by Silla Webb
As I enter the conference room, I keep my head held high, trying to keep up the appearance of the mean, bitchy boss, while inside I’m wilting like a dying flower. I scan the room, making count that all of the men are present, and I have to grasp onto the chair to gain my stability when my eyes graze Colton’s piercing, black as night eyes. A crashing wave of nausea rolls through my stomach as unsettled nerves attack me. I thought I was ready to move forward, but right now, I want to turn around and run out of this room, like a frightened little girl. Heat crawls up my neck, and curls around my face, staining my cheeks a cherry red. I take a deep inhale, trying to calm my nerves before settling at the head of the large rectangular table.
“Good Mornin’, y’all. Sorry I had to miss our last Productivity Meeting, I’ve been sick with the flu. I’ve read the weekly productivity reports, and everything looks to be running at a steady pace. Keep your productivity up, fellas! High productivity keeps this company above water, keeps our stocks high, and food in your family’s mouths. When was the last MSHA inspection?”
“Last Tuesday at Coal Branch Mines, and it was a bitch, Simon,” a husky voice from the far end of the table replies. Rolling my eyes up from the reports that I’m studying, I recognize the face, but I can’t place the name; Cooper maybe?
“What violations were we hit with?”
“A shit load. Hell of a lot more than we ever had when Big John was around.”
“Watch your damn mouth, Cooper.” Colton spits at the man, warning him about what he’s wanting to say.
“Thank you, Superintendent Weston, but it’s okay. I’m interested in hearing what he has to say,” I nod at Colton. “It’s Cooper, right? Go ahead, get it off your chest.” I reply with a coy smile, as I arch my right eye brow, willing this asshole to continue pissing in my direction. He nods, as he bucks out his chest, trying to intimidate me.
“Big John didn’t let prick inspectors come into his mines shittin’ all over his miners. This damn job is shitty enough without ‘em breathin’ down our damn backs every other week with dumbass violations that we’re gonna get over and over no matter how many times we try and fix ‘em.”
“So how do you suppose I resolve the issue with MSHA, Cooper?” I ask, leaning against the table, eager for his response. His no doubt, dumb… ass… response.
“Ya pay the sons of bitches off just like Big John did!” Yep, there it is. Dumb ass.
“Damn it, that’s enough, Cooper!” Colton yells as his fist comes crashing down to the top of the table. “I don’t give two shits whether you agree with the way Ms. Simon runs Simon Energy or not. YOU are HER damn employee, and I swear my hand to God if I hear you cuss at her again, I’ll knock you on your ass! You feel me?”
“Whoa, Weston, buddy, what the hell’s your problem? We all know what a pain in the ass it is to get violation after violation for shit we can only do quick fixes on, ‘cause we have to keep productivity up. Big John got that! That’s why he lined the inspector’s pockets each time they came knockin’. They went away with a smile on their face, and we kept minin’!”
“My damn problem is you’re bein’ a disrespectful asshole. Watch your tone with Ms. Simon or I’m writin’ you up on suspension.”
“Damn bro, you hittin’ that? That what gotcha all pissy? I’m bein’ mean to ya woman?” Cooper laughs. “Shit Weston, you of all people should know the damn headache I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Don’t act like you were innocent to pay offs. How many times have I seen you in that very office with inspectors and Big John, huh?” Cooper sneers at Colton.
Colton takes two strides towards Cooper, and makes good on his promise with a right hook, connecting to Cooper’s jaw, leaving him to crumple to the floor. Colton walks back to the conference table, and grabs his tablet, writing up a suspension slip, then tosses it on Cooper’s dazed body.
Turning back towards the rest of the men, he shouts, “I will not put up with any disrespect of Ms. Simon on my crew. If ya got a problem with that, then pack your ass home. If not, then keep your ass in that seat ‘til she tells ya to get to work! If you don’t mind, Ms. Simon, I have to get back underground.” Colton’s eyes lock on mine, holding my gaze, and melting my soul as he nods and leaves the conference room.
