Hoosier Daddy

by Ann McMan

  I turned away from him and started to head back toward the plant.

  “Hold up, Fryman,” he said.

  I looked back at him.

  “Don K.’s been looking for you.”

  Don K. was Don Krylon—great-grandson of the founder of Krylon Motors. He still kept an office here, although he hadn’t spent much time at the Indiana facility since the sellout to Ogata had been announced.

  “Don K. is here?” I asked.

  Joe jerked a thumb toward the front of the building. “Up in the conference room.”

  “He wants to see me?” I repeated.

  “Something wrong with your hearing?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t keep him waiting.”

  I sighed. There was no way this was going to be good news. “Right. On my way.” I pushed past him and headed toward the front offices, wondering what else fate had in store for me.

  “Sit down, Jill.”

  Don K. gestured toward one of the plush, crimson-colored leather chairs that were scattered around the cherry-topped meeting table. I noticed that they each had oversized Outlaw emblems stamped on their headrests.

  “Like something cold to drink? I know it’s still warm out there in some parts of the plant.”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks.” I took a seat in one of the chairs he’d indicated.

  Don K. was about as different from Joe Sykes as wealth and biology could conspire to make him. He was tastefully dressed in gray slacks and a pink shirt with creases sharp enough to slice cheese. He looked like he’d just walked in from a three-day spa weekend. I’d only met him in passing twice before, and neither occasion seemed all that memorable to me. That piqued my curiosity and heightened my trepidation. Why did he want to talk with me? And how did he even remember who I was?

  “Thanks for taking the time to come and see me, Jill.” He sat down in a chair beside me. I was surprised that he didn’t automatically take a seat directly across the table. Strangely, it put me a little more at ease. I felt less like I had been called into the principal’s office.

  I nodded. “Joe said you wanted to see me.”

  Don K. smiled. His mouthful of perfect teeth had probably added a screened porch to the beach house of some orthodontist.

  “He’s right. In fact, I’ve wanted to talk with you for some time. But with the Ogata transition going on, everything’s been in a swivet. Half the time, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.”

  I didn’t know what response to make to that, so I just nodded.

  “Look, Jill. I’ll just get right to the point. I know your day is nearly over and you’ve got things you’d like to get to.”

  “Okay.” My nervousness started to tic up a notch.

  He sat back and crossed his long legs. “You know that this Ogata buyout is a great thing for Princeton, don’t you?”

  I nodded. I also knew that it was an especially great thing for the Krylon family. They stood to walk away with more than a billion dollars in deferred compensation and stock options in the new company.

  “Ogata plans to pump new life into the local economy, Jill. Ramping up this facility to produce the Mastodon will add fourhundred-and-fifty new jobs—and that’s just in Princeton. The ripple effect from this will reach out and touch all of our feeder plants, too. Parts. Transportation. Dealerships. Housing. Retail establishments. We’re talking the entire the tri-state area. Everyone will benefit. Ogata stands poised to revolutionize Midwest manufacturing, and it all hinges on what happens right here, inside this assembly plant.”

  He paused to let his words sink in. Since he hadn’t asked me anything, I remained silent.

  “But there’s a bee in this bonnet now, Jill . . . a hiccough in the process. And if we don’t manage things carefully, everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve for the people of Indiana might fall right by the wayside.”

  It was true that I hadn’t attended an Ivy League, northeastern college like Don K., but I was pretty sure I knew where his diatribe was headed.

  “You’re talking about the UAW?” I asked.

  He nodded. “See? This is precisely why we need you, Jill. You’re smart.”

  It was clear to me that Don K. was working his way around to something, and I knew that the fastest way to get him there was to continue to hold my peace. Grammy Mann taught me that.

  I was right. It didn’t take him long to start talking again.

  “We need smart people on our side, Jill. Smart people who can help us help Princeton benefit from all the things Ogata promises to deliver. Smart people like you.” He leaned forward and laced his fingers together on top of the shiny wood table. “How long have you been with Krylon now, Jill?”

