Dancing in the Dark (15 page)

But what bothered him the most, though, was that the women would hurt themselves with a strike. They should have reserved it for a
last
drastic action rather than the first. Management could afford to sit it out longer than they could.

Charity hugged him fiercely, then raised her head. “They voted me shop steward.”

“How the hell could they do that?” Jake exclaimed. “Didn’t you say something to them?”

“What could I say, Jake? I didn’t want the job, but frankly, I think we’re getting a raw deal. They voted me in because I had already been doing the job unofficially, and they thought a negotiating relationship had already been established.”

“We can’t be together now.” He said it as a statement, not a question.

“I came to tell you that.” She practically burrowed into him, her own distress at letting him go evident.

He wanted desperately to ask her to turn down the post. He knew she wouldn’t. More important, he knew he
couldn’t
ask her.

“I love you, Jake,” she said.

He laughed bitterly. “Now’s a helluva time to tell me, Charity.”

“I know.” She sniffled back a sob. “But I couldn’t leave without saying it. Impeccable timing. That’s what you and I have.”

“Well, at least we’re together on that.” He groaned
and trailed kisses in her hair. “I can’t let you go, dammit. And I can’t let you stay.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You would have come to my bed tonight, wouldn’t you? Given me all of your trust.”

“Yes.” Her confession was nearly inaudible.

Holding her to him, he closed his eyes against the new pain, a deeper, sharper one than he’d felt before. Love was supposed to be a straight arrow to the other person, not loaded with obstacles. He could feel Charity’s tears wetting his shirt. When he finally opened his eyes again, he chuckled, this time with dry amusement. “Do you think they have any idea of the incentive they’ve given me to settle this thing?”

She gave a watery laugh. “No, but I did wonder when my name came up. Jake, what is this going to do to the company?”

“I don’t want to think about it with that government bid due in two weeks.”

“It’s almost finished,” she said eagerly. “It’s under a file in my computer called ‘Birthday.’ You’ll have to access through a password: ‘Forty-seven bvd.’ ”

“What does that stand for?”

“Nothing but nonsense. That’s what makes the password harder to break down. I’ll give you the rest of the stuff I have at home.”

“Maybe I can salvage the rest.” He knew he sounded dubious. Unfortunately he was. Very dubious.

Neither said anything for a long time. Finally Charity spoke. “I have to go.”

Their kiss was bittersweet and filled with longing. Eventually she extricated herself from their embrace
and got into her car. She started the engine and backed out of his drive.

Jake watched her go until the dark shape of her car was completely out of sight. Looking up at the stars twinkling merrily in the night sky, he howled in utter frustration.

“We recognize that the country is in a recession right now and businesses are hurting. However, we cannot condone any unfair labor practices the company enacts to try to save money. We as women are being penalized for our gender, and we as single people are being penalized for our marital status over health benefits we’ve had since the company was started here in Milton in 1965.”

After her spiel, Charity smiled at the reporters from the local TV stations clustered around her in an impromptu press conference. Someone must have called all the local media the night before, because reporters had been at Wayans since first thing in the morning. The newspaper and radio people had left long ago, and now the TV people were gathering “soundbites” for the noon news.

For some reason, her feet ached worse standing there, talking, than the burning stumps they’d been from walking. She wanted the interviews over with so she could get back to normal agony. Employees of Wayans, all women, walked a picket line across the entrance of the Wayans property and looked on,
encouraging her. She wanted to pick her words on their behalf carefully, so they didn’t sound like a bunch of women with PMS, but sensible people backed to the wall. It hurt that the single men had gone in to work rather than picket with the women.

“What do you say about the employees who didn’t have their benefits cut and have gone into work?” a reporter asked. “Or the single men who don’t support the strike. Or that what Wayans proposed with the health benefits is illegal.”

