“One more federal agency being involved can’t hurt our case,” Christina said. It was probably wise to call the Occupational Safety and Health Administration at this point.
“Rumor has it that they’ve been waiting for any excuse to get into the factory and snoop around for violations,” Bruce said. “Maybe clogged toilets will do it. While I call, you must convince her that she has to go to work. She cannot give them a reason to fire her. Tell her that will let the bad guys get away with what they did. Say something. She must go to work today. She’s already late.”
“She said that she doesn’t have time on her break to use the facilities in the other areas,” Christina said. “She says she’s getting a bladder infection.”
“Oh, wonderful. Tell her the law provides even nonunion factory employees with a bathroom break. If the toilets don’t function in her area, she can use other ones without docked pay. We’ll work out the correct federal agency for filing this new complaint later, but for today she must go in. You have to convince her. She doesn’t even understand me.”
Christina watched as Bruce pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched a number. “Angela, get me the name and number of someone at OSHA,” he said when she answered. “I want to know if it’s legal to have nonfunctioning bathrooms on a factory floor. After that, report this to the EEOC, as well.”
Christina stared through the small sliver of opened door. María Gonzales was a tiny woman, at most five-one. A roach crawled out from under a fallen leaf and scurried on the chipped concrete. Bruce crushed the bug with his foot.
Christina shuddered. She had a case to win and a job to do. No way would she ever be incompetent in front of Bruce Lancaster again, and it was time to prove herself. Besides, these women deserved much better than this hovel. They’d gotten through much already by being declared legal aliens. Just a little more time and their lives would be so much better.
“María,” Christina began, “tiene que ir al trabajo.” She saw the woman’s brown eyes widen with fear at being told she had to go to work. Christina shoved her foot into the opening, wincing as her toes became pinched between the door and the wooden frame.
“No. You will not shut me out.” Christina pushed her hand against the door to allow her foot some breathing room. The peeling paint stuck to her palm like children’s stickers. Using rapid Spanish, Christina launched into an explanation about why María needed to go to work.
It took her five minutes of intense arguing, but finally Christina removed her foot and María Gonzales fully opened the door. Bruce was still on the phone and had moved a distance away.
María stepped out of the motel room, and Christina thought that maybe all the arguing with her mother had paid off. She’d used one of her mother’s many emotional arguments almost verbatim on María. Before María closed the door, Christina could see an elderly lady and a small child inside. María’s family. The reason she went to work, and the people Christina had convinced María that she couldn’t let down.
“We’ll drive you to the factory, and then I’m going to meet your boss,” Christina said in Spanish. “Did you eat lunch?” Christina grimaced, knowing the answer the moment she asked the question. “We’ll stop and get you something,” she said.
Bruce flipped his phone closed and approached. María instantly lowered her head to her chest and gazed at her feet.
“Do not do that,” Christina snapped at her in Spanish. María peered up in surprise. “Do not cower with him. You have heritage. You have pride.” Christina nodded at Bruce. “We’re ready to go. I told her we would take her to work, since everyone else on her shift has already left and they took one car. I also said we would get her some food for her break. I want to meet the company president.”
“Donald Gray doesn’t see people.” Bruce said. “I’ve tried multiple times.”
“Yes, but I haven’t,” Christina pointed out as they reached Bruce’s truck.
Bruce considered for a moment. “Why not? It can’t hurt.”
Christina drew her suit jacket closer once they were under way. She’d opted for a silk shirt, and suddenly she felt exposed in her high-class wardrobe. No wonder María wore an Indianapolis Colts sweatshirt and faded blue jeans. The woman was working in a modern-day sweatshop.
After getting María some lunch, they drove to the factory in mere minutes, and Christina guessed that in the warmer months, many workers walked the distance.
How strange, Christina mused. She herself had gone to the finest schools in the United States and had never felt discrimination, but people like María Gonzales experienced it daily. People like María kept their deep-seated distrust of the government and struggled for the American dream, all the while attempting to assimilate into a culture they did not yet belong to or whose language they didn’t even speak. And they had no idea that the law was on their side, providing them safe working conditions and the right to be treated fairly.
Christina had pointed out to María that the American government had issued her a green card when so many illegal immigrants went without. María had to go to work; it was up to her to create a better future for her family. The law would help. Christina had promised it would. And she was determined to keep the promise.
Bruce drove onto the grounds of the Morrisville Garment Company, giving Christina her first look at the buildings that were the scene of such injustices. They were nondescript structures, like so many other manufacturing facilities. Bruce stopped at a guard shack, signed in, and within moments, María had been seen safely to her employee entry door and had clocked in. María’s immediate supervisor had been nowhere in sight, and Bruce parked the truck by the main entrance.
“May I help you?” An extremely bored receptionist turned her attention away from her fashion magazine. She was about eighteen, probably fresh out of high school last spring. She brightened when she saw Bruce’s dazzling smile.
“I’d like to see Donald Gray.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the girl asked, her expression hopeful.
Bruce shook his head and lifted the name plate. Julie, it read. “Not for today. Could you call him and tell him Bruce Lancaster’s here?”
The girl shook her head and bit her lower lip. “I can’t. He only sees people by appointment. I can take a message, though. You could leave a business card.”
Christina watched as Bruce gave what had to be his signature smile. The man could outsmile Dennis Quaid. If Christina didn’t know him so well, she’d be swayed, too. He had charm that could simply pull one into unprofessional thoughts.
Bruce pulled a card out of his pants pocket and toyed with it as if it were a poker chip. “Come on, Julie,” he cajoled. “Call him for me.”
“I shouldn’t,” she said, wavering a little under the deliberate high wattage.
“He’ll be glad you did. Trust me.” Those blue eyes twinkled, and Christina shifted her weight to the opposite leg, again acknowledging that Bruce Lancaster’s charm affected her, as well.
As for Julie, she picked up the phone and dialed. “Yes, this is Julie in reception. Mr. Bruce Lancaster of Lancaster and Morris is here in the lobby and wishes to speak with Mr. Gray.”
Her gaze darted back from Bruce to Christina. “There’s some female with him.” Julie lowered her voice. “She’s wearing Prada. I recognize it from last month’s Cosmo.” She waited a moment. “I’ll tell them.” Julie replaced the receiver. “Mr. Gray is unfortunately indisposed, but his legal counsel, Elaine Gray, is on her way down.”
“Thank you,” Bruce said. He cupped Christina’s elbow and moved her away from the reception desk. “It had to be your Prada. Elaine Gray