Glancing at the clock on the wall, she now felt relieved to have to leave for her appointment with her attorney. Her attorney’s office, on the sixteenth floor of Cadillac Towers, was located just three blocks from Cy’s new office building. Wearing a wide pair of dark sunglasses and scurrying into the remodernized structure, Thyme felt like a convicted criminal. She moved to the back of the elevator and waited until the car stopped on the tenth floor. Once she announced herself to the receptionist, Thyme was escorted into her attorney’s office.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Tyler.”
“Afternoon,” Thyme said tentatively. She was still nervous.
Stephen Kravitz’s office was expensively furnished. From the gilt-framed paintings to the polished mahogany desk, the atmosphere smelled of success and old money.
“I’ve been discussing your case with my partners. Chances are Champion will settle before ever going to court.”
“Why?”
“Union negotiations.” He put his hands behind his head. “This is contract year, Mrs. Tyler. You’ve picked an opportune time: the company can’t afford any more bad publicity.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Your situation appears to be a solid case of blatant discrimination.”
Thyme smiled, and her body relaxed. She eased back in her chair and listened, releasing the buttons on her jacket and crossing her legs. She’d written Spielberg, Baum, and Kravitz a retainer check for ten thousand dollars. No matter what, her reputation and self-respect were worth the money. Now if only she was able to make Cy understand.
“I’ll read you a copy of the deposition that we plan to present to Champion. There are six counts in the lawsuit.” He leaned forward and shuffled through the stack of legal documents.
“‘Count One. That the Plaintiff, Thyme Tyler, is, and at all times relevant to the allegations contained herein was, a resident of the City of Bloomfield, County of Oakland, and State of Michigan . . .’”
As he continued to read, Thyme felt the tears slipping down her cheeks. This was serious. She hadn’t wanted it to get to this point. She had prayed that Champion would promote her. There was no turning back now. Thyme heard him add:
“‘Four. That the Plaintiff, Thyme Tyler, has been and continues to be an employee of the defendant Champion Motors, initially hiring in as an hourly employee on May twenty-two, nineteen seventy-five, at Defendant’s Rouge assembly plant.
“‘Five. That the Plaintiff, Thyme Tyler, was first promoted to a position as a salaried employee on or about August thirty, nineteen eighty, the position being that of a Manufacturing Clerk, Salary Grade o-three.’”
Thyme listened to her history at Champion Motors. Count by count, the lawsuit didn’t miss a beat. Every position she had held was accounted for. She’d forgotten some of the events that had occurred in the twenty-three years she’d worked at Champion. A part of her felt old. Another part of her felt as if she’d just arrived.
Later that day Thyme called Khan. “Hey,” Thyme said, trying to be cheerful, “the Kentucky Derby is on this weekend. How’d you like to watch it with Cy and me?”
“Cool.”
She felt Khan’s hesitation before she spoke. “Thyme?”
“Yes?”
“Cy isn’t planning to try and hook me up with some white guy, is he?”
“Of course not.”
“Hey, I’ve got a right to ask. We’re friends.”
“I wouldn’t set you up without telling you. I don’t keep secrets from my friends.”
“Just your husband.”
“That’s unfair, Khan.”
“Damn. That shit sounded real personal. I think I’ll write in for us to appear on the
Ricki Lake
show.”
“Stop, Khan. I’m serious.” Thyme was bothered by her friend’s sarcasm; she wasn’t in the mood.
“Oh, don’t get too serious, girlfriend. Cy hasn’t done anything to make me want to come over and kick his ass, has he?”
“Naw. Nothing like that.” Twin tears rolled down Thyme’s cheeks. “So you’ll come? We’re going to put the pontoon in the water and watch the Derby while we sit and sip on spirits. And of course I’ve got plenty of gourmet cookies for you.”
With all the stresses she’d been dealing with lately, Thyme couldn’t wait to spend some fun moments with her young friend who could always make her laugh. “Hey, have you got a pencil handy? I’ve got the code to get in the gate so you don’t have to be announced.”
“You kidding?”
Thyme could tell that Khan was pleased. There were only seven homes in their small section of Bloomfield. Culturally speaking, it was a zip code that meant you’d arrived. And Khan would feel more accepted having their code—to hell with Cy and his paranoid need for security.
“No. It’s one-three-nine-three. Got that? Just bring your swimsuit. It might get hot enough to dive in.”
