we'd become another victim of Chinese competition. Time was already running out.
I reminded myself it wasn't only my father's future and my own that were hanging in the balance here. There was my Uncle Aaron, who supervised the plant's fabric cutting, a critical process in the manufacture of apparel.
Uncle Aaron owned 25 percent of the company's stock, compared to the 75 percent Pa owned. My grandfather Emil, who founded the company and made it a success, had a disastrous, hateful falling-out with Aaron, his younger son. When Emil died, he left everything to Pa, nothing to Uncle Aaron. Pa felt sorry for his brother, and made him a supervisor, and a little later, gave him a piece of the company. Far from being grateful, Uncle Aaron came to resent Pa more than ever, and Pa gave up trying to please him. They avoided each other whenever they could. Pa was the final authority on everything in the company, and Uncle Aaron was a chronically unhappy man, divorced twenty years ago, who wanted nothing more than to find solace in his work. Uncle Aaron had no interest in the company's business decisions.
Though Uncle Aaron was at odds with Pa, he and I got on very well together, ever since I was a kid. I guess I was the family he never had. Still, I wasn't about to tell Uncle Aaron about Gregg Monsell. Not yet. It would only confuse the issue. But I did want to see him before I called Gregg, to ask if he shared my worries about the company's future. I went to the cutting room, where Uncle Aaron was boss.
As always, he met me with the barest hint of a smile, his cheeks red with the webs of blood vessels visible just beneath his skin, his graying hair combed across the top of his head, over his big bald spot. "I didn't see you all day yesterday," I said. "Thought I'd check in on my favorite uncle."
"Your only uncle." We said it together. Our little joke, for as long as I can remember. "And you? You're still single?" His little joke, not mine. A strange theme for a man who had lived alone for so many years.
"Completely and absolutely," I said. "I have —"
"I know. You have a good job. A lovely apartment. A blue convertible." he said. He waved his forefinger at me. "But they won't keep you warm on a cold night."
"Enough," I told him. "This is not a lonely hearts club. When do I get the pieces for the Poster Girl blouses? We're sewing the last of the Delman tops, so we'll be ready tomorrow — Thursday morning the latest."
"The cutting's finished now," Aaron said. He looked at me strangely. squinting his eyes and cocking his head to one side. "But you knew that already, Kit. I told you on the phone yesterday. Today I can see you have something else on your mind. Tell me."
"Nothing special," I said, but it was clear he didn't buy it. "All right, as long as I'm here ."
"Go ahead. Ask me anything. My life is an open book." He plopped into a chair, tilted back, and put his feet up on a work table.
" Are you worried about this business?"
" Worried? That's your father's department."
" I mean, do you ever think we'll go out of business — unless we make some changes, that is?"
He thought for a moment. " Changes? Like what?" he said, finally.
"I don't know. I'm just worried that we have to find a new way to keep the plant busy. Like today, I have sixteen machines that are idle."
"So talk to your father. He's the brilliant businessman in the family."
" I would, except, he seems," I groped for the word, "preoccupied."
"You mean mixed up. He doesn't make sense lately. It's no secret. Everybody knows. Look, you're his only child, and some day you'll run this company, maybe sooner than you think. If you believe we're in trouble, then you're the one who has to do something about it." He swung his feet off the work table and stood up. "More than that, I can't advise you about business. All I do is cut fabric. The only thing I know is — don't end up alone. Find a guy and get married."
"I'm too young," I said. "Got to go."
"Be happy.
I reminded myself it wasn't only my father's future and my own that were hanging in the balance here. There was my Uncle Aaron, who supervised the plant's fabric cutting, a critical process in the manufacture of apparel.
Uncle Aaron owned 25 percent of the company's stock, compared to the 75 percent Pa owned. My grandfather Emil, who founded the company and made it a success, had a disastrous, hateful falling-out with Aaron, his younger son. When Emil died, he left everything to Pa, nothing to Uncle Aaron. Pa felt sorry for his brother, and made him a supervisor, and a little later, gave him a piece of the company. Far from being grateful, Uncle Aaron came to resent Pa more than ever, and Pa gave up trying to please him. They avoided each other whenever they could. Pa was the final authority on everything in the company, and Uncle Aaron was a chronically unhappy man, divorced twenty years ago, who wanted nothing more than to find solace in his work. Uncle Aaron had no interest in the company's business decisions.
Though Uncle Aaron was at odds with Pa, he and I got on very well together, ever since I was a kid. I guess I was the family he never had. Still, I wasn't about to tell Uncle Aaron about Gregg Monsell. Not yet. It would only confuse the issue. But I did want to see him before I called Gregg, to ask if he shared my worries about the company's future. I went to the cutting room, where Uncle Aaron was boss.
As always, he met me with the barest hint of a smile, his cheeks red with the webs of blood vessels visible just beneath his skin, his graying hair combed across the top of his head, over his big bald spot. "I didn't see you all day yesterday," I said. "Thought I'd check in on my favorite uncle."
"Your only uncle." We said it together. Our little joke, for as long as I can remember. "And you? You're still single?" His little joke, not mine. A strange theme for a man who had lived alone for so many years.
"Completely and absolutely," I said. "I have —"
"I know. You have a good job. A lovely apartment. A blue convertible." he said. He waved his forefinger at me. "But they won't keep you warm on a cold night."
"Enough," I told him. "This is not a lonely hearts club. When do I get the pieces for the Poster Girl blouses? We're sewing the last of the Delman tops, so we'll be ready tomorrow — Thursday morning the latest."
"The cutting's finished now," Aaron said. He looked at me strangely. squinting his eyes and cocking his head to one side. "But you knew that already, Kit. I told you on the phone yesterday. Today I can see you have something else on your mind. Tell me."
"Nothing special," I said, but it was clear he didn't buy it. "All right, as long as I'm here ."
"Go ahead. Ask me anything. My life is an open book." He plopped into a chair, tilted back, and put his feet up on a work table.
" Are you worried about this business?"
" Worried? That's your father's department."
" I mean, do you ever think we'll go out of business — unless we make some changes, that is?"
He thought for a moment. " Changes? Like what?" he said, finally.
"I don't know. I'm just worried that we have to find a new way to keep the plant busy. Like today, I have sixteen machines that are idle."
"So talk to your father. He's the brilliant businessman in the family."
" I would, except, he seems," I groped for the word, "preoccupied."
"You mean mixed up. He doesn't make sense lately. It's no secret. Everybody knows. Look, you're his only child, and some day you'll run this company, maybe sooner than you think. If you believe we're in trouble, then you're the one who has to do something about it." He swung his feet off the work table and stood up. "More than that, I can't advise you about business. All I do is cut fabric. The only thing I know is — don't end up alone. Find a guy and get married."
"I'm too young," I said. "Got to go."
"Be happy.