The Secret Keeping (4 page)

Smile back at her, fool. Show her you have all your teeth, as daddy would say. Daddy? What in the world am I doing? Is she naturally blond? Yes, naturally blond. Accessories? None. No jewelry at all, save a thin gold watch on the left wrist. Nothing on her fingers, either. No ring. It was warm in the center of the room, cooler by the wall, Lydia suddenly noticed. About my age. Beautiful hands. Writers hands? Lydia studied them wrapped around the book. Can’t tell. Or was she a musician? Artist? She squinted but couldn’t make out the title. Green eyes, nice. A navy blue tailored pantsuit. Heels. No, definitely not an artist. Probably not a musician, either. Who in the world is this woman? What in the world is she doing here?

There was the waiter again, returning with a drink that had been sent by the guy at the bar pantomiming a toast to the blond. No time for a drink. She had a harried look tonight. Lydia analyzed her face as she paid her bill, collected her things. One last smile?

Yes. And then the blond with no ring was leaving, passing near Lydia’s table, the right hip swaying upward, the left shoulder dipping gently down. She moved rather than walked. Or flowed–god, the woman flowed just like water! Thirty fluid steps to the coat check. Lydia trailed her with her eyes until she was gone and then searched for the waiter.

He was mixing drinks.

I’m out of my mind. Would it be improper to ask the waiter for that woman’s name? Was there an emergency or something; why was she leaving? She should ask him for that woman’s name. Lydia weighed it carefully, contemplating the vacant table with butterflies, trying to understand why the room seemed so empty. Was she planning to meet someone tonight, perhaps? Oh, ask the waiter for her name. But how would I explain it? I don’t think I could! What am I thinking?

All this time Delilah had been gabbing away at her. It was when she stopped that Lydia suddenly remembered her friend again. She saw her posed with her legs crossed, her hands clutched around her knees, wearing an insightful smile that Lydia wished to avoid. She smiled weakly back at her.

The music drifted over their heads and they sat eyeing each other, jostled in their chairs by people on missions to the dance floor or the bar. At their own table, their friends, oblivious, continued to shout and dare and cheer themselves on.

“You’re being a Neanderthal, Liddy. I really mean it.”

“I am?” A nervous laugh. “I don’t know what you mean, Del.”

“No?” Delilah leaned forward and Lydia felt compelled to do the same.

“Did you know, Dame Beaumont, that here on earth where most of us reside most of the time, that we are all perfectly safe from the destructive power of solar flares?”

“Del, I don–”

“That’s because I’m not done. But that if you were actually to be near one, my dear friend, act-u-al-ly near one, Lydia…Neanderthal…Beaumont…you’d be dead in a matter of hours. Huh? I’ll bet you didn’t know that. I want you to think about it while we both get drunk here. I want you to roll it over in your mind,” she said, raising her glass, “and I want you to respond in complete sentences.”

Solar flares…Lydia sipped at her wine thoughtfully. The window seat was filled once more, this time with a loud and frolicking foursome. Neanderthal Beaumont, that’s kind of funny. How should she respond?

Probably best to say nothing, since something clever was out of the question. I’m out of my mind. Is that a complete sentence? She glanced at Delilah as she filled her glass again. Up at the bar she saw Joe trying to make her feel naked. It was easy to ignore him tonight for some reason. Peering back at her from behind the counter Marlene Dietrich looked as cool as a cucumber in a big, black and white poster that boldly declared THE DEVIL IS A WOMAN. The devil a woman? Nah, Lydia doubted it. Pure nonsense. What could they possibly mean by that? She glanced at Delilah sipping her wine, waiting patiently. She’d know the answer.

Lydia still had nothing to say. She gazed into Marlene’s steely eyes. There was another poster beside that one portraying the actress as BLOND VENUS. Blond Venus. So what’s so weird about that? Isn’t Venus blond?

_____

The women had met and become friends while finishing their MBAs. Delilah was the senior of the two.

Now, over forty and solidly single, she managed her personal affairs much as she handled matters at the bank she ran. Lydia, on the other hand, had never been committed to such a lifestyle. It had simply developed in that direction with the financial markets her primary focus in life.

