Blue Collar Blues by Rosalyn McMillan Page B

was further complicated because of race: the employee was black, the supervisor white. When Thyme announced she would fire the employee, Ron looked at her with bitter disgust. She knew that the subject of her white husband wasn’t far from his mind.
    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