  I was sure he already knew the answer, but I told him anyway.

  “Twelve years.” As soon as I said it, I realized how ridiculous it was. Twelve years of my life, going no place.

  Don K. nodded. “Loyalty. We appreciate that. So does Ogata. It’s part of what drives their entire business model. Ogata has a place for you, Jill. Ogata needs smart, savvy people to head its transition team. Ogata needs managers who can help them realize their vision for the people of Princeton.”

  I felt like I was listening to one of Kenny Purvis’s sermons at the House of Praise. It wouldn’t have surprised me to hear someone shout “amen” from the corner of the room.

  “Are you one of those people, Jill? Are you prepared to stand up and help us lead this plant to the forefront of automotive and manufacturing excellence?”

  I felt sweat running down the back of my shirt, which was surprising, since it was cool enough in that conference room to hang meat.

  “I’m not really sure what you’re talking about,” I said. “What, exactly, is it you want me to do?”

  Don K. smiled. Then he seemed to shift gears. “I just got off the phone with Tony Gemelli. He and his colleague have invoked their right to come inside our plant and post notices about an upcoming union information session they’re hosting next week. Of course, we all know that even in the closest families, things sometimes happen that generate bad feelings. Not everyone is as loyal or dedicated to Krylon as you are, Jill. It’s important for us to do all we can to prevent a few small incidents of discontent from snowballing into something that could spell disaster for everyone.”

  “I don’t really see how I could—”

  “I pay attention, Jill. And I’m not alone in that. This is a small town. I know that you’ve grown . . . friendly . . . with Ms. Rzcpczinska.”

  Now I was doing more than sweating. I was sure that my face was turning beet red.

  “I’m not—” I began. But Don K. talked over me again.

  “I’m sure you understand that we’d like to have this union matter settled before the Ogata team arrives at the end of the month. As one of our newest production managers, I feel confident that you could use your connections and influence with the rank-and-file members of our Krylon family to smooth over any rough spots that might mistakenly lead them to think hospitably about the UAW’s false promises.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. Was he offering me a promotion? In exchange for what? For me to become Krylon’s Mata Hari?

  I pushed back my chair and got to my feet. “I think you have the wrong person, Mr. Krylon. I don’t have that kind of influence.”

  He withdrew a fat envelope from a leather-bound folio. “Don’t be so hasty.” He handed me the envelope. “Take some time and think it over. You’ll find the details of our offer in here.” He smiled at me again. “I’ve enjoyed our chat, Jill. It’s been too long.”

  I stood there in front of him, sweating and holding the fat envelope with the embossed Krylon Motors logo on it. I wanted to tell him to go to hell—that I wasn’t willing to become a whore for Krylon any more than I was willing to become a whore for the UAW. The only difference was that El had never asked me to do that. Right then, that one difference seemed huge—bigger and m
ore important than anything Don K. and the Ogata team had to offer me.

  “You’re still sweating,” Don K. added. He shook his head. “I know it’s hot out there . . . brutal. But, Jill?”

  I looked at him.

  “You need to know that if this union vote happens, Ogata will pull the plug on Princeton. They’ll move the Mastodon and everything associated with it to their plant in Smyrna. And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Georgia is a state just full of people who can take the heat without complaining.”

  An electronic alarm went off, and Don K. looked at his Rolex.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have a conference call coming up. I think you can find your own way out?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. You can let me know your decision by Monday.”

  He turned away from me and picked up the handset of the console telephone that sat on the credenza behind his chair.

  I backed out of the room, clutching the fat envelope to my chest like some kind of twisted life preserver. I didn’t even bother going back into the plant. I walked out the main entrance and headed straight for my truck. There was only one place where I felt like I still belonged.

  “Take my advice.” Aunt Jackie slapped a third bottle of cold Stella down in front of me. “Taper off or order some food. You keep this up, and I’m gonna ask for your keys.”

