Betrayal (16 page)

             
“If the boy doesn’t ask Diane to the dance it could be, for her.”

             
“You left the waiting room too soon and you didn’t hear the rest of our conversation. When Judy arrived she and Diane were talking about the psychic’s prediction. Judy reminded Diane that the psychic did not mention any names but only said that yes, Diane was going to the dance.”

“Safe bet I’d imagine,” Lydia interjected. “Most teens go stag to dances anyway. And Diane is such a pretty girl; the boys must be standing line to take her out.”

              “Yes and no,” Marjorie said as she held the door to the mall open for Lydia. The hustle and bustle of the food court brought about a lapse in their conversation while the two women searched for a table. “Look, over there,” Marjorie pointed as Lydia sprinted for a table with two chairs.

             
Lydia dropped her purse on the table just seconds before a burly man made a grab for one of the chairs. Looking up to see her standing there he smiled shyly, blushing red as he apologized.

             
“This place is worst than a bargain basement sale,” Marjorie complained as she slid into a chair. “You go first, Lydia. I’ll wait here. I was thinking I wanted pizza but after seeing that,” she said, indicating the crowd in front of Pizza Fast’s stall, “I think I’ll get a hamburger instead.”

             
“Me too. I’ll get you one, my treat. What do you want to drink?”

             
“A root beer, please.”

             
“Any fries?”

             
“Yes, please.”

             
“Fine, I’ll be right back.”

             
Marjorie sat back to relax as Lydia made her way through the crowd to place her order. When Lydia returned to the table the worst of the lunch rush was already beginning to ease. More and more tables were empty now and the noise level had dropped to a more comfortable level.  Between bites of her hamburger Lydia questioned Marjorie for details of the psychic fair.

             
“It was held at the Trade and Convention Center at City Hall, all day Saturday. There were more than forty psychics from all over the Maritimes, and Montreal. As you know there were, of course, several Tarot readers but services offered included palmistry, astrology, numerology and dream interpretation.”

             
“You mean there was someone there who claimed to be able to explain what dreams mean?”

             
“That is what she said. I met a lady Saturday who claims to be able to do just that.”

             
“Do you think she really knows what she is talking about? How does she do it?”

             
“I don’t know, Lydia.  I don’t know how she does it; I only know that she says she can. I am not sure about the cost; I never asked. But I did get her business card with her name and telephone number.” Marjorie searched her over-sized cloth bag, finally coming up with the small hand printed card.  “Here it is,” she said smiling.

             
The card read:

             
                            Melina Mercer

             
                            Dream Interpretation

             
                            555-6868

             
                            5445 Pitt Street, Saint John

             
                            By appointment only

              Lydia reached across the plastic food tray littered with discarded sandwich wrap, empty French fry containers, and soiled napkins to take the business card from Marjorie.

             
Marjorie took a sip of her drink, paused, and then spoke again. She sought Lydia’s eyes to gauge the affect of her words.  “Lydia,” Marjorie paused, searching for the right words, “You know I am not one to stick my nose in other people’s business and you know I keep my opinions to myself.”

             
Lydia nodded as she sipped her lemon-lime flavored drink.

             
“You also know I have never spoken to anyone outside the office concerning what I have learned there, that is until Saturday.”  Marjorie stopped. She sat staring down at the Formica table top, absently running her hand through her thick dark hair. Marjorie’s eyes moved nervously, her face was sad and slack.

             
Lydia waited in silence for Marjorie to begin again. After a few minutes of awkward silence Marjorie cleared her throat and said, “Now, I’m not stupid. I know about your nightmares, have for months.”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak but Marjorie cut her off.

“Lydia, you hide out back in your office. You’re more stressed, more anxious.  You’ve  changed!  I admit it, I have spoken to Dan and he told me about your nightmares and that now you are having waking dreams too!”

             
Lydia’s face flamed with embarrassment.

             
Marjorie continued, “Please believe me, all I want to do is help. So when I met Melina on Saturday, well I … I mentioned a friend of mine has been suffering from continuing nightmares, which have fallen over into frightening daydreams. She said she could help. She asked for details but I refused. I felt I had betrayed our friendship enough just speaking to her; that was when she gave me her card. There, I’ve done it. I have told you.” Marjorie’s eyes searched Lydia’s face for a response.

             
Lydia’s reddened cheeks cooled and she sighed heavily. She hadn’t been exactly sure what Marjorie was going to tell her but this wasn’t so bad, maybe this was an alternative to Alan Stokes and his dreaded hypnosis.

             
“It’s okay Marge. It really is,” Lydia said softly. “You’re a good friend. I know you were just trying to help. I also know that you care a lot about me; otherwise you would not have become involved.” Lydia snaked her hand across the littered table to take Marjorie’s own. “Thanks, Marjorie, I will call her.”

             
“Good enough. Enough said. Will you look at the time?” the older woman said, suddenly discomfited. “I have an errand to run. Would you mind going back to the office without me? I’ll be there before 1:30.”

