Call Me Lydia

by MaryAnn Myers

Lydia laughed. “Knock it off, okay! Besides, I’ve had about all there is in that department. It’s great while it’s happening, but when it’s over, it’s over.”

  “That’s because you don’t put your whole body into it.”

  Lydia shook her head, laughing. “No, all of me was there each and every time.”

  “I doubt it. Or you wouldn’t be putting Greg off right now.”

  “I don’t put him off,” Lydia said, waving a forkful of pasta for emphasis. “Not when it comes to that.”

  “No, but the way you are. The thing that’s holding you back, is in your head. That’s why you don’t feel it all the time.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Lydia said. “I thought we were talking about orgasms. God, I hate that word.”

  “We are,” Sharon said. “To a point.”

  Lydia propped her elbow. “Wait a minute. Did Greg call you?”

  Sharon nodded. “Did you sense that?”

  “No, it was just a good guess.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re jeopardizing by stringing him along?”

  Lydia reached for her drink.

  “I mean, do you know how many women would get down on their knees for a man like him? Come on, he’s primo, and he loves you.”

  Lydia looked out over the pool. “I know. I’m just not ready yet. Shit, I’m only twenty-four years old, and he’s got me sitting in the stands with four blonde-haired blue-eyed tennis offspring at my side.”

  Sharon tipped her head. “What can I say? He’s in love with you.”

  Lydia took a drink then put her glass down. “Yeah, well I don’t think I’m in love with him. And I care too much about him to deny him that.”

  Sharon raised an eyebrow, looking surprised at this confession, and Lydia took it right back. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just the Scotch. Of course I love him.”

  Sharon shook her head. “No, I don’t think you do. I think that’s the puritan in you talking. You’ve been sleeping with him, so you’re trying to convince yourself that it’s love.”

  Lydia looked away. She didn’t want to talk about it. But Sharon pushed on anyway. “Just because he’s the only man you’ve ever been with is no reason to marry him. Familiarity should not lead you down the aisle.”

  Lydia shook her head, smiling. “What a change. Christ, a minute ago, you were on the other side of the fence. Make up your mind.”

  Sharon laughed. “I told him I would talk to you, and I did. Now tell me about my foreman.”

  Lydia glanced away.

  “There it is again!” Sharon said, wide-eyed and emphatic. “That same look!”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, one thing, and then I’ll let it go.”

  Lydia looked out over the pool, and as her mind wandered, her expression did change. “Okay, but don’t make too much of this.”

  Sharon edged closer, nodding. “I won’t, I promise.”

  Lydia hesitated. “Well, today…when I went to the shop, he was there…alone.” She drew a breath. “He was fixing a machine. Bill was there too, but he had to go get a part.”

  Sharon listened, mesmerized.

  “At first, I was gonna avoid him all together. But then I heard him yell, and I thought he might be hurt. Bill was hurt a few days ago, so…”

  Sharon motioned impatiently. “Get on with it, dammit!”

  Lydia made a face at her. “Anyway…he was down on the floor working on this machine, and I thought I was going to die.” She paused to crack open a lobster claw.

  Sharon leaned forward. “Why?”

  Lydia looked up. “He didn’t have a shirt on. And my God, was this man hairy. It started way up here on his shoulders, and went all the way down into the top of his pants. I mean, it was absolutely…something.”

  “Then what?”

  ‘Then nothing. That was it.”

  “That can’t be it!”

  “I’m sorry, but it is. We just talked for a few minutes, and then I left.”

  “Come on, there has to be more.”

  Lydia wiped her hands and reached for her drink. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing more.” Sharon had a feeling there was, just waiting, and a minute later, Lydia gave in with a smile. “Oh, Sharon, you should’ve seen his shoulders. And his stomach. You know the weight lifters, how their stomachs look hard as rock. Honest to God, I wanted to touch it.”

  “Am I salivating?”

  Lydia laughed. “It’s just that even though Greg’s muscular, Tony’s so…so…muscular.”

