Logan 03 Unfinished Symphony Read online

  "Whatever," she said, barely hearing me. She was too involved in her dancing.

  "Hey, it's so early," Mel said as I headed for the door.

  "Jet lag, I guess," I replied shortly.

  "You're going to miss a good time. Things haven't even begun yet," he coaxed, still holding onto my hand. I pulled it away gently.

  "There'll be other good times," I said. "Thanks." His disappointment was written across his face.

  Yeah, you're welcome. Anytime," he said turning away.

  I slipped out of the party quickly and went across the hall to our apartment. Once I closed the door behind me, I let out my long-held breath. My face was flushed. The breeze coming through the window was too warm to bring any relief so I went out onto the patio and sat there, looking over the tops of the buildings at the brilliantly shining

  constellations.

  I wondered if Cary thousands of miles away was looking at the same stars. I missed seeing the way they sparkled over the ocean, making wishes on shooting stars as I walked along the beach. Was the ocean calm tonight? Were the waves gently lapping at the shore? As much as I wanted to hear Cary's voice, I knew it was too late to call him. Everyone was probably asleep anyway, I thought.

  I heard a car alarm go off on the street in front of the complex. It sounded like a wounded animal, an injured stray dog, its high-pitched scream lasting a good two minutes before it stopped. Then, it was relatively quiet again. My eyelids drooped. I got up and got ready for bed. The moment my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.

  But a few hours later, I was woken by the sound of Mommy and Richard's laughter. They came bursting into the apartment, both sounding drunk and not caring how much noise they made. Mommy shouted.

  "Where's my talented little sister?" She laughed and came to my doorway. "The hit of the party. How'dya like that, Richard?"

  "I love it," he called to her and she laughed again. I pretended to be dead asleep, but I opened my eyes and saw her wavering in the doorway. "Everyone thinks that was very cool, Melody . . . being a hit and then walking out of the party. Very cool. Looks like I taught you more than I thought," she said, "but just don't forget who's the teacher."

  "Come on to bed, Gina."

  "I'm coming."

  She stood in the doorway glaring in at me. I didn't move.

  "Sleep tight, Sis," she said. Then she laughed, wiped her forehead and stumbled away. I heard something fall on the floor with a crash and I heard her curse.

  "Get to bed before you destroy the place and ruin all the good work your sister done," Richard teased.

  Mommy cursed again and then she went into their bedroom and slammed the door. The whole apartment shook.

  I heard their muffled voices through the walls, Mommy raising hers and then Richard yelling something. After that, I heard Mommy's sobs and wails. Finally, it grew quiet.

  She can't be happy here, I thought. She just can't. Tomorrow, tomorrow I'll start talking to her about going back. I'll remind her about my inheritance and how we'll have money and how she could do whatever she wants if she would only stop trying to be someone she isn't.

  It was like I was in the land of ghosts, everyone trying to be another person and their true selves floating around them, waiting to return to their lost bodies. Ironically, that's what Mommy had to do . . . return to her body, to her name, to the identity she had buried in a grave back in Provincetown.

  Would she ever want to be Haille Logan again?

  1 hoped so; because Haille Logan was my mother.

  9

  Take One

  .

  I woke to the same sound of shouting and

  muffled cries I had heard before falling asleep. By the time I rose, got dressed and went out to put on a pot of coffee, however, it was quiet again. Richard emerged first, looking furious. He poured himself some coffee and began mumbling aloud.

  "It's like pulling teeth sometimes. Why do I have to put up with this?" he muttered. "She acts like she's doing me a favor. LET'S GET IT STRAIGHT WHO'S DOING WHO A FAVOR HERE," he shouted toward the bedroom.

  "What's wrong?" I asked and he spun on me. "What's wrong? Everything's wrong. She drank too much, as usual, thanks to you, and then she went into one of her crying jags and kept me up all night. Finally she passed out and now she's miserable and hung over."

  "Because of me?" I asked, confused, but he ignored my question.

  "She moans and fights me. She knows she has to get up and look good. MY REPUTATION IS AT STAKE HERE!" he added, again, shouting in Mommy's direction. She finally emerged wearing sunglasses and walking with small, careful steps like someone who was walking on eggshells. She went directly to the coffee pot.

