Blue Collar Blues (23 page)

Cy finally spoke up. His voice was measured. “I’m not aware that a suit was filed, gentlemen.” If they could sling bullshit, he might as well get his shovel out, too. “I know nothing about this issue.”

“We’re hoping that you can convince Mrs. Tyler to drop the lawsuit,” Manning said. “That way, we could go through with processing your promotion.”

Cy received the gazes of the two men as if he were in front of a firing squad.

Without hesitating, Cy said, “Certainly. I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

Back in his office, Cy loosened his tie. He tried calling Thyme. Elaine said she was visiting another plant and wouldn’t be back in the office that day. Damn, he’d forgotten. Thyme had mentioned it to him this morning before she’d left for work. Now he’d have to wait until this evening to speak with her.

How could Champion do this to him? After all his years of service?

Since Champion planned on selling Troy Trim by the end of the year, half the jobs were going to Mexico, and the other half would be farmed out to the new buyer. Cy became suddenly aware that he had not mentioned any of this to Thyme. In his mind, he’d been protecting her. Up to this point, Sandler had guaranteed that Thyme would be given a position at World Headquarters. Now, with her filing the lawsuit, that promise was as good as a Confederate twenty-dollar bill. And so was his promotion.

Damn!

It was a fact that Champion Two Thousand was predicated on the company’s succeeding at the huge risk they’d taken in developing their Mexican factories. If things went right, the company could save a half-billion dollars when all the Mexican operations were in place.

There was no denying on Champion’s part that the Mexican operations could provide that much in savings. The Japanese automaker Kutani Motor Co. had just reported a $690 million profit. Because of the improved earnings from their subsidiaries in Mexico and Europe, Kutani was able to post the highest group profit in five years.

But what Champion wasn’t disclosing, Cy knew, was that not just Troy Trim, but all the trim operations in the United States would eventually be lost to the Mexican workers. That meant the assembly plants here in the States would be affected as well.

Looking up, he noticed that the sky had turned dark. A storm was brewing. It would rain soon. He made a few phone calls, checked his e-mail, and sent out two faxes to the Mexican plant. There was very little else for him to do, and with each passing second, he felt less and less like faking being busy.

Fuck it. He was too keyed up to do any more work today. After letting his secretary, Mary, know that he would be gone for the remainder of the day, he grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door.

There was little traffic at that hour of the afternoon. He headed down Jefferson Avenue and then exited onto Interstate 375, which would turn into Interstate 75 and take him home to Bloomfield.

His thoughts turned to the evening he and Thyme had planned for tomorrow night. They had box seats at the Fisher Theater to see
Titanic.
Thyme had told Cy that even though everyone knew how the play ended, she’d heard that the gripping fate of the passengers on the ship still moved the audience to tears.

Ironic choice. With both of their futures at Champion possibly ill fated, maybe they were on their own
Titanic
voyage.

His anger at Thyme returned and Cy pressed down the accelerator. How could Thyme be so selfish?

He needed to talk to someone, so he punched in Sydney’s number on his car phone as he changed lanes. The line was busy. He and Sydney were so much alike; professionalism and getting ahead in the business world were their prime motivations in life.

He thought again of Sydney’s offer to go into business as her partner in a Champion superstore. He knew that his and Thyme’s combined yearly income paled next to Sydney’s. Maybe now was the time.

For some reason, this line of thought made Cy feel even more sullen than he had felt earlier, and he was glad in a way that he hadn’t reached Sydney. As he parked his sports car in the third slot of his garage, Cy sighed.

Once inside, he shed his business clothes and changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. With three hours to kill before Thyme came home, Cy decided to go downstairs and work out. That would keep his mind off his confusion about what to do about his career. After pouring himself a cold glass of orange juice, he listened to the phone messages. It was no surprise there was a message from Sydney. “Cy, we need to talk. Please stop by today—without Thyme.”

He knew that tone—it meant trouble.

He called Sydney again, and this time she picked up. “Cy, you should come over. I don’t want to discuss this over the telephone.”

“What is it, Sydney? I was just about to work out.” Cy could hear the note of confrontation in his sister’s voice. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight.

