Faller - High Heels and Hard Hats

High Heels
and Hard Hats

Roni Faller

High Heels and Hard Hats

Copyright 2014 by Roni Faller

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my father whose wisdom and sense of humor guided me throughout my life.

To my husband, Bill, you are the love of my life. You have supported every dream of mine including the writing of this book. Thank You.

To my daughter, Katie, you bring me more joy than I could ever imagine. I love you more than all the stars in the sky.

Contents

Chapter 1

In 1980, Cleveland was still an industrial city and the object of humor on late night television. My home town was much like a middle aged man with a cigarette habit; you could tell you were getting closer to him by the smell on his breath. The closer you travelled to Clevelands inner city; the odor of the heavy smoke from the steel mills became stronger. We were called the Mistake on the Lake and known for the river that caught fire. However, it was my home and like Cleveland my dream was for a brighter future.

My father and I were very early that first day. We pulled up to my new work address on Prospect Avenue. The owners of the company used to say that their location was off The Playhouse District. However, Hudson Industries was on Prospect Avenue a street better known for its prostitution and drug dealing than for its proximity to the Playhouse District. The building was a three story masonry structure with large black lanterns flanking either side of the door.

Richard Dick Buckley was a handsome, middle-aged, dark-haired gentleman with kind green eyes, a warm heart and a very quick wit. He was the kind of man that had the charisma and presence to attract attention and change every room he entered.

So I have a daughter who is working on Prospect. What will people think? He said with a little bit of humor and concern for his only daughter.

Oh Dad the ladies of the evening dont come out until nightfall, I said.

Ill wait here until you get safely inside. I love you Roni and Im proud of my little girl.

He kissed me on the forehead and gave me a warm hug. I guess I have always been and will always be a Daddys girl.

I looked in the drivers side mirror and I agreed with my mothers assessment... pretty not beautiful. I was named after my maternal grandmother, Veronica. If someone had confusion about my first name, I would always say:

Veronica, like the comic book series, Archie and Veronica. Please call me Roni.

I had Veronicas long dark hair, cut like Jaclyn Smith in Charlies Angels, a very light Irish complexion, and big green eyes like my Dads. I smiled back at my reflection as I remembered what my dad always said.

It is the size of your heart that matters. There will always be someone prettier, smarter, and someone whose daddy makes more money; but, if you develop your sense of self-esteem from what kind of person you are and the size of your heart then you can walk into any room and feel confident.

My life seemed to be punctuated by a constant soundtrack playing in my head. The theme song for that first day was the theme from The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Mary Tyler Moore was an associate producer in a small television newsroom in the male dominated field of broadcast news. She was the only role model I knew as I ventured into my new sales career in construction. I got out of the car, straightened my navy blue Dress for Success suit, and fluffed my preppy pink bow tie. I walked up to the door, rang the bell, and waited for Larry Daniels, our superintendant to answer it. Larry finally responded after several long pushes on the button. I smiled and waved good bye to my Dad still waiting until he saw that I was safely in the building.

Larry mumbled in his West Virginian drawl, Heh, Roni youre back. Theyve all been lookin forward to your first day. Ill show ya to your office. We walked through the open office plan maze of orange and yellow Steelcase partitions. I followed Larry as he walked in front of me. I was entertained by the view of Larrys jeans which sat very low to the danger zone of viewing way too much of his wide backside. Larry had migrated north from West Virginia many years ago but still kept his accent and southern attitude. He was a hard worker and did a good job of running the warehouse.

The space served as both an office for Hudson Industries and The Conrad Hudson Company a very successful lighting representative agency. I helped Larry turn on all the lights as he led me to my office. My office was an eight foot by eight foot cubicle with a decorative aluminum luminous ceiling suspended above me. If the ceiling ever fellI would be instantly tenderized. Luminous ceilings were cutting edge in 1970s ceiling design; they were the leisure suits in architectural ceiling fashion.

I went to the coffee machine and began the process of making coffee. The coffee wars had begun during my summer internship. The men in the office found it beneath them to make coffee. The women revolted to the point where Rob Schneider, the General Manager of Hudson Industries started walking over to the Hanna Caf purchasing his own coffee to stay out of the crossfire in the war between the sexes. Little things like who made the coffee were important back then; roles were changing and the decision to hire me in a sales position was a progressive choice.

Rob swaggered in and I could see the coffee wars had not been decided yet as he had his two coffees in his brown paper bag. Rob leaned over the counter and began mixing endless amounts of sugar into his brew. The sugar did nothing to sweeten his acidic personality and enormous ego. Rob seemed to be on the hunt last summer intent on dating me. I had developed long involved stories to get out of the uncomfortable position of him driving me home instead of taking the bus.

Rob was not unattractive; he had sandy brown hair, brown eyes, and a muscular build. It was his ego, chauvinistic, and condescending attitude that made him undesirable. He had the arrogance and ego of someone who had climbed way above his abilities. Rob felt vulnerable and threatened by anybody especially me, a female, who might put his position at Hudsons in jeopardy.

So how was college? I began to carefully phrase my answer astute enough to realize that attaining my degree probably was threatening to him.

Im glad its over and Im excited to be here and part of the team.

Rob suggested, Lets sit down before Ted arrives and discuss a plan on how we are going to divide the representative responsibilities across the country. Then I will talk it over with Ted and get his approval.

I took a big breath, paused, and replied, You know Rob we should probably wait for Ted. I think he already has a plan. I realized that all the hours of playing basketball, chess, and discussing articles from The Wall Street Journal with my father in order to develop my business brain was paying off; anticipate your opponents next move and the best defence was a good offense.

Well, welcome back home darlin I sure have missed you! I turned around and there was Joe Dale our design director. Joe Dale gave me a warm hug having saved me from a very uncomfortable conversation with Joe. Joe Dale was the last of a dying breed; born and raised in Charleston, South Carolina; he was a southern gentleman to the core. He had previously been a set designer for our local Playhouse Theater. Joe Dale defined the word dapper. Today he was sporting a straw hat with a ribbon band. His southern drawl and laughing intelligent eyes displayed the warmth of a very compassionate, sensitive soul. I had often found comfort and support in our long conversations about fashion and design this past summer. I treasured him as a friend and mentor.