  Sharon sat back shaking her head. “I’ve got to meet him. Keep talking.”

  Lydia shook her head. “I’ve already told you more than I started out to.”

  “One more thing. Just one. Please, then I promise I’ll let up.”

  Lydia hesitated. “Okay, one more. But this is as doozy. You might not like him after this.”

  “I doubt it, but go ahead.”

  “He spent five years in prison.”

  “So,” Sharon said, with a nonchalant wave. “We all make mistakes. What did he do?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. But it sounds like he killed someone.”

  Sharon’s mouth dropped. “He what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Wow!”

  “I told you it was a doozy.”

  Sharon sat back. “Well, it is, but uh…who cares?”

  Lydia shook her head, laughing. “I’ve heard about women like you. Thrill-seekers. Needing to live on the edge. Having to have…”

  Sharon pushed at her, laughing. “That’s not me. But tell me more anyway.”

  “Nope! And you promised. It’s your turn now. Tell me about your fight with Brian.”

  Sharon sighed. “It all seems so boring after that. I want to hear more about Tony.”

  “Maybe I can arrange for you two to meet. From what Reed tells me, he’d probably be obliging, though you might want to brush up on your self-defense first.”

  Sharon held her hands up. “No, that’s okay. I changed my mind. I think I’ll just admire him from afar. Maybe you can take a picture of him for me to put next to my bed. Kinda low.”

  Lydia laughed. “You’re all talk. You know that?”

  “It’s the safest way to be.”

  Lydia agreed.

  “But still…” Sharon said, almost in a whisper. “You gotta wonder about a man like that. You know, what makes him tick and what makes him so fascinating.”

  Lydia nodded, agreeing with that. “I do wonder, Sharon. I wonder a lot. And I’d be nothing more than a liar if I tried to deny it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Greg's flight wasn't due until four-thirty in the afternoon, leaving Lydia with too much time, and she couldn't stand it. She swam laps, walked the beach, swam some more, washed the car, repeatedly paced the living room floor, and swam another set of laps. Then, glancing at her watch for the umpteenth time, she sat down with a Scotch and started going through the checkbooks. The amounts didn't seem to matter, she was just looking at the payees, and more than once her mind wandered.

  How was she going to get out of Greg's marriage proposal without hurting him? Without losing him? Why did she have so many doubts?

  She came across a void check entry for eighty-four hundred dollars and skimmed right over it. But the figure stuck in her mind. Eighty-four hundred. If it were for eighty-four thousand, it would almost make up for the error. She flipped back. There was no payee listed, which wasn't that odd, seeing as it was voided. Still, she jotted the figure down, deducting it from current balance according to the banker, and when it came up almost to the penny, she phoned her father immedi­ately.

  "If it's void, it's void, dear," was his frustrated response.

  "Dad! We're talking about a lot of money here! Think!"

  "I am thinking. I just don't want you panicking. I'
m sure there's an explanation."

  "You don't want me panicking? I am panicking! This is scary! I mean, add this to the missing accounting, and I think it's time we forget about keeping this to ourselves and call the police or the goddamned FBI or something!"

  "I think you're overreacting, dear."

  "Oh really? Well I don't! There's just too much going on here. Christ, Dad! Dan Morris stole all our records. We know that! So who's to say he couldn't be guilty of this?"

  "I think you've been watching too much television, dear. And please, do not call the police. You have no real reason to suspect Dan. In fact, I'm sure the only reason he left was because..." He trailed off.

  "Because of what? Because of me? Is that what you were going to say? Well I say bullshit to that! But don't worry, I won't bother you about it again. I'll deal with this myself."

  "Fine, dear," John said, sounding distant. "You do that."

  Lydia couldn't believe this. All he cared about was her not calling the police. She downed the rest of her Scotch. "I have to go. I'll see you later."

  "What time will you be by?"

  Lydia felt like pulling her hair out. To hear him talk, you’d swear they'd just had a perfectly normal conversation. Dr. Remington had better get back from his vacation quick. "A little after five," she said. After hanging up, she left for the airport.

