Unfinished Symphony (4 page)

"Just give him the briefcase?"
"That's it," he said. "Okay? Here," he added taking a fifty-dollar bill out of his wallet.
"Oh, you don't have to give me any money for something so simple," I said.
"I insist."
"I won't do it if you insist on giving me money. If we can't do little favors for each other . ."
He smiled.
"You know, I had a feeling it was my lucky day when I saw you standing there and smiling like that. Thanks. And if we ever run into each other again, I'll be sure to buy you another cup of tea."
He pushed the briefcase toward me.
"A man will be standing with a sign . . . Tonsworth.' He won't be hard to find," he declared and then he walked off, disappearing in the crowds of people who had just come off airplanes.
I finished my tea and got up. The briefcase was a little heavier than I had anticipated, but it wasn't too heavy. I walked down the terminal until I reached gate forty-one. There were many people there already. I asked the attendant what I had to do next.
"You'll get your boarding pass at the desk," she instructed and I got into line. Ten minutes later, I reached the desk and handed the attendant my ticket. She gave me my boarding pass and I sat and waited with everyone until the flight attendant announced our plane would begin boarding.
My heart began to beat madly again. When I heard my seat number, I joined the line and made my way to the airplane. The attendant at the door smiled warmly at me and directed me to the right.
"You have the aisle seat," she said. I found it quickly. There was an elderly man in a light brown suit sitting by the window already, his eyes closed. He opened them when I sat beside him.
"Hello there," he said.
"Hello." I put the briefcase under the seat in front of me and buckled my seat belt, just as I had been instructed. Then I smiled at him again.
"Going home?"
"No. I'm going to Los Angeles for the first time," I said. "How about you?"
"Going home. I visited my brother in Brooklyn. He's too old to travel anymore so I come to him. Used to be, we took turns. It's not easy to get old, but you know what they say, it beats the alternative," he added and laughed, his thick-lensed glasses bouncing on the bridge of his nose.
"How old is your brother?"
"Ninety-four, two years older than me," he replied.
"You're ninety-two years old?" I asked, astonished.
"Years young. If you think of yourself as being old, you're old," he said plainly. He did have remarkable young-looking light gray eyes, more hair than I thought a man of that age would have and a face that, although crossed with deep wrinkles in his forehead and temples, was not that weathered. He was slim, but he certainly didn't look fragile and weak.
"I'll have to ask you to tell me your secret," I said, smiling.
"You mean the secret to keep bouncing?" He leaned toward me. "Do what you have to do, but let someone else do the worrying," he replied and then he laughed again. "It's all up here." He pointed to his temple. "Mind over matter. So, are you in college?"
"Not yet," I said and told him a little about myself. He had a hearing aid, which I thought had to work very well. He seemed to hear everything I said.
I didn't realize how long I had been talking until the pilot announced we were the next plane to be approved for takeoff. I sat back, holding my breath.
"Is this your first time in an airplane?"
"Yes sir, it is," I said.
"Remember what I told you," my elderly friend said with that twinkle in his eyes. "Let someone else do the worrying."
He closed his eyes and sat back, looking very relaxed. I was lucky to be sitting next to him because he had a calming effect on me. How could I be nervous when a man in his nineties was so brave?
Once we were airborne, he told me all about his life. He could remember the Spanish-American War, as well as the First and Second World Wars, of course. It was mind-boggling thinking about all the changes he had seen. He and his brother had worked with their father in the garment industry when they were only ten and twelve years old. He had had many different jobs in his life and finally had become an insurance salesman, married and moved to California where, he said, he made some money in real estate. His wife had died nearly fourteen years ago. I heard about his children and his grandchildren. He talked so much I didn't realize how much time had passed. We had our lunch and then he took a nap and I read a magazine. I fell asleep for a while myself and when I woke up, I heard the pilot say we were close
^-
tO Los Angeles.
"Remember," my elderly friend said, his hand over mine, "stress and worry, that's what puts age in you. Now, time, time's just a reminder that we ain't here forever."
"Thank you," I said.
After that, it all happened so fast, the plane landing, getting my things together, saying good-bye to my new friend and leaving the airplane. My heart was thumping so hard and quickly, I was afraid I'd faint before I set eyes on Holly's sister. I didn't have to look long. She was right there at the gate doorway, unmistakable, an elegant beauty in a wide-brim white hat, a lace coat over her milk-white silk dress. She wore matching silk gloves and large diamond earrings. Her hair was a sleek cap of pale shining gold, pulled back from her face to show a sculptured profile and unlined face.
Holly had warned me that her sister Dorothy was supporting a number of plastic surgeons in Beverly Hills. Holly called it Dorothy's Wrinkle Panic. The mere sight of a line would send her into a frenzy and put her on the phone with her cosmetic surgeon. Her nose had been trimmed, her eyelids and skin tightened so often, her face resembled a mask, but she did have Holly's youthful hazel eyes. Her lips were fuller. Later, I would learn that, too, was because of something else her plastic surgeon had done.
Beside her stood her uniformed chauffeur, a handsome young man with turquoise eyes and hair the color of fresh straw, trimmed close at the sides with a sweeping wave over the top. He had a cleft chin, and a sharp, strong-looking jawbone and high cheekbones. At the moment, his firm mouth was curled up slightly in the right corner, a laugh in his eyes as he
contemplated me, wide-eyed and terrified walking into the terminal.
