Unfinished Symphony (13 page)

"I don't need baby-sitting."
"This is a place for grown-ups, people who can deal with hard realities," he bragged.
"Really? From what I've seen, it looks like a land of make believe, a big sandbox," I replied. He turned to me, his eyebrows raised and then he laughed.
"Maybe you will get along here after all."
When he saw the Livingstons' home, he whistled through his teeth.
"Why the hell do you want to leave this?" he asked. "Why don't you just stay on until they throw you out?"
"That's about what Mr. Livingston's doing," I remarked as we pulled into the driveway.
"You better wait in the car," I suggested when he went to get out.
"What's that supposed to mean? You too haughty now? Think I'm an embarrassment? Think these people are better than me?" he asked angrily.
"No, but if Dorothy Livingston sees you, she might describe you to her sister, who will tell people back in Provincetown, who might be angry enough to tell the police about what you and Mommy have done. There's a stranger buried in the Logan family plot and Olivia Logan is not the sort of woman who would look fondly on that," I said. "She's a powerful woman, too, with friends in high places. She might even get the FBI after you," I added.
He thought a moment, looked at the house, and then nodded as he sat back.
"Yeah, right. Good thinking. You do have a head on your shoulders. That's good. I'm tired of doing all the thinking for everyone," he said. "Go on. Make it fast. I got things to do," he ordered and I got out of the car quickly and went to the front door.
Alec came to the door almost immediately after I had pressed the buzzer. He looked out at the car in the driveway and then stepped back with that habitually disapproving grimace on his face. Dorothy and Philip appeared in the hallway, both coming from the den. Alec closed the door and walked away without a word as they approached me.
"What happened?" Dorothy asked. "I've been very worried since you left and so has Philip," she said. I glanced at him, but he still looked more concerned about his own reputation than anything else.
I thought about Mommy's advice concerning the truth and decided she wasn't right. I wasn't going to get caught up in her and Richard's web of lies.
"We met and I'm going to stay with her," I said quickly. "She needs me."
"You mean she owned up to who she was?" Philip asked.
Yes.
"Well, why did she do such a terrible thing before? Why did she deny knowing her own daughter?" Dorothy demanded.
"She had her reasons," I said, "but it's all cleared up now. I'll just go get my things."
I started for the stairs.
"But . . . will you really be all right?" Dorothy asked.
"I think she knows if she'll be all right, Dorothy," Philip said, obviously happy to be rid of me. "She's old enough."
"No she's not. She's--"
"Dorothy," he snapped.
She bit down on her lower lip and watched me climb the stairs. I hurried into the room and threw my things together quickly. I gazed at the black evening dress in its box, thinking that if I just left it there, Dorothy would have to take it back.
"I won't take it back," I heard Dorothy say as if she had been reading my mind. I turned to see her standing in the doorway. "You might as well take it with you, Melody. Otherwise, it will just collect dust."
"I don't mean to be ungrateful, Dorothy. You've been wonderful and kind and generous, but--"
"No buts, ifs, or maybes. I just want you to know I hope the best for you, Melody. You're a sweet young lady," she said, coming into the room and sitting on the bed. "Actually," she said, looking down at her hands, "I wish I could do something as significant for my own sister, but she and I . . . we never saw the world the same way. Oh, we love each other, I suppose, as much as two sisters can, but I know Holly thinks I have no purpose to my life other than satisfying myself. She doesn't know who I am," she said with tears in her eyes. "I have my mountains to climb, too."
I smiled at her.
"I'm sure she knows that, Dorothy. She cares a lot about you and she thinks a lot of you. She told me you would be wonderful to me and she was right. Thank you very much." I took the box with the dress in it and she smiled.
"Good luck to you and please, please don't hesitate to call me if you need someone. Don't worry about Philip. He'll growl, but he'll do the right thing in the end."
I nodded and she hugged me.
"I do wish I had had a daughter like you," she said. "I wish I had someone else, someone who needed me. Philip's about as self-sufficient as anyone can be. It's good to be needed and wonderful to be able to help someone in need."
"I know. That's why I want to be with my mother," I said.
She nodded.
"She's very lucky. I'm sure she doesn't deserve you."