  "You can't wear those sunglasses all day, Gina. I told you to stop drinking ten times last night if I told you once, didn't I? Didn't I?" he asked furiously.

  "I'll be fine," she said.

  "Sure. You'll be fine. You'll look and act half dead and they'll fire you and once again, they'll blame me. Another market will be lost to me and my other clients!" Richard exclaimed.

  "Your other clients?" She tried to smile, but that seemed to make her head ache, because she

  immediately grabbed her forehead.

  "Does anyone want anything to eat?" I asked. Mommy didn't reply, but Richard turned away from Mommy and looked at me.

  "No. And get dressed," he snapped. "You have to go with us. I'm not coming all the way back here to pick you up. Your appointment is in West L.A."

  "Dressed?-1- am dressed."

  "Put on something . . . sexier. Don't you have a miniskirt or something?"

  "No, I--"

  "Go look in Gina's closet," he ordered. Mommy smiled.

  "Yes, go do that, Melody. Only, don't wear my other bathing suit."

  She laughed.

  "Oh, you're so funny," Richard said. "I have all the responsibility here. I'm the one putting his neck out. It's about time I was appreciated. I mean it," he said sternly.

  She raised her sunglasses off her nose. Her eyes were bloodshot and very tired looking.

  "I appreciate you, Richard. You have no right to say I don't."

  "Well, if you're not in tiptop shape when I deliver you, you put me in a bad light," he said. He turned to me.

  "Didn't I tell you to pick something out? We're behind schedule because it took so long for me to get her out of bed."

  I gazed at Mommy. She lowered her glasses again and sipped her coffee. She hadn't even said good morning to me. I went into their bedroom. It looked like war had been fought in their bed: the blanket twisted, the sheet pulled up, one of the pillows on the floor. Mommy's clothes from last night were piled over her shoes beside the bed. I found a miniskirt and matching blouse in her closet and put them on.

  "That's more like it," Richard said. "You women have got to understand how to put your best foot forward when I bring you someplace," he lectured.

  "It's not our feet they're interested in," Mommy quipped and then laughed.

  "Very funny. Let's get moving," he ordered.

  He didn't give me time to clean anything up. I barely had time to turn off the coffee pot before he marched us out of the apartment, mumbling angrily behind us that we put pressure on him by taking so long to get ready.

  "He's a slave driver," Mommy said loud enough for him to hear. "But he's right. I'm lucky I have him looking after me."

  "If he was looking after you, why did he let you drink so much?" I asked her.

  She glanced at me and then stiffened.

  "He didn't let me. You heard what he said in the kitchen. He tried to get me to stop."

  "Why did you do it?" I pursued.

  "Because I'm not the hit of the party like you, Melody. I'm not perfect, but there's a lot worse than me around here," she added in a louder voice, mostly for Richard's benefit.

  "I'm not perfect, Mom . . . Sis, and I didn't go there to be the hit of the party. Honest."

  "It doesn't matter. Who cares what these losers think around h
ere anyway? Most of them will be gone in six months. You'll see," she said.

  I got into the rear of the car and Mommy got into the front. None of us spoke as Richard made his way through the city streets, cursing at drivers, mumbling about why he should be living in a nicer neighborhood by now.

  "And I would be, too, if I'd only got the sort of cooperation I need."

  "I'm sorry, Richard," Mommy said when we pulled into the mall parking lot. "I know I was a bad girl."

  "Just try to do a good job in there. Important people come to this plaza and someone could easily spot you. Remember what I told you . . . exposure, exposure, exposure . . . that's the name of the game."

  "Right. I'm sorry," she said and leaned over to kiss him. He didn't soften much, keeping his back straight, his eyes forward.

  "I'll be back to check on you later," he said. It came out as a threat. Mommy turned to me before getting out.

  "Good luck, honey," she said, "and listen to whatever Richard tells you."

  "I don't know what I'm doing or--"

  "Will you get going, Gina," Richard ordered. "You're already a few minutes late."

