Blue Collar Blues

by Rosalyn McMillan

  The DIS, the development interest survey, was filled out by every salaried employee. This survey was updated yearly by the employee and was crucial in determining whether he or she was eligible for a promotion.

  Thyme was fuming.

  How could Wright sit in front of my face and tell such a huge lie? Everyone knew I fought for that promotion at the Orion plant. Why would I give up a job fifteen minutes closer to my house that paid twenty-five thousand dollars more a year?

  Sitting up tall in her seat, Thyme could see a small flutter of triumph flash across Mary-Elizabeth’s face. Thyme had known Mary-Elizabeth for over ten years. She’d always flirt with Cy at company picnics in front of Thyme, which infuriated Thyme and merely made Cy laugh.

  Thyme wanted to cover her face with her hands so badly her eyes ached. She felt degraded and humiliated. But she sat there tall and proud while her heart and soul felt as if a volcano had erupted within her.

  The depositions were signed and numbered as exhibits as each person Mr. Kravitz had subpoenaed gave testimony.

  Next was a notice of deposition and request for production of documents. Thyme knew this was where she had Champion by the balls. Her friend Vicky Kress had come through with the documents that detailed all of the promotions of the salaried employees over the past fifteen years. Out of the two hundred seventy-five promoted, only one was black. There was no way Thyme would disclose her source of information, not even to Kravitz. The point was that the information was correct and that was all that mattered.

  It was now eleven forty-five. Thyme knew they’d have to break for lunch soon. Stephen had just introduced plaintiff’s deposition exhibit number fifteen. Audrey Hall, a white woman who’d recently been promoted to a grade fourteen, was now being interviewed.

  Thyme’s mind wandered. She knew the story. Audrey was Candice-Marie Avery’s niece and had been hired her first year out of the University of Illinois. Thyme had read her résumé. Audrey was no slouch, but she had very little hands-on business experience. Apparently that hadn’t gotten in her way to be promoted to manager of the Electronics Engineering Division.

  When he finished with Audrey, Stephen came over and whispered in her ear. “Would you consider bringing your husband in? He could be crucial to our case.”

  “No.”

  “But he could supply us firsthand with the emotional damages that you—”

  “Forget it, Stephen. It may or may not help our case. But it could destroy my marriage. No way am I calling Cy in to testify. If we can’t win with all these witnesses, let’s cut our losses and fold.” Thyme knew it wasn’t rational, but she couldn’t ask Cy to appear as a witness. She was still waiting for him to volunteer.

  Thyme wished he had been there to support her. Though she knew she still loved him, she felt more distant from him than ever. How could they patch up their differences now? Was it possible? Does love really conquer all?

  If I win or lose, Thyme thought, at least I tried. At least I showed these white folks that they can’t treat black people this way. We’ll fight back. They must think I’m a real fool if I sit back and let them promote people less qualified than me and think I won’t sue their ass for racial discrimination.

  At this moment, Stephen was interviewing the last witness. All through the process Thyme had pointed out the contradictions or blatant lies in the testimonies of the witnesses. She’d say to Kravitz, “It didn’t happen like that. This is what really happened.” And Stephen would listen and come back with a slamming rebuttal. Looking over to her left, she could see that Champion’s attorney was coaching his witnesses as well.

  What a joke. It was like everyone was playing a game of shuffleboard. You could move here. Then I’ll move there, and we’ll assess the situation. And finally whoever tossed out the best question would certainly win. How stupid.

  Stephen threw back his shoulders when the next witness took the stand. It was John Sandler, Cy’s boss.

  “Mr. Sandler, are you familiar with Champion’s policy to promote only those employees that have attained a bachelor’s degree or higher?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Mr. Sandler, are you aware that some of your salaried employees in a grade nine or higher have merely an associate’s degree?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Mr. Sandler.” Stephen cleared his throat. “I’m told that you have a master’s degree in business management. Is that true?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  Stephen turned around and smiled at Thyme. “Is your name John Sandler?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  Champion’s attorney, Brian Manning, was so frustrated he tossed all his papers up in the air in disbelief.

