"That's it," he said, "The Egyptian Gardens. I just love the names they give these places."
I peered out the window. Tall hedges walled in the pink stucco complex that wound around the pool in an ell shape. The buildings were only five stories high, each unit with its own small balcony. Some had flower boxes with plants overflowing the sides. All had a small table and chairs. Although the pink shade was bright, the buildings looked worn, tired, chipped and battered in places. The lawn was spotty, some of the bushes looking sickly with many branches without blossoms.
There was a directory of the residents just to the right of the main gate above which was the name of the complex scrolled in dark pewter. Spike was right. I saw nothing Egyptian or even vaguely Arabic about the place and like him, wondered why it was called The Egyptian Gardens. The main gate opened and two young men in shorts and polo shirts, wearing sneakers without socks, walked out laughing. They were both slim and good looking, both with wavy dark hair. They were so identical, in fact, they looked like they could be twins.
"Pretty boys," Spike mumbled. He got out and opened my door. For a moment I thought my legs wouldn't work, but I pushed myself up and stepped out. "I'll wait right here for you," Spike said.
"Thank you," I said, or at least I thought I had. I wasn't sure I actually made the sounds. He tilted his head.
"You okay?"
I nodded and crossed to the main gate. I looked up at the directory and read the names until I found Gina Simon. My fingers trembled as I reached up to press the button next to the name.
"No point in doing that," I heard a female voice say and turned as a young woman with bleached blond hair came up beside me. She was in a pink tank top and white spandex shorts and had her hair tied in a ponytail. She jogged in place as she spoke, her pretty face flushed, small beads of sweat across her brow. "It doesn't work. They were supposed to fix it last week and the week before and the week before, but nothing gets done fast around here." She took deep breaths and continued to lift her feet in rhythm. "Who you looking for?"
"Gina Simon?"
"Oh, Gina. Sure. She's right across from me. Four-C. Come on," she said and jogged through the main gate. She paused, holding the gate open, and continued to lift and drop her feet as she did so. "It's not locked. So much for security here."
I followed her in and she continued to jog down the walkway. I walked quickly, just about jogging myself to keep up. She paused when we reached the pool. Three young women in bikini bathing suits were sunning themselves on lounges. I gazed about quickly to see if Mommy was at the pool as well. I was relieved she wasn't. I didn't want to meet her in front of all these people.
A tall, very thin young man with short light brown hair sat dangling his legs over the diving board.
"Hey Sandy, how was your workout?" he asked the young woman who had let me into the complex.
"I nearly got hit by an idiot on a motor bike near Melrose," she said.
One of the women on the lounges sat up and braced herself on her elbow. She had long, reddish brown hair. Except for her nose, which was very pointed, she had nice features, too.
"Did you lose the five pounds?" she asked, rolling her eyes and smiling like a cat.
"I'm getting there," Sandy said. She spun on her heels and looked at me. "C'mon, before they eat you alive," she said and the three young women laughed. I hurried after her. She took me around the pool, down a walkway to the steps of the second building. Once inside, she stopped jogging.
"I'm trying to lose weight for an audition. It's a photo shoot and you know how the camera puts the pounds on you. The elevator's right down here," she said, indicating the corridor on her left. "I'm Sandra Glucker, but my show business name is Sandy Glee."
"My name's Melody," I said.
"Perfect," she said, shaking her head. "I love it. Actress, dancer, singer?"
"No," I said.
"No?" She stopped walking and turned back to me. "Are you a writer?"
"No," I said, smiling. "I'm not in the business."
"Oh. Oh," she repeated as if just realizing there were other kinds of people in California. She looked at me again. "You're pretty enough to be."
"Thank you."
"Gina Simon. How do you know, Gina? Oh, don't mind me. You don't have to tell me. I'm just someone addicted to gossip, but it's not as bad as some of the other addictions around here."
We stepped into the elevator and she pushed the button for the fourth floor.
"We know each other from someplace else," I said and hoped that would be enough for her.
"Someplace else? Is there someplace else?" She laughed at her own remark. I smiled and the elevator door opened. "You're from Ohio?"
"Ohio?"
"That's where Gina's from, some small town near Columbus, I think. So, what, did you meet in school or something?"
"School? No." How old did she think I was? Even more important, how old did she think Gina Simon was?
"What, is it top secret? There's Four-C," she pointed to the door down the hallway. Instead of going into her own apartment she watched curiously as I walked toward apartment 4C.
I gazed back at her and flashed a nervous smile. Then I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
"The door buzzer works," she said. "At least, it should."
"Oh. Thanks." I pushed it and waited. So did she. No one came to the door. I pushed the buzzer again. The seconds seemed more like minutes.
"She's probably not there. Maybe she went to an audition. Didn't you call first?"
"No," I said sadly.
