It was too great a risk for Miraluz to talk about her ideas to the women at the factory. She invited them for a birthday party at her house, the same way Don Chan had organized parties to lure people into the Invisible Ones.

—Should we bring something? one woman asked.

—Sure, if you want.

—I can make a cake, another said.

—Maravilloso, Miraluz said, wondering if the young women would show up at all. Most of them were half her age. Miraluz knew that was to her advantage.

The women arrived at Miraluz’s small home dressed in their Sunday best on a sunny afternoon. They gathered around, surprised that there weren’t any men besides Miraluz’s sons, and complimented each other on how glamorous they appeared outside work.

—I wanted you here to talk about the factory. Miraluz tried to remain calm.

—But I made a cake.

—I hope this is not a union meeting. Is it? one woman said. —I want no trouble with those unions.

—Well, I’m sure it’s someone’s birthday here. We can’t let the cake go to waste.

—You mean this isn’t a party?

—Mine is in two weeks. Does that count?

—Mujeres, please…I’m very serious. We don’t have much time.

—Time for what?

—Ay, mujer, it’s Sunday. I don’t want to go back home and deal with shit. Take all the time you want.

—All of us know how to sew, right? Miraluz asked. It was always good to start with the positive.

—No, I only know how to put the pieces together, one said.

—It’s true. I can make a pocket and collars, but to sew? I wouldn’t say I sew that well, another said.

—Okay…shall we say that together, we can make a T-shirt, a panty, a pair of shorts?

The women started nodding and looking at each other. One third of the women from the factory had shown up. But yes, it was possible that together, they could manage to make something to wear.

—But we don’t have the machines, said one. —Without a machine I can’t make nothing. My fingers are too thick to sew by hand.

The gaze from the young women in her living room made Miraluz feel silly. They had no money, no machines, nothing. She stood up. It was hot and the fan was blowing more hot air on their faces. The ice had melted in their cups filled with water. The women were becoming restless.

—What if we could find a way to work for ourselves? Miraluz said as she fanned herself with a piece of paper she planned to use as a sign-up sheet. —Start our own company.

—We don’t have the money to buy fabric.

—And why would anyone buy clothing made by us?

Maybe starting their own business was too much for them to do. For years it was the unions that bettered the lives of the workers. But how much better? People still depended on the mercy of the companies that exploited them. No, no…she couldn’t do all that work, only to find that the lives of the people remained the same. She was tired of working for others. How many jobs had she had in her life? Too many.