  She parked down by the end of the runway and watched several planes land and take off, then drove on to the terminal. After only a brief wait, Greg's plane taxied up to the gate.

  Watching him walk down the ramp, she had the feeling she was about to meet him for the very first time. Then he smiled at her and couldn't have been more familiar. She rushed over, and they hugged tightly. "Damn, I've missed you!" Greg said, kissing her again and again.

  "Me too."

  Greg laughed, then adjusted his shoulder tote so he could keep one arm around her, and they started down the corridor.

  "How long are you staying?" Lydia asked, looking up at him.

  "Until about five tomorrow afternoon. Then it's the red­eye to Frisco."

  "Do you have a match there?"

  Greg nodded, and as they walked on, several people, obviously recognizing him, stopped to stare.

  "I'm also going to be on the Dean Williams sports show. He's billed me as the next Jimmy Connors. Can you believe it?"

  Lydia loved the tiny lines that formed around his eyes when he smiled. "Yes...the way you play."

  Greg stopped, and leaned down to kiss her. "But off court, I play only with you."

  Lydia touched the side of his face gently, not doubting that for a second, and found herself saying, "I've really missed you. It's been too long."

  Greg glanced at the date on his Rolex watch. "Three weeks and one day to be exact. That's a lot of time to make up for."

  Lydia smiled. "I know, but not before you meet my dad. He's first on the agenda."

  Greg frowned. "First?"

  Lydia nodded.

  "Hmph."

  "Just a short visit."

  "Can I ask him for your hand?"

  Lydia managed what sounded like a lighthearted chuckle, but shook her head. "I'm not sure this would be a good time."

  Greg kissed her lightly on the nose, and smiled. "Well, we'll see."

  At the car, Lydia tossed him the keys, they got in, and Greg pulled her close. "This has to be first," he said, kissing her. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

  She knew. She could see it in his eyes. She nodded. "Come on, Dad's waiting."

  Greg kissed her again then started the car, commenting on its typical Mercedes sound. Lydia leaned her head back, smiling, thinking about the first time she'd met him: the way he glanced at her each and every time he walked to the back of the court, and how after the match, he came over and thanked her for bringing him good luck.

  He was a groupie favorite, and though she hadn't known that when she agreed to go with Sharon to watch him play, she could understand why. In addition to his being an awesome tennis player, he was California-tanned, with long, wavy blond hair, styled short at the sides, and he had smiling, deep blue eyes.

  Greg just gazed at her a moment as she daydreamed. "I could sit here all day, Lydia, and just look at you. But we'd be holding up traffic."

  Lydia laughed. "I'm sorry. Go that way," she said. When he pulled out onto the highway, she rested her head back again, thinking about the first time he made love to her. It was after they'd been dating for some time, becoming inseparable, and the same night she told him she was a virgin. She could still see the look in his eyes as he assured her he wouldn't rush her, that he would wait forever, until she was ready. It was that

  promise, along with the look in his eyes, that made her give in.

  * * *

  Betty came out on the porch before Greg had even turned the car off, hands on her hips and a big smile on her face. "Lord, you's as good lookin' as they come! No wonder Miss Lydia so fond of you!"

  Greg smiled, appearing modest, and Lydia laughed, then introduced them. "Betty, this is Greg. Greg, this is Betty. She raised me."

  "I just help," Betty said, denying it, but looking proud. "Her momma and daddy did the raisin'."

  "Right," Lydia teased. "She just doesn't want to take the blame for all my faults."

  Betty shook her head, laughing. "Come on in. Your daddy's waitin' for you's in the den."

  John met them in the foyer; he'd heard their voices and couldn't wait. Lydia gave him a big hug, then stepped back. "Dad, this is Greg Stewart. Greg, this is my dad, John Mer­chant."

  "It's nice to meet you," Greg said, as they shook hands warmly.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you too," John said. "I've spent most of the day boning up on your tennis record. It's very impressive."

  Greg smiled. "I love the game. And so far, that's what it is."

  "And when it ceases to be?"