Dorothy followed me out and down the stairs. At the doorway we hugged again. Philip was nowhere in sight. He wasn't the sort who cared to say good-bye anyway, I thought. Tomorrow, he would forget my face.
I hurried out and to the car, turning once to wave. Dorothy lifted her hand and held it for a moment before she closed the door softly. Loneliness, I thought, had nothing to do with money or wealth; loneliness had to do with the heart. If it beat only for one, it was only half used.
"What did you get, a good-bye present?" Richard asked, eyeing the box when I got into the car.
"Mrs. Livingston was very generous. She bought me some clothes."
He glanced at the box and saw the name inscribed on the cover.
"That's a pretty expensive boutique in Beverly Hills," he said as he started the engine. "What is it?"
"A black evening dress."
"Oh yeah? Well, what do you need with something that expensive now?"
"She wanted me to have it," I said dryly.
He backed out of the driveway and looked at me. "I got an acquaintance who can turn a new dress like that into hard cash, which we could use. Especially since you ain't worn it yet and I bet it still has the tags on it, right?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"I don't want to sell this," I said. "It was a present. It meant a lot to her to give it to me."
"Is that so? What are you, a millionaire? You going to pay the first six months rent for us? You going to buy tomorrow's groceries, pay the electric and gas bills? Pay for my car insurance? I gotta cart you girls around town to the auditions, to the jobs. That takes gas money, upkeep. There's expenses here," he whined. "If you want to be part of this, you gotta put in your share. How much money did the old lady back in Provincetown give you for traveling?" he demanded. "Huh?"
"She bought my tickets and gave me . . . five hundred dollars," I said. She had given me two thousand, but I knew where Richard's questions were heading.
"Well, where's the money?"
"I spent nearly all of it coming out here," I said.
"What's left?"
"A hundred dollars."
"That's all? All right. Give me seventy-five and keep twenty-five for pocket money so I don't have to give you any for a while. Go on, give it to me," he said. "I'll need to have some seed money to find you a job now, too."
I opened my purse and counted out the seventyfive without his seeing how much was really there. When I handed it to him he shoved it into his pocket without another word.
"Good. That makes sense. I'll find you work," he promised.
I curled up in the corner of the seat and gazed out the window as Beverly Hills fell behind us.
"There's my house," Richard claimed, nodding at a large home with Grecian columns in the front. "It's only a matter of time," he said with a confident laugh.
Matter of time? Matter of centuries, I thought, but kept it to myself. My eyes filled with tears of determination. Somehow, somehow soon, I had to get Mommy away from him and away from all this.
As soon as we returned to the apartment, Richard told Mommy about my evening dress, but when Mommy saw it and then tried it on, she moaned and pleaded for him to let us keep it. She did look absolutely beautiful in it.
"I'll get a job where I'll need to wear something nice like this, Richard. Won't I?" she asked, spinning in front of the mirror. "And then, instead of having to rent something, I'll have it. And how about the wonderful, important parties you told me we would be attending soon? I'll need to look good for you, won't I? Oh please, let us keep it."
"People will be impressed Mammy has something so expensive," I added, "and clothing is important to people in the business, isn't it?" I offered to support her.
Richard glared at me.
"How do you know what's important to people in the business?"
"I met an actor who told me all about' it," I said.
"Oh, you met an actor. Big deal."
"She's right though, isn't she, Richard? You've told me that. That's why you needed the money for your nice jackets and suits," Mommy added.
He squirmed in his seat.
"We could get a nice piece of change for that." "Mommy's got work and you said you were sure you could get me work soon anyway," I chimed.
He reddened with fury.
"That's right, Richard," Mommy said, checking her reflection in the mirror.
"You're going to keep calling her Mommy," he snapped at me. "You're bound to make a mistake in front of strangers."
"1 won't," I insisted.
"You better call me Sis or Gina even when we're alone, Melody," Mommy advised. "Get into the habit."
"All right. I will. You look beautiful in that dress, Gina," I added, enjoying the way Richard twisted in his seat as the prospect of losing the money for the dress sunk in deeper.
"Richard," she whined. "I've waited so long for something nice."
"All right, all right. Just this once, I'll change my mind, but next time when I decide something--" "We'll listen. We promise," Mommy said.
He smirked, turned a suspicious eye at me and then went to watch television while Mommy and I got my room organized.