"Too bad. In L.A., you should always call first. I'll probably see her later. You want me to tell her you were here?"
"No," I said and realized I said it too quickly. I smiled. "I was hoping to surprise her."
"Oh. Oh! I love surprises. So does Gina, I'm sure." She snapped her fingers. "You're not her sister, are you? She told me she has a younger sister. You are, aren't you?" she followed before I could speak. "That's terrific. She'll be so happy. She misses her family so much."
"She does?"
"Of course. Deep down inside, no matter how beautiful she looks and sophisticated she seems, Gina is a simple girl. That's why everyone loves her. You want to wait in my place?"
"Er, no. I'll just come back later. Thanks," I said.
"You sure. Because--"
"No, thanks," I said, my heart thumping fast. I hurried into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. As the doors closed, Sandy Glee stepped out to look at me one more time, her face full of confusion.
The minute the doors opened, I rushed out. Then I did jog down the walkway, past the pool, where everyone looked at me, and to the gate. I hurried out and to the car.
"What happened?" Spike asked, stepping out to open my door.
I shook my head.
"She wasn't there, and . ."
"And what?"
"I don't think it's my mother!" I cried.
4
A Different World
.
"Do you want to go right back to the house?"
Spike asked me.
"I don't care," I wailed and curled up in the
corner of the seat. I've come all this way for nothing, I
thought, for a dream, a child's dream. I should have
done what Dorothy suggested: had a private detective
do the footwork first. But even that idea was silly.
Where would I get the money to pay him? Grandma
Olivia wouldn't have given it to me for that. She
couldn't care less whether or not my mother was
really alive unless it meant I was out of her hair, out
of Provincetown and away from her precious family. "I'm sorry you were disappointed," Spike
continued, "but in L.A. you've got to learn how to live
with disappointment."
"I don't want to be in L.A.!" I cried.
"Sure you do. You haven't seen the best of it
; yet," he replied. "Look at those houses up there. They
call that the Hollywood Hills. The views are terrific.
See how some of them are built on the edge of the
hill? I bet they get a thrill when the earth shakes,
huh?"
Despite myself, I peeked through my hands to
look at the houses.
"And you're so close to the ocean here. If you
want to go and relax or get some sun, hey, all you do
is drive a few miles. show you," he said and made
another turn, sped up and headed west. "Say you're at
work, see, and you've had a bad day, so before you go
home to the old lady, you take a little detour," he
rambled. "Back in the boondocks, you'd stop in some
grungy tavern and moan over your suds. But here . . .
hey, look over there. See that building. That was used
as the front shot in Gone with the Wind. That's Tara!" I glanced out the window.
"This is a movie studio," he continued. I sat up
and gazed at the long white buildings and the trucks.
Minutes later, Spike told me to look straight ahead,
and there it was . . . the Pacific Ocean. Just the sight
of the waves and the vast silvery blue water pulled at
my heart. I thought about Cary and May and walking
on the beach with Kenneth's dog Ulysses at my heels.
I remembered the wind in my hair, the smell of the
salt air, the sound of the terns above me, the
wonderful feeling of being alive and part of nature. Spike was right. We started out in a city and
moments later, here we were, parking on a bluff
overlooking a long stretch of beach.
"Let's walk over to the fence and look down
over the Pacific Coast Highway." He got out and
opened my door. I took a deep breath, felt myself
relax, and then stepped out. "C'mon, follow me," he
urged.
We walked over the grassy area where there
were benches and where some older people were
sitting around their portable folding tables and playing
cards.
"This is Santa Monica," Spike explained. "It's a
great little beach community, full of European tourists
as well as locals. There's the Santa Monica Pier," he
said pointing down the beach. "See the Ferris wheel.
There's a merry-go-round there, too. It's fun! People
are just coming off the beach," he added, nodding
toward the shoreline below us. Cars rushed by on the
Pacific Coast Highway and in the distance, the sun
hovered between two clouds and just over the horizon.
"That's Malibu," Spike said, continuing his
explanation. "Pretty, isn't it? Sometimes, when I don't
get anywhere in an audition, I stop by and just gaze
out at the sea. It gives me a fresh outlook, boosts my
morale, know what I mean?"
"Yes," I said. "I've been living in Cape Cod. I
know the power of the sea."
"Oh yeah, right. I forgot. For some reason, I
keep thinking of you as small town, West Virginia.
You can't get away from that accent," he kidded.
"Actually, it's cute and I bet some casting directors
would love it."
I nodded and bit down on my lower lip, trying
hard not to show my emotions.
"My parents were a lot older than most when
they had me," Spike volunteered. "My mother was
nearly forty and my father was in his fifties." "When you were born?" I asked, thankful for
the change of subject.
