Hoosier Daddy

by Ann McMan

  The fireworks emanating from El were just as sensational. Just as new and exotic. They held just as much mystery and promise. I turned my head and began my own exploration. This time, it was slower and more deliberate. Not fast or frenzied. There was no threat of discovery, no insistent interruption looming on the other side of the door, and no gauntlet of staring eyes to frame a path of retreat. And, remarkably, we weren’t soaking wet—at least, not on the outside.

  The slow river of lost hope and longing that moved through my darkest places was overflowing its banks. I was in the midst of a millennial flood, and I knew it. It had never been like this for me. I didn’t recognize the sensations because they’d never been part of my canon of experience. I couldn’t call them by name or understand how they fit together. But what I could see and understand was that all of my empty places were filling up with something warm and solid. Shadowy images that had always been incomplete were gaining contours—coalescing into things I recognized. I could see people walking, and they no longer looked like trees.

  That was the moment when everything changed for me. I drew back and held El’s face between my hands.

  “I can see you,” I said.

  It was that simple.

  She smiled at me. It was that small smile of hers—the one you might miss if you weren’t looking for it. But I was looking. And finally, I was seeing.

  She pressed her face into my hands. “Thank god.”

  I kissed her forehead. “Stay with me.”

  I realized after I said the words that I meant them in every sense. I wanted her to stay. Tonight. Tomorrow. A thousand tomorrows.

  She didn’t reply. But I felt the subtle movement of her head as she nodded.

  Fritz chose that moment to decide that his night was at its end. He climbed to his feet and rested his chin on El’s knee.

  “He wants his bedtime walk,” I explained.

  El patted his head as he panted against her leg. “Okay.”

  “Want to join us?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  We untangled ourselves and stood up. Fritz was already dancing beneath the hook where I kept his leash. El slipped her shoes back on and joined me at the door. I took hold of her hand, and we followed Fritz out into the balmy, blue-and-white night.

  Chapter 9

  T-Bomb was running late when she picked me up on Friday morning, so we didn’t have time to stop at Huck’s for coffee. I ducked into the break room before clocking in, just to grab a fast cup. That’s when I saw it, big as life, tacked to the message board over the trash can . . . right where it belonged. It was a leaflet. Typed up on somebody’s PC and printed on bright orange paper.

  WILL THIS PLANT CLOSE IF THE UNION GETS IN?

  Here are the facts:

  FACT: Unions never did anything to help American workers.

  FACT: Unions make plants close, and jobs go overseas.

  FACT: Unions make the cost of living get higher and push people onto welfare.

  FACT: Unions want to control your time and your money.

  FACT: Unions make you play by THEIR rules, whether you agree with them or not.

  FACT: Union bosses are your judge and jury.

  FACT: Unions can take away your seniority.

  FACT: Unions can force companies to cut wages and benefits.

  FACT: Unions will use any lies or tactics to get you to sign up.

  Who wants to pay dues for that?

  SAVE OUR JOBS! GET THE FACTS!!

  It was clear to me that this hadn’t come from Buzz or Joe. For one thing, it wasn’t full of spelling errors, and it actually had punctuation that made sense. This one had Don K.’s fingerprints all over it. He must really be running scared if he was stooping to scare tactics like this flier, and the promotion he’d dangled in front of me the day before. I wondered if El and Tony were wrong about their dwindling prospects for getting a vote at OTI?

  I looked at the orange leaflet again. I also wondered if it would be treasonous for me to tell them about this. There was no way propaganda like this could be legal. But little details like that never stopped guys like Don K. It was clear that he wasn’t going to let anything get between him and his Japanese-made golden parachute. I was just about to pull the thing off the board and stick it into my pocket when I heard the break room door open.

  “I should’ve known you’d be all over that,” a brittle-sounding voice behind me declared.

  I turned around. Misty Ann Marks. Great. Just what I needed.

  I wasn’t sure I cared to understand what her remark meant, so I didn’t say anything.