“About your other family in Mexico.”

Her words lay flat in the air between them.

How in the hell had she found out?

“Cy, don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything. I never thought Thyme would satisfy you anyway. I just want to know how you could think that you could keep a secret from me.”

“Sydney, it’s a long story and I can’t talk about it right now. Who told you about Graciella, anyway?”

“When you want to tell me the whole story, I’ll tell you how I found out about Graciella.”

“I’m warning you, Sydney, this isn’t a game of poker with you holding the winning hand. Back out now while you still have time to fold.”

“Just listen to me, twin brother: You better start cleaning up your priorities.”

Cy hung up the phone. He knew what she meant. In Sydney’s mind, Cy should have only one priority: her.

After working out, Cy went to the deli and purchased dinner: cold cuts and a couple of pasta salads. As he began setting the kitchen table, he told himself that his sister loved him too much ever to hurt him. He had to trust that love now and concentrate on getting his relationship with his wife back on track.

When Thyme walked through the back door and saw him working in the kitchen, she smiled.

He studied her face as if it were a key to a mystery yet to unfold. “How was your day, honey?” he asked, helping her remove her suit jacket.

Thyme didn’t even meet his eyes as she said, “I had a bad feeling about the plant the moment I saw their shipping facilities.” She paused to shake her head in disbelief. “Can you believe Patterson Trim only had one truck dock?”

He followed her down the hall to their bedroom. He’d heard about Patterson, a family-run minority business.

“Actually, I can. Most businesses, especially minority businesses, can’t afford to retool their plants.”

Cy sat back on the bed and watched her remove her clothing. Her beautiful chocolate skin looked sumptuous against the red silk suit she wore. He loved her in red. He also loved to watch her undress. Cy felt himself getting aroused.

When she sat in front of the vanity and removed her nylons and red pumps, Cy forgot all about the lawsuit, Graciella, his promotion. He reached inside his shorts and pressed his hands against his erection. Once again, he wanted to erase the problems between them with sex.

She was nude now, and the provocative curves of her shapely hips pressed deeply into the soft satin stool as she removed her makeup. “I assume they still use railcars?”

“Exactly. And we don’t. One hundred percent of our business is handled by trucks.” Thyme tossed the tissues she’d used to clean her face into the trash can. “I explained how all of our business was handled by truck. I tried to get him to understand how the just-in-time procedure frees up floor space and avoids storing excess inventory. But he wouldn’t listen.”

It was well known that most companies making money today handled their business the same way. While it would take a railcar up to five days to make it from the Troy plant to the plant in Lorain, Ohio, a truck took a maximum of four hours to deliver. But minority businesses could seldom afford such a cash outlay, and without the equipment, they couldn’t ship their supplies just-in-time. As a result, they were losing money.

“They said it would cost them millions to install new truck dock facilities.” Thyme turned on the shower. “I can’t understand it. The Japanese instituted this same JIT practice in the ’seventies. And it’s the primary reason why they’re so cost effective today. Why are minority businesses so slow to do the same thing?”

“But why do you think the UPS strike crippled so many businesses? Because everyone is using trucks.” He had her attention. “The UPS strike proved how many companies no longer keep large inventories. They depend on trucks and air freight to conduct business—especially trucks.”

She stepped into the shower hollering, “And UPS as well as FedEx are expanding now. Patterson’s transportation practices make even less sense.”

When Thyme stepped from the shower, Cy was waiting for her in their bed. A colorful plastic tablecloth was spread on top of the bed, accompanied by their beautiful china and sterling silver flatware. The dinner was laid out on a platter and cut into small sections.

The mind-soothing music of Yanni played softly in the background.

He loved the look on Thyme’s face when she came back into the room and saw where they would eat their meal. Minutes later, they were giggling and laughing like the days when they first met. Cy just hoped all of the tension would disappear forever.

When he fed her a slice of fresh pineapple, they juice ran down his fingers. He felt Thyme take his hand and slowly lick off the sweet nectar.

He wanted to make love to her so badly he could scream. But when he heard her yawn, he knew she’d be too tired to enjoy it.

