by Karen Grey
Although his logic seems correct, it still feels wrong that shareholders profit while so many workers suffer. I guess I knew that was a danger when a company sold stock, but I hadn’t really seen the results up close and personal before. Maybe Will, with his distrust of anything having to do with business, has a point I haven’t previously plugged into my cost-benefit analyses.
Will. So different than the guys I work with, which is probably why he’s so intriguing. Even though I’m starting to appreciate Steve’s people savvy, I can’t imagine dating a huckster like him. I still can’t figure out what happened at the end of my coffee date with Will, though. It seemed like things were going well. At one point, I thought he was going to kiss me. But then he just ran down the stairs to the T like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Maybe, like my ex Jonathan, he finds an ambitious woman unattractive. If that’s the case, it’s better to find out sooner rather than later.
“Kate?” Roland waves a stack of paper under my nose. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, sorry.” I take the papers from him. “What do you need?”
“I think we’re getting close to our first stop. Can you check the directions? I can’t remember where the turnoff is.”
“Sure.” I scan what Gail typed up and cross-reference that with the map spread across my lap. “We take a left in a mile or so.”
“Lovely. We’ll be right on time. They’ve hired a new operations manager so it should be enlightening to see what changes they’re planning to make.”
As I direct him to Allied Industries, thoughts of human costs stew in the back of my mind, and I banish Will into an even deeper corner. I need to focus. Time to employ deep breathing. By the time Roland turns off the car, I’m ready for the job at hand: observing him as he meets with the managers of Allied, taking note of details about the operation that might affect the secondary stock offering we plan to recommend, and keeping my nerves in check as I do my best to impress both the clients and my boss.
Later that afternoon outside the Creighton Hosiery factory, our last stop of the day, I start to sweat the instant I step out of the car. As we walk inside the entrance, we’re hit with a blast of cold air that has me shivering. Life in the South.
George Polk, the plant’s rotund and pink-faced general manager, shakes my hand vigorously and squeezes my upper arm just a hair too long. After we exchange greetings, he tries to help me insert earplugs in preparation for touring the manufacturing floor, warning me that it will be “awful loud.”
Even with earplugs, I’m unprepared for the sensory assault as I step through the heavy swinging doors. It must be at least twenty degrees hotter in here. My legs feel like sausages inside my hose.
My face must reveal my discomfort because Polk puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You sure you don’t want to wait in the offices, honey? My girl can make you a cup of coffee and we can meet you there when we’re done here. I want to show Roland some of our upgrades.”
“No, thank you,” I shout, doing my best to turn my frown upside down. “I would like to see everything.”
The big man steers us to a machine and leans in close to its operator. “Excuse me, sweetheart. Can we pause this knitter for a minute so Mr. Gregory can see our new feeders?” After she presses a few buttons, he places his hands on her hips to shift her aside, punctuating the move with a light slap on her rear. Her mouth tightens slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. I don’t want to rock the boat on my first trip, so I don’t either.
Polk points at a series of instruments that pull several thin strands of yarn into a central cylinder from giant spools suspended overhead. He says something about adding a new computer to the knitter, which means the worker doesn’t have to stop the machine to change yarn colors. Since he directs his monologue to Roland, I miss half of what he’s saying, but I take notes as best I can.
Going up on tiptoes, I check out the inner workings of the machine. “How many people suffer injuries from working with those fast-moving needles?”
Polk settles an arm around the worker’s shoulders. “Our injury rate has dropped to almost zero since we added the computers. Isn’t that right…” He squints to read her nametag. “Belinda?”
“Yes, sir.” Belinda seems eager to get her machine running again, so I step back. Is Polk telling the truth? I make a note to research their legal history. If they have pending lawsuits, that should be included in my report.
Polk says something to Roland before guiding me away from the machine’s core toward a wheeled bin full of knitted shapes. When an object flies out of a tube right next to me, a startled yelp flies out of my mouth.
Polk laughs. “Roland knows all this, but since you’re so curious, I’ll give y’all the full tour.” He lifts the projectile out of the bin and winks at me. “See here, the sock is just a tube right now. It needs the toe sewn up. That happens over yonder in finishing.”
It is fascinating to see how many steps go into creating something as simple as a sock, but in the boarding and packaging areas, I can’t believe how quickly the workers have to move to slide the socks onto forms and into plastic sleeves after they’ve been steamed. “Do you have a history of repetitive strain injuries in this department?”
Either Polk doesn’t hear me or he chooses to ignore me. In any case, the tour seems to be over, and I follow the men back through the giant doors, relieved to return to the quiet and cool offices. I don’t know how those women can stand working in that heat and noise all day.
“Do you provide earplugs for the workers?” The wail of the factory floor echoes in my ears so I’m not sure if I’m shouting.
“We do everything OSHA requires,” Polk snaps. “I can’t control whether or not they wear ’em.”
I’m scanning my notes as we walk to organize my questions regarding the cost of improvements versus productivity increases, and I stumble slightly when the flooring changes from tile to carpeting.
