Luella bumped into Khan as she turned to leave the unit. “You can thank your friend Thyme for all the problems here.”
“What are you talking about, Luella—”
“No. Fuck that. That bitch is a liar like the rest of them white folks. The A-team is still getting all the overtime. How long do you think the rest of us are going to put up with this bullshit?” Her words cut too close to Khan’s own suspicions about Thyme and scorched Khan’s soul.
Khan looked at Tino and could feel his rage. Damn, Thyme had told the Employee Involvement group that she would troubleshoot these problems for three months. Had Thyme become so selfish that she didn’t even do her job anymore?
Tino and Khan watched Luella walk out of the unit. “Just so you know, cousin, I’ve had it up to here with Luella’s bullshit. I filed a harassment complaint against her in the city of Detroit.”
“But Tino, was that necessary?”
“Come on, you see how she goes after me every week! Now she keeps calling my home and threatening my wife and kid. I’m sick of her shit. I filed a restraining order against her.” He stormed off.
Khan shook her head. She couldn’t blame Tino, but she knew that this latest move was only going to add fuel to the fire.
No sooner had Khan sat back down at her machine than Valentino returned.
“Mom called. They’ve rushed Ron to the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“They don’t know—maybe a heart attack.”
Khan could see the fear in Tino’s eyes. She could guess the questions he was asking himself. With all the anger in their family lately, the worst thing that could happen was not having time to say they were sorry.
“Wait,” Khan said, grabbing her purse. “I’m coming too. Luella can have both of our hours today.” Khan knew she’d probably be charged the hours as well, but she didn’t care. Family came first.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at William Beaumont Hospital. Tino was ushered in with his mother to see Ron, and Khan went to the ICU waiting room. When Tino emerged with his mother, both were weeping.
“He’s waiting for you, Khan. He didn’t have a heart attack, but they say he should really be off his feet for a while. You can only visit for a few minutes. I have to take my mother home. We’re not allowed to stay in the ICU.” Ida stood there clutching Tino’s hand, unable to speak. Valentino kissed Khan, hugged her tightly, then left with his mother.
When she saw her uncle Ron with tubes going into his chest and arms, she freaked. She’d only visited a hospital once before, when her grandma Pearl was sick with pneumonia. She’d hated the sterile smell then and, twelve years later, the sickly odor was more unbearable than she remembered.
Khan kissed him on his forehead, then took a seat beside his bed. “If nobody else tells you this, I will, Uncle Ron. You’re sick. You look like you’re about to die.” Her eyes scanned the plastic tubes and IVs that gave his body life.
“Oh thanks, I needed to hear that right now.”
“I’m real pissed at you right now. The plant’s going to fall apart without you there to supervise everyone. You know how lazy the committeemen are. They’re probably at the bar now, getting drunk.”
“Really?” He forced a grin. “Not without me, I hope.”
“That’s my uncle talking. I’m gonna come back later and sneak you in a bottle of Seagram’s.” She winked at him.
That got him to rally a bit. He told her he’d be out of there before the weekend was over. He had to get back to head the union negotiations.
“Khan,” he said, his weakening voice telling her she should leave, “did you save money for the strike like I told you?”
“Uncle Ron, chill. There ain’t going to be strike. They’re still saying that General Motors will be the strike target. That’s what Thyme said.”
“She’s one of them and don’t you forget it. Thyme’s hiding the truth from you. Lots of Troy Trim’s sewing jobs are being sewn in a Mexican trim plant. Why do you think her husband goes to Mexico every month? Thyme is quite tight-lipped, you know. But I don’t want to break up the high regard that you hold for your friend. There are some things you need to learn on your own.”
“But Thyme wouldn’t keep something like that from me. Where are you getting your information from, Uncle Ron? Elaine?”
But Khan didn’t want to push her uncle too far. He had to get better.
* * *
Khan was in a tizzy for days, sitting there alone watching Oprah. She couldn’t stop thinking about R.C. and the night they had made love. She hadn’t heard another word after that night. What does he think of me? That I am some kind of sex freak and he could run in and out of my pussy anytime he feels like it?