“Carly, I don’t agree with Cooper’s disrespect of his supervisors, but Weston got out of hand. We can’t have employees, hell a Superintendent of all things, goin’ around knockin’ men on their ass.” Mack says, one of Daddy’s favorite old miners. Mack has been with Simon Energy for as long as I can remember.
“Mack, I’ll handle Superintendent Weston. Let it be. As for the debate of ‘paying off Inspectors’,” I mock sarcastically with air quotes, “there will be no discussion of such. Simon Energy will be a safe mines. If the Inspectors find violations, then we will fix them. I don’t give a damn if I have to hire a frickin’ crew just to work on violations twelve frickin’ hours a day. No damn Inspectors will be paid off. That’s how miners lose their lives, do y’all understand that? Safety FIRST. Now, get your asses to work.”
Kicking back the large leather chair, I stand and gather my things. As the men begin to fall out of the conference room, I notice that Mack is hanging back. As I walk past, I offer a kind smile, “What’s on your mind, old timer?”
“Girl, you better watch yourself. These here men, they ain’t too happy that a woman’s their boss, ya know.” Reaching my arm around to embrace him, I laugh at the comment.
“Oh Mack, you know I ain’t worried about these miners. They’re here because they have a job to do, and I’m supplying them with that job. Sons of bitches better be grateful! I ain’t got time for their shit, and I won’t put up with the disrespect. But I do appreciate you looking out for me.” I reply, patting him lightly on the back.
“Ah hell, I shoulda known you’d be just as stubborn as that old jackass, Big John. But I’m glad you’ve got tough guts, girl. That’s what it’s gonna take to keep this place goin’, ya know. I’ll keep my ear to the ground.” Mack says with a wink and leaves the conference room.
Back in my office, I kick my boots off beside of the desk, then flop down in the leather chair. Tossing my feet up on the desk, I lean back, and release a pent up puff of air. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I wonder what in the hell I have gotten myself into. I massage the bridge of my nose, willing the headache that teases behind my eyes, to dissipate. The phone rings, interrupting the brief silence. Looking at the screen on the receiver, I see that it is only Shelly calling from the front desk. “Yes, Shelly?”
“Ms. Simon, I contacted your attorney, Mr. McCoy, just as you asked, and you have a one-thirty appointment.
“Thank you, Shelly.”
“You’re welcome, Ma’am, is there anything else you need?”
“Tylenol please, and a bottle of water. Thank you again, Shelly.”
“Yes Ma’am, my pleasure.” Shelly adds before disconnecting the receiver.
She enters the office immediately, with a bottle of water and Tylenol, setting them both on my desk before leaving quietly. Tossing the Tylenol back in my throat, I crack the lid on the water and take a drink. I stare up at the ceiling, as the events of the Supervisors meeting play throughout my mind like a broken record.
Colton has always been ill tempered, but I was really shocked at his reaction to Scott simply cussing in my presence. Hell, I grew up around the coal mines. Miners have mouths equivalent to sailors. Colton has always cussed around me. Perhaps it wasn’t the cussing, but just the blatant disrespect for me as his Supervisor, and as a woman? Regardless, Colton Weston has once again left me in shock, and confused. This man never ceases to weave my emotions into a messy web I can’t untangle.
Chapter 14
Colton
Supervisor meetin’s are a bitch. I come into the office a little early this mornin’ to get all of my paperwork together. I don’t want to get on Carly Jo’s bad side any more than what I already am. I sit in the conference room for a short while in peace, goin’ over the
productivity reports, until the other Superintendents and Mine Foreman begin filin’ into the room. Keepin’ my head down, nose in the report, I ignore them all.
They’re all bitchin’ about the recent MSHA visit, and all of the violations we were slammed with. I can already see how this damn meetin’ is gonna go; to hell in a hand basket. Miners are tough sons of bitches, bustin’ our backs from day break to sunset, minin’ coal from the earth to power homes across the country. You’re welcome by the way. But miners bitch about every damn thing under the sun, worse than a bunch of bitchy little girls.
Grumblin’ loudly in annoyance, I stomp to the side counter to refresh my coffee. I’m ready to get this shit over with so I can get underground to check on my crew. It isn’t until I feel her presence that I look up, and the room falls silent. With one look, my heart rate increases, racin’ at a dangerous speed, causin’ my breath to hitch, as if I’m suffocatin’ for my next puff of air.
