"Okay," she continued, "let's look at where you'll sleep." She rose to go to the doorway of the second bedroom.
I followed her and she snapped on the light. A dull glow fell from the ceiling because the fixture was full of dust.
"This is going to be your room. We have only one bathroom, as you see, so don't hog it. You can help me keep the whole place clean. It's too much for a working girl to do that and stay pretty enough for an audition at a moment's notice anyway. That's why it looks a little disorganized right now," she said, but I remembered that Mommy was never a very good housekeeper. My stepfather Chester and I did most of the heavy cleaning in our trailer back in Sewell.
I studied the small bedroom. The walls were a faded pink, scratched, scuffed and chipped. Even the guest room at Holly's in New York with its one window was more comfortable and cozier-looking than this bare-walled, dusty room with a bed now covered with clothing, cartons of files, old issues of movie magazines and trade papers. The thin rug was badly worn in places, its thin threads frayed and unraveling. The curtains on the two windows were limp from dust and bleached from the sunlight. Large cobwebs dangled in the corners of the ceiling. I noticed a pile of what looked like thin briefcases in the right corner.
"You'll have to clean up a bit in here, but don't lose anything."
"What's that in the corner?" I asked.
"Oh, that you can't touch. Those are Richard's watches, antique watches. He sells them on the side. A friend of his got him into it here and he's made a nice bundle of pocket money doing it."
"He sells antique watches? I thought he was an agent with a half dozen clients."
"Everyone trying to break into the business does something else in the meanwhile, Melody. Most of the people living here work as waiters or waitresses in restaurants, some valet park cars, some even pack groceries. Anything to keep food on the table and pay the rent until you hit it big."
"I know. Dorothy's chauffeur is an actor. He told me he was in a few movies."
"What's his name?" she asked quickly.
"Spike. I don't remember his last name."
"Spike. I know ten Spikes if I know one," Mommy said with a laugh.
We both turned as the door opened and Archie Marlin entered. The moment he set eyes on me, his face became flushed with surprise and then anger.
"What the hell? How did she get here?" he demanded. He closed the door sharply and stood facing us with his hands on his hips, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He pulled it out. "Huh?" he said pointing the cigarette at me. "Did you send for her behind my back?"
"No, Richard. A friend of hers from Sewell saw my picture in the En Vogue catalogue. She sent her the catalogue and Melody brought it to someone who knew advertising. He tracked me down for her and she came out to L.A. to find me."
"That's just great," he said throwing up his arms. "That's just what we need right now. Your daughter," he said with disgust.
"But no one knows she actually found me, do they, honey?" she asked me.
I shook my head.
"Big deal. What are we going to do with her now?" he asked, as if I were some puppy left on their doorstep. "And just when I had everyone believing you were young enough to play their parts."
"That's not going to be a problem. We worked it out," Mommy told him.
"Yeah? How?" he said. He dropped himself into the worn easy chair, ashes from his cigarette raining down on his pants and the chair. He didn't seem to notice or care.
"Sandy thought she was my younger sister. Remember the story you told me to tell? That I have a younger sister back home in the Midwest?" she said, nodding to get him to remember. I imagined he had trouble keeping track of all the lies they had spread from West Virginia to California.
"Yeah, I remember. So?"
"So don't you see?" She turned to me. "Melody came after me, following me, looking for a career herself," Mommy said. He turned from her and gazed at me with sudden interest.
"Younger sister? Looking for a career herself, huh?" He sat forward. "Come a little closer," he ordered.
"Go on, honey. Richard doesn't bite," Mommy said with a smile.
I took a few steps toward him and he raised his lusty green eyes to look at me, lingering over my body in a way that made me feel naked beneath his gaze. His lips curled.
"Yeah, she's a looker now, ain't she? How old are you again? Never mind. From now on, you're twenty-one, see?"
"Twenty-one?" I looked at Mommy, but she just smiled and nodded. I turned back to Richard. "No one will believe that," I told him.
"Of course they will. They won't care if you're lying or not anyway, which is more important. Yeah," he said nodding and smiling as his eyes burned through my clothes, "I can find her some work."
"I'd rather find my own," I said and he stiffened. "You got any money?"
"Yes. Grandma Olivia gave me traveling money."
"Well, that's not much. The rent here's high and groceries and everything else costs a lot. If you're going to stay with us, you're going to have to pull your fair share, right Gina?" he said.
For a moment I had forgotten that was the phony name Mommy had taken for herself. I squinted with confusion and then remembered and looked at her.
"He's right, Melody. You're big enough and old enough to make your own way now. And besides, Richard might just make you a star too."
