Call Me Lydia

by MaryAnn Myers

  "He said five, but I'll bet we see him earlier. In fact, I was thinking, maybe we ought to get him a bed and set it up over there." She pointed across the room.

  Reed laughed. "Knowing Tony, he'd keep it busy too."

  "Oh?"

  Reed blushed a little. "Let's just say that he has a healthy appetite for women. Lots of them."

  Lydia shook her head, not at all surprised by that, but for some reason it bothered her. She was still thinking about it when the intercom buzzed.

  "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Miss Lydia," Jan said. "Dr. Jones only has morning hours today. Would you like me to get him on the phone?"

  Lydia glanced at her watch. "Yes, thanks." A minute later, with her stomach in knots, she was speaking to him. "I'm fine, it's Dad I'm concerned about. He's not doing well, and I was thinking maybe I should come in and talk to you about it."

  "You're welcome to, Lydia, but physically, your father is fine. In fact, for his age, he's in remarkable health."

  "You mean, this isn't Alzheimer's or, uh..." She turned slightly, and lowered her voice. "Senility?"

  "No, but it's just as serious. I've been encouraging him to see a colleague of mine, a Dr. Remington."

  Lydia hesitated. "A psychiatrist?"

  "Yes."

  Lydia swallowed. "Um...may I have his phone number?"

  "Hold on, I'll have my secretary get it for you."

  "Dr. Jones?"

  "Yes?"

  "Is Dad...um...is he...?"

  "Lydia, I know what you're trying to ask. However, no one knows with a depression of this nature. I'm sorry."

  Lydia managed to say, "I understand," but could only shake her head as she hung up and looked at Reed.

  "You want some coffee?" he asked to give her a moment alone.

  She nodded.

  Chapter Ten

  After finding incorrect balances in both checking accounts, Lydia wasted no time calling the bank. "What do you mean you can't do this over the phone?"

  "I'm terribly sorry," the bank manager said in his effeminate voice. "You're going to have to come in."

  Lydia glanced at Reed. Staring down at the payroll balance, his tie loose and collar open, he looked a lot like she felt. She smiled sadly. He'd been so thoughtful, not even mention­ing her phone conversation with Dr. Jones when he came back with their coffee.

  "All right, I'll be there in a little while," she said. "How late are you open?"

  "Today, until four, but I'm going to be tied up. And since I prefer to handle a transaction such as this personally..."

  Lydia sighed. "What time?”

  "Come at four-thirty. Of course, you'll have to knock on the front door."

  Lydia almost said, "No shit?" but managed to keep that to herself, thanked him, and hung up. She reached for a cigarette. "I suppose it's safe to assume Dan Morris has been doing these?"

  Reed sighed. "I don't know, either him or your father. I never had a reason to even wonder."

  Lydia sat back; thinking for a moment, then buzzed Jan and asked her the same thing.

  "I'm sorry, but I uh...I don't know," Jan stammered. "I probably should know, but I don't. I'm sorry."

  Lydia wanted to scream. Why couldn't this woman an­swer a simple question without getting defensive or hysterical? "I'll check with my dad, Jan, it wasn't that important anyway."

  "Yes, Miss Lydia," Jan said, sounding reprimanded, and Lydia hung up, rolling her eyes.

  "Well..."

  Reed straightened his tie, getting back to his perfect self again and stood up, motioning to the checkbooks. "Do you want me to take these back upstairs?"

  Lydia nodded, thanking him, and as soon as he left, found herself staring down at Dr. Remington's phone number.

  She knew she had to call hum. Why not just do it and do it now? Why not? She hesitated, feeling as if she was letting her father down. Betraying him. Going behind his back. He was going to be upset just knowing she called Dr. Jones, let alone this.

  She drew a deep breath, edged the phone closer, then picked it up and dialed, with her heart pounding in her ears and her throat dry, only to be told Dr. Remington was on vacation and wouldn't be in his office until a week from Friday.

  This initially came as a relief. Maybe with time, she thought, her father would start doing better. But then again, maybe he wouldn't, and what if...?

