Blue Collar Blues (4 page)

As she drove toward Khan’s neighborhood on the west side of Detroit, Thyme’s thoughts ran back to the tour in the morning. Apparently, Allied was interested in having Troy Trim build the front seat components in their 1999 Pantheon sports car. Okay, but why Champion? Thyme knew that General Motors had already submitted a good bid for the same job. It didn’t make sense that Allied would also come to Champion.

After Thyme purchased cookies for Khan, she called Cy at his office and then at home. He wasn’t at either. She’d try again later.

It was dark as a thief’s pocket when she parked by the neighborhood party store close to Khan’s house. She could smell the thick fragrance of rain in the air the moment she stepped outside the car.

Once inside the party store, she paused to view a new selection of wines: Medalla Real Private Reserve Cabernet and a Rodney Strong Sonoma County Chardonnay. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed two rough-looking men enter the store. Their eyes seemed riveted on her clothes and jewelry. Suddenly nervous, Thyme gave them a Don’t-fuck-with-me-today-boys stare until they finally turned away.

Thyme purchased the Medalla and Rodney, a fifth of Chivas Regal for her husband, and also a bottle of ’92 Beringer Cabernet Sauvignon Private Reserve, her favorite, and left the store. The tension of tomorrow’s meeting had caused her body temperature to rise above normal. She could feel the edges of her neat wrap hairstyle rolling back like Buckwheat’s in the
Little Rascals.

Slow down, girl. You don’t have time for a trip to the beauty parlor in the morning. And you know you can’t perm or hot-comb your own hair.

Turning down Virginia Park where Khan lived, she could see half-dressed young men from fourteen to thirty running, cursing, and shouting along the lighted basketball court. It was a sight Thyme rarely saw in the suburbs, and it brought back memories of when she was in high school.

Even though the evenings were cool for April, the sound of kids in the neighborhood seemed to warm the early spring air, and the excitement of the young voices was infectious. And as Thyme shut her car door, she breathed in the sweetening air and tried to let go of some of her heavy burden. Was she really going to be forty-five in August? Lately she felt as if she were turning sixty.

With packages in hand, Thyme took a final glance over her shoulder at the young men playing pickup ball. Turning away, she climbed the short set of stairs and rang the doorbell.

Khan opened the door, wearing the exact pair of pajamas that she had given Thyme for Christmas.

“Hey, girl,” Thyme said, hugging Khan. She stood back and appraised her, then reached for her friend’s arm. “Are you still in pain?”

“Naw. Just a little sleepy from the painkillers,” she said, yawning and beckoning Thyme inside. “Mmmm,” Khan said, grabbing the familiar red and white bag of Mrs. Fields cookies from Thyme’s hand. “I can smell the raisins and brown sugar.”

“Good. Dig in. I need to make a call.” Thyme removed her coat and tossed it on the chair.

Moving toward the small kitchen area, Thyme followed Khan and watched her count our four cookies and pour herself a glass of milk. When Thyme removed a bottle of wine from the other paper bag, Khan didn’t hide her displeasure. Thyme knew that Khan had become particularly sensitive to other people drinking alcohol because R.C. had a bit of a problem.

“You know I don’t own any wine glasses.”

Noticing a stack of paper cups near the refrigerator, Thyme removed one while she dialed her home number. “It’s okay—I’ll just pour it in one of these.” After four rings, the voice mail came on and Thyme’s frown mirrored Khan’s. “Cy, this is Thyme, honey. I’m at Khan’s. I’ll be home around nine. Love you, baby.”

When Thyme hung up, she noticed the forlorn look on Khan’s face. From their years of friendship, Thyme knew that Khan was suffering from something more serious than a hurt hand. It appeared to be more like a hurt heart.

From the narrow kitchen, Thyme admired the beautiful aquarium in Khan’s eccentric apartment. She knew that the aquarium and the exotic tropical fish were a prized gift from R.C. to Khan. The enormous glass case took up half the west wall. Though Thyme had never met R.C., she had drawn some conclusions about the man Khan was so hopelessly in love with. R.C. had always seemed a bit flashy, and Thyme got the sense that he hid behind his big gifts.

