Unfinished Symphony (7 page)

"Oh. Thanks." I pushed it and waited. So did she. No one came to the door. I pushed the buzzer again. The seconds seemed more like minutes.
"She's probably not there. Maybe she went to an audition. Didn't you call first?"
"No," I said sadly.
"Too bad. In L.A., you should always call first. I'll probably see her later. You want me to tell her you were here?"
"No," I said and realized I said it too quickly. I smiled. "I was hoping to surprise her."
"Oh. Oh! I love surprises. So does Gina, I'm sure." She snapped her fingers. "You're not her sister, are you? She told me she has a younger sister. You are, aren't you?" she followed before I could speak. "That's terrific. She'll be so happy. She misses her family so much."
"She does?"
"Of course. Deep down inside, no matter how beautiful she looks and sophisticated she seems, Gina is a simple girl. That's why everyone loves her. You want to wait in my place?"
"Er, no. I'll just come back later. Thanks," I said.
"You sure. Because--"
"No, thanks," I said, my heart thumping fast. I hurried into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. As the doors closed, Sandy Glee stepped out to look at me one more time, her face full of confusion.
The minute the doors opened, I rushed out. Then I did jog down the walkway, past the pool, where everyone looked at me, and to the gate. I hurried out and to the car.
"What happened?" Spike asked, stepping out to open my door.
I shook my head.
"She wasn't there, and . ."
"And what?"
"I don't think it's my mother!" I cried.

4
A Different World
.
"Do you want to go right back to the house?"

Spike asked me.
"I don't care," I wailed and curled up in the
corner of the seat. I've come all this way for nothing, I
thought, for a dream, a child's dream. I should have
done what Dorothy suggested: had a private detective
do the footwork first. But even that idea was silly.
Where would I get the money to pay him? Grandma
Olivia wouldn't have given it to me for that. She
couldn't care less whether or not my mother was
really alive unless it meant I was out of her hair, out
of Provincetown and away from her precious family. "I'm sorry you were disappointed," Spike
continued, "but in L.A. you've got to learn how to live
with disappointment."
"I don't want to be in L.A.!" I cried.
"Sure you do. You haven't seen the best of it
yet," he replied. "Look at those houses up there. They
call that the Hollywood Hills. The views are terrific.
See how some of them are built on the edge of the
hill? I bet they get a thrill when the earth shakes,
huh?"
Despite myself, I peeked through my hands to
look at the houses.
"And you're so close to the ocean here. If you
want to go and relax or get some sun, hey, all you do
is drive a few miles. show you," he said and made
another turn, sped up and headed west. "Say you're at
work, see, and you've had a bad day, so before you go
home to the old lady, you take a little detour," he
rambled. "Back in the boondocks, you'd stop in some
grungy tavern and moan over your suds. But here . . .
hey, look over there. See that building. That was used
as the front shot in Gone with the Wind. That's Tara!" I glanced out the window.
"This is a movie studio," he continued. I sat up
and gazed at the long white buildings and the trucks.
Minutes later, Spike told me to look straight ahead,
and there it was . . . the Pacific Ocean. Just the sight
of the waves and the vast silvery blue water pulled at
my heart. I thought about Cary and May and walking
on the beach with Kenneth's dog Ulysses at my heels.
I remembered the wind in my hair, the smell of the
salt air, the sound of the terns above me, the
wonderful feeling of being alive and part of nature. Spike was right. We started out in a city and
moments later, here we were, parking on a bluff
overlooking a long stretch of beach.
"Let's walk over to the fence and look down
over the Pacific Coast Highway." He got out and
opened my door. I took a deep breath, felt myself
relax, and then stepped out. "C'mon, follow me," he
urged.
We walked over the grassy area where there
were benches and where some older people were
sitting around their portable folding tables and playing
cards.
"This is Santa Monica," Spike explained. "It's a
great little beach community, full of European tourists
as well as locals. There's the Santa Monica Pier," he
said pointing down the beach. "See the Ferris wheel.
There's a merry-go-round there, too. It's fun! People
are just coming off the beach," he added, nodding
toward the shoreline below us. Cars rushed by on the
Pacific Coast Highway and in the distance, the sun
hovered between two clouds and just over the horizon.
"That's Malibu," Spike said, continuing his
explanation. "Pretty, isn't it? Sometimes, when I don't
get anywhere in an audition, I stop by and just gaze
out at the sea. It gives me a fresh outlook, boosts my
morale, know what I mean?"
"Yes," I said. "I've been living in Cape Cod. I
know the power of the sea."
"Oh yeah, right. I forgot. For some reason, I
keep thinking of you as small town, West Virginia.
You can't get away from that accent," he kidded.
