Blue Collar Blues (18 page)

“It’s okay, Tomiko,” Mr. Sugimoto said, his voice thick with sleep. “You know we love hearing from you. Anytime.”

“How’s Mom and the rest of the family?” When he said everyone was asleep, she asked, “How are things over there?”

“The economy is suffering here, Tomiko. We’re all a little nervous.”

“Are you in trouble, Dad?”

“Oh, we’ll be fine. The commercial horse business is on its way back up. If things continue this way, we may turn a profit this year. How are you?”

Tomiko wanted desperately to tell her parents of her trouble, but she was afraid her mother would only give her a critical “I told you so.” So she didn’t say anything.

“I love it here.” She forced herself to sound cheery. “Wait until you see the lovely pictures of our home in Michigan and the ranch in Kentucky.” She felt like a hypocrite, lying to her parents. Fighting back tears, she ended with “I love you, too. I’m so happy.”

When she hung up, she turned to view herself in the mirror. Her skin was blotchy in spots. The exotic eyes that she hoped would win her a career were red rimmed. She looked terrible. She remembered that her mother had always told her how important it was to keep your husband happy. But the traditions she’d been taught in Japan didn’t work for her in America.

Hurrying to the bathroom, she splashed her face with cold water until she felt her skin tingle with pain. Once again she looked in the mirror.

You will not embarrass your parents. You will not judge your husband. It is not your place.

Close to five o’clock that day, R.C. was released from jail. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty, and his breath smelled like white lightning whiskey. His little Afro looked like it was in the beginning stages of growing dreadlocks. In short, R.C. looked like an old man. Tomiko tried not to be repulsed. She had never seen him like this before. He looked not only old, he looked beaten.

He had been incarcerated for gambling at Blind Pig, an illegal joint. R.C. never discussed his arrest, and Tomiko knew that meant it could happen again.

Two days later, R.C. was still acting as if nothing had happened. Yet she knew R.C. felt guilty when he presented her with a brand-new bright red Algeron convertible. It wasn’t what she would have selected. It was so flashy she felt self-conscious driving it.

__________

“Twenty dollars!” Khan said scathingly. “Shit. How come so much, Melanie?” She opened her wallet and handed Melanie her last juice . . . a lonely Andrew Jackson. “You know no one has any extra money these days. For God’s sake, we may be the next strike target!”

“We’re planning a big retirement party for Huey,” Melanie explained as she handed her the card to sign and added, “We want to give him an all-expense-paid trip to Egypt.”

Khan wanted to say, “Hell, I’d like one of those vacations my damn self.” Instead she said, “That’s so sweet.”

Melanie held an old bobbin box taped on the sides with a small slit cut on top. Huey’s name was written all over the box in bold black marker. “We’re asking everybody for twenty dollars instead of the usual five, otherwise we won’t have enough money for everything we planned.”

Khan didn’t hear Julian Anderson come up behind them. “Hey, Khan, Melanie. What’s up?”

At least once a month, Julian asked Khan out on a date, and she kept putting him off. Momentarily, Khan thought back to the lie she’d told R.C. about being romantically involved with Julian.

Melanie spoke up. “Do you know Huey Spear?”

“The gentlemen who’s worked over forty years in the carpenter shop and who is always, and I mean
always,
smiling? Who doesn’t know him?”

“Then get your money out.”

After Melanie left, Julian started in on his spiel. “I came to ask you if you’d like to go to Second City Saturday night. Solo is supposed to be appearing on stage to sing some songs from their new album.”

Khan thought for a minute. She studied him up and down in a matter of seconds. He was no Billy Dee Williams, that was for sure. But the brother was good-looking, dressed exceptionally well, and obviously had cachet. But for some reason, he turned her off. Maybe it was the large gold tooth always shining at her when he spoke.
Shit, he didn’t ask me to marry him, and Lord knows I could use a change of scenery.
Hell, she could use a real date right about now. And a quick fuck wouldn’t hurt either. Still . . . “What time?”

Just as he was about to speak all hell broke loose behind them. Luella and Valentino were inches apart and the spit was flying.

“Excuse me, I’ve really got to go,” Khan said to Julian, then scribbled her number on a piece of paper. “Call me later?”