Takin’ a deep breath, I stare deep into Carly Jo’s sunflower irises. Her presence alone causes me to falter, as my knees quake. That’s proof enough to me that I need her in my arms regardless of our past. It’s just that, behind us, done. I nod, and she shakes her head as she passes by me, dismissin’ me completely. With a smug look of confidence cleanly written across her face, Carly Jo addresses the Superintendents and Mine Foreman.
I take my seat at the opposite end of the table, keepin’ my gaze set on her, as I listen intently. She informs us that she has been sick with the flu, and I wince at the statement, knowin’ that’s a lie. She was sick with heartache, much like I am.
She mentions the MSHA Inspectors, and I shift in my chair to try to gauge the men’s reactions. None of the men are thrilled with the onslaught of violations we’ve been pounded with recently, but every damn mines gets violations; it’s just something we gotta deal with. Of course in every group, there’s a jackass. Scott Cooper speaks up, and immediately tension rises through my chest as I begin to grip the arms of the chair.
I'll be damned if any no good for nothin’ piece of shit is gonna talk to Carly Jo the way Scott Cooper did. Yeah, everybody knows that Big John Simon paid off MSHA inspectors when he was runnin’ Simon Energy. But Big John was an ass wipe and everybody knows that too. Carly Jo ain’t like that. She has dignity, and wants to operate Simon Energy on higher standards than her son of a bitch old man did.
Raisin’ my voice, I give Cooper a warnin’ to back the hell off, but being the bastard that he is, he laughs in my face. Mistake number one. Cooper continues to disrespect Carly Jo, then berates me. Mistake number two. With one final warnin’ to Cooper, my anger progresses, and there’s nothin’ more I can do, than to act on it. In two long strides, I lift the jackass from his seat and knock him on his ass, leavin’ him to crumple in the floor. Pissed in the wind, I toss a Suspension slip on the bastard and excuse myself from the meetin’.
Stompin’ like a pissed grizzly bear, I storm from the office out to the parkin’ lot to clear my head, but just end up pacin’ nervously. Carly Jo has no idea the effect she has on me. I frickin’ can’t take my heart bein’ ripped out of my chest, and stomped on. I want her back. I need her back, in my arms, where she belongs. We both made mistakes, and the only way we can move on, is to move on together.
Shakin’ with rattled nerves, I search the cab of my truck for a pack of cigarettes. I know my pops has left smokes in here, it’s just findin’ ‘em. Turnin’ the truck upside down, tossin’ water bottles and old mail around, I sift through the glove box and fist pump the air in victory when a smashed pack of Marlboro Lights falls to the floor board.
I press the lighter in the truck, and wait impatiently for it to heat up. POP! I snap the lighter from the console, and shake a cigarette loose from the crushed pack, pullin’ it between my lips to light it up. The first drag is deep, and it makes me a little dizzy, but damn it’s good.
I quit smokin’ years ago, and vowed to never pick ‘em up again, but damn my nerves need this sweet release. I take a couple more drags to smooth my tattered nerves. I toss the half smoked cigarette to the ground, and stomp out the embers. Leanin’ my head against the door of the truck, I feel calmer, and more relaxed. I have half the mind to go home sick, but there’s no need to add defeat to my already damaged ego.
Pullin’ myself off the truck, I grab my hard hat from the seat before slammin’ the door shut. Shufflin’ my feet slowly through the gravel, I drag myself to the portal of the mines to the man trip. I climb inside the shuttle, crankin’ the engine, and begin my decent to the depth of the mines, a solitary light guiding me through the darkness. The darkness brings peace to my scattered thoughts, as I close my eyes, and relax momentarily, listenin’ to the gears grind as the rail pulls the man trip deeper into the mines. Several minutes pass before flickers of light cross my field of vision, and the quiet is replaced with the sounds of heavy equipment.