"I might," he said nodding. "I always thought she was a pretty girl, being she's your daughter," he said, smiling at Mommy. She beamed. "So," he said sitting back, "you saw your mother in the En Vogue catalogue. I got her that job," he bragged, "and we made some money on it, didn't we, Gina?"
"Yes, we did, Richard."
"Course, we spent it all, but I got her another job yesterday too. I just wrapped up the deal, honey," he said.
Mommy squealed.
"Oh, that's wonderful. See, honey? I am making it here. What's the job?"
"You're going to demonstrate some new perfume over at the Beverly Center and then be a model for makeup demonstrations," he declared.
Mommy held her smile, but it lost most of its bright light.
"Well, what about that role in the movie, Richard?" she asked softly.
"We'll see. They're still thinking about you," he said. "You might get a call back tomorrow in fact."
Her smile warmed again.
"Good. Well, Melody has to return to where she was staying and get her clothes and things, Richard."
"Oh yeah? Where were you staying?" he asked me.
"With the sister of a friend in Beverly Hills," I replied.
"Beverly Hills? Well, well, well, ain't we coming up in the world?" He laughed. "You sure you want to lower yourself and come live here with us common folk?"
"I was leaving their house tomorrow morning anyway," I said. "Mrs. Livingston was just doing her sister a favor by helping me."
"All right. I'll take her to go fetch her things. I like driving around Beverly Hills, gives me a chance to pick out the house I'm going to buy real soon," he said with a faraway look in his eyes.
"Oh, that's so nice of you, Richard. You see, honey? We'll work it all out as long as you listen. Isn't that right, Richard?"
"That's right," he said sternly gazing at me. "As long as you know who's running things around here and do exactly what I tell you to do."
"He knows what's best for us, honey," Mommy said. I looked from her to him, his glaring eyes full of self-satisfaction and I nodded to myself, recalling Christina's words and thoughts. Mommy did need me now more than ever. Somehow, someway, I would free her of the hold this slimy man had over her, I pledged.
He seemed to sense the challenge I threw back at him. He pulled his shoulders up, curled his lips and nodded at the door.
"Let's go. I have important things to do."
"Thank you, Richard," Mommy told him. "It's very nice of you." He shrugged.
"As long as she does her fair share, it's no skin off my teeth," he said. "And," he added firmly, threat
eningly, "as long as she remembers she's your sister and not your daughter."
"She won't forget. See you soon, Sis," Mommy said with a laugh. Richard gazed at me, his head tilted, a wry smile on his lips now.
"Well, what do you say?"
I looked back at Mommy, whose face coaxed me to do what was expected.
"See you soon . . Gina," I managed, even though the word wanted to choke my throat.
Richard Marlin roared with satisfaction and opened the door.
"Miss Simon," he said stepping back with an exaggerated bow, "shall we fetch your things at the Livingstons'?"
I walked out, my heart pounding, but my spine as straight as Grandma Olivia's could be when she was faced with a challenge. Maybe she was right, I thought. Maybe I was more like her than I wanted to admit.
"So, tell me how you've been since we left you back at the Cape," Richard said as we drove out of the parking lot. He had a different car, an older car with dozens of dents and scratches and a crack in one of the rear windows. The passenger seat in front had a deep tear in it, too. He glanced at me. "You don't look the worse for it. I'd say they fed you well, didn't work you too hard."
"I managed to get along," I said and he laughed.
"I bet you did fine living with those clam diggers."
"They're not clam diggers. They're lobster fishermen and they harvest cranberries. It's hard work and you've got to know the sea and--"
"Right, right. It's great if you want to get up with the worms and break your back every day. That's not for me, not for Richard Marlin," he boasted. "I'm going to have the easy life and soon, too. I've already started doing better than most out here."
From what I saw, I thought he had been living better when he was a bartender back in Sewell.
"What happened to your other car?" I asked. "It was much nicer."
"What? Oh. It don't pay to have a nice car in the city. People are always knocking into it, and if you have a nice car, someone's bound to steal it for parts anyway. Lots of big actors and producers have old, beat-up-looking cars like this one," he assured me. "So they won't be noticed so easily, see? Once people find out you're an agent and a manager, they hound you to death hoping you'll take them on as clients."
"So you're afraid of having too many clients?" I asked, incredulous.
"I've got more than I can handle now. We're going to make it big, your mother and me. You'll see." He looked at me closely and then turned back to the road. "You sure you want to stay with us?" he asked. "We won't have time to do any baby-sitting."
"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 bo
ught 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.
Logan 03 Unfinished Symphony Page 12
