Unfinished Symphony (Logan 3)

"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?"