Her saving grace was the frequent calls she received from Buddy. It seemed that he could sense when she needed to talk. She never got too personal, but he seemed to know when to change the subject, happy to talk on and on about his family business. Her respect for him was building.
She was beginning to count on Buddy showing up at his aunt’s and then casually easing down to her place. It was as if he could read her mind and acted on it before she could voice her thoughts. And the wonderful part was that he was so subtle about it. There was no pressure and no kisses. Just friendship. And that made it special between them.
Khan finally consented to go out with Buddy one pleasant Sunday evening.
“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this,” Khan said, smiling at Buddy. “I’m going to be exhausted at work in the morning.”
“Don’t overdress,” Buddy had said when they made the date. “Most everyone will be wearing jeans. Just concentrate on having some laughs. You’ve been too serious lately.”
Her bed was full of tossed-out outfits. “I can’t wear this; he’ll think I’m trying to seduce him. I can’t wear this; I look too childish.” Damn! What the fuck am I going to put on?
Buddy picked her up at seven-thirty. “You look great, Khan,” he observed. She wore a powder blue sleeveless duster and pencil-legged matching pants. She felt her confidence building because of the blue Erykah Badu–style turban wrapped around her head. Her earrings made the ultimate statement. They were silver replicas of carved African warrior masks.
Buddy looked up at her turban, then looked back at her bashful face. “I like it.”
“What?” Khan acted as if she didn’t know what he was talking about.
Their date began with an elegant dinner at Pegasus. Khan was beginning to realize how much of his own man Buddy was. She felt R.C. slowly fading from the forefront of her mind and heart.
By nine-fifteen they were waiting in line on Woodward Avenue for the attendant to show them where to park their car. The first comedy act was set to begin at nine-thirty. Suddenly Khan froze. Just fifty feet in front of them she saw R.C. exiting a white limo with his wife. His arms were wrapped all around her. There was no mistaking what they represented: love and marriage.
They were third in line to park. “Stop, Buddy. I can’t go in. Let’s go.”
“Khan?”
“Take me home.” Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears and she didn’t want Buddy to know why.
Buddy waved to the parking attendant and got his attention. A few moments later, the two cars behind him backed up enough to allow Buddy to get out of line.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “I don’t live this way.”
“Relax, Khan. I know where I’m going.”
Khan had her eyes closed. When she opened them she and Buddy were parked on the north end of Belle Isle.
“Now tell me what’s wrong. It’s not going to hurt. And I won’t judge you. Just talk, okay?”
Khan started slowly. She told him about her relationship with R.C. August was the month they were to be married. She tried not to think about it, but when she saw him tonight with his bride, both of them decked out in all white—even the limo—it was too much to take. She’d omitted the part about sleeping with R.C. re
cently. And also the part about the ring, which she had put away and never looked at again after that fateful night when he’d taken his pleasure with her and then walked out.
It was eleven o’clock when she finished. Her turban had fallen off; her face was flushed, her makeup ruined.
Buddy started laughing.
“Buddy? What’s so funny?”
He pulled the lighted mirror down on her side of the truck. “Nothing. You’re too young to be so serious. Fix your makeup. We’re going to the comedy club. The second set starts at eleven-thirty.”
It was two in the morning before Khan made it home. Surprisingly, she wasn’t a bit sleepy. She set her alarm for four and headed for the bathroom. On her way back to the bedroom she heard a knock at the front door.
“Buddy?”
“No. It’s me.”
She let him in. “What are you doing here, R.C.?”
“I felt I needed to see you face-to-face.”
You’re such a goddamn liar.
“I’m going to bed, R.C. It was a mistake, you coming here.” Just like that, he thought he could walk up to her door anytime. What did he think she was running, a saloon?
When he embraced her and cupped his hands beneath her buttocks, she struggled to push him off. “No, R.C. I ain’t doing that shit with you no more. When you get rid of that yin-yang bitch you can have some. Until then, you can whistle for a piece of this pussy.”
