The Iceman. Jeff Edwards
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‘Don’t you want to interview anyone else?’
‘No other applicant has dared to soil her shoes by crossing the yard. All the rest have turned tail at the gate and run for their lives.’
‘I’ll take the job if you agree to clean up the yard so I won’t ruin my shoes.’ I grinned.
‘You can start right now and I’ll think about the yard.’
‘Where’s my desk?’
He pointed to the pile of invoices. ‘Under there.’
Unfortunately, I had failed to reckon on the idiosyncrasies of the male of the species.
Despite the clutter, Jim knew exactly where everything was and he could find whatever he needed at a moment’s notice. It might have been covered in dust from lack of use, but he knew exactly where it lurked. The same went for the muddy yard outside.
However, I soon found out that he was missing out on important contracts because of his easygoing attitude, and I was determined to show him that the business needed to be over-hauled.
I was only able to break through his steely resolve after many arguments and I was only able to get that far due to one important fact that I learned early on. ‘Big Jim’ as he was known to his men, was besotted with me. No matter how hard he fought me on an issue, I could look him in the eye and if I smiled gently I could ensure total surrender on his part. The man who ruled his workers with an iron fist was putty in my hands, and I loved it.
I soon had the office looking spic and span with everything carefully stored away.
Jim couldn’t find anything now and was constantly swearing when a plan or invoice couldn’t be located, but I persisted and as soon as my filing system became clear to him the bad language subsided; however, my plans to reorganise the muddy devastation outside met with stubborn opposition, not only from Jim but from the rest of his workers as well.
Try as I might I could not convince them that a mere woman would know how to make their working lives easier.
My breakthrough in winning the confidence of the men came in a rather unexpected manner.
Their lunch room was located in yet another crusty demountable and was not a place to welcome the presence of a female, unless of course you counted the many oversized and under-dressed female bodies that adorned the lunch room’s walls.
I chose not to invade their territory and ate my meals at the desk where I could continue to answer the phone at the same time, but having run out of tea one day I was given no option other than to enter the men’s domain. Fruity language and raucous laughter was silenced instantly as I stepped across the threshold. Every head turned in my direction as I made my way to the kitchen sink and made myself a mug of steaming tea. I attempted to place the men at their ease by making small talk with those who I had come to know and I was gratified when hushed conversations were restarted.
As I sipped at my mug I noticed a pair of the older men in a far corner of the room. They were hunkered down over a chessboard and giving the game their undivided attention. The game appeared to be well advanced and I wandered over to watch.
Neither of the men bothered to acknowledge my presence and I remained standing for a time, sipping contentedly as several moves were made.
As one of the men was in the process of moving his black pawn I gave an involuntary snort and both men turned on me with looks of annoyance on their craggy faces. ‘What?’ asked the player who was making his move.
‘Sorry!’ I said. ‘That was rude of me. Go on with your game.’
‘You think I did wrong?’ asked the black player with a sneer. ‘You think you could do better?’
I knew instinctively that the other men in the room had overheard and that they might judge me on how I responded. I took a deep breath. ‘He’ll ‘mate you in three moves,’ I replied.
‘Rubbish!’
‘She’s right, you know,’ said his opponent. ‘‘Mate in three.’
The black player turned back to the board and studied the pieces more closely. ‘Damn!’
The white player made his next move and the black reluctantly conceded. He stood up and looked at me. ‘Sit!’ he ordered. ‘Play!’
‘I don’t want to interrupt you. I have to get back to the office.’
‘Sit! The office won’t go away. I want to look over your shoulder this time. Then I can tell you when you’re going to be beaten.’
I knew he was right. I had ruined their game by interrupting and he had every right to be upset with me, so I sat down and began to assemble the pieces. Our dispute was being closely watched by the rest of the men in the room and I found my every move being noted and assessed by a very interested crowd.
From the opening move I realised how important this game could be to me and I gave it my best effort. When I won, I was rewarded with nods of grudging approval from my opponent.
The player looking on now took the place of his friend and it was not until I had ‘mated him as well that he grudgingly congratulated me with a half smile.
Two wins were not enough to make my reputation, but over the following lunch breaks I was able to convince them that my initial success had not been a fluke and my acceptance within the company grew.
‘It’s taken me years to earn these men’s respect,’ Jim offered by way of congratulation. ‘They call me “Big Jim” because they’re hard men and I’ve often had to prove it with my fists and here you are after a few months with your sweet smile and sexy looks having them eating out of your hand.’
‘Then maybe you should smile at them occasionally and congratulate them on a job well done. Using your fists was always the wrong way to go earning their respect,’ I replied with simple logic.
‘That’s the only thing simple men understand. If I wasn’t bigger and harder than all of them then they wouldn’t respect me and I’d never get a full day’s work out of them.’
‘Rubbish!’ I scoffed. ‘You’re talking about fear, not respect, and fear won’t make them work any harder.’
‘And playing chess with them will?’
‘Yes. I’m competing with them on a level field. I might win or I might lose, but whatever happens they know I’ve given my best. That’s where respect comes from.’
Jim was quiet for a short time and I knew he was coming to the real reason for our conversation. ‘I don’t know how to play chess and I’ve always wanted to learn. Can you teach me?’
I didn’t know whether he was jealous of the time I was spending with his men, or if he was genuinely interested in learning the game. ‘You can’t use your fists to win a game of chess,’ I said.
‘Yes. I know.’
‘All right then. What’s in it for me?’ I asked cheekily.
Jim was surprised by my question. ‘I don’t know. What do you want?’
Giving him my sweetest smile, I replied, ‘Let’s get down to the lessons first and I’ll see what sort of student you are. I’ll let you know what it’s going to cost you later.’
When I had left home to come to the city I had taken up residence in a small boarding house catering for single women. The room had been found for me by friends of my mother and she had stipulated that it should be a dwelling where my morals would not be placed in danger.
This house was run by an elderly Catholic woman who had no time for any animal of the male variety. No men were allowed to step inside the front door and this extended right down to her menagerie