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SYNOPSIS
It was nineteen forty-three and the world was at war…again. Tens of thousands of young men and a quite a few women were away from their homes and loved ones. Nothing was exactly the same as it had been. Women had left the home to work in factories and to help the war effort. As a matter of interest, this was the origin of “TV dinners”. Mothers would prepare food in advance for their children, and some froze them. For most people at home or abroad, the world was askew. War material producing factories were working around the clock to beat the Japs and Nazis. Women were caught up in this effort. They, like the few men left at home, worked all shifts. Between nineteen forty-one and nineteen forty-five, six and a half million women were a part of the American workforce
There was one thing that didn’t change much during this time. The blacks, or negro’s and coloreds, as they were mostly called, still had second class citizenship. There was little, if any, integration between the white and black races. The wind that would blow that change wasn’t yet even a tiny breeze.
Most people have heard of “Rosie the riveter”. This glamorized female factory worker was displayed on billboards and magazines across the nation. This is a story about one such person who’s real name just happened to be Rose.
EXTRACT
“Amos, your boys are slackers,” Nettle said to Amos Brown that afternoon. Max didn’t
talk down to Amos they way he did to most negro people he encountered. There was something
about Amos that dictated he not talk down to him. Max wasn’t fond of the way Amos looked
directly at him either, but he didn’t mention it to Brown. Max had some pride, but he
wasn’t foolish enough to let his pride interfere with his job.
“They just tired, Mister Nettle,” Brown said. “Mighty hot down there on the floor,
too. Saps a man’s energy right out of him. We ain’t had no salt tablets in over a week.”
“Excuses won’t hack it, Amos,” Max said. “Can you crank them up any?”
“A man can only do so much, Boss,” Amos said.
“How about if I offered you an award of some kind. Maybe some pussy. You think
that might help?”
“I got plenty of pussy,” Amos said. “More than I can handle with the long hours I’m
doin’.”
“How about some white woman’s pussy?” Max said. “You got plenty of that?”
“I got none of that,” Amos snapped. “I value my life too much to be messin’ around
with white women. You can forget that shit.”
“What if I guaranteed it would be safe? What if I was offering you some of Rose
Billing’s pussy?” Amos couldn’t hide his sudden interest. He didn’t bother to try to
hide it.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“I’m still working on it,” Max said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll talk to you about
it later. In the mean while get your crew to moving.”
“Yes suh,” Amos said. “You do that and while you work on that, how ‘bout some salt
for my crew?
***
“Rose, you’ve been mentioned for the Liberty Award,” Max told his assistant later
that same afternoon. The Liberty award was given by the government to special factory
workers. “I don’t know if you’ll get it or not. Competition is really stiff this year. I
guess just being nominated is a big honor.” Max Nettle kept his face straight as he told
the whopping lie. As far as he knew nobody from his plant had ever been nominated.
Rose was excited at the news. She didn’t care about the honor of being nominated.
She wanted the prize money, the paid vacation to some resort, and the glory that went with
the Liberty Award. She had not known she had even been nominated. She couldn’t hide her
excitement, nor her greed, from Max.
“Going to take a lot to win,” Max said. “This year they’ve added a thirty day war
bond selling tour. Going all over with some big movie star. Lot of people want it this
time around. I hear Mabel Jackson is also a contender.”
“What can I do to improve my chances?” Rose asked, almost breathlessly. She could
almost see herself with one of the movie greats. Maybe Rita Hayworth, Gary Cooper, or
Ronald Colman or maybe even Clark Gable. She couldn’t see that fat cow, Mabel Jackson in
that company of celebrities.
“Being nicer to your boss wouldn’t hurt,” Max said casually, waiting to gage her
reaction.
“And what do you mean by nicer?” Rose asked coyly. She knew exactly what he meant.
Rose wasn’t a virgin. She had sex with a few of her high school chums, and of course her
boyfriend in the Marines. Rose had given him a great sendoff.
“I’ve asked you to have a drink with me of several occasions,” Max said. “You always
seemed to be busy.”
“And where would we have that drink?” she asked.
“My place,” Max answered quickly. “It’s private and we wouldn’t be disturbed, if you
get my drift.”
