Logan 03 Unfinished Symphony Read online

  "So?"

  "It was my mother, but she pretended she didn't know me. She said she couldn't be old enough to have had a daughter my age and she laughed at me." I started to sob again. "She told the man I was some sort of riffraff coming off the street. She wished they had fixed the security system so I would be kept out."

  "Take it easy," Spike said and put his arm around my shoulders. "She was probably putting on an act for that guy."

  "But why? Why was that more important than me? I came across the whole country to find her and she hasn't seen me for so long. Why?"

  He shrugged.

  "She probably had an audition or something and maybe the guy was a producer she was stringing along. I don't know. This is Hollywood."

  "You keep saying that as if it justifies everything that goes on around here," I snapped back at him. "I don't care if it's Hollywood. People should still be decent to each other, especially mothers to their daughters."

  He smiled at me as if I had said the silliest thing.

  "You know something," he remarked, nodding as he gazed at my disdain, "you could be quite an actress. You've got integrity. You can reach down into the emotion well and draw up the right responses."

  "I don't want to be an actress! I don't want to be in Hollywood! I'm not pretending to feel bad. I do feel bad! I want my mother to acknowledge me and explain why she has done these terrible things," I cried.

  "Maybe she will, one of these days," he said calmly. "But now's obviously not the right time. Come on. Let's get out of here. I hate complexes like this, filled with people trying to make it in the business. You can cut the desperation in the air. It's depressing," he said as he stood. "Come on." He held out his hand for me. I took it and stood up. "You okay? You think you can walk?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Great." He kept his arm around me and we started down the walkway. The sight of a chauffeur walking with his arm around a young woman in an expensive Italian pants suit drew some eyes as we passed the pool again. It almost made me laugh, but my heart was too heavy for any sort of joviality. All I could think of was Mommy's cold, indifferent eyes and her voice cutting through me like a band saw.

  I got into the limousine and Spike drove us away. He continued to make excuses for Mommy as we went along.

  "If she is your mother, when you confront her alone, she'll be different," he assured me. "You caught her by surprise, that's all."

  "She's definitely my mother," I said. "The instant I set eyes on her in person, I knew and she knew me. She just ... made herself so different."

  "That's--"

  "Don't say it," I warned. He laughed.

  "Hey, you've got to step back, catch your breath and try again. You'll get to the bottom of it all, I'm sure."

  I didn't reply. I gazed with empty eyes at the scenery that flew by, no longer seeing the beautiful flowers and plush lawns, the glitzy stores and exciting billboards.

  This was a place I'd rather not be in, I thought. I closed my eyes and wished I was walking on the beach. I concentrated as hard as I could until I could hear the waves lapping at the shore and could see the whitecaps sparkling in the New England sunshine. It put a smile on my face.

  "You okay?" Spike asked, watching me in the rearview mirror.

  "Yes."

  "Good. Hey, did I tell you I have a chance for a really great part tomorrow?"

  "No."

  "It's a recurring role. Know what that means?"

  "No."

  "Well, if I get the part, I'll be in this episode and then the writers will write me into others, so I'll work on a regular basis and really get some exposure. From there, the sky's the limit," he said. "It's not a very big role to start, about thirty lines, but it's the impact on the show that counts. You want to see the script, maybe help me rehearse?"

  "Help you rehearse? How can I do that?"

  "I'll do my lines and you'll read the others. I'd like to have you hear me recite. You've got a fresh ear and would probably hear my mistakes."

  "I don't know anything about acting, Spike."

  "That makes you an expert around here," he said and laughed. "Come on. You don't want to just hang out with

  Dorothy, do you?"

  "Not really," I said. It was probably unkind to say that about someone who had been so generous and hospitable to me, but I really wasn't in the mood to hear about expensive clothing or beauty tips. How I wished I could drop in on Holly and Billy. If only they weren't so far away. I longed to run up the stairway to Cary's private workroom and throw myself into his arms, too.

  But I was here, among strangers, with my own mother being the biggest stranger of all.

