So yeah. Lydia. I mean, it couldn't be. Obviously. That was stupid. Of all the... well, not gin joints, but political meet-and-greets, in the world, she had to show up in this one. How could it be here? What were the odds?
And it
definitely
was her. Quite apart from that face I'd never forget, she was draped in the same white off the shoulder Grecian style dress she'd worn on the cruise, all curves and stuff hanging down, with slits up both sides and... OH MY FUCKING GOD! LYDIA WAS HERE!!
I just stood, doing my best goldfish impression, watching her zoom past, intent on the dance, drink half way to my mouth and dead stopped. Memories of the cruise rushing through my head. Thank God it wasn't a tango; I doubt I could have stood that.
She hadn't noticed me, and I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. They spun around the dance floor, being obscured by other couples, then reappearing again. She was definitely here. It wasn't my wishful thinking.
I was dimly aware that someone was standing beside me, and I glanced left and saw Paula, head crooked at me, then glancing out into the dancing throng to see what was entrancing me.
"Dad? You okay?" she asked, concerned, clutching what I hoped to god was a diet coke. She was nineteen, and the last thing either of us needed was her being served alcohol at a political event for my friend.
I must have mumbled something, and gestured, hand still full of forgotten drink, which then spilled on to the floor.
"What?" she said, even more concerned.
I turned and looked at her, then looked back, searching out the couple. Nope, still there. Not vanished, like they would if this was a good horror movie, where someone was trying to drive me mad.
"Remember me telling you about Lydia?" I asked, glancing back at her again.
"Oh, the Greek goddess? Aphrodite? The cruise romance? The one that got away? Sure..."
"Wanna see what she looks like?" I said, returning my stare to the dancing couple. "Over there, in the white dress." I gestured again, this time trying not to spill the drink.
Paula whistled. "Well look at her! Go Dad! Quite the Bettie!"
That was an old reference even I got.
"So, what do you think she's doing here, Dad? Couldn't get enough old geezer and came all this way to get some more, you think?"
I glanced back her, but she wasn't looking at me, she was watching Lydia, eyes shining.
I looked back myself. I had to admit, even though Marcus Fontaine was a disgusting leech of a human, he could dance. But then, so could Lydia. She could make the hunchback of Notre Dame look good. She
had
made the local hunchback - me - look good!
"I have no idea," I said, still in shock at her showing up. "Seems a bit of a leap though, her being here when I am. I mean, it's not like I think she'd have business here."
I was torn. Do I rush over and try and take her in my arms? She was clearly Fontaine's date tonight, and I wasn't about make a scene at this event. On the other hand, I was sure... no, I was desperately
hoping
she was there for me. It seemed logical.
But why? We'd parted on good terms, her to go back to her life and me to mine, a world apart, no intention to try and prolong what we had at that time. I mean, did she want more from me? If she did, did I want more from her? What would I say to her if we ran into each other? How would I engineer that?
The questions were coming thick and fast and I was overthinking things I knew, as I always do. I decided my drink was almost dead and I hadn't even drunk most of it, and just this once, I deserved another one. Paula could drive us home if need be. The wonders of having kids that can drive. She loves my car anyway.
So rather than pathetically standing and trying desperately to catch her eye as she whizzed by, I did what any man who was trying not to be pathetic would do. I went to the bar. Paula drifted off to her friends, saying, "They are gonna
sheet
when I tell them about this! My dad is such a stud that a women would travel half way around the world, just to show up at an event he's at!" And I swear she wasn't being entirely sarcastic! Well, I hoped, anyway.
And that's where she found me. Clearly, she
had
seen me, just wasn't about to let on to Marcus Fucking Fontaine, thank god.
"There you are," she breathed, sliding up next to me as I stood in line and grabbing my arm, like she'd just been to the bathroom and was catching up with me again. I was suddenly extremely glad I'd put on the Armani, given what an absolute goddess she looked. At least the clothes wouldn't let me down. No rumples here, for once.
I just looked at her, not knowing what to say. I don't think I was mouth breathing at the time, but you never know, I may have been.
She just smiled impishly at me, that smile women use when they know they've surprised you, in a nice way. Half smug, half full of promise and half mischievous. Yes, I know that's three halves. Shut up. I'm having a
moment
here.