  This time Thyme met Stephen’s smile.

  John’s arrogance and unwillingness to cooperate with Thyme’s attorney or even answer simple questions had lost him the case.

  His pathetic smile was broader than Stephen’s; John Sandler still didn’t get it. He gave Champion’s attorney a bewildered stare and shrugged his shoulders.

  * * *

  Thyme whistled as she showered Saturday morning. Kravitz had assured her that there was no way Champion wasn’t going to settle. Thyme’s case had forced them into the corner. At that moment, Thyme felt that nothing could upset her today. Not even her husband’s distance.

  But her joy was short lived. The devil was no idle spirit but a vagrant renegade that never stayed long in one place. Perhaps he’d followed her home from the courtroom on Friday and was trying to make his presence known today. The motive, cause, and main intention of his walking was to ruin her. Just before she opened her eyes this morning, one of the devil’s helpers must have shown up full of smoke and fire.

  It was eighty-two degrees by six o’clock in the morning on this day in the second week of August. The humidity made it feel like a hundred. Even with the air conditioner set to kick on at seventy degrees, Thyme felt uncomfortable.

  Cy was still asleep in the guest room. He’d managed to avoid her the entire week, and Thyme had been grateful. Each was hiding something from the other. But now, she thought, it was time to bring things out in the open—she felt she had very little to lose at this point.

  She slipped into a cotton robe, pulled her hair into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, and started the coffee.

  Moments later, the mind-awakening scent of fresh Colombian coffee filtered through the house. From the kitchen, she could hear Cy getting up as she removed two large rolls from the freezer.

  “Cy!” she hollered a few minutes later. “The coffee’s brewing, and I’ve got cinnamon rolls in the microwave.” Cy was dressed only in boxer shorts when he came into the kitchen, his silver hair spiked in spots. “It’s muggy in here. Let’s have breakfast out on the water,” Thyme said, suddenly nervous.

  Cy was still slowly awakening. “Mmm, smells good,” he said.

  “They’re almost ready. So—are you coming?”

  “Give me two minutes and I’ll meet you at the dock.”

  Thyme balanced the coffee, rolls, newspaper, and napkins as she walked to the dock.

  Catching up with her, Cy released the boat from the dock and jumped inside, then held out his arms for the breakfast tray. The seductive lure of the rhythmic waves was so relaxing that Thyme considered passing on the discussion and taking a quick nap.

  There was only one other boat on the lake as they sipped their coffee. Thyme braced herself. She needed to hear from Cy’s own mouth if what Ron had told her about Troy Trim was true and whether Cy had known all along.

  She spoke slowly. “Cy, I talked with Ron earlier this week. We were discussing the labor situation in Mexico. Tell me that it isn’t true that you’ve been personally involved with the Mexican facilities that sew Troy Trim’s stock.” Her eyes drilled into his before she spoke again. “Tell me that isn’t true, Cy.”

  Thyme could see that he was struggling. A few moments later, he sat back against the pontoon’s gunwale.

&
nbsp; “All I know is that some of the production is being shifted to Mexico. Champion has other plans for Troy Trim.”

  “Other plans?” Thyme bored her eyes into his.

  “Yes. Don’t worry; everything will be all right. Champion takes care of its own. The company is just trying to clear the way so that Troy Trim can develop new business.” Cy smiled now. “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to accomplish, honey?”

  “Cy, that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me. You told me that Champion wasn’t going to do any outsourcing to Mexico.”

  “Baby—”

  The water around them began to lap the boat, creating a subtle motion. “I’m your wife, Cy. I’m not your baby. We should talk when we’ve both had more time to think.”

  “I agree.”

