Unfinished Symphony (Logan 3)

as soft as the material out of which the pants suit had been made. It was a creamy white color with swirls of pink through it and it did fit perfectly. When I gazed at myself in the mirror, I felt my ego swell. Then I glanced at the tag dangling from the left sleeve and I almost fainted. It was fourteen hundred dollars!

"She looks fantastic," Dorothy said. "What a wonderful choice for day wear," she said, without even checking the price. "Now, let's think about something for the evening. I plan to take her to Chasens tomorrow night, and you never know who might walk in."

"Oh, I have a darling black dress, just in from Paris."

Farma hurried off to get it and I spun on Dorothy. "Dorothy, look at the price of this!" I exclaimed. She gazed indifferently at the tag.

"What of it, dear? Decent things are going to be expensive these days."

"But this--"

"Please," she said widening her eyes, "don't embarrass me. I know all the salespeople in these stores and they know me. Oh, that does look sweet," she said when Farma brought out the thin-strapped evening dress. Reluctantly, I tried it on and it also fit perfectly, flattering my figure, but it was eighteen hundred dollars! I couldn't swallow after Dorothy told her to wrap up the evening dress.

"She'll wear the pants outfit now," she declared.

"Very good," Farma said.

"Dorothy . . ." I stood, astounded.

She stepped up to me so she could lower her voice.

"If I don't spend my money, Philip will only invest it in one of those dreary annuity funds and tie up the money for years. As it is, I never get to spend all of my monthly allowance."

"You have an allowance?" I asked, amazed at the idea of a grown woman being given an allowance.

"Of course I do. And if I don't use it, I can't get him to raise it, can I? He's too smart. He'll simply say I don't spend what I get now, so why raise it? All of my friends get allowances and I happen to be at the top. I don't intend to lose that position," she added.

"Besides," she continued, "I don't enjoy giving my money to charity as much as I do buying something for a pretty young girl. It makes me feel . . ." She smiled. ". . feel younger myself. I used to have a figure like yours . . naturally. Now go put on that suit. We're going to go someplace special for lunch and many of my friends will be there."

She smiled triumphantly.

"When Spike takes you back to the apartment complex, people will pay more attention to you and be more impressed with you. They'll take you more seriously. You'll see. Here everyone's impressed by clothes and cars first, and then they consider the person wearing the clothes and driving the car. You'll learn."

"I feel like they should have given me a passport when I left the East Coast," I remarked and she laughed so hard she had to tell Farma what I had said. Then they both laughed again.

While I changed into the Italian pants suit, Dorothy bought herself three blouses and two skirts. The bill at the end of our visit was enough to keep a family of four in food and shelter for months back in Sewell, I thought, but I dared not utter another complaint.

Before Dorothy had Spike take us to lunch, she insisted on buying me a pair of shoes to match the pants suit and a pair for the evening dress. Then we had lunch at a little cafe off Rodeo Drive where a sandwich cost as much as an entire meal anywhere else in America. Dorothy seemed to know everyone there, introducing me as her sister's close friend. I listened to them chatter about clothes and jewelry, and all the things they had bought that morning. Everyone managed to get in how much they had paid, as if the higher the cost, the more justified they were in buying it.

My head was spinning from this spending whirlwind by the time Dorothy had Spike drive her home. Alec was brought out to carry my packages up to my room, and then I was finally excused to pay another visit to the apartment complex.

"You look great," Spike said. "You belong in expensive clothes."

"Nobody belongs in things that cost this much. It's outrageous," I said. He laughed.

"It's supposed to be. This is Hollywood. Later, I'll take you up to Grauman's Chinese Theater and you can look at the footprints and handprints of the stars."

"I'd rather find the footprints of my mother," I mumbled and sat back, hoping this time I would have more success.

Now that I knew the buzzer on the directory at the front of the complex didn't work, I simply entered through the main gate and followed the path past the pool. There were a half dozen young men and women sunning themselves on the lounges, some holding reflectors under their chins. Unlike the first time, no one paid any notice to me. I didn't see Sandy Glee anywhere. As I approached the building in which I knew Gina Simon's apartment was located, I heard a loud, familiar laugh. A woman I was sure was Mommy came out of the entrance accompanied by a short, stout man with thinning gray hair and a bulbous nose. He had thick lips and was wearing a pair of thick-lensed eyeglasses that made his eyes look like the eyes of a dead fish.

I knew it was Mommy because when she saw me, she gasped, brought her hand to the base of her throat, and paused. Her escort looked at her curiously and then at me. Mommy regained her composure with a deep breath and smiled at the man.

"Anything wrong?" he asked. I stood waiting, my heart thumping like a parade drum. "You forget something?" he followed when she didn't reply.

"No," she said quickly. "It's all right."

"Well, we had better move along. Gerry Spindler is the sort of producer who likes to be the one who's late for a meeting, not the person he's interviewing. Not that I think there's a doubt about you, sweetheart. He'd have to be made of stone to pass on you," the stout man said and laughed grotesquely, his jowls shaking and his lips curling. Mommy fixed her eyes on me as they continued toward me.