Unfinished Symphony (6 page)

"I keep forgetting how much energy young people have," she said. "Very well, if you insist. We'll have Spike ready for you in an hour."
"Thank you, Dorothy, and thanks for showing me your house. It's wonderful."
She beamed.
"I've done most of the decorating myself. With the help of professionals, of course. Holly's been here only once. Can you believe that? I think she's afraid to return, afraid to face the fact that she might like it here," she added with a wink.
I doubt that, I thought. Holly was impressed with spiritual, not material things, I wanted to tell her, but I kept my lips sealed tight.
We climbed the stairs. Alec had already unpacked my things, hanging up what had to be hung and putting my other things in
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the dresser drawers. It embarrassed me to realize he had done all this and especially handled my underthings.
I was so shocked by the bedroom though, that I didn't even have time to feel embarrassed. This wasn't a room, but a chamber fit for a princess. I couldn't believe the posh splendor, the opulence! The walls were covered in silk damask, colored a delicious strawberry pink, richer than the pale mauve of what I thought had to be at least a two-inch-thick carpet. There was a king-size white pine bed, the wood somehow treated so it had strands of blush pink through it. There was a canopy and over the bed itself was a soft, furry coverlet. Even the walk-in closet was bigger than any room I had slept in. It had shelves for shoes and a mirror and a small dressing table at the rear. But there was also a vanity table and matching dressers in the room itself.
All of the fixtures in the bathroom were brass. The floor was a whitewashed tile. There was a whirlpool tub, a glass stall shower that looked like it would fit a whole family and double sinks. Mirrors everywhere caught my look of amazement. This was the guest room! What could Dorothy and Philip's master bedroom be like?
"I can't believe how wonderful your house is, Dorothy," I said again.
"I'm glad you'll be comfortable," she replied. "Comfortable! This is a palace. How could anyone not be comfortable?"
She laughed.
"Are you sure you want to go dragging yourself into West Hollywood so quickly? Why not pamper yourself a bit, dear? Take a whirlpool bath, rest, watch some television on your own set. We'll have some hors d'oeuvres before Philip gets home and then we'll have a nice dinner---"
"It sounds wonderful, Dorothy, but I'd feel guilty. I'm not here to enjoy myself. I'm here to find my mother," I reminded her.
She sighed and shrugged.
"Everyone is in such a rush these days. Well, I'll tell Spike to be ready."
"Thank you. For everything," I said.
She flashed a smile and left me to take a shower and change my clothes. I was tired, nearly exhausted, but my excitement over being here and being so close to finding Mommy was stronger. I got into the shower and let the warm water wash over me until I tingled and then I got out, put on a pair of jeans and my best blouse, brushed out my hair, took a few deep breaths, closed my eyes and thought about Billy Maxwell and Holly sitting beside me, advising me on how to calm my nerves and gather my energy, energy I needed now more than ever.
Then I rose and set out to find my mother.
Thinking about the time that had passed since Mommy had left me with my stepfather's relatives in Provincetown, I was suddenly plagued by a new, albeit foolish fear. Had time and events changed me so that she might not recognize me, especially if she was suffering from some form of amnesia? It hadn't been all that long, but I felt so different. When I confronted her, how would I begin? It seemed ridiculous to walk up to someone and say, "Hello, remember me? I'm your daughter. You're my mother." If there were other people standing around, they would surely think I was mad.
As I stepped down the carpeted winding stairway and through the entryway to the front door, I felt myself shrink. It was an illusion, of course, stimulated by the size of everything around me, but more important, by the size of the task I was about to begin. I took a deep breath and stepped outside.
Spike was leaning against the limousine reading a copy of Variety. He looked up at me and smiled. Then he folded his paper and opened the rear door, stepping back in one graceful motion with a very affected and deliberate theatrical bow.
"Madam, he said.
"Thank you," I said in a voice barely above a whisper. I started to get in and paused. "Oh, here's the address," I said, handing him the slip of paper that might have held the key to my future. "Is it far away?"
"Nothing's far away in this town except a good part," he commented.
I got in and he closed the door and went around quickly to the driver's seat.
"Would you like to look at this?" he said, offering me the copy of Variety.