             
Lydia nodded, smiling at her old friend’s discomfort. She realized just how much courage it had taken Marjorie to speak up and she appreciated her friend’s dilemma. She watched as Marjorie hurried towards the escalator, walking up the steps as if trying to distance herself from what Lydia was sure Marjorie felt was a betrayal of trust. Lydia on the other hand, saw their exchange as a chance of salvation. Clutching the card she slipped it into her sweater pocket then disposing of the remains of their lunch Lydia made her way to the King Street entrance and back to the office.

                                                                                       ***

              As promised Marjorie returned before the first patient of the afternoon arrived. Lydia spent the afternoon in her office working on accounts payable. She found her hand slipping into her pocket to touch the business card. Finally at 3:30 she decided she would wait no longer.  Picking up the telephone she dialed the number on the card.

             
“Hello, here is Melina Mercer,” said a heavily accented woman’s voice. Lydia began to speak before she realized the voice was recorded.  “I cannot come to telephone now,” the voice continued, each word enunciated carefully and distinctly as only one who speaks English as a second language can do.  “Please leave name and telephone number. I call you.”

             
Lydia waited as the answering machine gave three quick beeps followed by one long one. After a moment’s hesitation she left her name and telephone number, giving both the number at home and the private one in the office. She found herself restless. Unable to concentrate on the ledger book, she wandered out into the waiting room.

             
“Just the lady I want to see.”

             
Looking up Lydia was startled to see Alan Stokes standing directly in front of her. He stood before her with his hands folded before his immaculate suit jacket. He had a paisley ascot tied at the throat of his crisp white shirt. His normally neatly combed hair was roguishly ruffled. Lydia’s blushed. While she had agreed to begin hypnosis, she wasn’t ready to face him. Her clear blue eyes darted around the waiting room grasping for an escape, any excuse to flee her predicament.

             
Marjorie’s voice broke the spell of Lydia’s desperation. “Excuse me, Lydia, the telephone is for you.  Should I ask her to call back or take a message?”  Marjorie frowned; she hated to disrupt the flow of the office and knew Lydia preferred not to accept calls when she was in conversation with someone.

             
“No, I’ll take it,” Lydia replied, too quickly. “Forgive me, Alan, but I have been waiting for this call all day,” she lied.  “If you will excuse me I will only be a few minutes.” Lydia flashed him a smile as she turned toward her office.

             
“Ah, sure, I’ll wait,” Alan mumbled. “Maybe I will get a chance to see Dan for a few minutes,” he continued as he threw Marjorie a hopeful glance.

             
Watching her employer’s visible wince, Marjorie made a show of consulting Dan’s appointment book. After a few moments hesitation she said, “Could maybe squeeze you in around five o’clock. Want to come back then?”

             
“No,” Alan said gruffly. “I will just wait for Lydia to finish her call.” Alan seated himself heavily on one of the leather chairs.

             
“Suit yourself.” Marjorie said as she turned back to the endless job of filing charts.

             
Lydia picked up the telephone receiver in her private office. “Lydia Hamilton, how may I help you?”

             
“No, is how may I help you?  Here is Melina Mercer. You called me?”

             
“Oh yes, Mrs. Mercer.”

             
“Is Miss, Miss Mercer speaking.”

             
“Oh. Yes. Miss Mercer, a friend of mine gave me your number.”

             
“Yes.”

             
“My friend, Marjorie McAndrews, met you on Saturday.”

             
“I meet many, many people on Saturday,” was the woman’s unhelpful reply.

             
Lydia hesitated, wondering why she had called this woman in the first place.

             
“Ah, you are the lady with the nightmares, yes?”

             
Lydia wondered how the woman could have figured that out. ‘But then,’ she thought ‘Marjorie must have mentioned my name.’

             
“Yes,” Lydia said shyly. “How did you know?”

             
“Is my business to know,” the other woman said sharply.

             
Lydia groaned internally, she didn’t like where this conversation was going. Why she felt so hostile towards this woman, Lydia couldn’t decide.

             
“You are reluctant. I know this. But you are troubled by your dreams. You want to know what they mean. I can help but only if you do as you are told,” the woman continued imperiously.  “Tonight, place a sachet of dill, rice and coriander beneath your pillow. There will be no dream tonight. When you are three nights no dream we will meet.”

             
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Lydia laughed. “What did you say, dill, rice and what?” Lydia could barely contain her giggle.

             
“Who is expert here?” Melina Mercer snapped.

             
Lydia winced at the audible crack of the woman’s jaw. “Excuse me, but I have made a mistake.  I am not interested in witch’s brews and I don’t like the tone of your voice. Nor do I appreciate being ordered about by a complete stranger. I believe this conversation is at an end.”  Lydia prepared to hang the receiver back in its cradle.

             
“No, wait. I prove it to you. I prove I can help. Yes. If you take the time to make the sachet, you sleep dreamlessly for three nights.”

             
“So, if I place this under my pillow I will never have the dream again? Is that what you are saying?”

             
“Three nights only, for dream to go away must first know why reason it keeps coming. Have you ever heard of hypnosis?”

             
Lydia groaned, thinking ‘not you too.’  “No,” she answered a little too forcefully.

             
“Okay. Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

             
“The right side.”