  She reached for the payroll records. She had to keep busy, as busy as if someone were standing over her saying, "Hurry, hurry." By the time she remembered about the bank, it was four forty-five.

  Luckily it wasn't far away. After knocking on the door for what seemed like at least five minutes, the bank manager finally came to let her in. The look on his face and the huff he was in made it seem as if it was the middle of the night.

  "This is really against company policy, you know."

  "Yeah? Well, so's bouncing about eighty checks."

  The bank manager frowned. "Please, follow me." His desk was in the last cubicle, behind where the tellers were. "Now what is this about bounced checks?" he asked, literally cringing as he said the word bounced.

  "As I told you on the phone, I need thirty-five thousand dollars taken from this account..." Lydia handed him one deposit slip, then another. "And put into this one, fast."

  The bank manager scowled again. "Are you an endorser on these accounts?"

  Lydia had to think. "I'm not sure. You'd better check." That elicited another sour expression. "But I do remember signing some papers my dad brought home a few years ago.

  Maybe it was for these accounts."

  "Well, let's hope so." He walked away in another huff and came back a few minutes later. Showing her a form, he asked, "Is this your signature?"

  Lydia nodded. "Yes."

  He showed her a second one. "And this?"

  "Yes. Now can you have the funds switched over before noon tomorrow?"

  "I'll try. But I can't guarantee it. Our computer's..."

  Lydia leaned forward. "Trying won't get it. You have to! Otherwise, the eighty checks I was talking about, they're going to be..."

  The bank manager held his hand up, interrupting her. "Insufficient funds is the correct term."

  Being interrupted drew an inflamed stare. "Call it whatever you like, but they'll be bouncing all over the city if you don't get this done."

  Another scowl. "Did you bring any checks with you?"

  "No, I'm sorry, I didn't. Can't you draw up something here?"

  "I can," he said, with a casual wave of his hand. "But it's going to take longer."

  The casual wave was too much, not to mention the tone of his voice. "Look, just do it, okay! And get it done first thing or I'm going to pull every last penny we have in this bank out come afternoon, corporate and personal, along with a note to your board of directors with a bouquet of flowers explaining why, compliments of you! It's your choice!"

  The bank manager's face turned white. "I...uh...didn't say it couldn't be done. I uh..."

  "Please!" Lydia said. "Just do it then! Now, do you need me to sign something? If so, bring it here. I'm starved and in a hurry."

  The bank manager left, looking meek, and returned a few minutes later with a deposit slip and check for her to sign. "Do you have some uh…identification?"

  Lydia produced a walletful. "Also," she said, "I need the correct balances in both accounts."

  "I can have them for you tomorrow, say around ten."

  "Good. I'll call you then. But if there's a problem with any of this in the meantime, I'll expect you to call me."

  * * *

  The picketers saw Lydia coming and lined the streets, bowing at the waist and extending their hands, and she had to laugh. Typically though, as soon as she turned into the parking lot, nothing seemed funny anymore. Tony's car was in its usual spot, so she stopped in the cafeteria for a pack of cigarettes and went looking for him. He was by one of the lathes off the main aisle, writing something on a clipboard, and hardly glanced up as she approached.
r />   "Good afternoon."

  He nodded.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Checking part counts," he said, going between the next two machines.

  Lydia rolled her eyes and started after him. "I'd like to talk to you. Reed and I..." She stopped abruptly. She'd be damned if she was going to follow him another step, or talk to his back for that matter, and waited for him to turn around. "So, if you have a minute, I'd like you to come up to my office."

  Tony edged past her. "In a bit."

  "Can we do it now?"

  "I am in the middle of something."

  Lydia had to bite her tongue. This man was absolutely impossible. "I see that," she said, in as pleasant a voice as she could manage. "But I'm going to be leaving shortly, so if it wouldn't be too much trouble..."

  Tony looked at her, then jotted another figure down, and tucked his pencil behind his ear. "Let's go," he said, extending his arm.

  Like he's doing me a favor, Lydia thought, walking ahead of him. A big favor. Damn him. The more she thought about it, the more aggravated she became. So much so, that halfway up the stairs she glanced over her shoulder to say something to put him in his place once and for all, but caught him with his eyes down, down and on her backside. He looked up then, and with a rush of self-consciousness, she forgot what she was going to say. She tried to think fast. "Um...I’ll call Reed as soon as we get upstairs."

