Call Me Lydia

by MaryAnn Myers

  "Damn it! Why now?" Near panic, she pressed the gas pedal to the floor, cranking and cranking the starter. "Come on! Come on!" It cranked and cranked, and she held her foot down as hard as she could, images of her father flashing in her mind. Cranking and cranking. Then finally, the engine sputtered to life and built to a roar. That's when Jan came flying out the side door, waving her arms.

  "They found him! They found him! He's all right!"

  Lydia slumped forward, letting her head rest on the steering wheel, and thanked God, then turned her car off and leaned back, pushing wet strands of hair off her face. "Where?"

  Jan answered out of breath, "W...Walking down the street. Betty said Vine Street."

  Lydia's eyes widened, first in surprise, then in frustration. "Vine Street! Of course! Where else?" With that, she slammed the steering wheel so hard it shook the car. "He was going to that goddamned cemetery."

  Jan was a little taken aback by this outburst, and just stood there, but then noticed something. "How did you get so dirty?"

  "I fell down the stinking stairs."

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine. All except for my hand." The one she'd just pounded into the steering wheel. She tried to wiggle her fingers, but couldn't. It hurt too much. "I'll be back later. Call Betty for me and tell her I'm still coming."

  Her father was asleep when she arrived, which allowed her time to get filled in on exactly what had happened. While Betty served them coffee with trembling hands, George sat fiddling with his pipe so much that he put it out twice.

  "He was walking down the street like a groom going to a wedding."

  Contrary to the moment, Lydia started to laugh, until George added, "All dressed up in his dark suit." Then she practically choked, spitting coffee all over herself.

  "What dark suit?"

  "The one he bought last month," Betty said, blotting the front of Lydia's sweater and tablecloth with a napkin. "He had George take him to his tailor and had it fitted and delivered in a week."

  "Wait a minute!" Lydia said. "Wait just a minute. I mean, I know there's nothing wrong with a dark suit, it's just that I've never ever known him to have one. He hates them! He says they belong on dead men!" She gasped, hearing what she'd just said. "Oh my God!"

  Betty's eyes widened. "You's don't thinks…."

  Lydia stood up, shaking her head. "That he's dying? No, Dr. Jones says he's fine. So that doesn't make any sense." Tears filled her eyes. "But I'm going up to see him, and if he's awake...."

  "Please don't upset him, Miss Lydia."

  "Why not? He's upsetting me!"

  "But he's not strong like you! Specially since you's momma died. And you's always been strong. Just like you's momma."

  Lydia stood there feeling helpless. She'd heard this a million times. Her mother was strong, and she was just like her. Just like her. More than she knew, because she wiped her eyes and reached for Betty' s hand then, the very same way her mother used to when she was trying to be brave.

  "I won't upset him, Betty. I promise," she said.

  And also the same, as she always had with her mother, Betty prayed silently, "God, give her the strength."

  John was still asleep when Lydia went upstairs, so she tiptoed in and sat down quietly, watching over him for a while. Her mind wandered, and she thought about all the times she used to sneak into this room as a child, and how her dad would act as if he was asleep until she got close enough to grab and plop down between him and her mom. He must have done it at least a hundred times, but never failed to catch her by surprise and make her giggle. Even now, it made her smile.

  She tiptoed out as quietly as she'd come in and stopped by the kitchen to tell Betty she'd be back later in the evening, and that no, she hadn't upset him. "He's sleeping like a baby."

  She went to the beach house to change clothes, giving in to a Scotch on the way in and one on the way out, and arrived back at the plant a little after five. Jan was waiting for her, literally biting her nails. Lydia assured her that everything was fine and told her to go home.

  "But..." Jan said, handing her the mail and several mes­sages. "Your bank statements came. I can help you with them."

  "I don't want help," Lydia said. "Come on, give me a break. You're making me feel guilty. You've been here all day, and I haven't done a goddamned thing."

  Jan smiled. Last week, that would have had her in tears, feeling sure she was being reprimanded. But not today. Not anymore. "All right, I'll see you in the morning."

