Unfinished Symphony (Logan 3)

"Boston. I told you that," he said. "You weren't listening, Melody Logan." He waved his long right forefinger at me. "See, I remembered your full name. Pay attention to everything and everyone when you travel," he advised. He bit into his doughnut and then offered it to me.

"No thank you."

"You'll calm down once you're in the air," he assured me. "Actually, flying's the best way to travel. You put on earphones, sit back and fall asleep. Most of the time, I've got to work on the plane because I'm behind in my paperwork. I hate paperwork."

"What exactly do you do?"

"I work on commercial loans," he said. "It's not as glamorous as what people do in Hollywood. So why are you going there? Vacation?" He continued to look around after he asked me questions, as if he didn't care what I would answer or he was looking for someone else. "No, I'm going to meet my mother."

"Oh." He turned back. "Your parents divorced and you live with your father?"

"Not exactly," I said.

"You don't have to tell me your private business. I'm just being nosy to pass the time. Your name's Melody, but you don't sing?" he asked. He looked to his right, chewing his doughnut quickly, actually gobbling it.

"I play the fiddle."

"Fiddle?" He turned back to me and laughed. "Not the violin?"

"It's different. I was brought up in West Virginia where playing the fiddle is very popular."

"Oh. I thought there was something unusual about your accent. Fiddle huh? Well, I suppose that's nice." He swallowed the last morsel of his doughnut and licked his fingers. "I'm hungrier than I thought. I think I'll get another doughnut."

"Oh, let me get it this time. You bought my tea," I offered.

He laughed.

"A woman of independent means. I like that. Sure. Get me a plain . . . no, make it a chocolate doughnut this time," he said. I reached into my purse, opened my wallet and took out two dollars.

"Is this enough?"

"Yes," he said, shaking his head. "It's more than your tea cost so it's not exactly a fair exchange," he warned.

"That's something a banker would say," I replied and he laughed harder.

"Thanks."

I went to the counter and picked out the doughnut. His eyes were still full of laughter when I returned.

"I'm not used to women buying things for me. The girls I know belong to the leech society," he said, taking the doughnut. "Come on, share this one with me, okay?"

"All right," I said and took the half he broke off. We ate in silence.

"I was in Los Angeles two months ago for a convention," he said when he'd finished his half.

"Did you like it?"

"Los Angeles? I stayed at the Beverly Hilton. That's the way to see Los Angeles . . . chauffeurs, the best restaurants. Matter of fact, that's the way to see any place. Where's your mother live?"

I rattled off the address because I had committed it to memory soon after Kenneth Childs had given it to me in Provincetown.

"West Hollywood. Could be nice," he said. "How come you've never been there before?"

"She hasn't been there that long," I replied. He saw from my face that there was much more to the story, but he didn't look like he wanted to pry anymore. He nodded and then looked around again.

"I just remembered I gotta make a phone call. Would you watch my briefcase? I'll be right back," he said and jumped up before I could reply. He hurried down the terminal. The way he was burning up energy, he probably would look like forty or fifty soon, I thought.

I sat back and watched the crowds of people moving along, the children clinging to their parents' hands and the couples who also held hands or walked side by side. Where were all these people going? I wondered. Were any of them first time airplane travelers like me?