"No thank you," I replied.
He shrugged.
"I just thought you'd like to see what a Hollywood paper looked like. It's filled with all sorts of news about actors and actresses. You've never read one before, I bet," he muttered.
"No. I haven't had a reason to," I explained.
He laughed as he started the engine.
"I'm not trying to be an actress or anything," I added when the smirk remained on his lips.
"Every woman is an actress and therefore would love to be in movies," he quipped.
"Not me. And every woman is not an actress," I snapped back at him.
He laughed again. The patronizing smile that remained on his face was infuriating.
"I want to go to college and do other things," I continued, wondering why it was so important to me to explain myself.
"Your mother came out here to be an actress, didn't she?" he asked as we proceeded down the long driveway. My shoulders stiffened.
"If you're trying to be an actor, why are you a chauffeur?" I asked in reply.
He turned and looked at me to see if I were being serious.
"It takes a lot of time, intense studying, knocking on doors, hundreds of auditions until you get that one big break," he whined. "In the meantime, unless you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth or unless you have some rich friends who are willing to stake you, you take any job you can that pays for groceries and rent. This isn't a bad job for me. Mrs. Livingston gives me a lot of leeway. Whenever I have an important audition, she gives me the time off, even if it means she has to use a taxi service."
"How long have you been here trying to be a successful actor?" I asked him.
"Three years, seriously at it," he replied.
"Have you been in any movies?"
"I had a few bit parts. I have my Screen Actors Guild card. That's more than a lot can say. I was in a play six months ago. It ran nearly a month, too."
"Then you must be good," I said. He turned to flash me one of his handsome smiles.
"I am. I just have to get everyone else, the important people, to see it," he said. "After a while it's all just your lucky stars anyway," he added. "Being in the right place at the right time."
"Do you believe in astrology?" I asked.
"Hey, I'll believe in anything they want me to believe in as long as it means I get the part," he said.
"It's that important to you?"
"Are you kidding?" He turned back and gazed at me as if I had just arrived from another planet. Then he smiled. "After you're here for a while, you'll understand," he said. "It's in the air."
"I hope I'm not here that long," I muttered and gazed out the window. Spike continued to watch me in the rearview mirror. I allowed my eyes to meet his briefly before I turned to stare almost blindly at the passing scenery. I couldn't help but be nervous about what was only minutes away. My stomach was doing somersaults. Spike finally noticed my anxiety and took some pity on me.
"It's been some time since you've seen your mother, huh?" he asked softly.
"Yes."
"And you're not even sure it is your mother?"
"No," I said, "although everything points to her being my mother."
He shook his head.
"What a gig. This address, it's an inexpensive condo development. Most of the owners sublet to people tying to break into the business."
"The business?"
"That's what we call Hollywood, the biz," he said. "We have our own lingo." He laughed.
"It's like another country," I muttered, but loud enough for him to hear, which made him laugh even harder.
"You really wouldn't want to be famous, in show business? I bet you have some sort of talent." I continued to stare out the window.
"I play the fiddle and some people say I'm very good."
"There, you see. A number of country music stars have become famous actors," he said.
"I'm far from a country music star," I said, shaking my head. How easy it was for someone to fall into the trap and start believing in his or her own fantasies, I thought. Was that what had happened to Mommy?
"You gotta think positive about yourself. Look at me. I must go to ten, twenty auditions a week and most of the time, I don't even get a call back, but do I let that discourage me? No. I just keep coming back at them. Sooner or later . . . sooner or later," he chanted.
I gazed at him, wondering if he, not me, was the one who should be pitied.
"It's just down this street," he finally said, after making a right turn. My heart seemed to stop and then pound, pound, pound like someone beating on a locked door. I held my breath as he slowed the limousine.
"That's it," he said, "The Egyptian Gardens. I just love the names they give these places."
I peered out the window. Tall hedges walled in the pink stucco complex that wound around the pool in an ell shape. The buildings were only five stories high, each unit with its own small balcony. Some had flower boxes with plants overflowing the sides. All had a small table and chairs. Although the pink shade was bright, the buildings looked worn, tired, chipped and battered in places. The lawn was spotty, some of the bushes looking sickly with many branches without blossoms.
