Unfinished Symphony (Logan 3)

Thinking about the trouble I might have gotten myself into just as I had started out on this journey made my throat close. I took a deep breath of relief and shot a glance at Spike, feeling ashamed that I had gotten so angry at him when he was just doing what he thought he had to do to protect all of

us. He was silent as we continued down the terminal toward the baggage area, where I spotted a man in a light blue jacket and dungarees holding a small sign with the word "Fonsworth" written on it.

"Don't look at him," Spike ordered.

We hurried by him to the baggage carousel. However, I couldn't help but glance back at him once in a while. As the crowd thinned, he turned and rapidly left the terminal.

"I'm sorry," I told Dorothy. "I had no idea what that man had given me."

"It's all right, dear. Please, I hate unpleasant things. When something nasty happens, I just buy myself something new to wear and make myself feel good again." Her eyes drank me in from head to toe. "That's what we'll do for you later, buy you something nice to wear. I'm sure you don't have the right things. You need something more fashionable if you're going to traipse around Beverly Hills."

"Oh, I can't ask you to do anything like that."

"Of course you can't, but I still can do it," she said with a laugh.

I spotted one of my bags and Spike scooped it up.

"I almost forgot," I said, digging into my purse. "Holly sent you this."

I handed her the small package wrapped with the sign of Aries. Dorothy rolled her eyes.

"Oh no, what magic charm did she deliver this time?"

Without opening it, she dropped it into her own purse. I thought how much Holly would be

disappointed, but before I could say anything, my second bag appeared and I pointed it out to Spike. We showed my receipts to the attendant at the door and Spike carried my bags out to the limousine. It was a long, sleek black Mercedes with plush leather seats, a bar and a small television set in the rear. Spike opened the door for us and we got in. The leather smelled brand new.

"I'm really sorry about what happened in there," I said again. The more I thought about it, the more ashamed I felt for endangering people who were being so kind to me.

"I don't hear you," Dorothy sang. "I don't hear unpleasant things. I've trained myself to be deaf when I have to be, so you might as well stop talking about it. Let's talk about you again. Tell me about this place . . . this coal mining town and how you came to live in Provincetown," she said. "I'm actually fond of the Cape, but we only stay in Hyannis. That's where the Kennedy's live, you know. Spike, please take the fastest route to The Vine," she told him when he got behind the wheel. "I'm absolutely starving to death back here."

"Yes, ma'am," he said and winked at me as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

With all that had happened, I hadn't even looked up at the magnificent blue sky. We shot into traffic and we were soon on one of California's famous freeways. I was really here, and somewhere, not far away, my mother might be, too. If I ever needed her, I thought, I need her now.

3

Hopes Dashed

.

Traveling through Los Angeles was very

different from traveling through New York City. Everything seemed so much farther apart and there weren't nearly as many tall buildings, even though there seemed to be many more streets. However, Spike obviously knew his way around because as soon as we ran into a line of heavy traffic on the freeway, he took an exit and began to wind the limousine through the city streets. Dorothy said it wasn't the nicest area of Los Angeles, but even the poorer areas looked bright and dazzling to me. Sidewalks glittered and giant billboards advertised new movies. However, I did notice there weren't as many people walking the sidewalks as there were in New York. Here, everyone seemed to be in cars. Minutes later, Dorothy eagerly pointed out the sign that read CITY OF BEVERLY HILLS.

"Home," she declared with a deep, grateful sigh. The way she spoke about it made it seem as if Beverly Hills were an island on which she felt safe and secure from the rest of the world.

Spike drove up to the front of The Vine, a restaurant with a hunter green railing smothered in vines and bright pink and red bougainvillea. There was an outdoor patio that looked nearly filled with patrons. Waiters and busboys in starched white shirts and black pants with black suspenders scurried about gracefully, moving like invisible people past the obviously well-to-do clientele, all of whom were thick in conversation.

The restaurant's valet hurried to help us out once Spike came around to open the door.

"Merci," Dorothy said with a wave of her glove.

When Spike got back into the car, I wondered where he would go to eat, but I didn't have time to ask. Dorothy swept us down the cobblestone path to the gate of the patio, where a very attractive young woman waited at the hostess station.

"Mrs. Livingston," she said, flashing a smile made for toothpaste commercials, "how are you?"

"Starving, Lana. Meet my sister's young friend, Melody. She's just flown in from New York. This is her first time in Los Angeles and I thought I would introduce her first to The Vine. So get us a good table," Dorothy insisted.