Call Me Lydia

by MaryAnn Myers

  Tony smiled, then looked at John, who was still staring at him, staring and wanting to know "When do you two intend to be married?"

  Lydia glanced at Tony. He had that dead serious look in his eyes. "When things settle down at the shop," he said. "When things are safe."

  John's nostrils flared slightly. "She doesn't need to be there. Not at all. Not right now. Surely you can run the place without her."

  Lydia's mouth dropped. "Dad!?"

  "I'm talking to Tony."

  "Fine! But you're talking about me like I’m not even here. Like I'm not important."

  "You're everything that's important to me," John said.

  Tony looked from one to the other, relieved John had understood what he was trying to tell him. But at the same time, there was a fire building in Lydia's eyes, and that wasn't going to get him anywhere.

  "I run the shop, John," he said. "Not the upstairs. That's Lydia's department."

  "Will's upstairs. She doesn't need to...."

  This brought Lydia to her feet. "Goddamn it, Dad!" She was headed for the door, when in came Betty, just in time.

  "Dinner's ready!"

  Lydia stomped out past her, and John stood up and followed, shaking his head. Tony took a final swallow of his beer and walked over to put the bottle on the bar. When he turned, Betty was still standing in the doorway, tapping her foot.

  He smiled, holding out his hands and turning them the way a child does when their mother is checking to make sure they've washed, and Betty laughed in spite of her gruff exterior.

  "You's fine. Go on."

  Dinner, in a word, was elegant. Prime rib, scalloped potatoes, buttered corn, hot bread, and Waldorf salad. Elabo­rate candelabras adorned the table. A rosebud bouquet lay across the place setting to John's right. Soft music entertained them from somewhere in the walls. But the conversation was strained, at best.

  Betty insisted Tony have seconds and beamed when he told her how delicious everything was. "Would you's be wantin' dessert now, or later?"

  "Later," John said. "I'd like to take a ride. Have George bring the car around."

  Betty nodded, clearing the plates away, and John looked at Tony. "Would you care to join me?"

  Tony said he would, but Lydia objected. "To the cemetery, Dad? I hardly think…."

  Tony reached over and touched her arm. "It’s all right, I don't mind,” he said, irritating the hell out of her when he added, "Besides, you can always join us if you like."

  "Oh no, I'm not going."

  Tony smiled. "Nobody said you had to."

  Lydia probably would have thrown a fit at that, had the discussion of her being spoiled rotten taken place on any other day. As it was, she gave in. "Then go, I don't care. I'll take a nap."

  John observed this exchange in wonder. Had his daughter met her match? It would seem so. He rose from his chair. "Well, dear, then I guess we'll see you in a little while."

  Tony came around the table to kiss her good-bye, tilting her chin up when she wouldn't look at him. As they walked out, she heard her father say, "Do you play Kismet, Tony?"

  * * *

  The ride was no less formidable than the first Tony had in the limousine, but that wasn't the reason he'd agreed to come along. John wasn't making it easy on him though, staring out his window, looking miles away. For a while, nothing was said. It was an odd silence, a tense silence. Finally, when Tony couldn't stand it anymore, he began, "John..."

  John looked at him. "If Lydia' s in danger, I'm to blame."

  Tony didn't dispute that, believing it to be true, and John smiled sadly. "You don't think much of your future father-in-law, do you?"

  "I don't know you that well."

  "Still...?"

  Tony didn't want any part of this conversation. "There's only one thing on my mind right now, and that's Lydia's safety."

  John glanced away as they pulled through the cemetery gates. "I couldn't bear it if I had anything to do with...."

  Something about the way he' d said that had Tony wonder­ing if he'd known all along about the situation Lydia was in. The thought made his blood run cold. "What do you know already about what's going on at the shop?"

  "Nothing," John said, hesitating as he stared up the hill at his wife's grave. "And now if you'll excuse me."

  Tony grabbed his arm. Gentleman or not, this was bullshit. "Is there room up there for Lydia, too, John? Do you want to be visiting her grave, too?"

