Call Me Lydia

by MaryAnn Myers

  Lydia turned. "You mean you think they run the same parts?"

  Tony shook his head. "No, I just think it's odd. Like I said, it's not a commonly used grade of steel."

  "Still, maybe we're bidding on these small runs because they're no longer making them."

  "A union shop," Reed said. "I doubt it. The purchasing agent at Mago gave me an idea of what they've been paying, and I can't see union wages figured into it."

  Lydia walked back and sat down with both of them watching her every move. "Yeah, but there was something drawing me over there. That's why I wanted to go see what was going on. And that's why…."

  Tony raised his hands. "Hold on a second, am I going to want to hear this?"

  Lydia hesitated. "You might want to stay seated."

  Tony shook his head, giving her one of those looks of his, then stretched his legs out, getting comfortable, and rested his arm on the table. "All right, I'm ready."

  Lydia smiled. "Ever since I came here, that company, and those picketers...."

  Tony didn't even like the start of this. "Lydia, please, just get to the point. Okay?"

  She frowned. "I am. But I was trying to lead up to what I did and why I did it, because otherwise…."

  "Oh shit!" Tony said, standing. "Now I know I don't want to hear this!"

  Lydia laughed. "Come on," she said. "I have to tell you. Come on, sit down."

  Tony crossed his arms and shook his head. "I'll stand for it if you don't mind."

  Lydia drew a deep breath. "This morning I sent a letter to the owners of that building, saying that I was concerned about its future and that I might be interested in buying it."

  "The building?" Tony said. He'd expected worse. "Why?"

  “Because, like I was trying to tell you, ever since I came here that building and those...."

  "Those picketers," Tony said, smiling. "I know. You already said that. Skip ahead a little."

  Lydia laughed. "If you don't let me explain it my way, you're not going to understand the rest."

  "Does it get better?" Tony asked.

  "No, " Lydia said, reaching for his hand when he started objecting further. “Please."

  He drew a breath and sat back down.

  "I know this is going to sound hokey," Lydia said, "but I have this sense...."

  "She reads minds and things," Reed said, having been there and wanting to see the same expression on Tony's face. "Really good too."

  Lydia frowned at him for interrupting and waited for Tony's color to return. "Not that I can actually see the future or anything like that," she said. "I just see and feel what's there -what everyone else sees and feels to some extent. I just go a little deeper. That's why I go on instinct. Lots of times, I don't even know where I'm headed until I'm there." She searched his eyes. He looked skeptical. "Does any of this make any sense to you?"

  "Some, " Tony said. "Though I do wish you'd get to the part I'm not sure I want to hear."

  Lydia smiled. "In my letter, I alluded, well, actually I came right out and said that I had a concern over the morale of our employees because of the situation over there and asked if a union hearing could be called on my behalf."

  "What?" Tony said. "Why? Talk about not making any sense."

  "Hey, I just graduated from college," Lydia said. "I don't have to make sense. Besides, that wasn't my objective."

  Tony had to laugh. "Okay. Then what was?"

  Lydia swallowed. This was where it was going to get more difficult, and she wished to God there was another way. "I'll explain everything in a few minutes."

  She picked up the phone and buzzed Jan, asking her to bring down the copies of the letters that were sent that morning. While they waited, Tony staring at her and Reed watching the both of them, she suddenly wished she hadn't thrown her cigarettes away. She even wondered what shape they might be in if she were compelled to search the wastebasket for them.

  "When were you at the plant next door?" Reed asked, in a state of burning resentment.

  "Today. Tony and I walked over."

  Reed looked at Tony, who just ignored him, still staring at Lydia, and as Jan came in, the phone rang.

  Lydia asked her to answer it, fearing it was Greg, and it was. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stewart," Jan said, lowering her voice. "But she doesn't want to talk to you now, and she says that if you continue calling, she's going to go to the press with the news of her breaking off your engagement." She paused, listening, her face getting red, then put the phone down, and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, but I can't repeat what he just said."