Placing her hand in his, he said, “Your birthday’s tomorrow. I haven’t bought you anything yet.” He ran his fingers through her hair, stopping to touch her lips with his finger. “Tell me what you’d like.”

She looked up at the picture of her behind the bed and frowned. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, creating tension lines around her mouth. “I really don’t need a thing. Maybe we could take a trip since we missed our vacation on Martha’s Vineyard.”

“We can’t leave right now, sweetheart.”

“What about Thanksgiving? We could take the three days off before vacation begins and spend a week abroad—what about in Rio?” Cy couldn’t help but notice Thyme’s animated voice; he realized he hadn’t heard her excited in months. Maybe he hadn’t heard her at all.

“Rio? Why Rio?”

“I don’t know. Never mind. What about Africa? You know, check out my roots. My history.” She turned to him. “I’m not sure why, but it feels especially important to me right now.”

Without her saying so, he knew there was a correlation between her age and wanting to get back to her roots. Though she never discussed it with him, Cy knew Thyme had been dreading her birthday and hated getting older. The signs had been evident all year: the change in her clothes, hairstyle, worrying about her weight. “I’d love to go to Africa with you, sweetheart. I’ll take care of the arrangements tomorrow.” He lifted her chin to hers. “And by the way, you’re the youngest-looking forty-five-year old woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He needed her comfort. He brought a bowl with hot water and soap to bed and washed her hands and mouth like a baby. “Baby,” he said, after removing the tray and tablecloth, “let me rock you to sleep. I know you’re beat.” He kissed her softly on her lips, along her cheek, and then moved to her ear, whispering, “Let’s not talk about business, work, or birthdays any more tonight. You and I are more important.” Thyme was already fast asleep in his arms.

* * *

Cy awoke early the next morning. Thyme was still asleep. He left her a note saying that he was going to Time Travelers in Beverly Hills to purchase some things for his G.I. Joe collection, and would be back by three. He added a postscript that he hadn’t forgotten about their
Titanic
tickets this evening.

When he returned home, he had in his possession a 1965 Deep Sea Diver G.I. Joe in its unopened box, one of the original brass models of the Japanese Nambu pistol, and a French Resistance fighter that was handmade by Walter Hansen. They were priceless. Thrilled by what he’d bartered and bought, he set up his treasure in the library, taking care to position them by the rest of his extensive collection.

Afterwards, he couldn’t find Thyme anywhere. But when he opened the patio doors on the lower level, he saw Thyme and Khan floating in the middle of the lake on the pontoon. Moving to the end of the dock, he waved. But he sprinted back to the house when he heard the telephone ringing.

“Hello,” he said, out of breath.

“Hello. Mr. Tyler, this is Krandall Jewelers. The items you ordered for Mrs. Tyler are ready for your approval. Can you stop by this afternoon?”

Cy paused and looked back at Thyme and Khan still relaxing out on the water. He checked his watch. He still had another hour. “Certainly.”

Fifteen minutes later he parked in Krandall’s parking lot.

“Mr. Tyler.” Riley Blackwell, the head jeweler, extended his hand. “Won’t you have a seat?”

Cy had wanted to surprise Thyme with the diamond necklace and earrings, but he’d forgotten until yesterday to confirm the order. The store had to have them shipped from its safe. Mr. Blackwell was known for his unique bejeweled creations and historical designs. Looking at the jewelry, Cy was amazed. The precious diamonds were set in an intricate lacy web of white gold. Thyme would be speechless. Mr. Blackwell handed the pieces to Cy, and Cy nodded his approval. Cy then filled out and handed the jeweler his personal check and asked that the package be wrapped.

By the time Cy made it back home, Khan had left and Thyme was sitting on the edge of the platform in their bedroom, wearing a lavender bra and slip, polishing her toe nails. She looked at him and said, “Where’ve you been?”

“To the jeweler’s.” He brought the package from behind his back and handed it to her. “It’s a birthday gift.”

Thyme sat, continuing to paint her toes, not really looking at him. Finally, she looked up and said, “Is there something you want to tell me, Cy? You look like you have something on your mind.”