Valley Girl: A Lyndy Martinez Story, Part-5

Lyndy Life Observation: In the eighties a small church in town organized its own big brother program, and being a deputy, naturally Dale Keynes was recruited as someone the kids could look up to. His “bright idea” was to teach the sixth graders how to shoot (at least the ones who didn’t know already). So, on a hot July afternoon, the boys are lined up shooting hay bale targets and one of the kids taps Dale on the back announcing calmy: “Excuse me sir, I accidentally shot myself.” Dale at first thought the boy was joking, but after seeing his white shoe turning crimson red, he stopped everything and rushed the boy—full lights and siren—to the nearest ER. Not sure if Dale was ever invited back into the program.

Mid-morning light flooded the cramped room through slats in the window shades. For the high cost, it wasn’t particularly fancy. This was no Ritz. Its hotel value was based on setting—literally in the Yosemite Valley—versus amenities.

The six-foot-tall men didn’t know where best to sit in the cramped room, so the deputy, whom she learned was named Ruby, sunk onto the bed. Meantime Steve Brandt shoved his thumbs in his belt and stood nervously against the wall, fidgeting, as The Spitfire changed in the bathroom six feet away.

She leaned out to check on them periodically, thinking Ranger Brandt looked like the type of guy who subscribes to home delivery of Consumer Reports. He certainly had the old man crewcut to match, with his hat dangling by one fist at thigh level. From her makeshift cradle on the dresser, Mari was spouting goo-goo ga-ga sounds mixed with whining. Of all her noises, these were the most entertaining.

Brandt asked if he could record Lyndy’s statement, setting a Walkman size recorder on the bureau next to the TV and pressing the red button.

“Let’s get one item straight. People call me Lyndy,” she voiced from behind the door. “If anyone says Melinda no one will know who the heck that is.” Only Mr. Chan called her that.

“What do you do for a living Miss Martinez?” questioned Brandt, ironically.

“I don’t see how it’s relevant,” she replied, pulling a floral-print sundress over her head, then shimmying her torso to level out the shoulders. The tricky part came next: getting it tightened. She had to look backwards in the mirror, as there were a series of buttons near the top which needed to be looped across. “Right now, it’s mother and homemaker.”

“And before?”

“Chief of security for a real estate investment company.” She put tiny diamond earrings into her hears, squeezing the back to secure them. “Pretty large firm.”

“Like a security guard?” asked Ruby.

“No, far from it. Like a personal body guard for VIPs.” She avoided uttering the name of Lovelace, thinking it bad luck.

“Why did you leave your job? Pregnancy?”

“I’d rather not say,” answered Lyndy. She opened the creaking door, grinning to the men, while vigorously brushing her hair.

“You have a record in the state of California,” admitted Brandt. “Along with a person named Z. Chan, the most apprehensions I’ve seen. Except by a federal Marshall.” He seemed impressed.

Ruby chuckled.

Feeling at ease, Lyndy touched up her makeup while relating what she’d seen, the figure of Kristen, alone on the bridge. She also described the scuffle they’d had, prior in the bar, and explained the reason she felt reluctant to get involved when she saw Kristen the second time. That all seemed believable to the pair. She reiterated her wish not to allow this circumstance to blow her husband’s business deal.

She even told them how Kristen had discarded a cell phone in the meadow. They were eager to recover it. From Brandt, she learned Kristen hadn’t returned to the hotel that night. She hadn’t been in her room since she left the bar. And her husband was worried.

The one detail Lyndy held close was about the actual phone call. She was saving that ace for later. Because she knew if Kristen didn’t come home in the next twenty-four hours, these detectives would be back. And when they came, she wanted leverage.

By the time she convinced Brandt and Ruby to get moving, it was closing in on one o’clock. She barely had enough time to squirt on deodorant, pack up Mari’s stroller, then race to the bus stop and try to catch a free shuttle into the village. Luckily, she’d brought the sundress and a low-key derby hat, aiming for Julia Roberts vibes.

As she waited for the bus to arrive, the skies began darkening and light rain fell, coating the parking lot. But it made the whole area smell delightful. The bus had a roof, but the sides were open air, so she could watch and listen to the rain falling on forests and meadows.

---

The Degnan’s building was mid-century modernist chic, in contrast to the traditional log-cabin style of The Ahwahnee. It had two-stories, a groovy river-rock craftsman facade and stunning vistas of the falls. She’d been looking forward to this.

The front entry was bustling with midday activity, all tourists, waiting in line for fast food like sub sandwiches and ice cream cones. Hopefully Maribel would be on her best behavior, cause the place was packed tighter than the Vanishing Point on ladies’ night. And no one wanted a screaming baby in the mix.

As she rolled into the doors, she felt the warmth of the space. Her heels helped her rise above the crowd and she was able to survey the dining room. It was just as lively, a seat yourself kind of joint, every table and stool occupied. She didn’t see Neil anywhere. Out front, kids were playing hopscotch games on the concrete.

Then she heard someone make the “PSSST PSSST” sound and call: “Lyndy!” The cry came from above, at the mezzanine level.