  I’d been sitting at a back table by myself, staring at the unopened envelope Don K. had pushed into my hands before he dismissed me at the end of our friendly chat.

  “I’m okay,” I said. She wasn’t buying it.

  “Honey, I been slingin’ suds at Hoosier Daddy since Methuselah was just a gleam in his daddy’s eye, and one thing I know is how to spot somebody who ain’t okay.” She reached inside her blouse and tugged at her bra strap. “You look like somebody shit in your last bowl of Cheerios.”

  I shrugged. “It’s just something at work.”

  “Work?” She shook her head. “I don’t suppose this would have anything to do with Luanne Keortge gettin’ her ass fired today, would it?”

  “You heard about that?” It always amazed me how Aunt Jackie stayed on top of things. She had a better breaking news service than CNN.

  Aunt Jackie waved a bar rag toward the street door. “Hell. Everybody in three damn counties heard about that. She roared through here like a bad case of Montezuma’s Revenge.”

  I looked around the bar. It was still early and there were only two or three other customers.

  “Where’d she go?”

  “Hell if I know. She pounded a pitcher, tapped, and took off outta here as fast as she showed up. I think she was outta cigs.” She pushed at her left bosom again. Apparently, it still wasn’t settled to suit her. “You know I don’t sell ’em no more since nobody ever came by to fix that damn machine.” She pursed her lips. “Nobody fixes nothin’ anymore. In my opinion, that’s what’s wrong with this country.”

  I was just about to agree with her when there was a loud commotion up front. Somebody had burst into the bar and started hollering.

  “Hey? Jackie? Where are you? You seen Luanne or Friday?”

  It was T-Bomb. Her boisterous entrance succeeded in rousing Lucille, who had been snoring beneath a barstool. He rolled to his feet and waddled toward her, barking and complaining.

  “Well, what in tarnation?” Aunt Jackie turned around saw her. “We’re over here! Can you pipe down and try to behave like a normal person? Lucille . . . stop that racket right now!”

  T-Bomb barreled over to my table and dropped her massive shoulder bag onto an empty chair.

  “I been lookin’ all over for you. Where the hell did you get off to?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “That asshole Joe Sykes fired Luanne. She lit outta there like her hair was on fire. That whole place is going straight to heck. What are you drinkin’? That foreign crap?” She looked at Aunt Jackie. “Is it too early to get one of them five dollar pitchers? I need it after this day.” She eyed my lineup of empty Stella bottles. “Better bring us an order of fries, too.” She gestured at me. “This one’s a lightweight.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “So what are we gonna do about Luanne?”

  “Are you talking to me?” I asked. I wasn’t certain that her tirade was over.

  “Hello? McFly?” She shook her head. “Ain’t you sittin’ right here in front of me?”

  Aunt Jackie sighed. “I’ll be right back with the beer.” She walked off.

  “Look, T-Bomb . . . I’ve had a shitty day. I just need some peace and quiet. Okay?”

  “You’ve had a shitty day? How about Luanne’s shitty day? How about the shitty days all of us have had workin’ in that damn sweat shop? They can’t keep treatin’ people this way. Somethin’s gotta change. I’m tellin’ you.”

  “I’m not the one you need to be telling this to.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t you the one who ‘has the ear’ of the management?” She made air quotes with her fingers.

  I shook my head. “I don’t have anybody’s ear.”

  She sat back against her chair with a huff. “Bull crap. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

  “Tired?”

  I nodded.

  “Hell. I’m tired, too. We’re all tired. Sick and tired of dealin’ with them low-life assholes they call managers.”

  I nodded again.