"Well, this is... unexpected," I murmured, more for something to say than anything.
Her look faltered. "You aren't pleased to see me? I thought it would be a marvelous surprise!" She still had that adorable British way of saying certain words.
"Well," I replied carefully, "while it
is
marvelous to see you, and very unexpected, I can't help but notice that you appear to be Marcus Fontaine's date?" I looked around, expecting to see him steaming over and demanding I unhand his woman. He was, after all, that kind of asshole.
"Oh him," she said, dismissively. "The man is a pig. He's already trying to get me to go 'have a nightcap' in the room he's reserved here." She opened her mouth and stuck her finger in, making the universal gesture for vomit inducing feelings.
"Why are you with him at all?" I had to ask.
"Because I couldn't find you, you idiot. I knew where in the world you were, you told me that much. But I don't have your number or your email. Remember? We both agreed we'd not share those. Too hard after we ended our little romance. I remembered you told me you were associated with the politikós, the... politician, yes? So, I thought you'd probably be here, and that pig was the first man I could find who might bring me. And here I am!"
"And lovely it is to see you, Lydia! I have to say. Although... I can't help but remember the fact that we weren't going to see each other after the cruise? I was under the impression that you'd go live your life and..."
I didn't get any further. She disengaged my arm and stepped back, looking at me in alarm and hints of anger. My first lesson in Greek temperament. "You don't want me here? There is nothing beyond our holiday? I have made a mistake?" She was
not
happy with my statement, or what she thought it meant.
"No, no," I protested. "I'm
overjoyed
you are here! Just... puzzled as to why. I mean, surely you didn't come all this way just for me?" I said, a little weakly, aware that we were starting to get a little attention from others in the drinks line.
"Why would I not?" She asked, genuinely horrified at the question. "We had such fun on the cruise. You seemed like someone I would want to know better. I know what we said, but once I had time think on it..." She drifted off at the end of the sentence, looking at me intently for hints.
I wasn't sure how much better she
could
know me, given the things we'd already done, but... well. She WAS here. And saying it was for me, so it was clearly up to me to capitalize on that.
My first thought was Paula, but Lydia had other ideas. Clearly, she'd seen the attention we were getting, and wanted out from under it too.
"Let's dance," she said, smiling again that seductive smile. She thought she could just get me to do anything with that smile. Well, she was wrong. Very wrong. I was my own man. So, it was
my choice
that we went out on the dance floor. Absolutely it was.
Shut up. I won't tell you again.
We did a waltz, which I can just about do, one two three, one two three, one two three, Len Goodman would have been proud, God rest his soul. It was wordless, me concentrating on not stepping on her feet, and her staring at me, totally on autopilot. She
was
a good dancer.
Then, inevitably, the next song was a tango. And we both just collapsed in giggles, and had to walk off, right into the form of a monumentally pissed off Marcus Fontaine.
And he
was
pissed. As we abruptly stopped, her clutching my arm, I could see his lips compressed, the eyes narrowed, and the hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. It was not a pretty sight.
"Hey Marcus..." I started, and he just interrupted.
"Can it, Tomlinson. What the Hell do you think you are doing? With MY date?" he demanded, hissing the question so as to not attract too much attention.
The smile, such as it was, left my face. Were we really going to do this? Man-o-man, duke it out, Queensberry rules, and all that? At our age?
"Look," I said, holding my hands out in front of me, Lydia incidentally dropping her hands off my arm, "we are old friends, just catching up. No one is taking 'your' date away from you." I emphasized the 'your' part, mostly as sarcasm, but given who I was talking to, he may not notice that and take it seriously.
"Old friends?" he hissed, acidly, disbelief in every syllable. "She only got here five days ago! Don't give me that..."
I was about to say something when Lydia stepped forward.
"Actually, Marcus, we are, it's true. Old cruise mates in fact. We cruised around the Med and had lots of... I think the word is shenanigans? Is that right?" she looked at me, a wide smile on her face.
"That's a good word. Another one might be mischievousness?" I suggested, getting into the spirit of things.
"Ohh, Yes!" she exclaimed. "Mischievousness. Yes, very definitely. We were definitely up to that."
"Perhaps even Tom Foolery? But definitely not devilment," I proclaimed.
"No, definitely not. My sainted mother would never have forgiven us," she agreed.