“Just tell Cy to get the chessboard out. I’m going to kick his ass.”
“See you on Saturday.”
* * *
By Friday night, Thyme was exhausted. She and Cy were putting up the dishes while they listened to ABC’s
World News Tonight
with Peter Jennings. Then a local reporter gave an eloquent spiel on the day’s hot story, reporting from just outside the picket line at Chrysler’s Mack Avenue plant in Detroit.
“Eight Chrysler assembly plants are shut down, including those that build the two-seater sports car, the Incognito, Chrysler’s car of the year. If the strike continues, Chrysler could lose a million dollars a day.”
“Wow,” Thyme said. “I’m worried about our upcoming contract. If things have gotten way out of hand at Chrysler, it may affect things at Champion.” Thyme turned up the volume.
“Hell, they should go back to work. They won’t win,” Cy stated matter-of-factly.
Thyme was stunned. “How long has it been since you were a union brother? Don’t answer that, because I know. It’s been twenty-five years. What happened to your sympathy for the blue collar worker?”
Cy shrugged his shoulders. “When a strike breaks out, nobody wins. The company loses money, the union loses money. The company can recoup their losses by raising the cost of cars. But the union loses ground with the company in any upcoming negotiations. Therefore, neither side goes away happy.”
“I don’t agree with you.” She frowned. Spraying with Fantastik, she wiped down the Corian counters with a vengeance. For the next two hours they argued over hourly versus salary.
In the past two days, wildcat strikes had broken out at General Motors, Chrysler, and Ford. For everyone in and around Detroit the strike issue was as important as the price of chicken is to Perdue.
Thyme was surprised at how loyal she felt to the union even though she hadn’t worked hourly for almost eighteen years. Before now, it hadn’t mattered. Now it did. It was just what she needed to work off some angry sweat.
Thyme changed into her exercise clothes and went downstairs. She ran ten miles on the treadmill and put in twelve minutes on the weight machine. She took a shower afterwards and sank her weary body into the comfort of the hot tub.
She could hear Cy’s familiar footsteps coming toward her before she opened her eyes.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, sitting down beside her. In his hand he held a yellow and white packet. Their photo album was tucked under his arm.
“Remember when we took these?” He showed her pictures of the two of them at Niagara Falls taken last year, on their twenty-first anniversary. “Handsome couple, I’d say.”
Thyme smiled. “I’d forgotten how much fun we had. When did you get these printed?”
“The other day. We’re so spoiled by our computer-ROM we haven’t taken the time in years to put pictures in our album.”
Thyme turned the pages, smiling at the memories, each more precious than the last. There was a section near the back filled with pictures of Graham from birth to age three. Thyme remembered telling Sydney that if she sent them any more pictures of her baby, she’d better send a photo album along with it.
“Let’s not argue.” He kissed her apologetically.
She glanced at the album. The moment had passed for her to mention the lawsuit. There was no way he would ever understand how powerless the union people felt, and how powerless she felt, unless she stood up against Champion for blatant discrimination.
“I love you so much, Thyme,” Cy said as he stepped down into the circular sunken hot tub. When he began to remove her bathing suit, she helped him.
Thyme loved him. She couldn’t deny those feelings. They came regardless of their differences—and there were many. “I love you too, baby,” she said as she gave in to him.
They began to make love, though for her it wasn’t so much desire as need. The secret she was keeping from Cy was weighing on her. Was she just imagining that Cy seemed to cling to her? Was she just on edge out of her own guilt or was he more needy lately? This tension only heightened the intensity of their lovemaking. They dabbled in the sexual delights of the Kama-sutra, as well as Japanese erotica, and yet both wanted more. How much farther could they go?
* * *
Saturday afternoon Thyme couldn’t wait for Khan to come over for the Derby event. Thyme had been jittery, distracted by the pending lawsuit and wrestling with whether to confide in Cy. Could she trust him to stay by her side even if he disagreed? Even if it put his own job in jeopardy? She wasn’t ready to risk it.
The Cirrus Boat Company had just delivered the open-air boat, and Cy was in the midst of planning how to get the pontoon into the water.
The weather was perfect. It had been topping seventy degrees all week. The wind was mild and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Thyme arranged the lawn furniture on the lower level and put out the chess game and cards—their afternoon activities. Since the Derby only lasted a few minutes, they would have the rest of the day to fill.