She turned to the stairs, a floating kind going at a right angle. It was Neil, waiving a hand and pointing to the top. “We’re up here.” He was still dressed in his hotel uniform. He darted down to her level and grabbed the front bar on the stroller, taking the bulk of the weight, while Lyndy lifted the back.

Kyle would’ve needed to be told to do that.

She’d not been expecting what greeted her as she crested the stairs. It was a crew of five strangers waiting at a lunch table, friends to Neil Conner. She’d not anticipated a gathering, but the room was cozier for it, with a crackling fire in a stone and metal enclosure. Indeed, up here tourists weren’t normally aloud.

They were friendly looking misfits, climbers and year-round dwellers at Camp-4.  Unlike the rich boys at the Silver-Pacific meeting. They’d been playing cards; each had a hand dealt in front of them.

The first one catching Lyndy’s eye was a skinny redheaded woman in her twenties, with hippie chick vibes. Bouncing on her knee she had a little girl, less than a year old but with stunning red hair matching her mother.

The smiling woman spoke first. “Oh my gosh, you have the Rolls Royce of strollers,” she proclaimed, to the amusement of everyone in the room. “I’m serious. Every new mother I know wants one of those. I’ve never actually seen it in person.” She pretended to clap.

“I know. Can you believe this contraption?” boasted Lyndy, adjusting the height and parking it neatly in the corner. “The irony is I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve truly got no business being called parent.” Feeling like she was on a roll Lyndy, added, “If this stroller can make you one, it’s like saying Michael Jordan is a good basketball player cause of his shoes.”

The group laughed. Ordinarily, she’d have felt a certain ambivalence coming into a scene such as this as an outsider. Except for the fact Neil had complemented her twice, once in a written note, offering her the precise boost of confidence she needed.

“Uh, we ordered for you,” remarked Neil, offering Lyndy a red plastic tray with an Italian sub wrapped in paper, Doritos, a pickle and a cold Sprite. “Hope this is okay. It’s a long line if not.” He’d even snagged a stack of those brown recycled napkins.

“No, it’s perfect,” said Lyndy excitedly. “I love Sprite.” Two other male climbers were watching her. Lyndy slid out a remaining chair and took a seat at the cramped table. It felt good being the person everyone had been waiting to meet. “I didn’t know you were gonna bring the gang? So is Neil like The Fonz of this group?”

“You should know, I planned on coming alone,” clarified Neil. “But word got around camp, and these five at least, wanted to tag along. They’re dying to meet you I guess.” He took a seat next to her, at a 90-degree angle so he could lean one arm on the table.

Trying to break the ice, Lyndy peeled up a sleeve to expose the top of her right shoulder. “I want you to know, I got two nicotine patches on today. Doubling up,” proclaimed Lyndy, covering her mouth after taking a bite. “It’s probably a smart idea for me to eat something too,” she added. “Cause I’m talking nonsense.” She popped a chip in her mouth.

A smile crept over Neil’s face, and as their eyes met, Lyndy responded in kind.

The young woman, whom Lyndy learned was named Erica, turned herself slightly away from the group and started breastfeeding right there. Lyndy admired that kind of boldness.

One of the men interjected, “Neil’s been chattering nonstop, how you bounced a drunk out of the bar like a Roadhouse movie, in heels and a dress. After that much build up we had to see for ourselves.”

The redhead imitated Neil’s voice facetiously. “Oh wow guys, like the coolest mom-chick ever is staying at The Ahwahnee.”

Neil seemed embarrassed but also starry-eyed.

“Oh really?” Lyndy sipped the drink through a straw. She stood halfway up, giddy: “Now I will blow your minds cause … I’m actually a man. This whole time I was a man.”

“Well, it makes you giving birth a lot more impressive,” quipped Neil.

Everyone roared with laughter.

Another of his pals—fella with a John Muir-ish beard and shaggy hair falling on his shoulders—jumped in the conversation: “Where’re you from anyway? Let us guess. Laguna Beach?”

The Spitfire grinned and shook her head. She pushed her deep chestnut hair over her ear, elegantly using one fingertip and sipped her drink. Each time she ventured to gaze at Neil their eyes unintentionally met, because he was doing the same, making it awkward. This caused her to blush.

“Beverly Hills? Pacific Palisades?”

Lyndy rolled her eyes. “God no. Try East LA. If someone from my family went to Beverly Hills, it was maybe to clean a house.”

“Favorite genre of fiction—assuming you’re a reader?”

“Romance of course,” answered Lyndy.

“High five, girl,” said Erica.

The shaggy man who’d spoken gripped both sides of his head and shook it, as though in physical agony over this idea.

“Alright, alright, cut it out everybody,” scolded Neil, pounding the table. “No one is ever gonna join the friend group if we keep acting this excitable. Let the woman eat.”

“I’m being considered for the group? Now I see. It’s an audition.”

“You’re totally his type,” whispered Erica.

“Well, what are you guys playin?” Lyndy questioned. “Deal me in cause I got like 15 minutes until my baby makes a scene and I get bounced out myself.”

Neil checked his watch. “And I have 25 before I have to catch a ride for my next shift.”