Luella, with one hand on her purse as though reaching for a weapon, was all up in Valentino’s face. Valentino had a fist balled up and was pointing a finger in her face.

Oh hell, let me stop these fools before someone gets hurt.

“Look guys, this shit ain’t funny.” Khan clamped her hands on her hips and leaned her small body in between Valentino and Luella. She was getting fed up with refereeing their constant bickering. All they ever did was argue about who got overtime. Didn’t anyone enjoy going home to see their family every once in a while?

It’s too damn hot to be fighting, Khan thought.

Two weeks earlier, Luella had been returned to Khan’s sewing unit, and every day since, Valentino and Luella had been at it like Popeye and Bluto.

At first, Khan had welcomed her back. But now she had to admit that, even though it took her longer to finish, she had been less stressed out working with her other sewing partner. And here was Luella now, proving Khan right. Luella loved drama.

The three of them were two machines back from the front of the unit. Luella was always teasing Valentino, with her forty-four-D breasts bouncing off him like beach balls, watching his penis rise as she did it.

It was Friday afternoon and their foreman, Allister, who also ran the knitting operation, had gone home before lunch with a stomachache. He had left specific instructions as to who was to work the two hours of overtime in the unit today, as well as the ten hours Saturday on the knitting machine. The hourly workers worked at different stages to inspect the raw yarn that was weaved into the knitted vinyl. Most of this product was sold to other businesses for stadium seats, lawn furniture, and boat seats. It was in such high demand that Champion needed workers to do overtime on Saturdays and usually Sundays.

“Luella, are you on your period? Or do you just need a good fucking?”

Luella rolled her eyes at Khan, her huge chest heaving up and down. She didn’t respond.

“Tino, are you on yours?” Khan looked at him as if she weren’t kidding. He didn’t answer. “Fine. Since ain’t none of y’all on the rag, forgive me for saying that I’m on mine, and I’m in an ornery damn mood. Don’t get me in the middle of this shit today.”

“We don’t need you.” Luella began pulling her hair back into a rough-looking ponytail. “I told you before, blondie—stay out of this. ’Cause somebody’s going to get hurt up here.”

“And I told you to stay out of my business, Luella.” Valentino pointed his cocked finger in front of her heart and let it rest a hair’s breadth away. “You got a problem with my overtime, take it up with the boss.”

Khan could smell the smoky scent of Luella’s Eternity cologne rising from her breasts like steam. “Look, guys—”

With her arm curved like a shovel, Luella pummeled Khan back out of the way. “I’m not going to tell you again, Khan—”

Khan saw the anger on Tino’s face before he spoke. “You keep your hands off of her.” Tino yanked Khan toward him. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, girl. I don’t fight women. But you keep this shit up, and I might change my mind and put my foot up your ass.”

Half the unit had left, but the people who were still around were now sitting on top of their sewing machines watching the argument. Khan yelled, “Brother, sister, hold on for a minute!”

“I’m warning you, bring your sorry butt two inches farther this way, and I’ll show you how Luella can kick some ass.” Luella was standing in a fighting position, her weight on the balls of her feet.

“Luella! Tino! Y’all know better than this shit. Let’s try to resolve this without violence. Do y’all want to get fired for fighting?” Khan implored.

Neither said a word. But Khan could see that both were contemplating her words. Company policy stated that employees were automatically fired for fighting. Usually the union could get their jobs back, but the company made them suffer between two and four weeks with no pay.

At least eight inches shorter than Luella and a foot less in height than Valentino, Khan stepped between them. With one palm pressing into each chest, she shoved them back a foot. “Settle down,” she said, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Just settle down.” It was eighty degrees outside, and at least a hundred inside the plant. Only the break areas and cafeterias were air-conditioned.

Valentino looked at Khan and then said, “It’s over.”

Luella agreed with a slight nod of her head.

As Luella started walking away, Tino turned back to Luella and said, “I work every Saturday, Luella. And you know it.” His voice was tight with anger.

Luella reached her hand back inside her purse, clutching it to her bosom. “That’s exactly why nobody else can get any overtime around here. You and your A-team buddies are sucking up all the overtime. The rest of us are tired of the politics going on behind our backs. It’s bullshit!” She moved closer to his face, shouting, “I got bills, too!”