  Lydia nodded; she could imagine. Jan left, and Lydia handed Tony a copy of the letter sent to the company next door. Their eyes met briefly, and as he and Reed read it, she walked over to the window and stared out at the shop.

  "I still don't get it," Tony said, when he' d finished. "So for my benefit, can you explain it?"

  Lydia turned. "The purpose was to let someone know that I think it's just a little strange for a company doing quite well to go on strike for two months and then close the door and become history."

  Tony started to say something, but she stopped him, determined to carry this through. "That was the only purpose. Nothing else." She stared down at the other letter, the one to Forrester, and walked over and handed it to him. "This one too had a purpose."

  Halfway through, it was Reed who was puzzled now. "What do you mean you've sold?" he asked, pointing to the page. Lydia never took her eyes off Tony though. She wanted his reaction. His response. No one else's. She' d composed this letter for one reason and one reason alone, and now she held her breath, pleading with God. Let me be wrong. Please let me be wrong. Let me be sure. When Tony finally raised his eyes to hers, swallowing hard and shaking his head, she had her answer.

  She turned and walked back to the window. "Reed, if you'll excuse us, Tony and I have to talk."

  "But…." She hadn't answered his question.

  "Please,” she insisted.

  "Fine!" Reed gathered his blueprints in a huff, looking from one to the other as he stormed out, and Tony sat back and crossed his arms.

  "What did you want to talk about, Miss Lydia?"

  The sarcasm in his voice was nothing compared to the look in his eyes. "The reason I wrote that letter…." she started to say.

  "Don't trouble yourself," Tony said. "The reason's obvious."

  "I know it wasn't the best way, but…."

  "Why didn't you just ask me?"

  "And if I had, then what? Would you have answered me?"

  Tony shook his head. A week ago, no. Today, yes. "So you fire off a letter saying you've sold out, figuring if I were on the take, it would make me look less than on top of things."

  Lydia regretted it now, but it was the truth.

  "Well...?"

  She nodded. "Something like that."

  Why now, he thought? Why now? Had he been imagining things between them? He stood up to leave. "Yeah...well, what you've done by sending that is only going to make my job harder. When word gets out, and it will…."

  Lydia stepped toward him. "No, it won't." She hoped this would make things right. "It didn't go to Forrester. I had Jan mail it to you."

  Tony's eyes hardened, he shook his head, and now she became angry. After all, hadn't he pushed her to this?

  "You never wanted me here, Tony! You made that per­fectly clear! You keep things from me! You don't tell me anything! And just this afternoon, I walk in and find you and Reed fighting over something! What did you expect me to do? Nothing?"

  "I expected you to trust me," Tony said. "No, I wanted you to trust me. You more than anyone."

  Lydia just looked at him, then lowered her eyes to the floor, dazed by the implication of "you more than anyone." For a moment, the two of them just stood there, one as sorry as the other was hurt, but neither saying a word. Then she looked up and hesitated.

  "I do want to trust you, Tony."

  "You can, Lydia," he said softly. "But whether you do or not is a different
thing."

  Lydia searched his eyes, believing him, believing him with all her heart, and trusting that, she reached into her pocket and handed him the copy of the check.

  Tony looked it over and gave it back. It was a lot of money, but what was the point? "I don't understand."

  Lydia turned and walked to the other side of the room. "I didn't cash it, Tony. And I don't know who did."

  Tony walked over next to her and asked to look at it again, examining it closer this time, then folded it and handed it back. "What are you going to do?"

  "I don't know," she said. And now, when typically she'd rally and try to make light of a frightening situation, all she could do was bite at her quivering bottom lip.

  "Do you have any idea who might have...?"

  She nodded and went to say something, but had to clear her throat. The intercom buzzed.

  Tony reached across the table to answer it for her. "Yes?"

  "I need to speak to Lydia," Jan said. "It's urgent."

  "It's Jan. She says it's urgent."

  Lydia started to tremble. "Is it about my dad?"

  Tony asked, "Is it about her dad?"

  "No, it's Greg Stewart again. He's flying in here and said to tell her that he'll be at the beach house by eight."