Exitin’ the buggy, I find the section my crew is workin’ in today. They’re all hard at work, diggin’ coal from the mountain, and pinnin’ the roof above ‘em. Productivity is boomin’, as I have the fastest crew at Simon Energy, workin’ their asses off, twelve hours every day, barely stoppin’ to even take a bite of food. We don’t screw around down here. We get shit done. I make my way to each miner, checkin’ in to see how the day is treatin’ ‘em and making sure there’s no issues. After talkin’ with the men, I inspect the mines, walkin’ through the sections, and checkin’ the roof pinnin’ for safety.
Most Superintendents don’t come underground too often. They stay bundled up in their warm offices, shootin’ the shit all day, sippin’ their hot coffee, and go home at the end of the day almost as clean as they were when they left. That shit ain’t for me, I’m underground daily. Coal is in my blood. Workin’ so fiercly that sweat rolls from my brow, despite the chillin’ fifty-two degree temperature underground, year-round. The excitement of operatin’ each piece of equipment, the thrill of knowin’ that with one false move, you could be in imminent danger. But, underground, we keep an eye out for each other, always mindful of the brother next to us. We all have families to go home to at the end of the shift. When I leave the mines, I expect to be black, covered in the sulfur scented soot. It’s proof that I’ve done my job; not pussy-footed around, pushin’ pencils and measurin’ dicks all day. I wear my minin’ stripes with pride.
After inspectin’ the crews work, I find a quiet section of the mines, and plant my ass firmly on the cold hard ground, switchin’ my head lamp off. I rest my forearms on my knees, and my head against the rib of the mines.
Sighin’ in desperation, I feel empty and lifeless. All I see when I close my eyes, is Carly Jo, and all I can hear is her gut wrenchin’ cries. I can’t sleep at night for the heartache of seeing her saddened eyes, and hearin’ her cries in my dreams. Wakin’ in cold, chillin’ sweats night after night, shaken from the nightmare of crushin’ her heart, makes me want to rip my own beatin’ heart from my chest, to end the suffering.
Pinchin’ the bridge of my nose, I take a deep breath to fight back the low grumblin’ growl that’s workin’ its way through my chest. Tears sting my eyes, and I force them to close. Puffin’ out a deep breath, I stand and begin to pace. Images of a shattered Carly Jo flood my mind, and the only sound I hear is her relentless screams, sobbin’ in despair.
Grippin’ my fists to my sides, tension rises and I begin to deliver blow after blow to the rib of the mines. The release of my pent up anger is temporary, as thick warm blood begins to drip from my knuckles, sliced from the sharp coal. Lookin’ down at my bloody knuckles, I have to laugh at myself and the irony of beatin’ out the pain. What the hell! Wipin’ my bloody knuckles across my pants, I storm off in the direction of my crew.
I work side by side, minin’ coal with my crew for the remainder of the shift. Ridin’ out of the mines, my eyes squint at the sun, tryin’ to refocus from the darkness. Consumed with anger, desperation and heartache, I storm off to my truck. I gotta get the hell away from Carly
Jo Simon, away from this damn mines.
Jumpin’ in the truck, I fire the engine to life, and speed out of the lot, tossin’ gravel behind me. When the rubber meets the road, my tires squeal and smoke flies, scarin’ the asphalt with black tracks. I drive. Just drive, with no destination in sight. I turn the radio on to drown out the sound of Carly Jo’s cries that are still hauntin’ me. Stay by Florida Georgia Line plays from the speakers. Listenin’ to the words, this song tells the story of my shattered heart.
Fightin’ my inner demons, I continue to speed to a destination unknown. But no matter how fast or far I drive, I’m still drawn back to Carly Jo. Damn it all to hell. Whippin’ my truck around on the shoulder of the road, I turn back and speed up the country road in search of my heart.
Chapter 15
Carly
I’m escorted down a long narrow hallway to James McCoy’s office by Alisa, his very young, attractive assistant. Dressed in a very short mid-thigh skirt, and button down top, exposing her busty cleavage, it appears as if Alisa’s assistance to James would be far more than the secretarial needs that her job requires. With long blond tendrils curling down her back, she wears too much make up, and enough perfume to make a French Whore pass out. If one were to pass her on the street at night, you could mistake her for a whore…just sayin’.