  "Yes. Right away," she said and left the car. Before I could get into the front seat, Richard started away. "Where exactly are we going?" I asked.

  "Live Wire Studios," he said. "A friend of mine is doing us a favor, giving you a chance."

  "But I don't understand. How do I start acting without a single lesson?"

  "The director teaches you everything you have to know right on the spot. It pays real well. We could make a half a year's rent on this one assignment if you do it right," he said.

  "A half a year's rent?" So much money, I thought, and dependent on me.

  "That's right and that's only the beginning. I've been telling your mother how good it could get, but she goes off on a bender like this and nearly ruins things from time to time," he said. "It hasn't been easy for me, no matter what you think."

  "Maybe she's not really happy here then," I offered. He was silent. "Why did you say it was my fault, what happened last night?"

  "You upstaged her," he said, "and Gina hates being upstaged, especially by someone who's supposed to be her younger sister."

  "Upstaged? But . . . I didn't mean to do anything like that."

  "Sure," he said with a smile. "None of you women mean anything."

  "It happens to be the truth," I snapped.

  I glared at the scenery. The buildings and the neighborhood began to look more seedy and rundown. Where were we going?

  Finally, he made a turn into a driveway. I saw a building with something called an Adult Reading Store in front of it. The driveway wrapped around behind it to another building that looked like an attached garage, but above the doorway was a sign that read LIVE WIRE STUDIOS.

  "Here we are," Richard said.

  "This is a studio?"

  "Most of the studios look like this," he explained. "People who don't know Hollywood have this fantasy, this glamorous view of it. It's just another warehouse, just another factory churning out fantasy instead of shoes or chairs. That's all. Now remember," he warned, "you're twenty-one years old. Oh, I told them you were in a small film back in West Virginia."

  "What?"

  "It's nothing. Everyone makes up his or her resume here. The film was called Cherry Blossom. You played Cherry."

  "What?"

  "Stop saying 'what,' " he ordered, turning around. "Now don't tell them any more than they need to know about you. And do what the director wants quickly, without questions, understand? You'll be here most of the day. I'll pick you up at five."

  "You're not coming in with me?"

  "I have other clients, other meetings," he said testily. "I can't be baby-sitting you. You want to be a movie star, this is how you start."

  "I don't want to be a movie star," I said gazing at the worn-looking doorway to the dull brown stucco building. I noticed there were no windows.

  "So? You'll grin and bear it, fame and fortune. I should be so unlucky." He opened my door. "Come on, get going. I'll be right here at five," he said and stepped back.

  I got out slowly, too slowly for him. He reached in and pulled me by the arm.

  "Will you get going," he said. "Everyone has to do his part to keep this operation going. You want to be with us, earn your keep or go home?" he

  threatened. "Now what's it going to be?"

  "I'm just going to make a fool of myself," I said.

  "So what? Besides," he said with a sly smile on his lips, "something tells me you won't make a fool of yourself. In fact, you might just be a bigger star than your mother will ever be. And then you'll only have me to thank."

  He got into the car again and nodded at the studio door.

  "The director's name is Parker, Lewis Parker."

  He turned the car around and drove out of the yard, leaving me standing in front of the studio. I took a deep breath, swallowed back my confusion and fear, and went to the door. It opened to a dim, shallow hallway. There was a very tiny office on the right with paper piled on the small desk and stacks of what looked like scripts scattered on the floor. A poster of a woman clad in a see-through nightgown, hovering over a man wearing handcuffs was on the wall above the desk. The poster read

  SLEEP WALKER. SHE WAS HIS BEST NIGHTMARE.

  I continued down the hallway to another door above which was an unlit red light bulb with the words DO NOT ENTER WHEN LIT beneath it. I knocked on the door and waited and then knocked again. Maybe there was no one here, I thought. It looked deserted.

  Suddenly, the door was opened and a curlyhaired, young black man in dungarees and a loose fitting T-shirt greeted me.

  "Can I help you?" he asked.

  "I'm Melody Simon," I said, my voice cracking.

  "Oh, yeah. Good. Parker, the other girl is here," he called over his shoulder. "I'm Harris. Follow me," he said, turning back to me.