  John looked at him with a distant gaze, one that only added o Tony's frustration. "You have to listen to me, John. You have to listen to what I'm trying to tell you. Lydia's...."

  "How much danger?"

  Tony sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. How much danger? This man was strange. "I don't know." What did he expect him to say? A little? A lot? "But if what I suspect is true, we're talking about a scam about to go bad because of her. A scam that...."

  "Even if she walks away?"

  "I don't know," Tony said, wondering again how much of this he already knew. "Last night she got Bob to admit he's behind the whole thing, and I think once he gives that some sober thought...."

  "I'll kill him."

  "Before or after he gets to Lydia?"

  George couldn't stay quiet any longer and turned around with tears in his eyes. "You can't let anything happen to Miss Lydia. You just can't."

  John stared. He didn't answer. He just stared.

  "When Bob called the other day," Tony said, "what did he want, John? What did he say?"

  John shook his head, as if he couldn't remember, and stared up the hill again. "My wife died much too soon."

  Tony and George exchanged frustrated expressions, and George turned back around, his shoulders slumping forward.

  "She died at home."

  Tony sighed. "You were saying earlier it was cancer."

  "In the end, yes. At first, it was cirrhosis of the liver. Then lung cancer. That's what killed her."

  Tony propped his elbow on the arm rest, listening.

  "She never smoked a day in her life."

  Tony looked out his window and noticed a young man and a woman putting flowers on a fresh grave.

  "She never drank either."

  Tony watched as the young woman wrapped her arm around the man's, leaning on him. "Yeah, well your daughter drinks like a fish at times, John. But goddamn it, she's still alive."

  John glared at him. "How dare you...."

  Tony glared right back. "I dare! You're goddamn right I dare! Because I'm afraid of what's going to happen to her. And I'm afraid I'm looking at a man who not only doesn't give a shit, but one who just might have something to do with it!"

  John drew his breath in. "Who do you think you are, accusing me? You don't know me."

  "And you don't know me," Tony said, with a look in his eyes the likes of which John had never seen. "So that makes us even."

  George turned around again, trembling. "You got Mr. John all wrong. He'd never do anything to hurt Miss Lydia. Never."

  Tony glanced from one to the other and looked away when tears filled John's eyes. In the silence that followed, he found himself watching the young couple as they walked away, holding on to each other.

  "Come on," John said, opening the door. "Come up with me."

  Tony sighed, getting out reluctantly, and they climbed the hill together. Lydia's mother's grave was at the top. John stopped at the foot of it. When Tony lowered his eyes, staring up at him, etched in the granite was the name Lydia Merchant.

  He turned away, feeling as if he was going to throw up, his legs weak, his blood draining. He staggered the first few steps as he walked back down the hill to the limo, and there, he leaned against it in a cold sweat.

  When John came down a few minutes later, they got in and left. "Lydia never comes to see her mother," John said, as if it were a sin.

  Tony stared out his window. "She was here the other day."

  John looked like he didn't believe him. "She was?"

  "Ye
ah, she was," Tony said, his mind still picturing her name on that gravestone. "And on the way back, she bought a gun."

  "A gun? Why...?"

  "Why?" Tony looked at him, knowing now where Lydia got her rationale. "I've been trying to tell you, if you'd listen. She's scared. And I'm scared for her."

  John stared for a moment, then shook his head. "At first, when the production got behind, it seemed to be a scheduling error."

  Tony couldn't believe this. Production? What the hell?

  "But when I asked about it, no one had any answers. Every day, I would go home more confused than the day before."

  "Why are you telling me this?" Tony asked, his tone of voice revealing his frustration. "What's the...?"

  John held his hand up, wanting him to hear him out. "I'm not a strong man, Tony. I never have been. My wife was my strength. Always…." He paused. "I was in a car accident some twenty-five, twenty-six years ago. It wasn't serious, but it was my fault. I haven't driven since."