  Thyme realized in her heart that we hate some people because we do not know them; and we do not know them because we hate them. At that moment of revelation with her husband, she hated the Mexicans. She hated Champion Motors for lying—for making her husband lie to her. With all her heart, she did not want to hate her husband. Because after loving someone so much, her hatred toward him, she knew, would be far deeper than her love.

  When Cy docked the boat and went into the house, Thyme had the worst cry she’d had in years. What about me? What about us? Does that company mean more to us than we mean to each other? A part of her didn’t want to know the answer. But one thing was clear: Cy had indeed lied to her.

  The devil had had his day.

  21

  __________

  “This was a mistake, Randy,” Luella said, frowning. She hadn’t noticed before how long his nails were. Nor how dirty. “Maybe you should take me back to my car.”

  They were at Slappy Joe’s Bar on the corner of Seven Mile Road and Grand River Avenue. It was just past midnight on Saturday night and the bar had been steadily filling up since eleven. While he consumed shot after shot of Hennessy, Luella had kept watch on the door for fear that someone from the plant would recognize her. She’d met Randy one night after work in the parking lot; his car had a flat and she’d helped him.

  But now she suspected that her date had had a little too much to drink.

  “Hold on, girl. The room is just down the street, and it’s already paid for.”

  Already paid for—already paid for—already paid for. She didn’t like the sound of that. It was the first time Luella realized how cheap she must look to this man. “I’ll give you your money back, Randy. Just take me to my car and let’s call it a night.”

  Randy’s face distorted into an angry smile. She was positive now that he’d had too much to drink. “I don’t want your money,” he said, squeezing her arm, his thick nails leaving a lasting impression. “I want sumpin’ else.” He left a tip on the table, took her arm, and damn near pushed her outside.

  She wore a skin-tight devil-red catsuit. A matching long sheer sheath showed off every inch of her voluptuous curves and highlighted her ravishing red hair. She knew she looked fine, but tonight it was the wrong choice of clothing for all the wrong reasons.

  The Dorcheshire Motel in Redford was just eight blocks down, and they were there in five minutes. The Dorcheshire was an establishment that had a Jacuzzi with blue mood lights imbedded on the sides. They also offered king-sized water beds and free adult movies. But most people frequented the motel because of its “short stay” policy: four hours for a mere forty-five dollars.

  Luella had always wanted to go there, but not under these circumstances. The moment they stepped inside the room, Randy began stripping off her clothes, not even bothering to take off his. He merely let his pants drop to his knees when he pushed her nude body down on the bed.

  Randy didn’t screw her; he abused her. He didn’t want oral sex or regular sex. He wanted it from the rear. Luella loved sex, but she’d never done it that way before. He hurt her so bad she screamed in agony. She prayed that someone heard her. He didn’t even bother to use lubrication. When they left the room, tears streamed down her face. She could barely walk. Without even looking, she knew that he had left bruises on her. How would she explain bruises to Omar when he came home next week?

  They’d only used two hours. And “used” was exactly how Luella felt.

  Just as she opened the door to his car, she heard voices from the motel’s upper level and turned toward the noise.

  “Bitch! You come back here!” the scantily dressed man hollered.

  Then she saw another man bolting down the corridor a few feet away, sprinting down the steps. His clothing was ripped in spots, and when he reached the lower level Luella could see that blood oozed from his mouth. She could also see that the man was Valentino.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked as he headed in her direction.

  “Luella, let’s go,” Randy said impatiently.

  She could see that Valentino was trembling, anxiously looking at the man upstairs, who appeared ready to run after him. Tino’s eyes were wide with horror. A tear trembled down his face. “He tried to—” He clasped his hand over his mouth, muffling a cry. “Nothing.” He didn’t bother to look back as he ran down the street.

  When she turned back around, Randy was frowning. “What was that shit all about?”

  “Take me to my car, Randy,” Luella demanded, not bothering to answer him.

  All weekend she soaked her bruises in Epsom salts, rubbing down her body afterwards with cool cotton balls saturated with witch hazel. She’d never felt so violated before. In all her years of sleeping around, nothing like this incident with Randy had ever happened. Was this a sign for her to stop and settle down? What was she getting out of the sex if she came home battered?