  She waved a hand at the bulletin board. I noticed that her nail extensions were bright pink and dotted with glitter. Grammy would say she was puttin’ on the Ritz. One thing was true about Misty Ann—whatever she was puttin’ on, she managed to make it look fast and cheap.

  “I heard you were all lathered up over that union agitator.” She snorted. “She’s right up your alley, too. Classy. Maybe you two should start a book club? But then, she won’t be around long enough to finish anything, will she?”

  “Misty Ann . . . the only thing around here that’s finished is this conversation.”

  I tried to walk by her, but she stepped in front of me.

  “Not so fast,” she said. “You sure had time for me when you didn’t have anyone better to play around with.”

  I sighed. “That’s not true, and you know it. You never had any intention of breaking up with your husband.”

  “Oh, now that bothers you?” She sneered. “Funny . . . I don’t remember you being all concerned about the state of my marriage any of those times we played tonsil hockey in the back seat of his car.”

  “Misty Ann . . .”

  “Save it.” Her hand flew across the front of her throat in a mock, slashing gesture. “I’m tired of being used by turncoats like you. You’re no better than the rest of those deadbeats out there who think a damn union is the answer to all their problems. Donny thinks you’re on his side, but I know better. You’ll choose a pretty piece of ass over loyalty to this company any day.”

  Donny? Don K. and Misty Ann? Good god . . .

  “You’re not in his head, Friday.”

  Thank god, I wasn’t in his pants, either.

  “I don’t have time for this.” I pushed past her and headed for the door.

  “That’s right,” she called after me. “You run along and make your little report. I’m sure your girlfriend and the rest of her union trash are waiting to hear from you.”

  I stormed out of the break room and headed for the line. I was halfway there before I calmed down enough to realize that not only had I forgotten to pick up my cup of coffee, I’d forgotten to punch the damn time clock. My little interlude with Misty Ann was going to cost me an hour’s pay. Krylon didn’t believe in splitting hairs. If you were ten minutes late, you got docked for an hour. Oh . . . and you got a nice butt-chewing from Buzz Sheets, too. For a day that started out so great, this one was sure going to hell in a hand basket at light speed.

  There were several guys standing around near the time clock when I reached it. I didn’t recognize two of them, but the third was a flunky who worked up front with Don K. I nodded and said hello, but they just stared back at me without speaking. It gave me a creepy feeling, but I shrugged it off. I didn’t want my encounter with Misty Ann to make me paranoid.

  I could tell there was something different about my time card as soon as I started to pull it out of its slot. It felt . . . heavier . . . more rigid. Then I noticed that something was attached to it. I turned it over. Part of a union authorization card was taped to the back. Someone had written my name on it, and the words “UAW Whore” were scrawled beneath it on the job title line.

  One of the men I didn’t know started snickering.

  I turned to them. “You guys know anything about this?” I held up the card.

  They shook their heads in unison.

  The front office flunky managed to pull a strai
ght face. “You never know who your friends are, do you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You guys must be a real hoot on Halloween.” I tore their little love note off my time card. I was going to drop it into the trash, but thought better of it and stuck it into my back pocket instead. I could still hear them laughing as I walked away.

  Morons.

  I felt like every pair of eyes in the plant were burning holes into my back as I made my way to my section. What the hell was going on? Did Nancy and Udean pilot one of their Christian Tour busses past my house? I wondered if the entire plant knew that El and I had spent the night together.

  It wasn’t T-Bomb who’d spread the word. I was certain of that. As much as she loved to gossip, she had a code where her own were concerned.

  Hell. Why was I surprised by this behavior? Half the population of Princeton watched us leave the VFW hall together last night. I remembered how I followed along at El’s heels like a dazed rodent being led out of town by the pied piper.

  I actually had to smile at that. The rat reference wasn’t too far off the mark. I congratulated myself for the metaphor.