“You don’t mean that,” he said, reaching for her again.
Khan had to admit she was weakening. Her ass was hotter than gunpowder. But no way would she be some man’s bitch. She was worth more than that. She pushed him away from her. “Back off, blood.”
“You know you want it. I want to rock with you tonight, baby.” He grinned. “For old times’ sake.”
You low-down son of a bitch. Once she had overheard her grandma saying to one of her friends, “Grandpa can’t fly his kite ’cause Grandma won’t give him no tail.” Now she totally understood that line.
Khan felt downright cocky now. She stepped back two steps and placed both her hands between her legs. She lowered her eyelids a half-notch and cocked back one thigh. “You need to understand something. My pussy, it’s one of a kind and hard to find. It’s hot and it’s tight all the time. Ain’t no other pussy like mine. If you get it once, you’re going to want it again and again. You know that, blood, better than anybody. But now, hey, I’m tired of listening to your excuses about your Japanese wife. You think about something when you leave here tonight: My pussy could have changed your life. But instead, I hope your mind will be so fucked up that you won’t be able to make love to your wife. Your dick will soften like a sad melody, and every time your wife wants to make love, you won’t be able to, because your mind will be on fucking me. ’Cause I got that snatch-back pussy.”
“Khan,” he said, his lips wet, eyes hungry.
She narrowed her eyes and eased down her pajama bottom, revealing her bushy blond vagina. “Naw, blood. I can’t help you. Because, as I said before, brother, there ain’t no other pussy like mine. It’s blond and it’s fine, and it’s all mine. Now get out.”
R.C. was still stroking his erection. She could swear she saw a wet stain on the front of his pants. “Don’t leave me like this, Khan.”
She was hot, but the thrill she felt turning him on and leaving him feeling hot and hanging was far more satisfying than any orgasm.
Opening the door, she told him once again to go. Feeling herself weakened by his pleading, she knew she had to make him leave before she lost all respect for herself. Her voice was strong and hard. “I won’t ask you again, R.C. Go.”
She wasn’t prepared for R.C.’s final move. He shocked her by unzipping his pants and whipping out his penis. It glistened in the half-darkness of her narrow foyer.
He stroked the beautiful penis that she had grown to love until it grew so huge she thought it would burst. “Kiss it, baby. You know, the way you used to.”
Other women might not understand it, but nothing was prettier to Khan than a hard, black dick. Especially one that had brought her so much pleasure. The seconds it took her to react to his invitation weakened her knees. She could feel the crotch in her pajamas growing damp. Khan knew that if she didn’t put him off now, she’d melt. She took a deep breath then said, “I’ve sucked enough dick to go around the world seven inches at a time, brother. When you send that bitch back to Japan, you call me.”
She pushed R.C. outside her door while he was still holding his dick in his hand. Locking the door behind her, she took a deep breath, her heart burning as if it had been scorched.
I’ll fuck myself before I let you fuck me over.
24
__________
Luella woke up Monday to the trill of the alarm clock. She whistled while she showered and dressed. But the real reason for her good mood was that last night she had paid a visit to Valentino’s wife, Sarah. Luella smiled to herself as she relived the confrontation.
She hadn’t been the least bit nervous when she knocked on Tino’s door, knowing he was out delivering televisions. Luella had suspected that Tino was married to a quiet type, and she wasn’t wrong.
Exactly as Luella had predicted, a wide-eyed creature answered the door. “Hello?”
At first Luella hadn’t uttered a word; she was too busy noticing how tiny and innocent looking the little bitch was.
“Are you looking for someone, miss? Can I help you?”
Luella had begun huffing as she remembered Valentino’s mistreatment of her over the years. She could hear the sound of a baby whimpering in the background. If you think I’m going to have some sympathy for your teeny-weeny ass, you wrong. Luella had then grabbed Sarah by the neck and yanked her outside. Knocking Sarah down, she kicked and punched her with all the anger and frustration she’d been building toward Tino.