  Greg tipped his head matter-of-factly. "Then I'll quit and teach all my kids how to play."

  John raised an eyebrow. "It sounds like you plan on having a lot of them."

  "At least a dozen," Greg said, winking at Lydia, who rolled her eyes in response.

  Betty let out a snicker. "I'll be gettin' refreshments," she said, heading for the kitchen. "But don't you be thinkin' Miss Lydia gonna have you no twelve kids. Huh-uh..."

  Lydia laughed, and Greg turned to her, smiling. "You never told me you had something against having lots of kids. What's this about?"

  "Boobs," Lydia said. "When I was little, I asked Betty why hers were so big, and she told me it was from having babies— nine of them. I swore on my life I was never gonna have any. Especially when I hit puberty and got these." She draped her arm across her chest.

  Greg glanced down, then back up quickly, realizing what he'd just done in front of her father, and John scolded her. "Lydia, please, you're embarrassing Greg, and you're embar­rassing me."

  Greg smiled, saying something about it being okay, that he was used to her. John nodded sympathetically, and Lydia looked from one to the other, noticing how similar their expressions were. It was scary.

  She walked past them into the den, straight to the bar, pouring herself a double, and as Greg and her father sat down, she drank about a third of it.

  John frowned. "Perhaps Greg would like a drink, dear?"

  "Greg doesn't drink," she said.

  John looked at him.

  "Occasionally wine," Greg said, frowning also. "But not when I'm up for a match."

  John nodded approvingly. "Where will you be playing next?"

  "Upstate," Greg answered, as Lydia sat down next to him. "I have a charity performance scheduled."

  "Are you finished with your studies?"

  Greg nodded, glancing at the amount of Scotch left in Lydia's glass, wishing she'd slow down. "For the time being at least. I'll continue after the tennis has run its course."

  "What was your major?"

  "Psychology," Greg said, smiling as he added, "Lydia's compulsions we
re the subject of my thesis."

  Lydia made a face. "Very funny, Greg."

  "Did you come up with any answers to the one she has with this drinking of hers?" John asked.

  Greg shook his head. "No, not quite." It was still a mystery to him. She didn't drink that much when they first met, nor did she smoke. "But I plan on devoting my life to the quest."

  Lydia forced a smile and stood up. "Uh... we have to leave. We uh..." She was about to say they had somewhere to go, wanting to get out of there before this went any further, but it was too late. Her father looked at Greg, asking him, "Are you two serious about each other?"

  Greg reached for her hand, urging her to sit back down. "I've asked her to marry me," he said, "and I would like your blessing."

  John swallowed hard, wondering what her mother would say at this particular moment. "I assume you would take good care of her?"

  "I'll treat her like a queen," Greg said. "As she's been accustomed to."

  John nodded slowly, fighting back the tears that welled up in his eyes as he looked at Lydia. "What do you have to say about this, dear?"

  Lydia shook her head. She couldn't believe this entire conversation, let alone her silent part in it, and tried joking her way out of it. "I don't know. Is my dowry in order?"

  Her father had never looked more serious, though. "Ev­erything is in order," he said gravely.

  All of a sudden, the reality of this hit her and she felt like running out of the room. She even glanced at the door. Then she saw how Greg was looking at her. She tried to smile. "I'm not having a dozen kids."

  Greg squeezed her hand gently, searching her eyes. "We'll compromise on that. Just say yes."

  Lydia trembled inside. It had to be love. It just had to be. Otherwise, why would the prospect of hurting him, hurt her so much? She couldn't bear it. "If we can settle on less than four, we're on."

  Greg pulled her close and sighed victoriously, then looked at John for some sign of approval. John nodded, and it was official. Greg kissed his bride-to-be.

  Betty came in carrying a tray, asking if they were ready for the, "Bess' strudel this sides of the bayou?" and John reached for a tissue to wipe his eyes.

  "Our Lydia has just become engaged, Betty."

  "Oh...!" Betty put the tray down and opened her arms wide. "My little Miss Lydia! Come here, child."