"Yes. I'd rather sweep floors and stack groceries forever than do what that fat man wanted me to do back in that so-called movie studio."
"Well, you raised a pretty smart girl," Richard said to Mommy. "Supermarket Wonder. Great. In the meantime you can keep this apartment spotless and see to our laundry. If you won't be a movie star, then be a servant. Maybe that's all you
're capable of being."
I looked at Mommy for support, but she just nodded.
"Richard's right, honey. With the three of us now, we won't be able to afford a housekeeper or dry cleaners if you don't work where Richard wants you to work."
"I don't mind doing the cleaning and looking after the laundry," I said. Surely Mommy didn't fully understand what Richard was doing to her and what he would have done to me if I had let him. We're the ones exposing ourselves, embarrassing ourselves, lowering our self-respect and he was the one collecting the money for it. I had to make her understand and if it took my having to be someone's little slave for a while in order to do so, I thought, so be it.
"Good," Richard said, marching out of the living room to the bedroom.
"Sis, you don't know how terrible this place was. You couldn't have done something like that."
"Don't be stupid, Melody. You can't be a child anymore. You're here, make the most of it, take advantage. You have a built-in manager and agent. Do you know how hard it is for new talent to get representation?"
"Talent? What kind of talent does it take to strip off your clothes and do X-rated things in front of a leering cameraman?"
"You'd be surprised," Mommy said. "The camera doesn't lie. If you're not sincere when you perform, the camera will expose you."
"Oh, you're exposed all right, and then some. Sis, listen," I said, but Richard came marching back into the living room. His arms full of shirts and pants and a few pairs of shoes on top.
"See that these things are washed and ironed. We can't afford the laundry. And I want these shoes polished so I can see my face in them. I've got to look twice as good now that you have screwed things up," he claimed as he dumped everything at my feet.
I looked from the pile to Mommy, but she just turned and walked into the bedroom.
"Of course," Richard said softly after she was gone, "if you want to turn around and go back to Cape Cod . . ."
I glared at him with hot tears in my eyes and then I started to scoop up his clothes.
"Not yet," I said. "I haven't finished what I came to do."
He saw the firmness in my face and his smile evaporated.
"Just watch yourself," he said. "You're playing out of your league and you're playing on my turf."
"I'm not playing," I replied and began to take everything into my room.
An hour later while I was ironing Richard's shirts, Mommy poked her head into my room to tell me they were going out to dinner.
"We can't afford to take you, honey," she said. "I'm sure you'll find something for yourself here."
"Someone's taking me to dinner," I said softly, not looking up at her.
"Oh? Who?"
"Mel Jensen," I said. When I looked up at her I saw a look of surprise on her face.
"Really? Well, you be careful," she said. "Watch what you say, what you tell him. Men can get you to trust them too much too fast," she warned.
"I suppose you'd know," I said. Her back straightened and a sharp look came into her eyes.
"Don't be disrespectful, Melody."
"I'm not. I'm just . . . Sis, when can you and I sit down and have a real conversation? When can we be like we used to be, just for a little while?"
"I don't know," she said, a little sadly. "I don't know if we ever can. That's why . . . that's why it might have been better if you never came looking for me, Melody. I'm sorry," she said. "I just don't know."