"Actually, it's cute and I bet some casting directors
would love it."
I nodded and bit down on my lower lip, trying
hard not to show my emotions.
"My parents were a lot older than most when
they had me," Spike volunteered. "My mother was
nearly forty and my father was in his fifties." "When you were born?" I asked, thankful for
the change of subject.
"Yeah. I guess they woke up one morning and
looked at each other and said, 'You know what? We
forgot to have children."' He laughed. "Dad passed
away last year. He made it to seventy-nine." "Where are you from?"
"Phoenix. My mother still lives there with her
sister in one of those golden age communities. She's a
golfer, addicted. Whenever I do call her, all she talks
about is her handicap and the great putt she made. I
told her when she dies, I'll have people ride in golf
carts behind the hearse." He laughed again and then
shook his head. "She didn't think it was funny." We both stood there, staring out at the sea.
There were sailboats that looked like they were pasted
against the darkening blue horizon, and farther out
was what looked like a cruise ship heading southwest. "If you want to go to the beach one day, I'd be
glad to take you," Spike offered.
"Thank you, but I don't know if be here all that
much longer."
"I bet the Livingstons wouldn't mind how long
you stayed. You should take advantage."
"I don't want to take advantage of their
hospitality," I said, "and besides, I have people
waiting for me back in Provincetown."
"People? You mean, a boyfriend?" he asked
with an impish glint in his eyes.
"Yes," I admitted.
"What's he do?"
"He takes care of his father's lobster fishing
boat right now and in the fall, he'll be harvesting
cranberries."
"Sounds . . . nice," Spike offered, but his head
was turned in a way that kept me from reading his
eyes. Did he mean it? Did he really have a longing for
something more substantial than acting or trying to be
an actor, or was he just humoring me?
"It is nice," I said defensively. He glanced at me
with a small smile on his lips.
"You're too young to cash in your chips and
settle down, Melody. Look out there. It's a big, wide
world to explore. There's so much to do and see." Our eyes met. If he wasn't being sincere, he was
a good actor after all, I thought.
"So what convinced you the woman wasn't your
mother?" he asked finally.
"She comes from the Midwest, Ohio, and she's
apparently a lot younger than my mother," I said. "But she looks like your mother in that
catalogue?" "A lot like her. Different hair color, but
that's nothing," I said.
"Well, people lie about their age here. It comes
with the territory. Hollywood is a young person's
world, especially for women, and triple especially for
a woman who wants to be a model or in films." "Really?"
"Absolutely," he said.
"This woman claimed to have a younger sister
though, and my mother has no brothers or sisters," I
said.
"So? People manufacture their pasts here. It's as
if they stepped out of a movie of their own making," he continued. "Before you give up, I'd try again. Why
don't you try calling her later?"
"I didn't get a phone number," I said.
"She'll be listed, especially if she wants to be an
actress or model. She wants to be easily contacted." I nodded.
"I guess we should get back," I said. "Dorothy
wasn't too happy about my shooting off right away as
it was."
"Sure," he said. He flashed me one of his warm
smiles, took my hand and led me back to the
limousine. When he opened the door for me, the
people who were playing cards looked up to see who I
was and drivers slowed their cars to glance our way.
Everyone here was so eager to spot a celebrity, I
thought. For the first time since we had arrived, I
actually wished I was one. Was I starting to catch the
disease?
When I returned to the Livingston's mansion,
Dorothy came rushing down the hallway to greet me. "What happened? I've been sitting on pins and
needles waiting. I should have had Spike call me from
the limousine. Weil?" she asked.
"I still don't know anything for sure," I said and
explained what had happened and why I was filled
with new doubts.
"You poor thing. To come all this way and be
so disappointed. Why couldn't that dreadful woman
have been there?" she said, bunching her lips together. "Spike says I should try to call her now." "He does? Well, I suppose you can do that, too.
But we're going to have dinner in about a half hour.
Philip's already home and getting dressed."
"Dressed?"
"We always dress for dinner. Don't worry. Just
put on the nicest thing you have to wear," she said.
"Tomorrow, I'm taking you to Adroni's on Rodeo to
get you something fashionable."
"Oh, I really don't think--"
"Remember," she sang, "I get deaf."
I smiled.
"Thank you, Dorothy."
"My sister, the psychic, you should excuse the
expression, called before to see if you arrived all right.
I asked her if she was such a psychic, how come she
doesn't know the answers to her questions before she
asks them." Dorothy laughed at her own joke. I
smiled, imagining Holly's reaction. "I forgot all about
the little gift you handed me at the airport, so I had to
pretend I had looked at it. I did a few minutes ago. Where does she expect me to wear these things?" she added shaking her head. "Anyway, I told her you would call her tomorrow. She was off to do some sort
of hoodoo, voodoo thing."
