The Glass Factory by Kenneth Wishnia Read Free Book Online Page A

place is an old tool and glass factory. Some of the workers started there as kids forty, fifty years ago, doing the spit-and-polish routine with rags and elbow grease. Nowadays they use a lot of industrial degreasers, like trichloroethylene, Circosolv, Fleck-Flip, Triad—”
    “And what are the health effects of that one?”
    “Pretty much the same. Hey, nobody’s going to get lethal exposure and not know about it. Like I said, you’d have to take a bath in the stuff. They used to decaffeinate coffee with it,” he says, pointing to our cups.
    “With toxic chemicals?”
    “Hey: You can drown in a vat of water, too. Nobody goes around calling that a ‘toxic chemical.’“
    “And nobody dies from a fifty-gram dose of it, either.”
    “Say, you’re a fast learner.”
    “That’s what the want ad asked for.”
    Now he laughs. Actually, we’re getting along pretty well, but this turn in the conversation reminds him it’s time to sober up, get back to work. He orders a refill espresso.
    “How about dinner?”
    “Tonight?” I ask.
    “Sure, why not.”
    “Not tonight. I haven’t seen my kid all day and we need to see each other.”
    “Oh. Tomorrow?”
    “Okay.”
    “Okay? You’re saying okay to a—a date?”
    “Sure.”
    And he goes yes! like a tennis player who’s just aced a serve. I shake my head and chuckle. I guess this I’m-still-a-clumsy-college-kid act works on some of these local babes. Otherwise, why would he use it? He drives me back to Morse Techtonics. I pretend I’m looking for a pencil to write down his phone number. Before he can stop me I open his glove compartment. Tissues, small change and—condoms. I’m sure Meryl Streep could pull it off. As for me, I let out a shamefully acted giggle and give him a knowing look as I return them to their enclosure. “Maybe later” is the message I hope he’s getting. At least he gets the “later” part, because a slight incline towards me gets checked in mid-lean.
    “I’ll come by for you around seven,” he says, as I get out.
    “Why don’t we meet there instead?”
    “Why? Something about you you don’t want me to know?”
    I bend forward to talk through the window and give him just the briefest glimpse of the upper curve of my breasts. “What do you think?”
    Pretty flagrant, huh? I will definitely get time in the penalty box for that one.
    He smiles and pulls away to park his car. I give him a few minutes to disappear from the lobby, then I head back into the building. I tell the security guard that I left my sunglasses in the Personnel Office. He passes the metal detector over me, front and back, then escorts me all the way there and waits. I pretend to be looking, but it’s hopeless with a cop watching me. I’m only about ten feet from the personnel files, but they might as well be under armored glass along with some artifacts from King Tut’s tomb and guarded by the mummy’s curse. Fortunately, I know how to work a glass cutter.
    I’m pretty good with curses, too.
    Not today, though. I tell the guard I “Must have left them in the restaurant” and thank him for his help as he guides me straight back down the hall and opens the exit door for me. Doesn’t even count as a try. Mr. Stella is one possible angle, but I need more. I walk back to my car and sit there looking at the loading docks, but they too are fenced-off and guarded. From this side, anyway.
    Every workplace sucks in some way, and every one has a pissed-off worker.
    I need to find him.

    I get to Colomba’s house and Antonia catapults through the air, full of life and love for me alone. I, too, smother her with kisses. I’ve been spending all my time with her lately, so I can’t help longing to be away for a spell, then I spend a few hours away and I feel like it’s been days. I don’t let her out of my sight for the rest of the evening. We go to pick up ice cream for the family dessert, then I read to her from the few books we brought with us. After we