Thyme looked around at Khan’s brightly colored apartment and smiled at her friend’s indomitable spirit. Mango and tangerine walls made striking statements next to the strawberry, electric grape, and lemon yellow furniture. Not even the bathroom was spared. The clawfoot tub was painted a ripe persimmon, leaving the feet white, against one wall of deep purple and another painted in a diamond pattern of dark and light violet. A yellow-and-white-plaid shower curtain stood out boldly beside coral and purple towels.

Every time Thyme visited Khan’s home, her heart said “Wow,” and her mind wished that she felt comfortable with so much color. Thyme had to give her friend credit; the fruity hues juiced up the tiny condo and seemed to capture the ever-present child in Khan. For all of Thyme’s success, she envied her friend and wished that she had the nerve to paint her walls in lively colors and decorate her place with so much freedom.

Thyme and Khan settled into the lemon-colored loveseat in the living area to enjoy their treats, Khan with a glass of cold milk and cookies and Thyme sipping on a second cup of wine.

Feeling herself relax for the first time that day, Thyme kicked off her red pumps and eased back into the soft cushions. “Before I could even read the incident report about your accident today, your uncle Ron was in my office with a health and safety violation.”

“Uncle Ron. Why? It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”

“Not necessarily. This is the fifth incident we’ve had in two weeks with the Zori sewing machines. Ron believes that the foot on the Zori three-elevens—”

“Are poorly designed,” Khan finished. “When Chet and Valentino got my hand out, they said the angle of the foot came out too high. It should be more level. Anyway, Uncle Ron wrote up that grievance. I didn’t tell him to—”

“Don’t worry about it. Right now safety is the second biggest concern at Champion. Overtime, as you know, has always come first. But by the end of the month the national negotiations with the unions will be getting underway and we don’t need all these safety problems adding to the pressures of local bargaining issues. They give you blue collars more chips to play with.” Thyme didn’t mention what she felt was her other big priority: the increasing number of violent outbreaks among the blue collar workers.

Thyme and Khan had always managed to have a close friendship despite their differences. Thyme was especially grateful that their relationship transcended the chasm between white and blue collar workers. Thyme had met Khan at a barbecue at Ron’s house when the girl was just sixteen. Khan was visiting her uncle from her home down South. Thyme had immediately been impressed with Khan’s clear ambition to succeed in life; so much about her had reminded Thyme of herself at that awkward age.

But ever since Khan had dropped out of college, lured by Champion’s high wages for hourly work in the plant, Thyme couldn’t help but feel that Khan wasn’t working up to her potential. Thyme did her best to hide her disappointment from Khan and instead gently encouraged her to go back to school and finish her degree. Khan was just too damn smart to work in a factory.

Thyme worried for her young friend. Khan seemed especially distracted tonight, which made Thyme even more concerned. She watched as Khan looked again at the phone, as if willing it to ring.

“Thank God Luella’s accident wasn’t on company property,” Thyme said.

“So Uncle Ron has a legitimate gripe?”

“Always. He’s well informed. Ron’s the best plant union chairman we’ve had. He’s a tough negotiator, but he’s fair. He really cares about his union members. I’m not just saying this because he’s your kin.”

Khan sat the remainder of cookies and milk beside her on the side table, and when she glanced in Thyme’s direction, her beautiful face was streaked in pain.

“Khan, is something else bothering you? You don’t seem like yourself, and I don’t just mean the accident.”

Khan’s voice was flat. “Remember I told you about the first time I knew I was in love with R.C.?”

“Yeah, your exact words were: ‘The love I feel for R.C. calls me like the scent of a budding magnolia tree calls to bees.’”

“You remember?”

“Certainly. You were only nineteen, and I was convinced that you had no idea what love meant.”

“That’s what Mama Pearl said, too,” Khan said dejectedly. Thyme had heard Khan speak many times of her grandmother, Mama Pearl, who had raised Khan after both her parents died when she was just a child.

“That was five long years ago. Maybe both you and Mama Pearl were right. Mama Pearl thought that R.C. was too old for me. She said that if we ever had children, the baby girl would be born gray-headed, or the male child would come out with a full beard and mustache.” Khan laughed. “And of course they’d be wrinkled from head to toe.” Her huge dark brown eyes darkened and her voice became more serious. “I didn’t really care, though.”