"Thank you," I said, heading for the stairway.
"I'll be right down."
"Don't worry yourself about the woman, dear. If
she's not your mother, you're still welcome to stay
here and enjoy Los Angeles for as long as you like." "Thank you," I called back and hurried up the
stairs to my plush room.
It wasn't until I plopped myself down on the
bed that I realized just how tired I was. Young or not,
I finally realized the time difference. After all, for me
it was three hours later than it was for everyone here.
I'll just rest for a few minutes, I thought and lay back,
closing my eyes. A sharp rap on my door woke me
immediately. I sprang into a sitting position. "What? Yes?"
The door opened and Alec gazed in at me. "Mr. and Mrs. Livingston are waiting for you in
the dining room," he announced.
"Oh. Oh, I fell asleep! I'll be right there," I cried
and hopped off the bed. He grimaced and closed the
door.
I splashed cold water on my face, practically
tore off my blouse and jeans, and pulled on my dress.
I ran my brush through my hair once and then hurried
out of the room and down the stairs.
The Livingstons were at the far end of the long
table. Mr. Livingston sat at the end. He was dressed in
a dark sport coat and navy blue tie. His thinning dark
brown hair was parted on the right side and cut neatly
around his ears. He glanced up at me, his hazel eyes
sweeping over me quickly before turning downward
again to look over the bridge of his narrow, bony
nose, under which he wore a well-trimmed mustache.
He had thin lips and a soft, almost round chin. "Hello dear. I'd like you to meet Philip. Philip,
this is Holly's little friend, Melody."
"Hello," he said quickly and flashed a smile that
swept across his lips so fast, it was as if someone had
turned a light on and off.
"Just sit right there, dear," Dorothy said,
nodding at the seat across from her. She wore a black
evening dress with puffy sleeves and a frilly, square
collar, a pair of teardrop diamond earrings with a
matching necklace and bracelet, and at least two more
rings than she had on when I had first met her. I took my seat and Philip looked up instantly at
Alec. He moved quickly to begin serving us. "I told Philip all about your little episode
today," Dorothy continued, "and he made a wonderful
suggestion. Tell her, Philip," she said.
"You're doing fine," he replied, glancing at me
and then at his plate as he drummed his fingers on the
table. Alec began serving us bowls of what looked
like clear chicken broth with some rice and carrots. "Philip says this woman has to have a social
security number. Everyone has a social security
number. He will call the business manager at the
catalogue company and check the number to see if it's
under her name or your mother's name. Isn't that a
wonderful suggestion?"
I nodded and looked at Philip. He began eating
his soup.
"Just common sense," he muttered between
slurps.
Then he paused, his spoon perfectly still before
him, not a tremble in his hand. "Of course, people
have been known to produce phoney identification
and get a new social security number. We'll see," he
added.
"So you see, dear, you don't have to spend any
more time chasing down this woman. Just relax and
enjoy your visit," Dorothy said.
Philip twisted the right corner of his mouth so
deeply it looked like his lips were made of pale pink
clay.
"It won't be something I can do overnight," he
muttered.
"That's all right. I'll still want to meet this
woman," I said.
"Philip thinks that might be dangerous." "I didn't say dangerous. I said unpleasant." "Well, that's practically the same thing,"
Dorothy insisted.
He put his spoon down and sat back. Alec
moved instantly to remove his soup bowl. I had barely
eaten half of my small portion and took two quick
spoonfuls when I felt Alec hovering over my
shoulder. Dorothy didn't dip her spoon into the cup
more than twice, but that seemed to be enough. A small dinner salad followed, accompanied by
the thinnest slices of bread, paper-thin slices that
crumbled in your fingers.
Our main course was veal medallions in a
lemon sauce, accompanied by string beans and
mashed potatoes with a flavor I couldn't recognize.
Everything was delicious, but as I ate, I noticed Dorothy watching me and recalled her warning about eating too much. I could have eaten more, but I
stopped.
Philip made little conversation but he was
interested in my description of the lobster fishing
business and the Cape Cod tourist business. He said
he had some clients interested in investing in a hotel
chain that serviced the Cape and he was not keen
about it.
Dinner was followed by coffee in a silver
service and a custard dessert. It had been a wonderful
meal and I said so as I thanked them.
"Maybe we should ask Selena to prepare lobster
for us tomorrow night, Philip, in Melody's honor,"
Dorothy said as the meal came to an end.
"Lobster's overpriced these days," he grumbled.
How could anyone with this much money worry about
the price of lobster? I wondered.
"Oh nonsense," Dorothy said.