  On Monday, Luella went to work calmly. She avoided eye contact with everyone and went straight to her station. At one point, on her way to the break room, Luella bumped into Tino, who was packing the Rouge Build Cooley carts with Remington luxury seat cushions. She could smell the aromatic sweat gleaming against his muscled arms.

  “Tino? How are you?” Luella realized she sounded a bit nasty.

  Tino gave her a hard look. “Luella, stay out of my face. My life is none of your business. I’m warning you: Don’t fuck with me.”

  Luella decided to change her tack. “The thought of the three of us in bed together is turning me on.”

  “You couldn’t pay me enough money to fuck you, Luella.” Tino flipped five front backs onto the top shelf.

  “I love it when you talk to me like that,” she said, handing him the rear cushion that completed the set. “I’ll give you one more chance to prove you’re a man. And if you don’t, I’m going to have to resort to different tactics. You know, like tell your wife you been giving up more ass than you been getting.”

  “You low-down bitch. You don’t stop fucking with me, I’m going to the man for some protection against your crazy ass. I’m warning you, bitch—back off. I mean it, Luella.”

  * * *

  Luella noticed that Tino didn’t show up for work Tuesday. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, the same thing.

  After receiving her paycheck, she left to go shopping at Northland Mall. It was the twenty-first day of August, and every store in the mall had summer sales. When she returned home, there was a process server on her doorstep who handed her a restraining order. It instructed her to stay at least fifty feet from Valentino, and the same distance from his property.

  “That sucker don’t know who he’s fooling with.” No one ever refused this pussy and I ain’t about to let a two-way bastard be the first. The son of a bitch will be begging to suck this pussy when I get through with him.

  Luella was genuinely hurt. All the thoughts about her being laughed at when she was in grade school—all the ridicule she had suffered for being fat, bald-headed, and gap-toothed—surfaced. Her pituitary gland had been fucked up, though doctors didn’t know why. She hadn’t cared why; she had just wanted to look normal.

  She sat alone in her bedroom and removed a picture
from her wallet. It was a photo of her at age sixteen. It wasn’t a sweet-sixteen kind of picture. This was a reminder of how she’d looked before she spent thousands getting her stomach clamped—had a section of her intestines cut out in order to make her stomach smaller. In twenty-eight months she’d lost a hundred and twenty-eight pounds. That’s when she met and married Omar. When she later gave birth to their two sons, she gained and lost eighty more pounds. But her quest for beauty hadn’t ended there. The dentist bills to fix the gap in her teeth and get them capped was next. In two more years she would have all the bills paid off. She put the picture back in her wallet, then smiled. Ron would never know how much they truly had in common.

  That same night, she called on one of her old acquaintances. She promised him an evening of sex games after he gave her the information she needed about Valentino. She learned from the weak fool that Valentino repaired televisions on the side. She also learned that on each and every Saturday and Sunday evening, around seven o’clock, he delivered those repaired sets to his customers. This is when, Luella decided, she would pay a call on his wife.

  22

  __________

  “Hello, Cy,” Sydney said, hugging him. “I’m so glad you stopped by before you left on your trip. There’s so much we need to discuss. The courts have granted Jarrod joint custody of Graham. That means he’ll be spending three months at a time with Jarrod in London. What am I going to do?”

  Cy could tell she was holding back tears. They were in Sydney’s main office, located in her biggest Champion dealership. Outfitted in sumptuous brown leather, the office looked more like an English drawing room than a place of work. “I think the only thing you can do for now is not make it difficult for Graham and then appeal the case. I’m sure a good lawyer will be able to convince the judge that spending that kind of time in England would be disruptive for Graham.”

  “It appears not.” Sydney went to the wet bar and poured them both a drink. “I hope this isn’t too strong,” she said, handing him a double shot of Chivas on the rocks.