  She sat there glaring at me for a few seconds without saying anything. And experiencing a few seconds of silence from T-Bomb was like being stranded on an iceberg in the middle of a snowstorm. Even Eskimos didn’t have a word to describe quiet like that. Finally, she leaned forward. “Listen. I get that you’re frustrated and that you got a lot going on right now with El DeBarge and all. But we still have to figure out a way to fix this mess for Luanne. Jay don’t make crap workin’ at Champion. She needs this job—especially while Jay Jr. is in the joint and can’t contribute.”

  I took a deep breath. “I know. I already fixed it with Joe.”

  She blinked. “You did?”

  I nodded.

  “When?”

  “Right before I left for the day.”

  She dropped back against her chair again. “Well, I swear. Why the heck didn’t you tell somebody?”

  “Because I needed a break.”

  “Why?” She looked me over. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, hell. If this is how you look when nothing happens, I’d hate to see you when something happens.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  She sighed. “Are you gonna tell me how you fixed it with Joe?”

  I had to smile at that, even though I still felt pretty miserable. “It wasn’t hard. I just got him thinking about how much firing Luanne would hurt Jailissa.”

  T-Bomb threw back her head and about laughed herself out of her chair. “That dern horndog! I bet he had to pole vault his way back to his office.”

  “Yeah . . . especially after I told him about the outfit she’s wearing for Pork Day on Saturday.”

  T-Bomb was still chuckling. “Outfit? Why? What’s she wearing?” She uncapped the ketchup bottle.

  I shrugged. “I have no clue. I just made something up.”

  Aunt Jackie showed up bearing a pitcher of Old Style and a big platter of French fries. “What are you two laughing about?”

  T-Bomb liberally doused the mound of fries with the ketchup.

  Aunt Jackie clucked her tongue. “You wanna at least wait until I set the damn plate down?”

  “Heck no.” T-Bomb shook salt all over the fries, and everything else within a three-foot radius. “I think I sweated off five pounds today standin’ around in them damn fires of hell.” She pushed the plate toward me. “Eat up on some of these. You need to soak up that beer before we head on over to the fish fry.”

  Aunt Jackie just shook her head and tugged at her bra strap before wandering off toward another table. The place was slowly
starting to fill up with hot-and-thirsty autoworkers.

  I had completely forgotten that the VFW fundraiser was tonight.

  “I’m not going to the fish fry.” I did my best to sound definite. “I don’t have the energy for it.”

  “Oh, hell’s bells. How much damn energy does it take to cram a hunk of catfish down your gullet?”

  I sighed. “Don’t hassle me, okay?”

  “Don’t you know by now it’s my job to hassle you?”

  “Well, you’re pretty damn good at it.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? I wish it paid benefits so I could quit watchin’ my life roll right past me on a dern assembly line.” She poured herself another glass of beer. “Hey? Didn’t you say that Grammy was comin’ this year?”

  I nodded. “She’s riding with Ermaline.”

  “Oh, lord. She’ll give all them codgers somethin’ to fixate on.”

  “Grammy?”

  “Hell no. Ermaline.” T-Bomb lowered her voice. “She don’t wear no panties.”

  It was a good thing I had already swallowed my mouthful of beer. “What?”

  T-Bomb was dragging a fat French fry around the edge of the plate to mop up a line of ketchup. “Last year, I got stuck sittin’ at a table with that crazy old coot, Delbert Clinton, and all he did was sit there and mutter about how Ermaline kept winkin’ at him. After about the tenth time, I asked him what the heck he was talkin’ about, and he just pointed over toward the wall, where she was sittin’ with Betty Greubel. You know? Where they line up all them straight chairs near the bathrooms? Well, I thought Delbert was just havin’ one of his Twilight Zone episodes.” She waved her finger around in tight, little circles next to her ear. “But damn if she didn’t uncross her legs and show off everything god gave her.” T-Bomb shook her head. “I think that’s probably just something she got into after Kenny took up with them hoppers. A lot of women go downhill after they get done wrong like that.”

  I was amazed. I wondered if Grammy knew this about Ermaline?

  Probably.

  Grammy seemed to know everything that went on in our world.