There was a directory of the residents just to the right of the main gate above which was the name of the complex scrolled in dark pewter. Spike was right. I saw nothing Egyptian or even vaguely Arabic about the place and like him, wondered why it was called The Egyptian Gardens. The main gate opened and two young men in shorts and polo shirts, wearing sneakers without socks, walked out laughing. They were both slim and good looking, both with wavy dark hair. They were so identical, in fact, they looked like they could be twins.
"Pretty boys," Spike mumbled. He got out and opened my door. For a moment I thought my legs wouldn't work, but I pushed myself up and stepped out. "I'll wait right here for you," Spike said.
"Thank you," I said, or at least I thought I had. I wasn't sure I actually made the sounds. He tilted his head.
"You okay?"
I nodded and crossed to the main gate. I looked up at the directory and read the names until I found Gina Simon. My fingers trembled as I reached up to press the button next to the name.
"No point in doing that," I heard a female voice say and turned as a young woman with bleached blond hair came up beside me. She was in a pink tank top and white spandex shorts and had her hair tied in a ponytail. She jogged in place as she spoke, her pretty face flushed, small beads of sweat across her brow. "It doesn't work. They were supposed to fix it last week and the week before and the week before, but nothing gets done fast around here." She took deep breaths and continued to lift her feet in rhythm. "Who you looking for?"
"Gina Simon?"
"Oh, Gina. Sure. She's right across from me. Four-C. Come on," she said and jogged through the main gate. She paused, holding the gate open, and continued to lift and drop her feet as she did so. "It's not locked. So much for security here."
I followed her in and she continued to jog down the walkway. I walked quickly, just about jogging myself to keep up. She paused when we reached the pool. Three young women in bikini bathing suits were sunning themselves on lounges. I gazed about quickly to see if Mommy was at the pool as well. I was relieved she wasn't. I didn't want to meet her in front of all these people.
A tall, very thin young man with short light brown hair sat dangling his legs over the diving board.
"Hey Sandy, how was your workout?" he asked the young woman who had let me into the complex.
"I nearly got hit by an idiot on a motor bike near Melrose," she said.
One of the women on the lounges sat up and braced herself on her elbow. She had long, reddish brown hair. Except for her nose, which was very pointed, she had nice features, too.
"Did you lose the five pounds?" she asked, rolling her eyes and smiling like a cat.
"I'm getting there," Sandy said. She spun on her heels and looked at me. "C'mon, before they eat you alive," she said and the three young women laughed. I hurried after her. She took me around the pool, down a walkway to the steps of the second building. Once inside, she stopped jogging.
"I'm trying to lose weight for an audition. It's a photo shoot and you know how the camera puts the pounds on you. The elevator's right down here," she said, indicating the corridor on her left. "I'm Sandra Glucker, but my show business name is Sandy Glee."
"My name's Melody," I said.
"Perfect," she said, shaking her head. "I love it. Actress, dancer, singer?"
"No," I said.
"No?" She stopped walking and turned back to me. "Are you a writer?"
"No," I said, smiling. "I'm not in the business."
"Oh. Oh," she repeated as if just realizing there were other kinds of people in California. She looked at me again. "You're pretty enough to be."
"Thank you."
"Gina Simon. How do you know, Gina? Oh, don't mind me. You don't have to tell me. I'm just someone addicted to gossip, but it's not as bad as some of the other addictions around here."
We stepped into the elevator and she pushed the button for the fourth floor.
"We know each other from someplace else," I said and hoped that would be enough for her.
"Someplace else? Is there someplace else?" She laughed at her own remark. I smiled and the elevator door opened. "You're from Ohio?"
"Ohio?"
"That's where Gina's from, some small town near Columbus, I think. So, what, did you meet in school or something?"
"School? No." How old did she think I was? Even more important, how old did she think Gina Simon was?
"What, is it top secret? There's Four-C," she pointed to the door down the hallway. Instead of going into her own apartment she watched curiously as I walked toward apartment 4C.
I gazed back at her and flashed a nervous smile. Then I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
"The door buzzer works," she said. "At least, it should."