  Tony's eyes hardened. "Hold on, I think I'll let you tell her that." He handed Lydia the phone and watched her reaction as Jan gave her the message. The two of them looked at each other. Then he turned and walked out, and in her frustration, Lydia picked up a chair and hurled it across the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lydia could only wonder how she'd gotten herself into this mess. But more importantly, she thought about the look in Tony's eyes before he'd walked out, leaving no doubt about how he felt. As soon as she calmed down, she phoned Greg. He answered on the first ring.

  "Don't try talking me out of this, because I'm on my way!"

  "Greg, listen...please."

  "No! We have to get this settled. I'm not going to let you throw away what we have because of one goddamned news­paper article."

  Lydia picked the chair up off the floor and slouched down in it with a heavy sigh. "I don't think it is just the article. It's everything."

  "Damn it, Lydia! Everything was fine until you went home!"

  "I just need some time. Just give me some time. Okay?"

  Greg was silent for a moment. "What's going on?"

  Lydia cleared her throat. "So many things. My dad. Sharon. This place. Us...."

  "That's the one I want to talk about - us!"

  Lydia hesitated. "I’m not sure about us, Greg. I'm really not."

  Greg was silent again. Then, "Is there someone else?"

  "No. Why would you ask that?"

  "Because of the way you were this weekend."

  Lydia grew defensive. "It's this place, Greg. I told you. Every time I turn around, it's something else. There's just too much…."

  "So hire a professional to whip it back into shape and come here with me where you belong."

  Lydia sat up straight and broke out in goosebumps. Why did he always have to say things like that? "Actually, Greg, with fewer personal pressures, I think I can handle it. And I also think this is where I belong."

  "I'm coming to see you."

  "You won't find me! I'll make sure of it!"

  "Lydia…."

  "No, Greg. We're gonna do this my way. I need some time, and you have to understand that. I can't handle this. I just can't."

  Greg sighed in frustration. "All right. I'll wait to hear from you. Just say you love me."

  She couldn't.

  "Lydia…."

  Silence.

  "I think we've hit on the real problem here, haven't we?"

  "Greg, I'm sorry."

  "So am I," he said and hung up.

  Lydia stared off, regretting just about everything she'd done today, then buzzed Jan to tell her she was going out for a while. She needed a drink, maybe two.

  "What are you going to do about Greg?" Jan asked.

  "Nothing. I called him and headed him off," she said sadly. "God, he sounded so…." Was she having second thoughts? "I can't believe I'm doing this to him."

  "Then why are you?"

  Lydia drew an anguished breath. "Because I don't think I love him, and he wants to marry me."

  "Then you're probably doing the right thing."

  Lydia wasn't so sure. "I don't know. I don't know any­thing anymore. Christ, I've been sleeping with the man, so what does that say for my doing what's right?"

  Jan thought for a moment. "I think it says you've been sleeping with him for the wrong reason."

  Lydia sighed, grateful for Jan just being there. "God, I'm glad you didn't quit on me."

  "Me too."

  "I'll see you later. And thanks."

  Lydia ran into Reed on the way down the stairs. "I've finished those Mago bids," he said. "And uh….thought I'd go over them with you."

  Lydia took hold of his arm and turned him around. "Good, let's do it over lunch. I'm starved."

  "Lunch? It's after four."

  Lydia glanced at her watch. "So we'll call it dinner. Come on. I'll drive, you buy."

  Reed laughed, and as they walked down past the shop to the side entrance, he looked around for Tony in hopes that he'd notice them leaving together. But he was nowhere to be seen, disappointing enough, until they opened the door to go out­side, and it was pouring down rain.

  "Still want to go?" he asked.

  "Of course! Come on, I'm starved!" Lydia ducked out from under the eave, and ran toward her car, not deterred in the least. But then again, she hadn't yet noticed she'd left the top down.

  "Oh shit!" She stopped dead.

  Reed called to her. "Do you need some help?"