"Yeah. I guess they woke up one morning and
looked at each other and said, 'You know what? We
forgot to have children."' He laughed. "Dad passed
away last year. He made it to seventy-nine." "Where are you from?"
"Phoenix. My mother still lives there with her
sister in one of those golden age communities. She's a
golfer, addicted. Whenever I do call her, all she talks
about is her handicap and the great putt she made. I
told her when she dies, I'll have people ride in golf
carts behind the hearse." He laughed again and then
shook his head. "She didn't think it was funny." We both stood there, staring out at the sea.
There were sailboats that looked like they were pasted
against the darkening blue horizon, and farther out
was what looked like a cruise ship heading southwest. "If you want to go to the beach one day, I'd be
glad to take you," Spike offered.
"Thank you, but I don't know if be here all that
much longer."
"I bet the Livingstons wouldn't mind how long
you stayed. You should take advantage."
"I don't want to take advantage of their
hospitality," I said, "and besides, I have people
waiting for me back in Provincetown."
"People? You mean, a boyfriend?" he asked
with an impish glint in his eyes.
"Yes," I admitted.
"What's he do?"
"He takes care of his father's lobster fishing
boat right now and in the fall, he'll be harvesting
cranberries."
"Sounds . . . nice," Spike offered, but his head
was turned in a way that kept me from reading his
eyes. Did he mean it? Did he really have a longing for
something more substantial than acting or trying to be
an actor, or was he just humoring me?
"It is nice," I said defensively. He glanced at me
with a small smile on his lips.
"You're too young to cash in your chips and
settle down, Melody. Look out there. It's a big, wide
world to explore. There's so much to do and see." Our eyes met. If he wasn't being sincere, he was
a good actor after all, I thought.
"So what convinced you the woman wasn't your
mother?" he asked finally.
"She comes from the Midwest, Ohio, and she's
apparently a lot younger than my mother," I said. "But she looks like your mother in that
catalogue?" "A lot like her. Different hair color, but
that's nothing," I said.
"Well, people lie about their age here. It comes
with the territory. Hollywood is a young person's
world, especially for women, and triple especially for
a woman who wants to be a model or in films." "Really?"
"Absolutely," he said.
"This woman claimed to have a younger sister
though, and my mother has no brothers or sisters," I
said.
"So? People manufacture their pasts here. It's as
if they stepped out of a movie of their own making," he continued. "Before you give up, I'd try again. Why
don't you try calling her later?"
"I didn't get a phone number," I said.
"She'll be listed, especially if she wants to be an
actress or model. She wants to be easily contacted." I nodded.
"I guess we should get back," I said. "Dorothy
wasn't too happy about my shooting off right away as
it was."
"Sure," he said. He flashed me one of his warm
smiles, took my hand and led me back to the
limousine. When he opened the door for me, the
people who were playing cards looked up to see who I
was and drivers slowed their cars to glance our way.
Everyone here was so eager to spot a celebrity, I
thought. For the firs
t time since we had arrived, I
actually wished I was one. Was I starting to catch the
disease?
When I returned to the Livingston's mansion,
Dorothy came rushing down the hallway to greet me. "What happened? I've been sitting on pins and
needles waiting. I should have had Spike call me from
the limousine. Weil?" she asked.
"I still don't know anything for sure," I said and
explained what had happened and why I was filled
with new doubts.
"You poor thing. To come all this way and be
so disappointed. Why couldn't that dreadful woman
have been there?" she said, bunching her lips together. "Spike says I should try to call her now." "He does? Well, I suppose you can do that, too.
But we're going to have dinner in about a half hour.
Philip's already home and getting dressed."
"Dressed?"
"We always dress for dinner. Don't worry. Just
put on the nicest thing you have to wear," she said.
"Tomorrow, I'm taking you to Adroni's on Rodeo to
get you something fashionable."
"Oh, I really don't think--"
"Remember," she sang, "I get deaf."
I smiled.
"Thank you, Dorothy."
"My sister, the psychic, you should excuse the
expression, called before to see if you arrived all right.
I asked her if she was such a psychic, how come she
doesn't know the answers to her questions before she
asks them." Dorothy laughed at her own joke. I
smiled, imagining Holly's reaction. "I forgot all about
the little gift you handed me at the airport, so I had to
pretend I had looked at it. I did a few minutes ago. Where does she expect me to wear these things?" she added shaking her head. "Anyway, I told her you would call her tomorrow. She was off to do some sort
of hoodoo, voodoo thing."
"Thank you," I said, heading for the stairway.
"I'll be right down."
"Don't worry yourself about the woman, dear. If
she's not your mother, you're still welcome to stay
here and enjoy Los Angeles for as long as you like." "Thank you," I called back and hurried up the
stairs to my plush room.
It wasn't until I plopped myself down on the
bed that I realized just how tired I was. Young or not,