  Lydia took everything with her to the conference room, and while she was reconciling the accounts, Sharon phoned to say she was at the beach house.

  "When are you coming home?"

  Lydia glanced at her watch. "Shortly, but I have to swing by my dad's first."

  "Want me to make something to eat?"

  "No, why don't I just pick up a pizza?" Lydia looked through her phone messages. There were three from Greg, one from Julius, and two from Bob Miller. "I'll see you in a little bit."

  The accounts balanced to the penny, minus that eighty-four thousand dollar void, which came as no surprise. But thinking about the ramifications of that, on top of everything else that had happened today, when Tony came in, in spite of her feminist self, Lydia's first thought was "Handle this for me, okay?" Then she smiled.

  "Heard you had an emergency earlier," he said.

  "It was my dad. But he's fine now."

  "And how about you?"

  "Well, if you mean my hand," Lydia said, holding it up. "I think it's broken."

  That's not what he'd meant, but sitting down across from her, he reached over to take a look. "How'd you hurt it?"

  Lydia stared down at their hands, hers looking so small in his, and was hesitant in answering. "I um...got so scared when the call came about my dad, I went running out of here and fell down the stairs."

  Tony gently tried each one of her fingers, moving them back and forth, as he worked his way over to her thumb. And Lydia, hoping he couldn't feel her trembling, found herself making a confession. "Actually, I managed to survive the fall okay, but then I hit my steering wheel."

  Tony raised his eyes. "On purpose?"

  "Sort of."

  Tony shook his head, smiling, and Lydia was helpless to look away. They were so close, the closest they'd been without fighting, and she couldn't resist the urge to just gaze at him.

  "Do you shave everyday?" she asked.

  Tony smiled and sat back, letting her hand rest on the table. "Yes, sometimes twice. You lucked out, I don't think any thing's broken."

  "Are you sure?"

  Tony laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure. I've been doing it for years now."

  Lydia was referring to her hand and was positive he knew that, but couldn't help blushing anyway as she asked, "Well, if it's not broken, why does it hurt so much?"

  "Because you strained it. Now leave it alone. The more you mess with it...."

  Lydia smiled. Twice-shaven sometimes or not, he needed a shave now, and God help her, it was so sexy. "So, did anything happen today that I should know about?"

  "No, not really. There were a few things, but I'll wait and see how they...." The intercom buzzed, interrupting them, and Lydia picked up the phone.

  "A Greg Stewart on line three," the switchboard operator said.

  "Tell him I'm not in," Lydia said.

  "I'm sorry, but he says it's urgent. He even had me look to see if your car was here."

  Lydia reached for a cigarette automatically, damning him for that, and if it weren't for her concern that this not turn into a topic of shop gossip, she probably still would have refused the call. But as it was: "All right, I'll take it." She lit her cigarette first, though, and told Tony she'd only be a minute, then switching lines, took another long drag. "Finally got through, huh?"

  "Yes! What the fuck is going on?"

  Lydia propped the phone on her shoulder and edged the ashtray closer. "I thought I'd show you what it's like to have someone screen your call
s."

  "Touché!"

  "Point taken?"

  "Yes, now forgive me already."

  Lydia dragged on her cigarette and glanced at Tony. He had his arms crossed and was looking at her keenly, as if he were making note of something, and she blushed again. "Greg... um, why don't you call me later? I was just about to leave."

  "Should I set a time? Maybe make an appointment?"

  "Ten's open."

  "Good! Then put me down!"

  Lydia laughed and hung up.

  Tony was still looking at her in that same way, arms crossed, shoulders huge, eyes dead serious, lips slightly parted, and his hair falling across his forehead.

  She had to think of something to say. "So did…uh…you and Bill get that wiring done?"

  "No, not quite. We'll finish it tomorrow. I'd do it myself, but I'm beat. And besides...."

  "Bill enjoys it so much?"

  Tony smiled. It surprised him that she would pick up on that. "He's like a little kid when it comes to rebuilding something."