Polk takes my elbow, a patronizing smile on his face. “Sorry we made you walk so far in those heels of yours, darlin’. You know what? I’ve got some samples of some of our new hosiery products—they’ve got support for your legs and they’re attractive. You can take some for you and your girlfriends.”
“Thank you, Mr. Polk. I wonder—” I begin, but Polk speaks over me.
“Now, I’ve got to get on a few calls here, but I’ll see you later for dinner, Roland. Kate, I’m afraid my club doesn’t admit women. I can see if my girl, Doreen, can take you to dinner?”
I glance at Roland, who shakes his head slightly, his lips a straight line. Okay, then. I channel the politeness my Southern mama drilled into me from birth. “Oh no, that’s fine. I’ve got these notes to go over. I’ll just get something at the diner by the hotel.” It’s one thing for Polk to exclude me, but why didn’t Roland object?
Polk pats my shoulder. “We’d probably put you right to sleep, anyway. Just number talk.”
“Actually, that’s my job at Rhodes Wahler. Focusing on your numbers and those of your entire industry. But I’m sure Roland will fill me in.”
He nods but is already halfway in his office. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart. Come back and visit us real soon. Bye, now.”
Roland nods at him. “I’ll meet you at the club.”
Not sure whether to lobby for a change of venue, I follow my boss out into the blinding sunshine.
“Y’all have a nice day, now,” I hear Polk’s secretary call as the door closes behind us.
Back in the car, Roland turns the AC on high before turning to me. “Do you know why Polk excluded you from dinner tonight?”
“Because he’s sexist?”
Roland dips his chin, his mouth hard.
I slump into the seat and then flinch when the bare skin at the back of my neck hits hot leather. “Sorry, it was just hard to take all that.”
“He may have backward ideas about the role of women in the workplace, but I don’t believe that’s the reason he doesn’t want you
to join us.”
I hug my notebook to my chest. “I thought I was here to learn. I have questions to ask and it seems like I’ll be missing out on important information if I’m not at dinner.”
Roland pauses before speaking, and when I glance over, his expression’s frosty. Like the AC on my sweaty feet. “Kate, confronting the manager directly is not the way to get what you need from him. Getting him to trust you and believe you’re on his side, having a drink with him and encouraging him to tell his tales will reveal more than your list of accusations about his practices.”
“But—”
“I guarantee if you’d employed that charming accent of yours more and badgered him less, you’d be joining us.”
Even though I know he’s probably right, I’m going to need acting lessons from Will to get to the point where I can convincingly sweet-talk a pig like Polk.
As my grandma always said, you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.
I’m just starting to wonder if I really want to be catching flies for a living.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BEEP. SATURDAY, 7:03 a.m.
Alice, I’m on my way. Get your running shoes on.
KATE
Alice Kim, my best friend since freshman year of college, dashes in front of me to turn up her TV before jogging back to her room. “Oh my god, have you seen this? It’s so funny!”
Bending my left knee, I grab my foot and pull it toward my butt to stretch my quads, waiting as usual for perfectly-put-together-even-when-she’s-just-going-running Alice to finish getting ready. I love the girl, but it takes forever to get her out the door. “Alice, can we go already? I have to work today, so I need to run before I get too hungry and—”
Something on the screen catches my eye. “What the—” Turning so fast I lose my balance, I hit the floor with a grunt. “Ow. Shit.”
Alice returns with her shoes. “Haven’t you seen this? It’s on constantly. I love this guy!”
Will is chasing a coffee cup. On the TV. “Alice! It’s Will! That guy I told you about. The one I met at the bar and had coffee with.”
Alice swivels back and forth between me and the little 2-D version of Will. “Not even.”
“Even.” I point at the TV. “The bartender-actor who saved me from the juggling guy!”
Alice plops on the floor next to me and bumps my shoulder. “You didn’t tell me he was so hot. And funny. Why are you not dating him?”
“Because.” I sigh. “He didn’t call me again. And it’s been almost two weeks.”
She pokes me with a perfectly manicured nail. “Did you bug out before he had a chance to ask you out again?”
“No, I didn’t. He did.” I set her abandoned shoes by her feet. “Can you get ready already?”
Ignoring the shoes, she wiggles closer to me, her vowels lengthening. “But you like him.” Born in Korea but raised in Georgia, her accent always deepens when she gets insistent.
“Well, kind of. But can we talk about this while we’re running? After we get going. No talking until we set the pace.”
She shoves her feet in her shoes. “I’m not letting you off the hook.” She jogs back to her room, laces trailing. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Will’s been replaced by a Sofa with a Secret commercial, so I turn off the TV and grab my right foot to stretch the other quad. Sometimes I wish I were more like Alice, who can charm anybody into anything and who dates all the time and makes it all seems so easy. I bend toward my toes and groan in frustration.
Alice reappears and pushes me hard enough that I have to grab the couch to right myself. “Moaning already? He’s fine, but not that fine.”
“Ha ha.”
She holds up a sweatshirt with a questioning look on her face. I shake my head, and she throws it on the couch. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but sex feels good.”
“Running feels good.”