  "Will you? Please," he said.

  "Okay," I replied.

  "Great," Spike said. "I appreciate it."

  When we arrived at the Livingston residence, Spike pulled the limousine around to the garage instead of to the front of the house. He opened my door and directed me to a side door that took us upstairs to his apartment.

  "Don't mind any of the mess in here," he said, throwing some clothing into a pile behind the sofa. "Between driving for Mrs. Livingston and preparing for auditions, I don't get much time to be a

  housekeeper. Is it stuffy in here?" he asked, throwing open a window.

  "It's all right," I said. There was a pile of scripts on the sofa. He hurriedly cleared them away to make a space for me. "How about something to drink? Beer, juice, water?"

  "I'll just have some water, thank you," I said.

  "Sure." He rushed into the kitchen. I gazed around the bland apartment. There was nothing on the walls and except for the scripts piled here and there and the clothing and dishes scattered about, there was no personality to the place. It reminded me of the thrifty motels Mommy, Archie Marlin and I stayed at during our trip up to Provincetown. Now that seemed ages and ages ago. It was hard to believe the woman I had just confronted was the same woman, but she was. I was positive about that and right now, it started to make me angry.

  "Wow, what a look on your face!" Spike said returning with a glass of ice water. He handed it to me and I drank.

  "She had no right to treat me like that. I don't care who was with her," I said.

  He nodded.

  "You'll tell her, I'm sure," he said. "I'll tell you something," he said, stepping back and scrutinizing me from head to toe as he nodded, "when you get angry and your face gets all flushed and your eyes look like they have candles burning behind them, it's rather exciting."

  He put his hands together, thumb to thumb like a film director and gazed at me through the opening, moving about as would a camera director searching for the best perspective. I shook my head and laughed.

  "You're always in a movie," I said.

  "That's life, a movie. I'm trying to get good reviews, that's all," he said, laughing at his own joke. He poured himself a glass of beer and then handed me a script with the pages marked.

  "Desperate Lives?" I said, looking at the title page. "This is Dorothy's favorite show."

  "I know. I haven't told her I'm going for a part in it yet. She would make me too nervous. Okay, here's the setup. I'm Trent Windfield, who has discovered he's more in love with his girlfriend's sister than with his girlfriend. Her name's Arizona."

  "Arizona? That's a state," I said, finding the name on the page.

  "That's what her parents named her because they have this multimillion-dollar ranch there. In this scene, Trent decides to tell Arizona how he really feels about her. The problem is he's a graduate student and she's only a high school junior. Her father, a man with a fiery temper, would have him shot."

  "How does Arizona feel about Trent?" I asked, gazing at the lines.

  "She's always had a crush on Trent, but she never dreamed it would turn into anything. She's overwhelmed, but excited, titillated. It's a dream come true. Ready?" he asked, standing before me.

  "Okay, I guess."

  "Top of the page," he said. I watched him lower his head and then raise it slo
wly, his face changing, his eyes filling with emotion.

  "No one knows I'm home," he said. "I drove right to your house." He fell to his knees at my feet. It took me by surprise and I gaped at him. "Read your lines," he coached out of the side of his mouth.

  "Oh." I looked at the pages. "Why? Why did you come here first, Trent?"

  He took my hand.

  "Because the things I said to you just before I left .. . the things I told you I was feeling haunted me. I couldn't study. I couldn't talk to anyone. All I've been doing is thinking about you. Every time I look at another girl, she has your face, Arizona." He leaned on my knees and drew closer.

  I gazed at the pages again.

  "If you're teasing me, this is cruel," I said.

  "It would be like teasing myself, like being cruel to myself," he said. "I know this is biting into forbidden fruit, but I would chance being thrown out of Paradise just for one of your kisses," he said.

  I started to look at the pages again when his fingers slipped under my chin and gently lifted my face so he could lean over and kiss me softly on the lips. My eyes went wide.

  "Arizona," he said. "Your name is branded on the front of my brain."