  Lydia nodded, remembering how proud Bill was of fixing the boiler, "As good as new!" For a second, she and Tony were two people merely thinking about a mutual friend. Then it was just the two of them again, and no one else: one looking at the other, lost in each other's eyes.

  Lydia turned away reluctantly. "Well, I um...."

  "Come on," Tony said, pushing down on his knee and standing slowly. "I'll walk you to your car."

  Lydia stood and curtsied. "Thank you. You are such a gentleman."

  Tony smiled and stepped back, extending his arm to the door. "After you, Miss Lydia."

  They walked down the stairs and out the side entrance without saying another word. It was a somewhat odd silence, but a comfortable one. They'd done this before.

  When they reached her car, Lydia asked if he'd heard any more about Dan Morris.

  Tony shook his head, opening her door and closing it after she got in, and Lydia started the engine with a pained gasp. Just turning the key was agony. "Damn! This really hurts!"

  "It's going to," Tony said, not sounding the least bit sympathetic. "Think about that before you attack your steer­ing wheel next time."

  Lydia gave him an unappreciative smile. "You're gonna make me sorry I told you that, you know."

  "Then don't tell me next time," Tony said. "Oh, and the hospital's that way."

  Lydia's eyes widened. "Do you think...?"

  "No," Tony said, laughing. "Go on home."

  * * *

  The situation with her father seemed even worse now with his refusal to admit he'd done anything out of the ordinary. "I just went for a walk."

  "But you were supposed to be getting some rest."

  "I get plenty of rest. I wanted to go to the cemetery."

  Lydia drew an exasperated breath and reached for his hand. "Please promise me you won't do anything like that again."

  John pulled his hand away. "If George won't take me…."

  Lydia stared, devastated. That was the first time he'd ever pulled away from her, ever....

  "I'll not be a prisoner in my own home."

  "Dad, you're not. It's just that...."

  John wouldn't even look at her now, and the longer they sat there like that, the more unbearable it became. Lydia gave in. What else could she do?

  "He'll take you. I'll tell him, and he'll take you. All right...?"

  John nodded with tears in his eyes, and Lydia hugged him tightly. She was sure a stronger person would have remained firm, knowing what was best, but her heart ached for him. The cemetery was over nine miles away, and yet, he was walking to get there. In a dark suit. A dead man's suit.

  * * *

  One look at Sharon's face, and Lydia could see Brian hadn't changed his mind about the baby. He hadn't even called. "Hungry?" she asked, putting the pizza down on the counter and heading straight for the bar.

  "Starved!" Sharon said.

  "Me too! What do you say we eat everything in the house. I mean everything! Even the butter!"

  "You're on!" Sharon said, which soon erupted into silli­ness. It did seem to take their minds off their problems for a time, though they spared the butter and didn't even put a dent in the refrigerator. But eventually their banter turned serious.

  "How are you feeling?" Lydia asked.

  "You mean right now?"

  "No, I know how you feel right now, I feel the same. Stuffed! I mean the pregnancy. How are you feeling when it comes to that?"

  "Fine, I guess. I don't really feel anything yet."

  Lydia sat quietly sipping a Scotch to give Sharon time in case she wanted to talk about it. But she didn't. She couldn't, not just yet.

  "So what did you do today?"

  "You wouldn't believe," Lydia said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "It would take all night."

  "Funny thing! I have all night!"

  Lydia laughed.

  "Come on, tell me," Sharon insisted. "And make it good. Give me something else to think about besides my broken heart."

  Lydia smiled and proceeded to do just that. "Speaking of broken," she said, examining her hand closely for swelling. "I thought I broke my hand today, but Tony said it probably wasn't. And actually it does feel a little..."

  "Tony? As in, Tony my foreman?"

  Lydia laughed. "Yes. We seem to be getting along. At least sometimes. And then others...."

  "Tell me about the get-along ones."

  Lydia hesitated, then leaned forward, as if she were afraid of being overheard. "Honestly, Sharon, when he looks at me…I feel it you know where."

  Sharon's eyes widened.

  "And God," Lydia whispered breathlessly. "The way he looks at me."