Thyme kept silent. One subject she rarely broached was having children. It was a touchy one between her and Khan. Neither agreed with the other’s point of view. Thyme had never wanted children; Khan felt that a woman’s life was incomplete without motherhood. Cy tended to agree with Khan. When Thyme would tell him that she needed more time to be somebody, he’d tell her that having a child would never take away from what she wanted to do with her own life. But Thyme didn’t trust that; she believed that children would always come first and her own goals would get lost in the shuffle.

Silence enveloped the two women while they pondered their own thoughts for a moment. Then Khan went over to the aquarium and watched the graceful movements of the brilliantly colored fish.

“I know y’all thought that Mommy forgot to feed her babies,” Khan said to the fish. “Come on up here, Felix—it’s time to eat. Hurry up now, Slowpoke, before the rest of ’em eat up all the food.” She sprinkled the food on the water.

Thyme could see the reflection of Khan’s serene smile.

“Did you know, Thyme, that fish are the only backboned animals with two-chambered hearts?”

Thyme wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t answer. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the fish that Khan seemed to love like her own children. Then again, maybe it was her heart trying to tell her something.

“Imagine that. And that bastard I was in love with tried to break the only one God gave me.” Khan paused and then turned and faced Thyme. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you. Last Christmas, I found out I was pregnant. Four days later, I turned twenty-four. Some birthday gift, huh?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thyme asked, trying to push away her hurt feelings.

Khan shrugged. “What was the point? R.C. hadn’t asked me to marry him. And when I told him that I didn’t believe in abortions, our relationship began to change. I saw less of him then. That is, until I miscarried last month. Still, things just weren’t right between us.”

“I take it R.C. doesn’t want any children?”

“No.” Khan moved away from the fish tank and sat down opposite Thyme.

Thyme reached for her friend’s hand. “But I thought things between you and R.C. were good—you always talk about how much in love you two are.”

“Two weeks ago, when he was getting ready to leave for Japan, I started giving him a hard time about our relationship. The night before he left, he presented me with a small sapphire engagement ring. There was no fanfare, no kisses, hugs, no lovemaking. I was expecting a diamond solitaire—a big one.” Khan stopped. Her voice was quivering when she spoke again. “I should have known then that something was wrong. When he gave it to me, he said, ‘Hey, pretty girl, you start looking for the skimpiest little wedding dress you can find. It’s hot as hell in Kentucky around August.’”

“And?”

“Haven’t you read today’s papers? R.C. got married.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Hell no.” Khan looked toward the phone. Her eyes seemed to be begging it to ring. “He married some cute chick while he was in Japan. They’re spending their honeymoon at his ranch in Kentucky.” Reaching for another cookie, Khan frowned, and tossed it back into the bag. “I know that Uncle Ron, Mama Pearl, and even you didn’t approve of the relationship. But I saw something in him none of you did. We were good for each other. And I’m not just talking about the bedroom, either.”

“I know what you mean,” Thyme said. “No one thought that my marriage to Cy would last this long either. Especially Sydney.” Sydney was Thyme’s sister-in-law, Cy’s twin sister. Thyme’s thoughts drifted to Sydney, who was unaware that prejudice squints when it looks and lies when it talks. Then Thyme looked at Khan and said, “Now it’s my turn to confess: I’ve filed a discrimination lawsuit against Champion.”

“Really? Why?” Khan looked surprised.

“When I was promoted to plant manager at Troy Trim four years ago, there were twenty-five hundred employees. I was hired to bring in new business to increase production. Now there are only twenty-one hundred employees at Troy Trim. The rest have been permanently laid off.”

“Tell me about it. It’s all you hear about at the plant. Everyone’s scared they’re going to be next.”

“Your Uncle Ron’s always on my back to do something about Troy Trim’s obvious streamlining.” Thyme sighed. “I realize after a while that I was being pressured to increase production and reduce people. How could I satisfy you union people and still make money? It’s a squeeze play: there is no way for me to do my job successfully. I began to wonder if I was given this position to get rid of me, force me out.”

“Damn, Thyme, you can handle it. Every time I see you in the plant, you’re wearing a bad-ass suit, some bad-ass shoes, and shaking that bad-ass wrap hairstyle of yours. I tell some of my co-workers in the unit when you walk by, ‘See that fine sister? She’s my friend. And one day I’m going to be just like her.’”