  "Get her in here," someone shouted from behind him and Harris stepped back, smiling.

  "Come on," he said.

  I entered slowly. There were wires everywhere and lights on poles. I saw the cameras, three of them all pointing toward what looked like a bedroom, where a cameraman was adjusting some lights. A very buxom platinum blond--haired girl who didn't look much older than I was sat on the edge of the bed, her arms behind her as she leaned back, her breasts bare. She had a tattoo of what looked like a snake coming up and out of her cleavage. She wore nothing but a pair of flimsy panties, and she chewed bubble gum, blowing a bubble and snapping it before wiping it back in with her tongue. I must have gasped aloud.

  A plump bald-headed man spun around in a chair.

  "Over here," he called. "I'm Lewis Parker. You the girl Marlin sent? What's your name again?" he asked.

  I was still too stunned to speak. I shook my head instead.

  "Hey," he said. "We haven't got time to waste. I have to do four scenes and two setups today."

  When he rose from his chair, I could see he was very fat and I wondered how he'd fit in the chair. He waddled rather than walked toward me and stopped, drinking me in from head to foot, a pleased smile spreading like melted butter over his jowls and thick, fleshy lips.

  Because he was so heavy, his eyes looked small, sunken in his large head.

  "Marlin was right," he said. "A looker. Great. Delores," he cried and a woman who looked like she was in her fifties, but who also had bleached blond hair and wore lots of makeup, came out from behind a rack of costumes. "Get her dressed and on the set, will ya? Make sure she looks . . innocent. I like that. Good."

  "Yes, Lewis."

  She marched toward me.

  "Hello," she said. "Step over there. We don't have a dressing room."

  "Dressing room? Why would we need a dressing room?" Lewis Parker said and Harris and the cameraman laughed. "We're all friends here."

  "I don't understand," I said, shaking my head and stepping back. The half-naked young woman sat up and suddenly took interest in me. "What is th
is? What kind of a movie are you making?" I asked.

  "What's she talking about?" the woman asked, looking at Lewis Parker.

  "What is this? What kind of a movie are we making? This is Live Wire Studios," Lewis Parker said. "You're Melody . . . somebody, right? You were in a blue film before, something called . . . what's it called, Harris?"

  "Cherry Blossom. She was the lead," Harris said.

  "Right. So. You know what to do. We're on a tight schedule."

  Lewis Parker started back toward his chair. The cameraman looked my way and stopped fiddling with the equipment. I shook my head again and took another step back.

  "No, I don't do things like this," I said. "I never did."

  "What?" Mr. Parker spun around as quickly as his heavy legs allowed. "What do you mean, you don't do things like this?"

  "I don't know what Richard told you but . . . but I can't do this," I cried.

  Hey!

  I turned and ran out the door, down the short corridor and burst out to the parking lot. For a moment 1 stood there, confused, undecided as to which direction to take. Then I hurried down the driveway to the busy city street, my heart thumping. When I reached the sidewalk, I started in one direction and then another, unsure of my

  surroundings. I took a step off the sidewalk as cars whizzed by, and one driver blared his horn, sending me flying back, my stomach almost in my throat. Tears streaked down my cheeks. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Richard must not have known what kind of assignment he'd gotten me. He just couldn't have expected me to actually take the job. . . .

  "Get hold of yourself," I ordered my frantic body. When I opened my eyes again, I saw a phone booth by the gas station across the street. I thought I might call Dorothy and ask her to have Spike pick me up. This time I waited until the light changed and then I hurried across to the booth and dug into my purse to find some change. It wasn't until I took off the receiver and started to put in the coins that I realized I couldn't call Holly's sister. Her husband would be furious with her, especially if she got involved in something like this. It wasn't fair for me to do this to her after all she had done for me, I thought.

  But I didn't know where I was and I had no way to get back to the apartment. I thought a moment and then dialed information and asked for Mel Jensen's phone number. There were three Mel Jensens, but I knew I had the right one when I mentioned The Egyptian Gardens. I got the number and dialed. Someone picked up after only one ring.