This one was tricky, Charity thought, knowing the wrong word could create animosity. “Wayans has attempted to give benefits to those they felt had the most need. It’s a noble attempt in that respect, but they need to comply with proper procedure. The single men going to work is also understandable, but we have to admit it’s also a little disappointing that they didn’t support us out here. We hope they’re in there fighting for us, though.”

“What do you say to the Wayans board demanding that you go back to work or you lose your jobs?” another reporter asked.

“
Are
they saying that?” she asked, her stomach clenching.

“Yes.”

Her brain scrambled for a diplomatic answer. Did Jake know about this? He better not have, she thought. “We have a lot of expertise to offer this company, and they will be the losers if they follow through on such an action. I would hope, though, that we can reach a settlement before that would even be a serious consideration.”

Several more questions were flung at her. She felt like a piece of meat among a pack of starving dogs.
None of the reporters, male or female, exhibited an ounce of sympathy or even friendliness to her personally. Get the story and get out was their attitude.

Her theory became reality a few minutes later, when the press conference was interrupted by the arrival of some cars. Women emerged from the vehicles, and the reporters immediately converged on them, recognizing the local chapter president of the Women’s National Organization. WNO had joined their strike it seemed, right on time for the live broadcast.

Charity let out a resigned sigh. This was rapidly becoming a three-ring circus.

“… and we want these women and men to know they have our support on this issue,” the WNO president said loudly for the cameras and the live audience. “We may look into the labor and discrimination laws to bring a suit on their behalf. This is all part of the backlash on women—”

“Lunch break,” Charity called, setting down her
WAYANS
UNFAIR
sign and heading for her car.

The other picketers set down their signs with a collective grateful sigh. Everyone sat on their car hoods and ate lunch and eyed the WNO people. Discussion concerned sore feet and how a simple strike to make a statement and embarrass the Wayans board was becoming a photo opportunity for an unwanted, uninvited group. As she watched and listened, Charity started to feel a little used by the WNO, who had yet to say a word to the strikers.

She glanced over at the Wayans offices and immediately caught sight of a man staring out at them. She didn’t have to see his face to know it was Jake.
She wished a big hole would open up and swallow her. She was so mixed up inside, she couldn’t help feeling the best solution was to disappear entirely. All she wanted was for all of this to be over so she could get on with her life. And Jake. Nothing was more painful than the way they had separated last night. What a mess.

“When do you meet and talk with Jake again?” Mary asked, drawing back Charity’s attention.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Maybe you should go in and talk to him now,” Mary suggested, looking toward the building.

Charity shook her head. “Not now. When the reporters are gone.”

That wasn’t long. The reporters no sooner finished their individual live remotes, when they packed up their gear and headed out for the next story. The WNO people waited until they’d turned the corner, then got back into their cars, leaving two WNO women behind, and headed out for the next “photo opportunity.” The strikers looked on, bewildered at the sudden exodus. Mary began talking to them about these new developments as they walked back and forth across the entrance again. Charity used the moment to slip into the Wayans building.

She didn’t feel quite right being inside what was now enemy territory. The offices looked deserted despite papers strewn everywhere on empty desks. Phones rang and rang unanswered. She couldn’t help grinning when she heard someone yell, “Does anybody know how to work this copier? It keeps jamming!”

Must be the one in office services, she thought. That one was notorious for jamming up after five
copies if a person didn’t load it exactly right. Maybe it was worth having the men try to cope for a while.

She stood in the main lobby for a minute longer, wondering if she should call on the receptionist’s telephone or go directly in search of Jake.

The question was decided when Jake himself emerged from the archives wing at a dead run.

“Jake!” she called.

He whirled around. “Charity!”

Tongue-tied, she could only stare at him. He didn’t say anything either as his own gaze swept slowly down her body and back up to her face. She wanted to run to him, yet was terrified of doing so. The silence drew out, becoming awkward.

“I … ahh … what are you doing in here?” He glanced behind him, then at her. She could sense his urgency.