As it turned out they were playing Gin-Rummy, which Lyndy knew. Neil was self-conscious, but in time he properly introduced her to his male friends and Erica. She learned Erica’s boyfriend was one of the climbers and she lived with him in a VW camper van. They chatted like it was a party.

As she finished her food Mari began to cry—right on cue—so Lyndy lifted her out of the stroller. She attempted to bounce her gently on her knee as she played cards.

But of course, any sense of peace didn’t last long and Maribel became fussy. She watched Erica, whose baby gazed skyward, effortlessly placid and a delight. Lyndy stood Maribel up as she would a doll and pointed her toward the other baby—a baby-to-baby stare down. Though it was uncertain how far a baby’s eyes could focus, she appeared interested. “See the redhead, Maribel? Yer grandma is a redhead. Pretty cool.”

“Wait, your mom is a redhead?” questioned Neil. The card playing stopped. Everyone seemed spellbound by this revelation. Moreso than her earlier one.

Lyndy shrugged. “True fact. Weird right? My dad is from Hermosillo.” She turned to face Erica. “Serious question. How do you do it? Your baby hasn’t cried once. What’s the trick? Is there a cheat code I need to know?”

Erica giggled, stuffing her curly hair back under a scarf. “Why don’t we go downstairs for a minute?”

Lyndy nodded, this time transporting Mari in her baby Bjorn sling.

Out front Erica offered some back story on Neil. She explained, despite his shy and modest attitude, he was actually a rock star in the climbing world, having completed first ascents across the valley and around the west coast. He taught climbing as well, to younger folks, some of whom showed up with little more than a class or two of training in Joshua Tree. He was kind of a mentor in a way. This also explained his lithe physique and his transitory lifestyle.

Erica asked about Kyle too, but Lyndy waved it off.

“Hey Lyndy, one more thing I wanted to mention,” Erica confided nervously, before they parted ways. “It wasn’t the right time in there, with all those people. But ask Neil to tell you about Sierra Spring. When you see him next” She seemed deadly serious in that moment.

“What’s that?”

“Just have him explain.”

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Later that afternoon …

Lyndy Life Observation: I owned a sexy ruffled party dress that I adored but Rita hated, claiming it looked tacky and cheap on me. Perhaps I enjoyed it more knowing it annoyed her. One afternoon I was searching for it in my various suitcases, as we prepared to attend a cocktail hour, and Rita admitted to me she secretly donated it to Goodwill. To this day I’m still mad about that double-cross.

They were walking hand in hand, down a trail following the course of the Merced. On the right was a thick wood. Small birds were swooping down, catching insects floating on the water. The light was softer now and the temps had fallen some. The plan was to have dinner at the Lodge, in the upscale steakhouse. But even thinking about such heavy food made her drowsy.

Kyle was pushing the stroller with his free hand. The wind blew gently, rustling leaves on the canopy of cottonwood and birch trees.

“What were you up to today?” He inquired. “I stopped by our room on breaks a few times, but you were out.”

“What did you expect? I’d be up there watching Young and the Restless?” Lyndy smirked, gathering her hair and pulling it in a tie. “Me and Maribel were down at the pool a while, then I ate lunch with some friends in The Village. We played cards and… I walked around for an hour shopping. And then ….”

Kyle turned to her with an inquisitive look. His eyes were blinking. “How do you know anybody here? We arrived yesterday. You made friends already?”

Lyndy shrugged, squinting at the setting sun. “Yeah, I guess.”

She thanked God he didn’t seem to know about the law enforcement ranger snooping around, or the incident with the missing woman.

“How many people were there?”

“Six, not including me.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. You make friends easier than anyone I know. Everybody who you meet likes you.”

“Wow. That is so not true,” argued Lyndy.

They paused underneath a towering Sugar pine and Lyndy leaned against it to rest. “Tell you what though, this Mama Bear is tired,” she said. “I’m gonna sleep hard tonight.”

“I see you scratching your back on a tree. You gonna hibernate next?”

“Oh man. Dad joke,” replied Lyndy. “I’m warning you I might doze off face down during dinner.”

Kyle turned his back, gazing at the view of the river. He raised his camera to eye level, a 35 mm Leica, widening his stance so he could take a steady picture. The sky was lovely now, turning pink where clouds lingered over glacier point.

She inhaled deeply. “Hey, something I was wondering. Is there anyone named Gardener attending the Silver-Pacific meetings.”

Kyle slapped a mosquito on his wrist, crushing it, then rotated around. “There was a guy Tom Gardener at the meetings. Yes. He was absent today.” He raised his eyebrow at Lyndy. “Uh oh. Do you know why?”

Lyndy shook her head. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

“Why did you ask me that?” Kyle demanded.

“I suppose you heard about a little dust up at the bar.” Lyndy put fake finger quotes as she said the words.

“I did,” answered Kyle.

“The lady that was drunk in the bar, was named Kristen Gardener. And …” Lyndy trailed off.

“And what?”

“I heard she’s missing. It’s probably why her husband wasn’t there today.”

“Oh man, I hate it when you get that look in your eye,” said Kyle with a heavy sigh.