“Maybe we should talk to Ron,” Luella said in a mocking voice. There was a tense pause before she continued. “He can straighten this out.”

“Bullshit,” Tino fumed.

“You sure you two ain’t fucking?” Khan asked, knowing that sometimes you had to go out on a limb and confront people on their shit. Khan had learned from her Mama Pearl that oftentimes what was really going on between a man and a woman was masked.

Luella’s only response was to turn and charge off toward Ron’s office.

“This is a bad time to talk to Ron, Tino,” Khan said, falling into step with her cousin. “Maybe you should let her have the overtime. One Saturday won’t make or break either one of you.” She wanted to say more, then stopped.

Several strands of Luella’s hair were sprinkled along the floor ahead of them. Valentino glanced at Khan and began to laugh. He whispered, “Luella makes enough money to get a better weave than this, don’t you think?”

“She stopped getting weaves; she’s started this new infusion shit that glues the hair on.” She tried to stop Valentino as he broke out again in laughter. “Shhh, she’ll hear you.”

“Ron better fix this shit, otherwise I’m taking it higher,” Luella said over her shoulder. “The A-team is bullshit. They shouldn’t get special treatment when the rest of us need overtime just as bad.” She was climbing the steps to Ron’s office, swinging her hips and bitching all the way.

Valentino followed a few feet behind her, reaching down and picking up the hair as it continued to fall. He held a handful now. His cheeks bellowed out like barrels as he tried to control his laughter.

Khan was following close behind, still trying to stop the confrontation from escalating. Khan felt nervous for her cousin; she knew how serious Valentino was about overtime. “Listen, y’all,” Khan broke in. “None of this is necessary.”

Stopping at the top of the steps, Luella turned around to face Valentino and Khan. Khan kicked Tino, and he switched the handful of hair behind his back. But when they turned to look at Luella, they both froze in disbelief. Her face was slightly reddened, and her eyes were beginning to swell. They hadn’t realized Luella was crying. Her hair was wild and sticking up all over her head. She looked like a tigress ready for a fight. “Nobody takes my overtime,” she huffed, disappearing into Ron’s office.

This is going to be fucked up. I can feel it coming. Damn.

Just then Ron came out of his office. “Luella just told me about what’s going on,” he said accusingly. Before either Tino or Khan could explain, Ron said, “Tino, Luella’s going to work eight tomorrow.”

“But Da—Ron. I haven’t missed a Saturday in six years.”

Neither Khan nor Tino missed the smirk on Luella’s face.

“Ron, I’m working tomorrow. Can Tino have my hours?” Khan offered.

“No. Tino, you can take this up with Allister on Monday, and I don’t want to hear another damn word from either of you.”

As pugnacious as a pit bull, Tino threw the handful of hair in Luella’s gloating face and stormed out of the room.

Khan sat down for a moment to catch her breath, all the time thinking to herself, I don’t need this shit. It’s hard enough for me just being here—two old gray motherfuckers acting like kids. Let me get my ass out of here.

R.C. had already given her enough high drama to last a lifetime.

__________

Silhouetting her against the back wall, the headlights from a car parking in front of the motel made Luella’s body look exquisite. She was on her knees in a crouched position with her head tilted back, her huge breasts pointed proudly like an ad for implants. She had positioned herself over her lover’s mouth, and, looking down, she could see his tongue darting up and down, in and around her sex like a hypnotized pink snake.

“Ron, baby,” she softly screamed. “I’m ready to come.”

When she looked down at him masturbating himself, she reached back and replaced his hand with hers. Circling his penis with a tightening grip, she rotated slowly in practiced strokes, coaxing him to come. She felt Ron’s teeth tenderly biting her clitoris, signaling her as if they’d been screwing for years, until a final, surrealistic shudder passed through their bodies. The sensation lingered for a few blissful seconds, and Luella was overwhelmed with a sense of power.

Ron rubbed a finger down the crack of her ass, then slapped it. “That was great.” He left the bed and poured himself a shot of Seagram’s gin.

Luella lay back leisurely on the bed and assessed their night of lovemaking. She was sore, and she usually didn’t feel that way after having sex with him. But Ron hadn’t touched her in nearly a year. The last time, he’d had a problem. He hadn’t been able to get hard. Now, after his second orgasm, he still appeared to be rock solid.