"The Livingstons must be so rich, Melody," Mommy said. "Such expensive gifts. But soon, I'll be able to buy myself things like this. I'll be driven in my Rolls to Beverly Hills and stroll into the most expensive stores, too," she said and pretended that my dingy room was a designer's boutique. "The salespeople will come rushing over, each eager to help me, to show me the latest fashion," Mommy continued. I sat on the bed and watched her pose as if she were gazing at a dress. "Yes, that might work. What's that? Only five thousand dollars? What, is it on sale?"
She laughed and then spun around to look at herself in my evening dress once more. I laughed, too.
"It's beautiful," she said and sighed. Then she looked at me. "But it's really yours."
"No, it isn't Mommy, it's yours. I want you to have it, keep it in your closet."
"Really? Thank you, dear. But please," she said, whispering, "try, try to call me Sis or Gina." She gazed at the doorway. "Especially when he's here."
I nodded. She gave me a quick hug and then left to be with Richard.
It felt strange going to sleep in their apartment that first night because it reminded me of the trip from Sewell up to the Cape. I recalled the nights on the road, sleeping in motel rooms with them sleeping together nearby, just as they were tonight.
Back then I could only think of my stepdaddy and wonder how Mommy could hold and kiss someone else so quickly after my stepdaddy's death. Maybe she was afraid of being alone, so afraid she would even cling to someone like Archie Marlin. He took advantage of her vulnerability and replaced her fears with pipe dreams. Was Mommy just too griefstricken to notice? But what about now? What was her excuse for letting him rule her life now?
I felt so small and alone myself, sleeping in this dismal little room. If Mommy hadn't realized what sort of a man Archie Richard Marlin was by now, how could I hope to open her eyes? He held up the promise of glamour and fame, riches and respect. What could I offer in its place except the truth? And for Mommy, the truth might be too painful a pill to swallow.
Like so many other people in Los Angeles, dreams, no matter how false or impossible, were something she would much rather have. At least, I thought, I had found her, and at least now, there was a chance.
I was up before either of them the next morning. I made coffee and toasted some nearly stale bread. They didn't have much more to eat for breakfast, no cereals or eggs and very little jam or butter. Nevertheless, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee brought them out of the bedroom.
"Now this is more like it," Richard said. "I usually have to go out for some coffee. Your sister can't get her eyes open fast or wide enough to boil water first thing in the morning."
"Oh, Richard."
"What, am I telling her something she didn't know about you?" he said and laughed.
"We need some groceries," I said.
He raised his eyebrows.
"So, you still got a few bucks. While we're off to the mall for your sister's job, you go buy what you want," he said.
I made up my mind that was just what I would do.
"Clean up our room, too, while we're gone," he ordered. "I'm tired of living in a pigsty and until you start working and bringing in money, you'll earn your keep that way."
"I gave you money," I reminded him. He reddened.
"What money?" Mommy asked.
"Just some of her pocket money, hardly anything, but I need it to go riding up and down the valley seeing people and trying to get her a job, don't I? Well, don't I?" he pursued.
"Yes, I suppose so," Mommy agreed. It seemed there wasn't anything he couldn't make her think or say.
They drank their coffee, nibbled on some of the toast and then went to get dressed. I waited until they left and then I called Holly and told her where I was and what had finally happened.
"So you've decided to stay?"
"Yes," I said. Although I didn't tell her how Philip wanted me to leave, I did tell her how sad I thought Dorothy really was.
"She can't buy enough things to keep the darkness from her door," I told Holly.
"I know. It's a conversation she and I have had before. Maybe I should make another trip out there soon."
"I wish you would. She does miss you," I said.
"Listen to you, giving other people advice and trying to help them while your future is still uncertain. Don't take on more than you can handle, sweetheart, and call me if you need me."
"I will. Thank you, Holly."
As soon as I hung up, I called Cary, hoping he might just be home. He wasn't, but Aunt Sara was eager to talk.
"Jacob's very sick," she told me. "It was worse this time. And now Cary's got me worried, too. He barely gets any rest between going on the boat, looking after our business and running up to the hospital. I'm on my way up there now."
"I'm sorry, Aunt Sara. I wish I were there to help you." "Are you all right, dear? I haven't even asked you how your search is going. I'm sorry."