  Sharon sat back with a big smile on her face. "Did you ever find out the details about what put him in prison?"

  Lydia nodded. "Yeah, he told me. He was in a fight."

  "So uh…what does this do to you and Greg?"

  Lydia looked at her. "Nothing, why? What's one got to do with the other?"

  "Why? You're asking a woman who just had the rug pulled out from under her, 'Why?' It's about knowing. It's about being sure."

  Lydia shook her head in denial and got up for another drink. "I don't see the relationship. But while we're on this, I want to tell you, I think Brian cares a lot for you. He's just too regimented. A baby right now just wasn't in accordance with his scheduled plans."

  Sharon lowered her eyes and shrugged. "It doesn't make any difference anyway. I've given it a lot of thought. If we were really meant to be, we'd have been married by now."

  ` Lydia sipped her drink and sat back down. "Fine, then I won't say anything else." Now wasn't the time. Sharon sounded tough, but was close to tears. "You know your own mind."

  Sharon looked up and smiled sadly. "Yeah, and you think you know yours. But the fact that another man's turning you on, and turning you on good, when you're supposed to be hot as hell for the one you're engaged to says otherwise."

  Lydia leaned back in her chair and drew a thoughtful breath. "Maybe it's just doubt. Maybe it's just some subcon­scious game I'm playing, so I can be sure."

  Sharon raised an eyebrow, one that said, "Nice try," and Lydia had to laugh.

  "All right! Big deal! So Tony makes me feel something Greg doesn't. According to Reed, he makes a lot of women feel that way. So I don't want to talk about it anymore. Besides, I want to tell you about what my dad did today. You are simply not going to be believe this."

  Greg called during the eleven o'clock news. Lydia was half-asleep, but promised to call him tomorrow. Morning seemed to come as soon as she'd burrowed down and gotten comfortable again. She showered and dressed quickly, left Sharon a note, and arrived at the plant after seven. It felt strange driving by the company next door with the picketers gone. But just as strange, was the big, black station wagon, parked up by the main building. It reminded her of something a mortician would drive when calling on the bereaved.

  Reed pulled in right after her, so she wa
ited for him. "Did you notice that car over there?" she asked.

  "No," he said, only glancing at it, "but good morning to you too."

  Lydia rolled her eyes. He was such a stickler. "Good morning."

  Reed smiled, appeased, and opening the side door, followed her in with a glance back over his shoulder. "It's probably just security."

  Probably, and certainly Lydia had thought of that too, but why now and not when the picketers were there?

  "I hear Julius Randall's thinking about taking you up on your offer."

  "Yeah," Lydia nodded. "Now what?"

  Reed smiled. He was just about to ask her that.

  Lydia stopped at the water fountain to rinse her coffee cup out. Putting it in her purse before leaving everyday was second nature now. "I suppose we're going to have to do the job at cost."

  Reed shrugged, then nodded, and they walked down the hall to the door that went through the shop to the cafeteria.

  "I mean, talk about a surprise," Lydia said. "I never actually thought he'd take me up on it."

  Reed smiled. "I did. I think he'd have done anything you suggested. You charmed the hell out of him, even when you threw him those curves at the end."

  Lydia shook her head and smiled. "Stop kissing up. It's too early in the morning to be effective."

  Reed laughed.

  "Besides, charm had nothing to do with it. I needed only to sense that he was a cornered rat."

  Reed opened the door, and they started through the shop. "What do you mean?"

  "Psyching him out. Reading him. Or anyone else for that matter. If you have an intense emotion to deal with, like fear or guilt, or lust, it makes them easier to read. And a liar's a piece of cake."

  Reed smiled. He loved it when they talked like this. "How so?"

  Lydia answered, tongue in cheek, "It's written all over their face."

  Reed laughed, shaking his head. He could never tell if she was kidding or not. "Come on, how do you actually know? Really?"

  Lydia again sounded as if she were joking. "If s their body language. Every move they make says something."

  Her reference to body language triggered a response in Reed, one that had him lowering his eyes to take her in entirely.