Unfinished Symphony (Logan 3)

"Did she? You and I are almost the same size. We can share things, but you've got to take good care of whatever I give you to wear, okay? Some of my things are very special and designed for auditions. Did you bring a lot of your own stuff to California?"

"Not a lot, no."

"Where are your things?"

"At the Livingstons'."

"Well, I guess you'll have to go get your stuff. Don't tell her too much when you go back." She thought a moment. "I know what you should say," she added with excitement. "Tell her you're going back to Provincetown. You probably won't see her again anyway, and that way, she'll tell everyone else who asks about you that you left."

"Why don't I just tell her the truth?" I asked. She laughed.

"You never tell anyone the truth if you don't have to, honey. That's something you keep in your back pocket as a last resort. Take it from someone who's had to make her way on the road of life the hard way. I know from where I speak. The less you tell people about yourself, the better off you'll be later. There's always a jam to get out of and the truth can reduce your options. Richard taught me that lesson real well," she said, nodding.

"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.