  Tony studied him. "So when things got bad at the shop, you got in the back seat and put Lydia behind the wheel? Is that what you're trying to say?"

  John looked away, visibly hurt by that, and Tony apolo­gized. "I'm sorry, John. I am trying to understand, but…."

  John nodded sadly. He couldn't blame him for not under­standing. He couldn't understand himself. "My wife hadn't been dead long when this all started." He hesitated. "Things just weren't adding up. I'd never had employee unrest, and now all of a sudden it was everywhere. I would solve one problem and turn around and have to face two more. If only my wife…." He sighed heavily and stared off. His mind wandered easily. "I'd hash things out all night and go in the next day swearing I was going to get some answers."

  George was nodding to himself, as if remembering this also, giving Tony the impression he' d heard it all before, many times.

  "But I wouldn't get any. None. It was as if I'd asked insane questions."

  Tony just listened.

  "So I fired them and hired new people. But then they'd quit, and I still didn't have any answers. And that's when I knew it was me. It was all me."

  Tony shook his head. "No, I don't think so. We've been asking our share of questions too, probably some of the same ones you asked, and we're not getting any answers either, so...."

  John smiled faintly. There was some comfort in hearing that, albeit short-lived. "I got so I didn't care anymore. We were going down fast, but I just...I just didn't care anymore. Then I lost the Mago contract."

  "And that's when you called Lydia?"

  John nodded. "But I had no idea about any of this, this...what you're talking about. I just know my daughter. She's strong, like her mother."

  Tony rested his head back, staring straight ahead and just thinking. Then something in the rearview mirror caught his eye. He leaned forward. "That car behind us, George. Wasn't it at the cemetery?"

  George glanced at it. "Come to think of it, it was. It was parked by the front gate when we pulled out."

  "Why?" John asked, turning to look over his shoulder.

  Tony stopped him. "Don't! Don't let them see you look­ing." The windows were tinted, but not that dark. "They see you looking, they won't come closer."

  John sat back stiffly. "You think they're following us?"

  "I don't know. Lydia and I were followed the other night, maybe I'm just getting paranoid. Let's wait and see."

  When Tony glanced in the mirror again, George's anxious eyes were staring back at him. "Should I go a different way?"

  "No. If they are following us, they know where we're going," he said and turned to John. "Is Merchant a joint ownership?"

  John was beginning to shiver. "No, everything's in order. Lydia won't have any inheritance taxes."

  "That's not what I mean," Tony said. "I mean, as far as a decision to sell." He leaned forward a little while saying this to try to see out the side mirror. "Is the decision to sell Lydia's?"

  "Yes."

  "What if something happens to her, before you?"

  "Then everything reverts back to me. Why? What are you getting at?"

  "I don't know. I was just thinking about Miller and this big push he was putting on her to sell. You'd have sworn he knew all that."

  "But he does know."

  Tony looked at him.

  "I told him."

  Tony's eyes widened in disbelief. "You what?"

  John swallowed. "I told him."

  "Oh son of a bitch…." Tony leaned his head back. "This is all starting to make sense."

  Tears welled up in John's eyes. It was starting to make sense to him too. "When he called the other day, offering to take the company off my hands, that wasn't the first time. Last year he...." He choked off and had to clear his throat. "I just couldn't handle the discussions anymore. If it were Lydia's decision, then I could..."

  Tony stared out the window. "You know what you've done, don't you?"

  John nodded, reaching for his handkerchief. He knew. He knew full well, now. For a moment, they were both silent. "He was probably just about to close in on you when Lydia showed up," Tony said, sighing.

  John wiped his eyes and blew his nose. "If only I hadn't called her."

  Tony nodded, thinking about that. He'd have never met her then, but at least she would be safe. "You've got to get the company out of her name."

  George looked over his shoulder. "That car just turned."

  Tony glanced back, but only caught a glimpse of it and, in his frustration, gripped John's arm. "And you've got to do it quick. Put it in several people's names. Put it in my name, for Christ's sake, if nothing else. Let the bastard come after me. Just get her out of it!"