  Tony looked amused. "I assumed that."

  Lydia gritted her teeth and resorted to silent counting the rest of the way. As infuriating as he was, she had to try to get along with him. Take a deep breath, she told herself. Count...keep counting. Don't look back. Count.

  When they got to the conference room, she motioned for him to have a seat as she reached for a cigarette, and now her hands became a source of aggravation. They were trembling. She turned slightly, hoping to hide them, at least until she could get her cigarette lit. Tony was staring at her when she sat back.

  “Well, now that you're ready," he said, with a smirk and an effective pause. "We have approximately three hundred assemblies from first shift, two-seventy-five from second, and three-ten from third."

  Lydia reached for the phone. "Let me buzz Reed."

  "Why? So he can interpret this for you?"

  Lydia half-smiled, thinking, what a smug son of a bitch. "No, it's just that I know he'll want to hear everything you have to say."

  Tony glanced at his notes. "Well, you can always fill him in over dinner," he said.

  This comment took Lydia totally by surprise, making her glad he wasn't looking at her when he said it, because it would have shown for sure. "I think I'll call him down anyway."

  Tony sort of tipped his head, as if it didn't matter to him one way or the other, and Lydia dialed Reed's extension, dying to know what prompted him to make such a comment. "Besides," she said, "we didn't talk shop last time, so..."

  Tony's face reddened, but only slightly, though he looked a little ruffled around the eyes. Reed answered his phone with his usual polite tone. "I need you to come down here," Lydia said. "Tony and I are squaring off to do battle."

  Tony turned away, but not before she caught a glimpse of his smile.

  "Okay," Reed said. "I'll be right down. Stay cool."

  Hanging up and smiling herself, Lydia reached for her cigarettes, took one out and lit it. Then she stared down at the one already lit in the ashtray and cringed in embarrassment. She quickly glanced at Tony, who appeared to be going over his notes, and hoped he hadn't noticed. But no such luck.

  "You know," he said, without so much as raising his eyes. "You give new meaning to chain-smoking.”

  Lydia snuffed one out. "And I suppose you don't smoke."

  "I used to. I quit."

  Lydia made a face like "who cares?" and sat back, looking around the room. Maybe she could just look around until Reed came. No, it felt awkward. She reached for the payroll records and skimmed through a few, all the while tapping her fingers on the table until Tony glanced at her hand conspicuously. Then she crossed her arms and sat back, staring at him. Finally, she had to ask, "What is voluntary manslaughter anyway?"

  Tony made a clicking sound with his tongue, knowingly, and in came Reed.

  "Too late I see, huh?"

  Tony shook head, looking at Lydia. "No, Will, you're just in time."

  Reed sat down between them, glancing from one to the other. "So what's on the docket?"

  Tony picked up his notes. "The part counts and how they don't figure two nights in a row."

  Lydia took a drag off her cigarette. "Then my suggesting the records aren't accurate isn't so ridiculous after all, is it?" No sooner said, than she felt foolish for having put it that way. It sounded uppity, and Tony's expression only made it worse.

  "No, it's still ridiculous. Because like I told you, they come up with the right amount of parts to ship."

  Lydia felt like a ten-year-old who'd just been scolded by her teacher.

  "So, last night I strolled around the shop, checking out all the corners and storage areas."

  And what did you find? Lydia wanted to ask. Parts stocked? Parts that could be used to fill an order? But not wanting to be corrected again, she kept quiet.

  "There's a pile of parts up behind the main assembly room. Some of that same run."

  Lydia knew it and couldn't have been madder at herself for not saying it when the thought crossed her mind.. Because then, maybe he'd stop treating her as if she had no idea what she was talking about. "And...?" she said, sounding impa­tient.

  "And while it'd be easy to think these parts are being used to fill the quota..."

  Goddamn, she thought. I'm glad I didn't say anything. It sounds like they weren't. "And...?"

  Tony smiled. "You know," he said, "if you just nod or something, I'll assume you're keeping up."

