thyme would satisfy you anyway. I just want to know how you could think that you could keep a secret from me.”
“Sydney, it’s a long story and I can’t talk about it right now. Who told you about Graciella, anyway?”
“When you want to tell me the whole story, I’ll tell you how I found out about Graciella.”
“I’m warning you, Sydney, this isn’t a game of poker with you holding the winning hand. Back out now while you still have time to fold.”
“Just listen to me, twin brother: You better start cleaning up your priorities.”
Cy hung up the phone. He knew what she meant. In Sydney’s mind, Cy should have only one priority: her.
After working out, Cy went to the deli and purchased dinner: cold cuts and a couple of pasta salads. As he began setting the kitchen table, he told himself that his sister loved him too much ever to hurt him. He had to trust that love now and concentrate on getting his relationship with his wife back on track.
When Thyme walked through the back door and saw him working in the kitchen, she smiled.
He studied her face as if it were a key to a mystery yet to unfold. “How was your day, honey?” he asked, helping her remove her suit jacket.
Thyme didn’t even meet his eyes as she said, “I had a bad feeling about the plant the moment I saw their shipping facilities.” She paused to shake her head in disbelief. “Can you believe Patterson Trim only had one truck dock?”
He followed her down the hall to their bedroom. He’d heard about Patterson, a family-run minority business.
“Actually, I can. Most businesses, especially minority businesses, can’t afford to retool their plants.”
Cy sat back on the bed and watched her remove her clothing. Her beautiful chocolate skin looked sumptuous against the red silk suit she wore. He loved her in red. He also loved to watch her undress. Cy felt himself getting aroused.
When she sat in front of the vanity and removed her nylons and red pumps, Cy forgot all about the lawsuit, Graciella, his promotion. He reached inside his shorts and pressed his hands against his erection. Once again, he wanted to erase the problems between them with sex.
She was nude now, and the provocative curves of her shapely hips pressed deeply into the soft satin stool as she removed her makeup. “I assume they still use railcars?”
“Exactly. And we don’t. One hundred percent of our business is handled by trucks.” Thyme tossed the tissues she’d used to clean her face into the trash can. “I explained how all of our business was handled by truck. I tried to get him to understand how the just-in-time procedure frees up floor space and avoids storing excess inventory. But he wouldn’t listen.”
It was well known that most companies making money today handled their business the same way. While it would take a railcar up to five days to make it from the Troy plant to the plant in Lorain, Ohio, a truck took a maximum of four hours to deliver. But minority businesses could seldom afford such a cash outlay, and without the equipment, they couldn’t ship their supplies just-in-time. As a result, they were losing money.
“They said it would cost them millions to install new truck dock facilities.” Thyme turned on the shower. “I can’t understand it. The Japanese instituted this same JIT practice in the ’seventies. And it’s the primary reason why they’re so cost effective today. Why are minority businesses so slow to do the same thing?”
“But why do you think the UPS strike crippled so many businesses? Because everyone is using trucks.” He had her attention. “The UPS strike proved how many companies no longer keep large inventories. They depend on trucks and air freight to conduct business—especially trucks.”
She stepped into the shower hollering, “And UPS as well as FedEx are expanding now. Patterson’s transportation practices make even less sense.”
When Thyme stepped from the shower, Cy was waiting for her in their bed. A colorful plastic tablecloth was spread on top of the bed, accompanied by their beautiful china and sterling silver flatware. The d
inner was laid out on a platter and cut into small sections.
The mind-soothing music of Yanni played softly in the background.
He loved the look on Thyme’s face when she came back into the room and saw where they would eat their meal. Minutes later, they were giggling and laughing like the days when they first met. Cy just hoped all of the tension would disappear forever.
When he fed her a slice of fresh pineapple, they juice ran down his fingers. He felt Thyme take his hand and slowly lick off the sweet nectar.
He wanted to make love to her so badly he could scream. But when he heard her yawn, he knew she’d be too tired to enjoy it.
Placing her hand in his, he said, “Your birthday’s tomorrow. I haven’t bought you anything yet.” He ran his fingers through her hair, stopping to touch her lips with his finger. “Tell me what you’d like.”
She looked up at the picture of her behind the bed and frowned. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, creating tension lines around her mouth. “I really don’t need a thing. Maybe we could take a trip since we missed our vacation on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“We can’t leave right now, sweetheart.”
“What about Thanksgiving? We could take the three days off before vacation begins and spend a week abroad—what about in Rio?” Cy couldn’t help but notice Thyme’s animated voice; he realized he hadn’t heard her excited in months. Maybe he hadn’t heard her at all.
“Rio? Why Rio?”
“I don’t know. Never mind. What about Africa? You know, check out my roots. My history.” She turned to him. “I’m not sure why, but it feels especially important to me right now.”
Without her saying so, he knew there was a correlation between her age and wanting to get back to her roots. Though she never discussed it with him, Cy knew Thyme had been dreading her birthday and hated getting older. The signs had been evident all year: the change in her clothes, hairstyle, worrying about her weight. “I’d love to go to Africa with you, sweetheart. I’ll take care of the arrangements tomorrow.” He lifted her chin to hers. “And by the way, you’re the youngest-looking forty-five-year old woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Blue Collar Blues Page 18