bag, Khan didn’t hide her displeasure. Thyme knew that Khan had become particularly sensitive to other people drinking alcohol because R.C. had a bit of a problem.
“You know I don’t own any wine glasses.”
Noticing a stack of paper cups near the refrigerator, Thyme removed one while she dialed her home number. “It’s okay—I’ll just pour it in one of these.” After four rings, the voice mail came on and Thyme’s frown mirrored Khan’s. “Cy, this is Thyme, honey. I’m at Khan’s. I’ll be home around nine. Love you, baby.”
When Thyme hung up, she noticed the forlorn look on Khan’s face. From their years of friendship, Thyme knew that Khan was suffering from something more serious than a hurt hand. It appeared to be more like a hurt heart.
From the narrow kitchen, Thyme admired the beautiful aquarium in Khan’s eccentric apartment. She knew that the aquarium and the exotic tropical fish were a prized gift from R.C. to Khan. The enormous glass case took up half the west wall. Though Thyme had never met R.C., she had drawn some conclusions about the man Khan was so hopelessly in love with. R.C. had always seemed a bit flashy, and Thyme got the sense that he hid behind his big gifts.
Thyme looked around at Khan’s brightly colored apartment and smiled at her friend’s indomitable spirit. Mango and tangerine walls made striking statements next to the strawberry, electric grape, and lemon yellow furniture. Not even the bathroom was spared. The clawfoot tub was painted a ripe persimmon, leaving the feet white, against one wall of deep purple and another painted in a diamond pattern of dark and light violet. A yellow-and-white-plaid shower curtain stood out boldly beside coral and purple towels.
Every time Thyme visited Khan’s home, her heart said “Wow,” and her mind wished that she felt comfortable with so much color. Thyme had to give her friend credit; the fruity hues juiced up the tiny condo and seemed to capture the ever-present child in Khan. For all of Thyme’s success, she envied her friend and wished that she had the nerve to paint her walls in lively colors and decorate her place with so much freedom.
Thyme and Khan settled into the lemon-colored loveseat in the living area to enjoy their treats, Khan with a glass of cold milk and cookies and Thyme sipping on a second cup of wine.
Feeling herself relax for the first time that day, Thyme kicked off her red pumps and eased back into the soft cushions. “Before I could even read the incident report about your accident today, your uncle Ron was in my office with a health and safety violation.”
“Uncle Ron. Why? It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”
“Not necessarily. This is the fifth incident we’ve had in two weeks with the Zori sewing machines. Ron believes that the foot on the Zori three-elevens—”
“Are poorly designed,” Khan finished. “When Chet and Valentino got my hand out, they said the angle of the foot came out too high. It should be more level. Anyway, Uncle Ron wrote up that grievance. I didn’t tell him to—”
“Don’t worry about it. Right now safety is the second biggest concern at Champion. Overtime, as you know, has always come first. But by the end of the month the national negotiations with the unions will be getting underway and we don’t need all these safety problems adding to the pressures of local bargaining issues. They give you blue collars more chips to play with.” Thyme didn’t mention what she felt was her other big priority: the increasing number of violent outbreaks among the blue collar workers.
Thyme and Khan had always managed to have a close friendship despite their differences. Thyme was especially grateful that their relationship transcended the chasm between white and blue collar workers. Thyme had met Khan at a barbecue at Ron’s house when the girl was just sixteen. Khan was visiting her uncle from her home down South. Thyme had
“You know I don’t own any wine glasses.”
Noticing a stack of paper cups near the refrigerator, Thyme removed one while she dialed her home number. “It’s okay—I’ll just pour it in one of these.” After four rings, the voice mail came on and Thyme’s frown mirrored Khan’s. “Cy, this is Thyme, honey. I’m at Khan’s. I’ll be home around nine. Love you, baby.”
When Thyme hung up, she noticed the forlorn look on Khan’s face. From their years of friendship, Thyme knew that Khan was suffering from something more serious than a hurt hand. It appeared to be more like a hurt heart.
From the narrow kitchen, Thyme admired the beautiful aquarium in Khan’s eccentric apartment. She knew that the aquarium and the exotic tropical fish were a prized gift from R.C. to Khan. The enormous glass case took up half the west wall. Though Thyme had never met R.C., she had drawn some conclusions about the man Khan was so hopelessly in love with. R.C. had always seemed a bit flashy, and Thyme got the sense that he hid behind his big gifts.
Thyme looked around at Khan’s brightly colored apartment and smiled at her friend’s indomitable spirit. Mango and tangerine walls made striking statements next to the strawberry, electric grape, and lemon yellow furniture. Not even the bathroom was spared. The clawfoot tub was painted a ripe persimmon, leaving the feet white, against one wall of deep purple and another painted in a diamond pattern of dark and light violet. A yellow-and-white-plaid shower curtain stood out boldly beside coral and purple towels.
Every time Thyme visited Khan’s home, her heart said “Wow,” and her mind wished that she felt comfortable with so much color. Thyme had to give her friend credit; the fruity hues juiced up the tiny condo and seemed to capture the ever-present child in Khan. For all of Thyme’s success, she envied her friend and wished that she had the nerve to paint her walls in lively colors and decorate her place with so much freedom.
Thyme and Khan settled into the lemon-colored loveseat in the living area to enjoy their treats, Khan with a glass of cold milk and cookies and Thyme sipping on a second cup of wine.
Feeling herself relax for the first time that day, Thyme kicked off her red pumps and eased back into the soft cushions. “Before I could even read the incident report about your accident today, your uncle Ron was in my office with a health and safety violation.”
“Uncle Ron. Why? It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”
“Not necessarily. This is the fifth incident we’ve had in two weeks with the Zori sewing machines. Ron believes that the foot on the Zori three-elevens—”
“Are poorly designed,” Khan finished. “When Chet and Valentino got my hand out, they said the angle of the foot came out too high. It should be more level. Anyway, Uncle Ron wrote up that grievance. I didn’t tell him to—”
“Don’t worry about it. Right now safety is the second biggest concern at Champion. Overtime, as you know, has always come first. But by the end of the month the national negotiations with the unions will be getting underway and we don’t need all these safety problems adding to the pressures of local bargaining issues. They give you blue collars more chips to play with.” Thyme didn’t mention what she felt was her other big priority: the increasing number of violent outbreaks among the blue collar workers.
Thyme and Khan had always managed to have a close friendship despite their differences. Thyme was especially grateful that their relationship transcended the chasm between white and blue collar workers. Thyme had met Khan at a barbecue at Ron’s house when the girl was just sixteen. Khan was visiting her uncle from her home down South. Thyme had
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