“Uh, huh. Let’s bounce already.” She grabs her keys and follows me outside, where bright sunshine welcomes us. The day’s going to heat up quickly. That’s the thing about Boston. One minute it’s snowing, and the next it’s hot and sticky.
Alice jogs down the sidewalk toward the river. We both live in Cambridge, and the path along the Charles is our go-to running route. I run by myself most days, but we try to get out together on weekend mornings. Between my work schedule and Alice’s busy social life, it’s often the only time we can catch up.
I’m so grateful that we stayed friends after college, unlike the rest of the crew, which splintered after my breakup. Alice and I roomed together all four years. Nothing could break us apart. We’re as different as night and day, but we always have each other’s back.
After we’ve warmed up, she starts in. “So, what’s your plan with this guy?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t ask for my number. And I don’t have his.”
“What do you think phone books are for?”
“Exactly. My number is listed. If he didn’t call, he’s probably not interested. Right?”
“How did he ask you out for coffee?”
“Well, when he made me the fake drink at the bar, he kind of invited me to this volunteer thing. So I went to that, and he asked me there. But then we kind of had an argument about… I don’t even know what. I might’ve started lecturing him about how he could diversify his work—”
“Kate!” She groans. “You can’t do that. Men have such teeny-tiny, fragile little egos.”
“So, I guess it’s too late? I should just give up?”
She blows out a breath. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen you interested in a guy like this since—I don’t know when. You do have an opportunity with this commercial. Just find his number, call him and tell him that it was wild to see him on TV.”
“Which is true.” Maybe it is that easy. Let him know I’m interested, without being too needy or pushy. “I’ll think about it, but let’s pick up the pace a bit. Get our heart rates up.”
Alice’s brow waggles. “I know something else that’ll get your heart rate up.”
“Do you have a one-track mind or what?” I shove her toward the grass and sprint ahead.
“I think you know the answer to that,” she yells before catching up with me. “Since I have to have enough sex for the both of us, did I tell you about the anesthesiologist I had a date with last week?”
“No. Where did you meet him?”
“At that wine tasting class. I’m telling you, you have to do one of these with me. Lots of guys with good taste. And money to spend. Anyway, he took me to the best restaurant. The East Coast Grill—remember we were saying we wanted to go there? It was amazing, and so was he…”
My mind drifts as Alice’s story continues. Will wouldn’t be likely to take me to fancy restaurants. But do I care?
“And I promise, that’s all I’m going to say.” Oops. Sounds like I missed something good. “Except this. If we churn out an extra couple miles, I think we’ve earned a big breakfast out. What do you say?”
I’m always happy to reward myself after a good run, so why shouldn’t I do the same in the rest of my life? After I started trotting out my accent on our road trip, Roland declared that I was ready to step up at work. Perhaps I should try it on other fronts as well.
I lengthen my stride and flash a smile at my best friend. “First one to the bridge gets to choose the restaurant.”
The following Monday on the way to Portland for our first marketing trip, I work up the courage to ask Steve, “Hey, do you have that actor’s phone number? You know, the one your friend cast in that commercial where he chases the coffee cup?”
Steve fumbles his cigarette mid-drag and has to feel around under his feet to retrieve it. “Bishop! I thought you played for the other team!”
“Are you for real right now, Hot Steve?” Shit. “I mean, Steve.”
Taking a last drag on the rescued cigarette, he chuckles as he stubs it out in the ashtray. “Yeah, I mean, you turned down ev
erybody who asked you out, even me, Hot Steve, so we figured you must be gay. Or am I supposed to say lesbian?” Eyes back on the road, thankfully, he taps his hand on the wheel and sings along with Robert Palmer on “Simply Irresistible” for a few bars before giving me a sidelong glance. “Hey, could you keep this on the QT? There’s a pool on whether you’re bangin’ girls or guys, and I want to change my bet before other people find out.”
“Don’t you guys have better things to do with your time than bet on my sex life?”
He just smirks.
If only there were fewer than fifty William Talbots in the Boston phone book. “Fine. You get me his number, and I will not tell anyone that I’m actually into men.”
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Gonna do the nasty with the actor, Bishop?”
Eyes on the map, I take a deep breath to keep my cool. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I am simply calling to congratulate him on his commercial.”
“Whatever you say.”
He accelerates suddenly to pass another car and I grab the door handle, wondering if I’ll survive this trip. Once we’ve made it back to the other lane, I slump back in my seat. “Alright, then. Before we get there, do you want to hear the summaries for the companies I’m recommending?”
“Nah, I’m sure you’ve got it covered. You just keep me posted on how the date goes.” He points at me. “But remember, don’t tell anybody else. Not yet anyway.”
“Don’t worry.”
As we close in on Portland, I fulfill my co-pilot duties by reading off the directions—which I cross-check with the map, of course. After we’ve parked and I’ve touched up my lipstick and retrieved my materials and Steve has one last cigarette, he touches my arm to stop me before we head inside.
“I kid you not, Kate. It’s pretty kick-ass that you’re gonna ask that actor out. Good for you.”
