Mark Gilleo - Sweat

The girls worked in teams, the sweatshop floor divided into different groups. The seamstresses were the majority of the floor’s workforce, but everyone took turns learning the ropes and honing their skills in three other areas: inspection, packing, and fabric preparation. The seamstresses passed the shorts to the finishing group who added the zippers, buttons and appropriate tags. Once they were completed, the goods went through inspection and were then packed according to the customers’ specifications. Chang Industries’ lone female henchwoman oversaw the activities in the inspection room. She grabbed a pair of shorts from the finished stack at random, yelling as necessary when she found a defect. Once the goods passed through her station, the strongest of the seamstress workforce folded and packed the goods.

Starting first thing in the morning, the girls in packing took on another responsibility. Each pair of shorts was packaged with a piece of paper. Careful not to draw the attention of the foreman, the packing team removed the pieces of paper hidden in their own pockets, socks, and sleeves, and stuffed a note into every pair of shorts that came through their hands. Beneath the plastic bag in the dirty trashcan in the bathroom, other seamstresses stashed additional notes for the girls in packing to replenish their supplies. For one full shift, the routine was the same. A note in the pocket, the shorts folded, and then placed in boxes according to their size.

The group functioned well as a team. Chang Industries, if nothing else, ran efficiently. And the girls were counting on that efficiency to get the shorts off the island before the shit hit the fan.

Chapter 9

Jake picked up the ten-foot yellow moving van from a sketchy rental lot near New York Avenue. It took one trip to move the bed, a sofa, and the dining room table set. On his second trip, he wrestled with his bike, a couple hundred books, and miscellaneous household items that hadn’t been used since the funeral.

Kate met him at his new apartment near Cleveland Park to help him move and unpack. The one-bedroom apartment was on the fourth floor of the oldest building on the block, and the lack of an elevator became a serious issue with the weight of the sofa in his arms. The narrow staircase and tighter hallways added to the nightmare of moving. Jake felt guilty for having his girlfriend of four weeks help him move the sofa, but he was a gentleman and gave her the light side of the load.

She wasn’t his first choice of moving partners. His friends were in Europe and Uncle Steve was on crutches. Besides, Kate had volunteered for moving duty, and she didn’t complain. It was another check in favor of his girlfriend in the “pros column” of his mental pros-and-cons list.

By noon, the three-room rental started to look like an apartment. Jake didn’t need much to get by and it showed. He rearranged the sofa and the TV in the living room while Kate unpacked the dishes in the kitchen. He gave her free range to put things where she saw fit. The kitchen wasn’t his forte, and as long as he could find a plate, a bowl, and a glass, he was fine.

Finished, Jake and Kate sat at the small dining room table and looked around.

“It looks good,” Kate said, pleased with herself and her interior decorating skills.

“It’ll do,” Jake replied. “All I have to do is hang a few pictures and get a bookcase or two.”

“I need to get home and take a shower,” Kate said, standing and wiping the hair from her face. “We have to be at my parents’s by three. I’ll pick you up at your mom’s house in an hour.”

Kate left and Jake watched her walk down the squeaky staircase and its many turns. She was a good woman. He was nervous about meeting her parents, but he couldn’t avoid them much longer without raising suspicions. They had only been together a month, albeit a passionate one, but her family was close-knit and they lived nearby. Besides, it was the Fourth of July and the plan was for a backyard barbecue. Jake reasoned there were few things less stressful than a cookout with burgers and hotdogs.

He threw some food in the goldfish bowl, and the two identical black bubble heads with fan-like fins fought over the flakes like it was their last supper. He grabbed his keys and locked the door on his way out. He had just enough time to return the van, get back to his mother’s house, and take a shower. ***

Kate’s Lexus pulled up to the guardhouse.

“Miss Sorrentino,” the unfriendly guard said with authority.

“Hi, Max,” Kate answered.

Jake leaned forward and waved, the guard unimpressed with Kate’s passenger and guest.

“Quite a party your parents are having today.”

“They do it every year. You’re welcome to stop by after you get off work.”

“Thank you, but I have to get home. I’m taking the kids to see the fireworks.”

“Well the invitation is there if you change your mind. You can bring your kids.”

“Have a good evening, Miss Sorrentino.”

The entrance to the private community was nothing more than a guard booth with a flimsy gate, but it made the residents feel better. As the car pushed forward, estates peeked through the heavily wooded street. The farther they drove, the larger the houses became. Jake grew nervous. He was in millionaire country—congressmen, football players, internet company cash-outs. They lived here, and they lived well.

“Nice homes,” Jake said.

“Yeah I guess they are,” Kate answered as if it were an original thought. Jake wasn’t sure whether to believe her naivety.

They passed a modest house on the right and Jake commented, “That one seems a bit out of place, it only has a two-car garage.”

“That is the Crowe Estate. They have about thirty acres. When I was in junior high school Mrs. Crowe taught me how to ride horses,” Kate responded. “And that is not the main house. That’s the guest quarters.”

So this is how the other half lives, Jake thought. He realized what half he had been living in, and he wanted to switch teams.

The Sorrentino residence was at the end of the country lane. Twenty acres of rolling hills overlooking the Potomac River. It was beautiful land, and the house accentuated its splendor. Kate pulled her Lexus in front of the verifiable mansion and parked between the large fountain and the stone entrance. A dozen cars were parked in and around the long driveway, a mix of autobahn-certified German autos and other high-end imports.

Kate stopped at the step to the front door and looked at Jake. “Relax. You look a little nervous.”

“That’s probably because I am.”

Kate didn’t bother to share that she too was nervous for other reasons. With the exception of Ricky Groves in the sixth grade, her parents had disapproved of every boyfriend she ever had. The reasons varied, but were all the same: they simply weren’t good enough for the Sorrentinos’ only daughter. Not from the right lineage, not the right breed, not the right stuff. Not good-looking enough. Not smart enough. If you looked for a reason not to like someone, it was easy to find one. And her parents looked hard.

Kate pushed open the large wooden front door and invited Jake into her world.

Initial introductions with Mr. and Mrs. Sorrentino went down in the kitchen, and Jake answered the standard questions well enough to earn an invitation backstage, to the barbecue festivities in full swing in the backyard. Kate’s parents eyed the couple through the glass wall, and her father cringed when his daughter’s hand reached for Jake’s.

Jake followed Kate across the multi-tiered cedar deck and down the walk to the edge of the pool. The huge brick barbecue pit in the corner pumped smoke into the air, the six-foot gas-powered grill large enough to feed an army. Jake eyed the food on display. Not a hot dog in sight. Freshly cut tuna and swordfish cooked slowly on the right hand side of the grill. Filet mignon and shrimp on bamboo skewers took up residence on the other half of the metal grate. Nachos and dip were absent, replaced with crackers, heart of palm, and black caviar.