Free Unfinished Symphony by V. C. Andrews

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