Dorothy was a tall woman, at least four or five inches taller than Holly. Her chauffeur was easily six feet two or three, I thought. He was trim, movie star sleek with that perfect Hollywood tan I saw on the faces of stars in fan magazines. The caramel tint emphasized his aqua eyes.
Dorothy waved. Beside them stood two uniformed policemen studying everyone who came from the plane. I waved back and hurried along.
"Melody?"
"Yes," I said.
"I just knew it was you. Didn't I, Spike?" she said as I approached.
"You had a good description," he said, widening his handsome smile.
"Oh dear me, look at you. You're so sweet," she said. "Isn't she just the freshest little thing you've ever seen, Spike?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said gawking at me, a silent laugh on his lips.
"Welcome to Los Angeles," Dorothy declared. "My sister has told me all about you, but of course, I want to get to know you for myself. I'm sure half the things she told me are either exaggerations or figments of that wild imagination of hers. Spike, take her briefcase. Briefcase?" she asked herself, raising her eyebrows as soon as she said it. "Why would you be carrying something so . . . ugly? Couldn't my sister provide you with a suitable bag? Something more feminine?"
"It's not mine. I'm doing someone a favor," I said and gazed past them, looking for the man with the sign.
"Favor?" Dorothy looked at Spike. He shrugged.
"I met someone at the airport in New York, a banker. He was on his way here when he had an emergency and had to go back to the city. He asked me to take this to Los Angeles and give it to a man who held up a sign with his name, Fonsworth," I said still looking past them. "But I don't see him."
"What nerve," Dorothy said. "Especially to burden a young girl coming here for the first time." She looked at Spike again, whose smile had evaporated and been replaced with a frown that put furrows in his forehead. His eyes went to the policemen behind me and then he reached quickly for the briefcase, practically pulling it out of my hands. I thought he was being rather rude and I was about to protest. After all, it was my responsibility. He stepped away quickly.
"Did you have a nice flight, dear? Sometimes it's bumpy and they always manage to serve you your food just when it's bumpy. I don't fly unless I can fly first class anymore, not that it's less bumpy, but at least you know you'll be a little more comfortable. So, you must tell me all about yourself and your adventure and of course, tell me all about my sister. I hope you don't believe half the things she claims to be able to do. We'll have lunch," she added before I could utter a syllable. "After Spike gets your luggage."
She took a deep breath. Spike remained a few steps in front of us.
"I really want to get that briefcase to the man," I said. "I promised and I feel responsible."
"Of course, dear. Spike?"
He turned as we reached the long corridor.
"The gentleman she's looking for must be down at the baggage carousel, don't you think?" Dorothy said.
He paused, looked past us, and then started to open the briefcase, but it was locked.
"I don't think you should do that," I protested.
"I'll be right back," he told Dorothy as he headed into the men's room.
"Why doesn't he let me take care of the briefcase?" I asked.
"I swear, I have no idea," she said. "He's an actor, of course, and like all of them, he's moody and unpredictable. Everyone in L.A. these days is either trying to get into the entertainment industry or selling real estate. Enough about Spike. Please tell me about you. Where did you meet my sister?"
I told her about Provincetown and Kenneth, Holly's arrival at the beach and how we became friends.
"She still drives that ridiculous circus car?"
"Yes," I said, laughing and thinking about the bright psychedelic colors.
"She had her ears pierced when she was only eight, you know. She had a friend do it and she had to be taken to the doctor before infection set in. My father was furious."
Before Dorothy could continue, Spike reappeared, but without the briefcase.
"Where's Mr. Fonsworth's briefcase?" I demanded instantly.
"In the garbage bin. Let's get moving," he said to Dorothy.
"What? Why did he do that?" I cried.
"Quiet," he said gruffly.
"Now just a minute," I began, determined to make him explain. He surprised me by seizing my arm at the elbow and pulling me forward. Before I could protest, he turned to Dorothy.
"Drugs," he said.
"Oh dear."
"What?"
"That briefcase was lined with something called cocaine. Ever hear of it?" he said sarcastically. "That's probably why the police were waiting at the gate. They got a tipoff; he found out and planted the case with her," he told Dorothy and then looked at me. "If they would have stopped you, you would have been in great trouble. Maybe we all would have," he added.
"But . . ." I looked at Dorothy, whose eyes were almost as wide as mine. "He was a nice young man, a banker. Surely, this is a mistake," I cried.
Spike shook his head.
"He must have spotted her a mile away," he told Dorothy.
I pulled my arm out of his grip and swallowed over the huge, aching lump in my throat.
"That's not true. He had an emergency, and how would he know I would do such a thing anyway?" I asked.
"If you refused, he would have looked for someone else or given up for today. You just transported a lot of cocaine across the country and you might even have brought it to Mrs. Livingston's home," he added firmly.
I felt myself wilt, the tears burning as I looked at Dorothy. She wagged her head at Spike, flashing him a cool, chastising look.
"Oh don't be so harsh on her, Spike. She didn't know." She patted me on the shoulder. "It's nothing, dear. These things happen in today's mad world, but we won't worry about it now. Let's just get her luggage and go, Spike. I'm absolutely famished. We'll go directly to The Vine on Beverly Drive. Wait until you taste their baked goat cheese salad, Melody, and their grilled eggplant sandwich."
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."