ROSE GOES ON
Chapter Four
Rose continued her job search for the next
two weeks. Every inquiry she made was met with the same answer--no. She did not
have the kind of experience employers wanted, nor did she possess any
references. She couldn’t tell anyone what schools she had gone to, for fear
that they would check her credentials and find that no Rose Dawson had ever
attended those schools, or worse yet, realize that she was actually Rose DeWitt
Bukater, and send her back to her old life.
There were jobs she could have done, jobs
that she had the education for, but many of them required interaction with
members of the upper class, and she could not take the risk that a member of
her old crowd would find her.
After two weeks, Rose’s luck changed, at
least temporarily. She was hired to work in a clothing factory in a slum area.
The pay was poor and the hours long, but she so desperately needed work that
she ignored these things.
It was a mistake. Rose lacked the physical
stamina necessary for the job. She had not been brought up in a way that
encouraged the ability to work hard for hours at a time; the life of an upper
class woman seldom involved hard physical labor. She had been hired to sew
dresses, but her sewing skills were insufficient, and she could not keep up
with the demand for three dresses sewn together each hour, and she wound up
taking work home at night in a desperate attempt to finish it. She was required
to work between twelve and fifteen hours a day, depending upon how much work
there was, and she soon became exhausted by the unending demands. It was a
sweatshop, nothing more, and the money she made there was barely enough to pay
her rent and buy a little food. She worked seven days a week, leaving her with
no time to seek another job--if one could even be found.
Many of Rose’s coworkers were recent
immigrants who spoke little or no English, and did not understand that the way
they were being treated was unfair. Many had left behind far worse
circumstances and were grateful for whatever they could get, but Rose had seen
another way of life, and she chafed at the harsh treatment she received. Her
pay was docked twice because she was unable to keep up with the workload, and
the foreman often stood over her, berating her for her slowness, thereby
slowing her work further.
Even those women who were experienced
seamstresses often had trouble keeping up with the workload, but they struggled
to do as much as they could. Many had families at home who needed the money
they brought in to pay the rent and buy food. There were a number of children
working in the factory as well, some as young as four or five years old. The
work of entire families was often needed to keep the family members fed and
sheltered.
There was another problem that Rose
encountered. The foreman had taken an immediate interest in her when she began
work, suggesting that she meet him for lunch, or go somewhere with him after
the work day was over. Rose had immediately distrusted the leering expression
on his face, and turned him down every time, but he persisted in his interest.
Other women had faced the same problem with him. Some had given in to him,
others had found ways to circumvent his interest, but Rose had little
experience with such men, and didn’t know quite how to handle him.
Things came to a head the fifth day she was
working there. The foreman had been standing over her, berating her as he often
did, when he leaned and whispered a suggestion as to how she could make her
workload lighter. As he did so, he allowed his hands to run over her shoulders
suggestively, moving lower as he spoke.
Rose had had enough.
"What part of ‘NO’ don’t you
understand?" she shouted, shoving his hands away, and whirling around to
face him. "Leave me alone and let me work!"
"You’d better watch your mouth."
The foreman’s voice was low and dangerous.
"Stay away from me. I’ve already told
you I’m not interested."
"Whoever said I was interested in
you?"
"You did!" Rose’s voice was growing
ever louder.
"I don’t think so, little rich
girl." At Rose’s shocked expression, he smiled. "How do you expect to
be treated, coming in every day and trying to slow the work down, not pulling
your weight around here?"
"The world’s greatest seamstress would
have trouble pulling her weight around here," Rose responded, rising from
her seat and glaring at him. He was a short man, and she could look him
straight in the eye.
"No one else complains about the
workload."
"No one else has the courage."
"If you don’t like it, you can
leave."
Rose’s mouth snapped open and shut for a
moment, as she stood there, undecided. Her position was precarious, and she
could be replaced very easily. She desperately needed the job, but she knew
that she couldn’t keep up. What was the use in further trying? She would
undoubtedly be fired soon enough anyway. But she needed the job for as long as
she could keep it. It was the only bit of success she’d had since arriving in
New York City. Where would she be without this job?
She looked around. A number of women had
stopped working and were staring at her, some shocked that she would openly
defy the foreman, others wearing pleased expressions as the hated supervisor
stared at her in surprise, unused to having his authority challenged.
"Sit down and get back to work," he
told her, grabbing her arm and shoving her back into her seat. "I’ll
expect you to have those dresses completed as usual."
Something in Rose snapped. She couldn’t
tolerate this treatment! There was no reason why anyone should have to tolerate
it.
Defiantly, she stood back up. "I
quit," she told him, pushing past him. "I’ll just collect my pay and
be on my way."
"You don’t get paid until the end of the
week," he told her. "If you leave now, you’re not getting paid at
all."
"You owe me for the days I’ve
worked."
"No one owes you anything. You haven’t
done half the work you should have. You’re lucky we’ve allowed you to continue
working this long."
One of the other women tugged on Rose’s skirt.
As Rose looked down at her, she whispered in broken English, "Pay office
near entrance. They pay now. Not listen to him." She gave the foreman a
defiant look, as though daring him to do anything. She was the fastest, most
experienced person on the floor, and he couldn’t turn her out without incurring
his boss’s wrath.
"Thank you," Rose told her.
Stalking away, she ignored the stares and whispers. If these women were willing
to work like slaves, she couldn’t do anything about it. But she wouldn’t stay
in these conditions. Better to go hungry than to work day after day in the
cramped, dirty, poorly lit factory with the lecherous foreman harassing her.
Rose collected her small amount of money
before she left. The amount was not quite enough to cover her rent in the
boarding house for the next month. She still had most of Cal’s money left, and
she could always sell the necklace if worse came to worst, but after that, if
she couldn’t find work, what would she do?
Resolutely, Rose opened the factory door and
stepped outside, back into the world of unemployment.