  Lydia turned and looked at him, still under the eave, and rolled her eyes. "No, Reed, that's okay. I can push the little button all by myself. I wouldn't want you to melt."

  Reed laughed, but had she said yes, he probably would have gone for an umbrella first. Traipsing around in the rain in one of his best suits went against his dress code of ethics.

  Lydia unsnapped the cover, leaning across the car to reach the other side, which tempted Reed to abandon his reserve and join her. Soaking wet, her slacks and sweater clung to her body. But he waited too long.

  "I'll see you tomorrow!" she said, hurrying around to the driver's side. "Have fun!"

  Five minutes down the road, the rain stopped, and the sun came out. How appropriate, Lydia thought. "If I see a rainbow, I'm gonna scream." At home, she put the top back down, hoping the sun would dry the interior a little, then showered and washed her hair and sat down with a Scotch. What a day.

  "Oh no!" The trend continued. Remembering the check copy in her pants pocket, she ran into the bathroom, hoping it hadn't gotten wet. It had. Not only that, when she tried to unfold it, it came apart in little inky globs.

  "Great!" She flushed it, watching it swirl and dive into infinity, so seemingly appropriate. Then she went back into the living room to finish her Scotch, had another, and changed into her suit and went for a swim.

  By now she was mellow, so mellow in fact, that while swimming laps, if that's what her weaving in and out pattern could be called, she thought she heard something, but dis­missed it as far away, and was surprised to see George when she finally took a breather.

  "Sorry if’n I scared you, Miss Lydia. I just need to check the chemicals in the pool."

  "No problem," Lydia said, smiling as she pulled herself up onto the side.

  "I normally do it early in the day, but…."

  Lydia stood up and shook her arms and legs. She hadn't brought out a towel, thinking she'd lay in the sun to dry. While pulling her hair to one side to wring it out, she noticed how tired George looked. "Are you okay, George?"

  He shook his head, glancing at her as he bent down to fill the test kit with water. "Me and Betty are mighty worried about your daddy."

  "What's he done now?" Lyd
ia asked, smoothing her hair back as she walked over to him. George wouldn't look at her. She was in a swimsuit and nothing else. "I'm sorry," she said, realizing then how uncom­fortable it made him. "I'll get my robe."

  She went inside and came back a few minutes later, wrapped up modestly and with another Scotch. George was just finishing up. As she sat down on a chaise, watching him, she thought about how, after all these years, she was still Miss Lydia to him. Little Miss Lydia.

  "Okay, go ahead. I'm ready now."

  George rinsed the test kit out and walked over and sat down next to her. "Maybe I ought not to be tellin' you this."

  Lydia smiled reassuringly. "George, please."

  He drew a deep breath, looking off, and Lydia noticed the gray hair at his temples. She would have sworn they weren't there yesterday. "Your daddy's been doin' some strange things."

  Lydia sipped her drink. "Like what?"

  He looked at her. "Like jumpin' jacks."

  "Jumping jacks?"

  George raised his arms over his head to demonstrate. "Jumpin' jacks."

  "When?"

  "All's the time."

  Lydia couldn't believe this. Her father had never been one to exercise even when he was younger. He played golf, but that was it. "Jumping jacks?"

  "All's the time," George repeated, wide-eyed and nod­ding. "Used to be he just did them in the garden, by the roses. Then…."

  Lydia shook her head. "Oh great! Jumping jacks and blooming roses! How goddamned fitting!"

  "Miss Lydia…!" George furrowed his brow at her.

  "Sorry," she said. "So where's he doing them now?"

  George looked at her and didn't have to say. She read him perfectly and all but had a fit. "At the cemetery?!" Dear God. "He's fucking losing his mind! That's all there is to it!"

  "You ought not to be talkin' like that, Miss Lydia. Them's men's words!"

  "Yeah, well it's a man's world," she said and downed the rest of her drink. "So tell me. How long has this been going on?"

  George wiped his brow. "Couple weeks. Only I ain't supposed to be tellin'."

  Lydia gripped his arm gently. "Don't worry, I won't say anything to him."