  He kissed me again, this time putting his hands on my shoulders to hold me and draw me closer, making his kiss harder, his tongue moving through his lips and slipping in between mine. Surprised, I sat back.

  "I knew you loved me just as much. I knew it," he said and flooded my face with kisses, running his lips down to my neck. His hands went to my waist.

  "Spike," I said.

  "Trent," he replied, and covered my mouth with his again, his kiss forcing me back on the sofa. His right hand moved off my waist and up over my ribs until he reached my breast.

  "Wait," I cried.

  "There is no time to wait," he said, still acting as if we were in his scene. But my words were my own. I wasn't reading off a page. In fact, the script had fallen from my hands. Spike pushed me down on the sofa, his lips moving to my chin, my neck and then his fingers separating the jacket of the pants suit so he could lift it and slide his hands under my silk blouse. When his fingers reached my bra, I twisted and turned to break free.

  "Don't be afraid," he whispered in my ear. "This is the way grown-ups make love."

  "Spike, stop!" I cried. His lifted my bra and soon the tips of his fingers were sliding over the top of my breast, strumming my nipple as his lips continued searching my neck, my face, his left hand against my head, trying to get me to return his kisses.

  I brought my knees up higher and then, with all my strength, pushed into his stomach. He lost his balance and fell off the sofa. I didn't wait to give him a chance to recuperate. I shot up and turned away from the sofa, straightening my clothing quickly.

  "Are you crazy?" I demanded.

  He sat back, a wide, silly grin on his face.

  "I'm just getting into my scene. What are you getting so excited about?"

  "That's not in your scene," I accused.

  "It's what we call improvisation. It helps you to build your part. You get into the character. That's all. Come on," he said, patting the sofa again. "Let's try again and when you get into it--"

  "I'm not getting into anything," I said, backing away. "If this is acting, I'd rather do someone's laundry," I added.

  He laughed.

  "Melody, really--"

  "Thanks for the introduction to dramatics," I said, heading for the door. "You should do real well. Good luck," I said and charged out of his apartment, down the stairs, bursting into the sunshine.

  Maybe everyone was crazy here. Maybe like Spike said, everyone was moving in his or her own movie. Mommy certainly seemed to be.

  Instead of heading back into the house, I walked down the tiled driveway and out to the street. The sky was hazy now and there was a nice cool breeze even though the sun was still strong. Traffic went by at a leisurely pace, people glancing at me curiously. Gardeners trimmed hedges and swept leaves and debris from the fronts of beautiful homes. I walked with my arms folded under my breasts, my heart still pounding from my episode with Spike.

  And then I paused to watch a little girl with long golden pigtails being lifted out of a car by a woman who had to be her mother. She clung to her with loving desperation and gazed over her mother's shoulders at me. Happy, secure, she flashed me a sweet smile and then waved as if we knew each other. I waved back and for a moment I felt as if I were waving at myself, years and years ago, when I was about her age and my stepdaddy was alive. Of course, I didn't know then he was my stepdaddy. I thought he was my real daddy. He loved me just as much as any real daddy could.

  The woman carried her little girl into the big, beautiful house where she would be secure and safe and where even the thought of something unpleasant was left at the doorstep. I stood there, smiling and thinking about her. I don't know how long I was standing there, but suddenly I realized there was an automobile stopped nearby and someone looking at me.

  It was Mr. Livingston.

  He waved.

  "You all right?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. "Thank you. I was just taking a little walk."

  "In Beverly Hills, that's considered strange," he remarked. "Don't go too far," he said, raised his window and drove on. I watched him turn into the driveway and then I headed back myself. Maybe it was strange to be alone here and think.

  I would do what Spike had suggested. I would confront Mommy again, hopefully when she was alone, and if I had the same result, I would get myself back on the plane as quickly as I could and I would fly away, leaving Mommy and my past behind me.

  6

  Devil's Bargain

  .