It was in that capacity that she had met an underling named Joseph Rios, who quickly knocked her out of sorts, as Delilah liked to put it. Before then, no fraternizing. That had always been Lydia’s policy in the past.

She had made a fatal exception. Prior to that unhappy event, the two women had seemed like philosophical twins, stoics, taking comfort in each other’s company whenever things got hairy, discussing and dismissing professional or personal difficulties as they occurred. A problem was a mere conundrum or a ridiculous quandary, never a quagmire like Rio Joe had become, faithless Rio Joe. The relationship had made Lydia different, changing her for the worse and even now it was impossible to be of any assistance to her because she refused Delilah’s confidence. She could only guess that Joseph Rios had devastated her friend as months had passed since she had broken it off and she was still not fully recovered yet. And recovery seemed nowhere in sight.

There had never been any secrets between Lydia and Delilah, aside, perhaps, the sticky details of that tortuous romance, which were easy to guess at anyway, judging from its long lasting effects. On Delilah’s part, she had shared everything. One night stands, kinky interludes, pathetic lovers, even the unwanted pregnancy. The only thing that Lydia didn’t know about Delilah was that she had to color her hair.

Delilah was now of the opinion that Lydia had not only become secretive, but morose and morbidly self reflective, dwelling, undoubtedly, on some supposed personal defects instead of admitting the obvious, that it had simply been an unlucky event, becoming involved with a man who was just a pathological misogynist. It could happen to anyone if you’re not careful. Which Ms. Beaumont hadn’t been.

The new Lydia Beaumont was troubling to Delilah. It was unhealthy to be so elusive and joyless. It was unhealthy not to date. And there were certain moments when Lydia even appeared tentative, undecided, dangerously suspended in a state of second guessing. This might happen even if she was only buying bread or ordering something in a restaurant. And now speaking in broken sentences. The voice trailing off effect was absolutely maddening. And that perpetually quizzical expression, as if all of life had instantly become curious and overwhelming. She pictured the sudden paralysis that overcame her friend whenever she happened to lay her eyes on that miserable, miserable man. Delilah wanted to see her cured of this and she constantly encouraged Lydia to at least say hi to him, in the hope that being able to do so would break the spell. But no.

Last week in Frank’s Place–it was a spell her friend was under and Delilah was sure that she was falling deeper into it. To her way of thinking, Lydia just needed to get laid, that’s all, and there were plenty of one-night-easy-overs standing at the bar. You don’t throw yourself into the fire to escape a hot pan. Go for the easy conquests. That’s how you get yourself back into the game. She’d work on this theme all through Wednesday if necessary. Both of them had taken the day off to go shopping together and to grab some nourishment along the way.

_____

“I ask only that you be articulate and clever. I don’t care if you talk with your mouth full, as long as you talk, Liddy.” She glanced at her watch. “Go!”

“Okay, Del. Only four more years till I retire.”

Delilah counted the words out on her fingers. “Give me at least ten more.”

“I hate my fucking job. I hate my fucking job.”

“That’s lovely, dear, just lovely. Have some water. You must be exhausted.”

Lydia grinned. “Del, have you ever…?” her voice trailed off as she set the glass down without drinking anything.

“Try again, Liddy. I probably have.”

Probably not, thought Lydia. Or she’d know about it.

“I’m going to be frank with you, Liddy. Ever since that creep dumped–”

“No, no! Please, Del. Not dumped. Come on, Del. Dumped?”

Delilah took a deep breath. “Walked all over you?”

Lydia sucked in her air, too. She stared out the window. “Walked is…well…a little harsh.” She paused and looked away. “Okay, I’ll admit to walked.”

After awhile Delilah said, “Have I ever what?”

Lydia considered the question. She couldn’t ask it now.

“Okay, whatever it is, if I haven’t I would have. Especially if I were you, okay?”

Lydia laughed and feigned to be counting her words. “How am I doing?”

Delilah rolled her eyes, “I’d really like to know.”

_____

It wasn’t a huge office, but it had a floor-to-ceiling window which looked down onto the street. If she stood at the far right end of it, she could peer out toward the harbor, midtown if she stood left of center, although there was another office building directly across the street. She liked to stand at the glass sometimes and watch the people below. They never noticed her.