  John wiped his eyes again. "I'll change it. I'll care take of it first thing. I'll call my lawyer in the morning."

  Tony nodded. "Then somehow you have to get word to Bob. He has to find out."

  John said he'd handle it, George turned into the drive, and Tony sat back, running his fingers through his hair. This was beginning to make even more sense now. All except for one thing.

  "John, why does he want the company so bad? Why the big push anyway?"

  John shook his head. "The shape were in? I have no idea."

  Lydia and Betty came out onto the front porch as George pulled to a stop. Tony hesitated as he looked at Lydia. "You call me as soon as your lawyer gets it done, John, and we'll bring this to a head. All right?"

  When John nodded, Tony motioned to Lydia. "I'd rather she not know. Can it be done that way?"

  "Yes."

  Lydia came down to greet them when they got out of the car. "Jesus Christ, you've been gone a long time. We were getting worried."

  John smiled. "I'm sorry, dear. It was so good talking shop again, I guess we lost track of time."

  Lydia could see he'd been crying, but assumed it was over her mother, until she noticed something else in his eyes that made her uneasy. She looked at Tony. "Gee, did he convince you I don't have to be there?"

  Tony smiled, reaching for her hand. "No, your name never came up."

  Lydia laughed. "Yeah, right. Come on, Betty has dessert ready. And I want to get home to look at that accounting again."

  Tony excused himself inside to go down the hall to the bathroom. Lydia and her father went into the den.

  "Dad, why are you taking a salary?"

  John shook his head, looking totally preoccupied with staring at her mother's chair.

  "I mean, you've always had a thing about leaving the money in the company."

  Still, John just stared, not answering. Lydia was just about to throw her hands up, when all of a sudden, he asked her, "What is this about the accounting?"

  Lydia's mouth dropped. "Dad, I told you! I don't have any receipts, Dan Morris copped them all. I just have what was in the computer, which has been a bitch to reconcile. I've got the sales' copies of purchase orders, but that only says what was ordered, not delivered. I’ve had to balance that against scrap, and...."

  Tony
walked in, and she paused for a second, smiling as he sat down next to her. "I was just reminding Dad about Dan Morris leaving and taking all the accounting receipts with him."

  Tony nodded. "Did you tell him about how he tried to run you over and then deep-sixed himself the same day?"

  John's eyes widened, looking stunned, which was the exact reaction Tony wanted. John had to understand how critical time could be, though typically, Lydia tried to make light of the situation. "Actually no, because we really aren't sure that happened to him. And I did run out in front of him, trying to stop him, so...."

  Tony gave her a look that emphasized how he felt about this continuous rationalization of hers, his frustration appar­ent, and this made as much an impression on John as anything. "I um...I think I'll come into the office in the morning," he said. "I have something I have to do early, but I'll be in right after that."

  "That'd be great," Lydia said. "Maybe you and I can go over the accounting together."

  Betty came in carrying a tray, humming as she put it down, the aroma of apple pie filling the room. "One piece or two?" she asked Tony.

  "Two," he said, well on his way to winning her over.

  Lydia smiled.

  * * *

  John insisted they walk out to her mother's garden before leaving to see the roses, and Lydia was glad they had. At the car, he reminded her that he'd see her in the morning, then turned to Tony and shook his hand.

  Lydia didn't know why, but seeing the two of them standing there the way they were brought a lump to her throat.

  "You'll be at the beach house tonight?" John asked.

  Tony nodded.

  "Good," John said, nodding himself. "Good."

  Lydia commented on his behavior as they pulled out the drive. "Well that sure was strange."

  Tony looked at her. "What? He seemed pretty with it to me."

  "I know. That's what I mean. It was strange."

  Tony smiled, reaching for her and trying to get her to come sit closer to nun. "What are you doing way over there?"

  Lydia batted his hand away, wide-eyed and emphatic about staying right where she was, and Tony laughed. "You are something, Lydia. I'll give you that."