  Luanne Keortge was waiting for me when I reached the chassis assembly line. She did not look happy.

  “Where the hell have you been? Buzz Sheets has been up my ass for the last half hour.” She looked at her watch, then at my face. “Never mind. I guess I know the answer to that.”

  “Hey? Don’t blame me for being late. I rode in with T-Bomb.”

  Luanne was giving me a good once over. “Well, you look like you been up half the night.”

  I felt myself blush.

  She held up a hand. “Oh, lord. Spare me any of them details about what you all do between the sheets.”

  I looked around. “Would you mind not broadcasting that?”

  “Hell. Nobody in this place could hear an atom bomb going off. Besides. You two weren’t what I’d call discreet leavin’ the fish fry last night.”

  I ran a hand over my face. This was going nowhere fast.

  “You talk with your Grammy yet?”

  Grammy. Shit. I hadn’t even thought about that yet.

  “No.” I was afraid to ask. “Was she okay?”

  Luanne chuffed. “You’re just lucky she was more concerned with trading out them damn combat gnomes for that dog spa thing. She didn’t even notice you were gone until after the raffle was over.”

  “Did Ermaline give her a ride home?”

  Luanne nodded. “She and Doc have already invited everybody out to their place for a pool party.” She shook her head. “If that don’t beat all. Those two need a damn swimmin’ pool about as much as a parakeet needs a can opener.” She looked over my shoulder. “Shit. Here comes that dipstick Buzz Sheets again.” She glared at me. “Hope you’re locked and loaded. I’m getting’ back to work. See you later at Hoosier Daddy?”

  I nodded. “I still have to pick up my truck.” She nodded and turned away.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on furlough.”

  “Furlough my ass. Joe is so damn worried about the parade tomorrow, he told me to come on into work.”

  “The parade?” I was confused. “Why is Joe worried about the parade?”

  “He wants Jailissa to ride in his pickup, and he knew that I was madder’n snot at him. So we worked out a deal.” She waved and waddled off down the line. “I gotta go. One ass-ripping a day is enough for me.”

  Buzz was fuming when he reached me. I held up a hand to halt his tirade before he had a chance to spool up.

  “I know I’m late, okay? But I’m here now, and it won’t happen again.”

  Buzz was already sweating, and it was barely seven-thirty. He must’ve been raising hell over in the section of the plant where the AC was still out. His cheap plaid shirt was showing dark, underarm stains that were about the size of radial tires. He mopped at his forehead with a yellowed handkerchief.

  “You and that loudmouth Jennings have about pushed me to my last stand. When you don’t show up on time, I have to find somebody to cover your station, and that costs me money.”

  “It’s not your money, Buzz.”

  “See? That’s exactly the problem with troublemakers like you.” He fumbled around in his shirt pocket. It was stuffed so full of papers, pens, and notepads that it sagged forward. Half the stitching on one side had already started to give way. The distended square of fabric hanging off the front of his chest was like a plaid fishing net. Finally, he found what he was looking for. He held out a folded square of bright orange paper.

  “You need to read this. It talks all about people just like you.”

  I glanced down at the flier like I’d never seen it before. “What is it?”

  He shook it back and forth. “Just take it. Maybe you’ll learn something. They told us to pass these out to people like you.”

  People like me?

  “You mean line supervisors?” I took the paper from him. I knew that the best way to keep him talking was to act like the dimwit he thought I was.

  “No. Not line supervisors.” He scoffed. “Jesus, Fryman. You need to get with a program.”

  I started to unfold the paper, but Buzz stopped me.

  “Read that on your own goddamn time.”

  I looked up at him. “Do you need it back?”

  “Nope.” He patted his sagging shirt pocket. “Got plenty more of ’em to pass out. Now just get to work. And be glad you’re only getting docked for one hour.”

  One hour’s pay for being ten minutes late. It was ridiculous. “Buzz . . .” I began.

  “Stow it, Fryman. That bus has sailed.”