“Go, do what you have to do,” she said. “I just wanted to arrange a formal meeting with you to … negotiate. I’m not sure how you do this, set up a schedule.”

“Can we meet this evening?” he asked, tapping the folder he was carrying. “I have people on the phone right now.”

“I didn’t mean now,” she said hastily. “Tonight is okay. It should be on neutral ground.”

“How about a restaurant?” he suggested. “It’s normal for negotiating teams to meet in restaurant back rooms or hotel conference rooms.”

“Okay.” She waited a moment longer, trying to figure out something else to say, but knew she shouldn’t keep him. She turned away. “You better get back to your phone call.”

“Charity?”

She turned back, smiling. “Yes?”

“Who were those people out there?”

She made a face. “I’ll tell you later.”

“I hate this.”

She nodded. “So do I.”

She turned away again, and this time he didn’t stop her. She wondered what he’d say when she brought up the little bombshell about the board threatening to fire them. She would probably be as unhappy as he would be about the WNO joining the strikers.

Opening the door onto the fresh summer breeze, she sighed.

The mess was getting bigger every minute.

“What the hell is the Women’s National Organization doing in this?” Jake demanded, glaring at Charity across the elegantly set table.

They had just settled into the booth of a trendy Italian restaurant in Vineland, the nearest large town to Milton. Some of the board had seen the evening newscast and called him, frantic.

“Supporting the injustice Wayans has done to women,” Charity replied.

“You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed, then immediately rephrased his statement at the frozen expression on her face. “I mean, the board didn’t set out to do any injustice to women.”

“That’s how it ended up,” she pointed out. “And for single men too.”

“The men didn’t go on strike. And I don’t think the women should have. It’s not gaining them anything.”

She stared at him for a moment before replying.
“We think it might. Last night you said you didn’t blame them.”

“I understand their anger,” he said. “And I understand their reaction. I don’t condone it. We can work out this problem better if they’re on the job, not jeopardizing the company with the government contract.”

Charity sat tight-lipped.

Jake sighed. “Look, this is difficult for both of us. I probably shouldn’t have said it quite the way I did, but this strike is wrong. Even you were dubious last night.”

“Dubious or not, I represent them. I don’t think we’re asking too much.”

“And the company’s only trying to find a way to make health care cost-effective in order to save the company. I don’t think
we’re
asking too much, especially when Wayans is in desperate straits.”

“It’s illegal. We could file a suit.”

Jake clenched his fist. “If you do that, you nail the coffin shut on Wayans. That will hurt the employees far worse than this. Can’t the women come in and can’t we work this out?”

“But it’s still men patting women on the head, isn’t it, Jake?” she murmured, looking away from him. “For all your talk and actions with the men’s movement and women’s equality, it still is that way for you. You believe that the women have less need for their health benefits than the men.”

“I think the women have more resources than the men in this,” he answered firmly. It was true. Most of the strikers were married and used their husbands’ health benefits. “All we’re asking is that they use them. I’m working on the others like you.”

“And we’re such a small portion of the workforce, we’ll get the shrug and the ‘I’m sorry’ and that will be it.”

The waiter interrupted them with menus and their drinks order. Jake stared at his Chivas on ice, then tossed it back in one gulp. He needed it, but even the rich smooth Scotch didn’t taste right. He could feel this strike already separating them, and he didn’t know how to repair it. The longer it went on, the worse the damage would be.

He looked down at his glass and knew what he really wanted to drink in. Her. The richness of her mouth … the slope of her breasts … the taut line of her waist … the curve of her hip … and the hidden splendor between her thighs. He wanted to absorb her into him and be absorbed by her. He wanted to sweep her away, find a tiny corner of the world where they could forget everything except each other. But now more than ever she was forbidden to his touch. He couldn’t stand being like this, on opposing sides.

“I miss you,” he murmured. His fingers itched to reach across the table and take her hand, but he resisted the temptation.