  Alec greeted me at the door when I returned

  from my short walk and in a very stiff and formal voice informed me that Mr. and Mrs. Livingston wanted to see me immediately in the parlor.

  "Melody, dear, where have you been?" Dorothy asked the moment I appeared. She was seated on the settee and Philip was sitting across from her in the thick cushioned arm chair, his posture regal. They looked like they had been having a very serious conversation. "Philip just told me he saw you wandering aimlessly about Beverly Hills. Why didn't you come right in and report to me about your second visit to that Egyptian whatever?"

  "I just wanted to be alone for a while," I said. I certainly wasn't going to say anything about Spike and the little drama in his apartment. "I wasn't wandering about aimlessly. I knew where I was going. Doesn't anyone just take a walk here? Why did they build sidewalks?"

  "You poor dear. Come in here this instant and give us the details about your visit," she insisted and patted the seat beside her.

  Philip sat staring at me, his fingers pressed together in cathedral fashion, his beady dark eyes looking quite disapproving. I walked in slowly and sat. Then I took a deep breath and began.

  "I met her," I said in a voice that even sounded like the voice of doom to me, "and she pretended not to know me."

  Philip nodded and glanced sternly at Dorothy. "It was what I anticipated," he said, "even from the little I knew about this bizarre situation. Dorothy--"

  "Now hush, Philip. We will solve the matter ourselves," she said, but he didn't look relieved.

  "This is not one of your social games, Dorothy. I told you what I thought when I first heard about this. We sympathize with your situation, Melody," he said, directing himself to me, "but we're certainly not equipped to solve the problem as Dorothy implies. This sounds to me more like a police matter. Someone is surely defrauding someone here," he continued. "Perhaps an insurance company. I simply can't have myself attached to the issue in any way. I have a major responsibility to my clients, who are all highprofile, and I can't afford to have any negative publicity. You seem like an intelligent enough young woman to appreciate that."

  "Yes sir. I'm sorry. I'll leave tomorrow."

  "You don't have to leave so quickly," Dorothy said, but not with the same firmness she said most everything else to me.
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  "I don't want you to feel we're throwing you out. You're a friend of my sister-in-law and Dorothy made her sister some promises," he added, eyeing her disapprovingly. "You can stay for a while as long as you don't bring any of this mess to our doorstep, but from what it sounds like to me, my best advice to you is to return to where you call home and the people who care for you," Philip said.

  "Yes sir," I replied in a small voice that started to crack.

  "You can report what you know to the proper authorities and let them take the necessary action," he continued. "I'll assist you in doing that, if you wish."

  "That's not why I came here. I don't care about any of that. I wanted to find out what really had happened to my mother. I wanted to see if she needed me."

  There were tears in my eyes as I spoke, but they defied gravity and remained firmly under my lids.

  "I see. Well, Dorothy knows that if you require some money for your return trip . . ."

  "I have everything I need. Thank you," I said.

  "Okay. I'm sorry for your trouble. You're a very nice young lady and I'm sure you'll regain your composure and go on to do something worthwhile with your life."

  "Oh, she's going to do a lot more than that," Dorothy said. "She's an exceptional young lady."

  "Yes, well, I'll just go up and get ready for dinner." He shot another, even sterner look at Dorothy. "Don't put yourself in a position where you're giving advice you shouldn't be giving, Dorothy."

  "I think I know what I can and can't tell someone, Philip."

  "I certainly hope so," he said with his eyes full of warning. He glanced at me and then rose and left the room.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't want to make any trouble for you. Maybe I should leave right away. I can stay in a motel until I make travel arrangements."

  "Of course you won't do something like that. Don't you listen to him. He's just being . . . just being Philip Livingston," she said, as if that explained or justified it. "Now I want to hear all the details. Go on. Tell me everything from start to finish," she begged, leaning toward me, her eyes wide. For a moment I had the feeling she was treating me and my problem as if it were all another episode of her favorite soap opera. Nevertheless, I related the events as they occurred, leaving out my scene with Spike. When I was finished, she sighed deeply.