  He walked off.

  Idiot.

  I shoved the orange square of paper into the back pocket of my pants and put on my safety goggles. It was going to be a long day.

  T-Bomb and I pulled into the parking lot at Hoosier Daddy, and we noticed a couple of people milling around beside my truck. They all seemed to be looking at something.

  “Well that can’t be good news.” T-Bomb roared into a space and jerked to a stop, causing the mound of stuffed animals behind me to slide across the cargo area. Somewhere at the bottom of the heap, Elmo started cackling. I sighed and reached for the door handle so I could climb out of the back seat.

  The cluster of people who had been blocking our view evaporated as soon as they saw us approaching. I could see why. The words “RIGHT TO WORK” were spray-painted across the side of my truck in fluorescent, blaze orange. I actually had a fleeting thought that Don K.’s minions were doing a pretty good job with their union-busting campaign . . . orange was clearly their signature color. In this application, it stood out very well against the navy blue backdrop of my Outlaw 250.

  I felt my shoulders droop.

  “I really can’t take much more of this.”

  “Them assholes!” T-Bomb was loaded for bear. “They can think whatever they want, but they don’t have the right to damage personal property this way.” She walked around the truck. “Well, dang. It’s on this side, too.”

  Of course it was. I sagged against the bed of my truck. Maybe Grammy would let me borrow her ancient Ram 1500 while I got this thing painted? Whoever did the defacing was a master. They made sure they hit every panel on the vehicle. There was even some kind of impressionistic flourish on top of the cab. To my untrained eye, it looked like a lame attempt at recreating a part of the female anatomy.

  “Maybe I’ll keep that,” I said.

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” T-Bomb demanded. “This just makes me madder’n a hornet’s nest.”

  I pointed to the top of the truck. “That’s got kind of a Georgia O’Keefe flair, don’t you think?”

  T-Bomb looked at me like she expected me to start drooling at any second.

  “Pornographic is what it is.” She stood back and clucked her tongue. “You ain’t gonna get this mess fixed at Earl Scheib. You’re gonna have to have this whole dern thing professionally
repainted.”

  “I guess I asked for it, leaving the thing parked here unattended all night.”

  “Are you nuts? Nobody asks for this.” She waved a hand over the truck in disgust. “It’s just hooliganism. Downright hooliganism.”

  I sighed. “I’m not driving this any place. Will you give me a ride out to Grammy’s, so I can borrow her truck? I’ll have somebody from Quick Stop come over and pick this up. Mike Scoggins does a good job on paint and detail work.”

  She nodded. “Okay. But first we’re going inside for a drink. I’m about parched from workin’ in that dern sweat shop all day.”

  “Can we make it a quick one?”

  She eyed me suspiciously. “Why? You got a hot date or somethin’?”

  “No. I’m just on overload from all of this crap. I’d like to know what in the hell happened? I feel like I’m walking around with a target on my back.”

  “Well, hell. If you don’t think dosey doe‘in your way across that VFW hall with El DeBarge last night was enough to land you right smack in the middle of about two hundred sets of crosshairs, then you ain’t half as smart as I thought you were.”

  “Don’t start, okay?”

  “Don’t start? You’re telling me not to start? That’s rich.”

  “T-Bomb . . .”

  “Come on.” She started walking toward the bar. “We can argue about this inside. I promised Luanne we’d meet up with her here. She’s about off her rocker over that damn competition tomorrow.”

  Shit. Pork Day. “I forgot about that.”

  “You forgot about Pork Day? What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “Nothing is the matter with me. I’m just tired.”

  “Tired?”

  I nodded.

  She burst into laughter. “I don’t doubt it. That El DeBarge looks like she’s got some stamina.”

  “That isn’t what I—”

  “Don’t even go there, missy. Even with all this dern union mess heatin’ up, you’ve been runnin’ around all day with a shit-eatin’ grin on your face. It don’t take no scientist to figure out what put it there.”