  This too had a scolding effect, and Lydia nodded, then sighed. Jesus, she thought, tell me to nod, and I nod. Oh great.

  "The parts are scrap."

  Lydia leaned forward. "Third shift's errors?"

  "I don't know. I had one of the inspectors go through a box and then spot-check the rest, and the threads are all..." He paused, glancing off. "I should've brought one up to show you. It's hard to describe."

  Reed cleared his throat. "Then what you're saying is you think these could be from third shift?"

  "I don't know. I'm finding it hard to believe they were even made here in the first place. They look like something run off one of Forrester's shit-box machines."

  Reed shook his head. "Well, that doesn't make any sense."

  Tony sat back, crossing his arms. "I never said it did."

  Lydia reached for a cigarette and, fumbling with her lighter, almost burned her fingers. "I dread asking this," she said, looking at Tony, "but here goes. So, please... don't make fun of me."

  Tony just stared.

  "Could those be Forrester's parts?"

  Tony shook his head. "I didn't mean to imply that. Besides, what would be the point?"

  "I don't know. They're running them too. What if they're having trouble with them?"

  “But they're not. Not yet at least. Not the way they're behind. They won't start on them for another week or so."

  Reed nodded, agreeing with that.

  "Still," Lydia said. "Think about it. What if they were switching parts?"

  Tony propped his elbow on the table and ran his fingers through his hair.

  "Come on," Lydia said. "Just hear me out, okay? I mean, it is a possibility. I've been telling Reed about this feeling I have about all of this tying together somehow."

  Tony sighed, one comment, and now watch her blow this out of proportion.

  "And with what Bob Miller told me about the trial they're on."

  Tony stared. "What?"

  "Bob Miller over at Mago. He told me he gave them the contract on a trial because he thinks they'll have trouble giving him good parts, and..."

  Tony held his hand up, the way people do
when they need quiet to think. Then he stood up slowly and walked over to the window, crossing his arms as he stared out. "But if they get us to put them up..."

  Lydia glanced at Reed as if to ask, "Is he saying what I think he's saying?" Reed shrugged. With that, she suddenly turned the advocate. "Wait a minute. What good would that do them? Passing the initial inspection isn't everything."

  Tony walked back and sat down. "Yeah, but it buys them the time needed to set the job up right."

  Lydia's eyes widened. That made sense. It also gave her a chill. Just then the intercom buzzed. She snuffed her cigarette out to answer it. "Yes?" The chill was still with her.

  "A Greg Stewart on line one, Miss Merchant," the switchboard operator said.

  Lydia thanked her, indicating to Reed and Tony she'd only be a minute, and switched over. "Hi, Greg! How are you?"

  "Horny as hell!"

  Lydia laughed. "Aren't you always?"

  "Yes, and you know how to fix that, don't you?"

  Lydia laughed again, sounding more like a giggle, and while Reed concentrated on his hands, Tony crossed his arms and stared away.

  "I wanted to let you know I may be able to get down to see you this weekend after all. The match I had for Sunday has to be rescheduled."

  "Will you be flying in?"

  "Yes, but I'll have to call you with the time. I won't know the flight until after I play Saturday. If I win..."

  "What do you mean, if you win?" Lydia teased.

  Greg laughed. He was on a winning streak. "All right, after I win, and depending on if there's a press interview."

  Lydia smiled to herself. Then something made her look at Reed and Tony, who were both staring at her now, and she blushed. "Um, Greg...I have to go. I'm right in the middle of a meeting."

  "All right, just be by a phone early Sunday morning."

  "I'll be at the beach house or at my dad's. Do you have his number?"

  "Yes, that's how I got this one. I talked to Betty. She tells me she's a fan."

  Lydia smiled again. "She is. I used to write her about you all the time."

  Reed leaned close to Tony upon hearing this, feeling compelled to tell him she was talking to Greg Stewart, the tennis player. Tony responded with a cold stare, as if to say who the hell gives a damn. Reed's next remark was muffled, referring to a discussion he and Tony had obviously had earlier, but Lydia distinctly heard him say, "See, I told you there was a woman in there."