* * *
Luella dressed in a long, yellow print dress and tied her hair back with a purple ribbon. She felt great, now unburdened of her own pent-up anger toward Valentino.
She drove to work with the window down and let the wind whip the back of her hair in the fresh air.
Her first stop was to the cafeteria to withdraw four hundred dollars from the Comerica cash machine. As she headed out the door, Tom, a committeeman, was on his way in.
“Is the office locked, Tom?”
“No. Need to make a long-distance call?”
“Yeah.” Luella thought about Omar in Colorado. His message on her pager said he was going to be delayed coming home because his rig was broken down. What did she care? “I won’t be long.”
She felt a sharp pain in her heart as she pranced up the steps to the union room. Sooner or later, she thought, she would have to stop taking two Dexatrims a day. Her doctor had warned her five years ago that continued use of the diet drugs would bring on early heart problems. One day, maybe tomorrow, she’d take his advice.
Even though the ashtrays were emptied and the office looked clean, the room reeked of cigarette smoke. A fine layer of dust and film had settled on the bookcase and file cabinets. Even the beige plastic cover on the computer was stained an angry yellow. After turning on the radio on the bookcase, she took a seat in the desk with a matching beige captain’s chair and dialed Omar’s cell phone. No answer. Crossing her legs and swiveling around the chair, she studied the picture of Walter Reuther on the wall behind her as she waited a moment, then dialed the number again. It was busy. The fool must be trying to call me.
She picked up the phone again and dialed Maintenance. Daddy Cool answered the phone. “Hey, Daddy Cool, is Eugene around?”
There was a short pause before Eugene came on the line. “Luella. Daddy Cool said it was you. You got my money?”
“Yes. Do I have a year’s guarantee on that unit?”
“Luella, I been installing air conditioners way before you were born.”
“Then why ain’t you retired by now, Eugene?” She glanced at the UAW calendar on the wall. “I
f you had let some of that young pussy alone, your drunk ass could have retired two years ago.”
“Now let’s not start talking about folks this early in the morning, Luella. I already told your husband when I finished on Thursday night that I’d guarantee my work for a year. Now s’pose you tell me why your husband said I had to ask you for my money?”
“Eugene, you know I’m in charge,” she said angrily. “Now you hurry up down here. I’m upstairs in Tom’s office. You hurry up now, ’cause I ain’t gonna wait long.”
After she hung up the phone, she took out her purse and began counting out Eugene’s money. Just as she was about to try Omar again, she heard someone running up the stairs. That couldn’t be Eugene already, she thought, as Valentino bolted into the room.
His face was lined with anger. He was wearing a long shop coat over wrinkled jeans. Luella thought that was odd, given how hot it was, but the sick look on his face frightened her and the shop coat was quickly forgotten.
She tried not to show the fear in her eyes. Kicking Sarah’s ass last night had felt good. But she hadn’t hurt the bitch that bad. If she had, she thought, she would have heard from Valentino last night. Half the plant knew where she lived.
Noticing that he kept looking back over his shoulder, Luella nervously glanced around the room at the door, listening with every pore in her body for the sound of Eugene coming up the steps.
“You shouldn’t have touched Sarah. Why you mess with my wife! My wife!”
“I told you not to fuck with me, Tino. You should have given it up. We could have settled our differences long ago. Anyway, I didn’t hurt the little thing that bad.”
“You made the worst mistake of your life. The last mistake, bitch!” Tino began moving toward the hat rack to his right. “I told you I’d fuck you up.”
Luella knew he’d be angry, but she hadn’t anticipated that he would go off on her. All kinds of shitty words came to her head, but something told her to keep her mouth shut.
“You fucked up my dad’s life. My mom’s. My wife’s. Why you keep messing with the Lamotts? You crazy, girl? You think we some kind of fools? You think we ain’t men?” He pounded his chest with his left fist. “You destroying a family—you deserve to die, bitch.”
Blue Collar Blues Page 23