Just then, Khan arrived, kissing Cy on the cheek and handing him a bottle of Chivas Regal. “I figured you could never have enough scotch in the house.”
“Hey, girl,” Thyme said, hugging Khan. “You look good in those shorts. You two chat while I cut up some veggies.”
“How’s your hand, Khan?” Cy asked.
Thyme hoped Cy wouldn’t bring up the subject of Khan’s love life. Cy had always loved to tease Khan about her sexual exploits with men, especially her voracious appetite for R.C. Like Thyme, Cy had never met the infamous R.C.: he’d just heard the stories.
As Khan flexed her fingers back and forth, she said, “I can still feel a slight tingling in my hand when it gets tired. Unfortunately, this is the hand I use for more personal matters.” She winked at Cy. “But enough about me, Cy. Tell me about your new boat . . . I mean pontoon.”
Thyme smiled as she brought the tray down the steps. “Don’t get him started, Khan. He won’t shut up talking about his latest toy.”
“It’s an Eight-twenty-four Special Edition and floats smoother than the flight of a dream.”
Surprisingly, Thyme thought, Khan seemed genuinely interested in Cy’s explanation of the seats, tables, and cooler that outfitted the pontoon.
“Okay already. What I want to know is, when do I get my turn to drive this sucker?”
“Right about now,” Cy said, slipping on his boat shoes and handing Khan a pair. “Let’s grab some music.”
“What you got? I don’t go for none of that Spice Girls bullshit.”
“I’m way ahead of you, Khan.” Cy selected some music from the entertainment unit. “Which do you prefer: Lil’ Kim, Solo, Ginuwine, or Erykah Badu?”
“All of ’em. But let’s start with some Badu.”
Cy turned to his wife. “Coming, honey?”
“I’ll pass. I’ve got to check on the Jell-O. I think it’s about ready for the fruit cocktail. Remember, we only have an hour before the race begins.”
When Cy and Khan returned, Thyme had just turned on the television set and was sipping a glass of Chardonnay. She fixed Cy a shot of Chivas and poured Khan a glass of pink grapefruit Crystal Light.
The broadcasters were introducing some of the Derby’s past winners, and Thyme felt excited as clips from last year’s race dashed across the big screen.
The horses were at the starting gate.
Cy, Thyme, and Khan had each picked their favorite and placed a five-dollar bet among them.
Boom. They were off.
The camera zeroed in on the strong front runner, named Livewire.
“I should have bet on him,” Cy exclaimed.
“It’s a she,” Khan spoke up.
“How do you know?” Cy asked.
“I just know,” Khan said quietly.
Thyme looked at her and realized that Livewire must be R.C.’s horse. Khan looked miserable.
Less than five minutes later the race was over. Livewire was the winner. All three of them had lost.
As the camera zoomed in on the winner’s circle, Khan sighed audibly. “Oh, God.”
“Damn, who’s she?” Cy asked. “She’s gorgeous.”
Khan began to collect their plates and glasses. Thyme looked at the television screen and saw a beautiful woman dressed all in black with a peach rose attached to her bosom. A large hat covered the side of her face, but her beauty was unmistakable.
“What?” Cy said as he half turned from the set and looked at Khan.
The two women said nothing as they looked each other in the eye. Then the owners’ names flashed across the screen: MR. AND MRS. R.C. RICHARDSON OF PARIS, KENTUCKY.
R.C. Richardson and Tomiko stood with their jockey next to their horse, accepting the wreath of roses in the winner’s circle.
“Khan, are you okay?” Thyme asked her friend.
“Yeah. But there must be a huge mistake. Weak studs finish last, not first,” she said bitterly.
__________
“Settle down, ladies, settle down,” Khan said from her seat in the midsection of the Bel-Aire Theater.
The Revenge of Cleopatra Jones,
starring Tamara Dobson, had just ended, and the women had been screaming and hollering throughout the two-hour movie. Damn, there are some ghetto folks up here, Khan said to herself, shaking her head.
It was a typical Tuesday movie night out, Khan’s weekly treat to herself, and she’d never before thought about asking for her money back. But tonight she could barely enjoy the picture for the noise.
As the audience filed out of the theater, Khan followed slowly. Like a trained hound dog sniffing out the perpetrator’s scent, Khan spotted R.C. a few feet ahead of her. It had been a few weeks since she’d seen him on TV at the Kentucky Derby.