It was a teaser. Sixty-five degrees by three o’clock. The end of the week and Lydia was daydreaming at her window. She was thinking of leaving when she heard the door open and close with a quick click. She turned and was not happy to see Joe standing there.

“Lydia,” he crooned.

“I’m not going to endorse it,” she said abruptly. “You know better.” She grabbed her briefcase and began packing it up for the weekend. She had been surprised Thursday morning to find his paperwork waiting on her desk, complete with a cover letter that smelled like his cologne. The odor had infiltrated her office and it served as a terrible distraction, which, she was sure, he had intended it to do. She made to leave and he grabbed her arm as she passed.

“Not once,” he began. He liked her startled look.

She extricated herself and stepped around him. “No, so you know better, I said.” She disliked his expression. “I’m leaving now,” she added.

He blocked her exit. “Not even when I was screwing you.”

He saw the blood rise to her cheeks.

“You approved of that, didn’t you, your highness? Screwing your brains ou–”

“Your…these numbers don’t add up…you…” she stopped and took a step backwards.

He was pleased to see he could still wound her.

She grabbed the papers from the desk. “You can’t make these projections,“ she said, throwing them at his feet. She watched silently as he picked them up, then sidestepped him and held open the door.

He was wearing his sneer; she had learned to hate it. “You have absolutely no right to speak to me that way,” she whispered angrily.

He didn’t reply.

“Get out,” she finally said in a shaky voice.

He did.

_____

C’mon ta my howz, my howz-ah c’mon…happy hour…I’m gonna give ya candy…c’mon ta my howz…ahhh…my howz-ah c’mon…I’m gonna give ya…everything at Frank’s seemed normal.

That was reassuring. Lydia fumbled in the doorway with her jacket, decided at last to keep it on and then left the briefcase at the coat check instead. She then managed to collide with the rubber tree plants that lined the entranceway to the dining room and while her friends watched with bemused expressions she attempted to right them again. After this, she went back to the coat check and deposited her jacket.

Starting the journey all over and aware this time of the hazards, she proceeded stiffly through the aisle of plants to stand at last and rather stupidly at a now hushed table of raised brows. She glanced wordlessly from face to face, and then over to the window seat whose occupant also seemed somewhat stupefied by the performance. At least she had the wherewithal to nod with a smile and go back to her book. Whereas, at her own table, The Land Of Obvious, Lydia’s colleagues sat with their jaws agog, gaping at her and expecting an explanation.

C’mon ta my howz, my howz-ah c’mon…someone finally thought to give her a chair…I’m gonna give ya candy…she winked at them and smiled sheepishly…gonna give ya…everything’s fine.

“Death to the rubber trees!” declared Delilah.

Everyone clapped and resumed their conversations.

“What,” she muttered to Lydia, “you don’t get enough attention?”

“I guess not!”

“You’re flushed. Is that from your stunning entrance or did something happen today?”

“It was stunning, wasn’t it?”

“It was an abomination unto me and I forbid you to do it again.”

“I can’t make any promises, Del.”

“Then we shall have to get you a net.” She handed her a glass.

A net? Lydia laughed, sipped her wine and picked at the appetizers. Yah! A net. Wouldn’t that be nice?

She realized they had all been seated one table closer to the window than they were last week and she searched the room for the usual suspect.

She found the waiter examining the row of plants in the walkway. Evidently he was satisfied that they were unharmed because he grinned when he discovered her watching him and made a rolling motion with his hands as he headed toward the bar. She stared at the row of glistening plants. They seemed to be trembling or laughing. She should ask him, ask him about the blond at the window.

“And now, if Dame Beaumont will kindly pay attention.”

“Yes, Del, I am paying attention.” She turned around, surprised to see the waiter already at her table.

“This comes to you anonymously,” he announced with an empty face.

(Anonymous? Get out.) She took the small glass goblet from his tray and swirled its contents. Yellow–yield.

“Cognac,” he said, still holding out his tray.

Cognac? Lydia glanced toward the bar. No one was claiming the gift. (Anonymous, c’mon?) The waiter’s face was impregnable, the eyes suggesting only that it would be unthinkable for her to refuse the drink.

Friends staring now. She felt conspicuous. She brought the cognac to her lips and swallowed it.