Free Melody Burning by Whitley Strieber Page A

feel more wanted than I’ve ever felt before—
    “Stop that preening and get dressed!”
    “Oh, Jesus! Mom, you scared me!”
    “You live for the mirror. It’s a sickness.”
    “You don’t want close-ups of my zits ending up online, do you?”
    She sighs. Her hair is in curlers; her face is so bare of makeup that her complexion looks as if she’s been drained by a vampire.
    “Feeling okay, Mom? Because you look really pale.”
    “I didn’t get much sleep.”
    “Worrying about me, of course. So, my fault,” I say sarcastically.
    “I’m glad you got some sleep, at least.”
    “I’ve been up since four. Your boyfriend’s dope didn’t work all that well, I guess.”
    “He’s a doctor, Melody.”
    “A doctor who I’d bet spent the night with his patient’s mother? I’d like to see his credentials.”
    I run to my bathroom and slam the door. I know I’m being hard on Mom, but she’s being hard on me, too. I mean, erasing my entire day of work at Reynolds? I’m expected to just forget it, I suppose, like some two-year-old who has about a thirty-second memory span.
    All I can think about is him . How did he end up in here? There was a murder and he hid, so he says. This Luther, he hid from him. Why did Luther kill his dad? Or is it all a fantasy? What if he actually does have an apartment, or is just a damn stalker who lives in the Valley and snuck in?
    No. He’s real. A wild child.
    I turn on the shower and get in. It’s blue marble with gold fixtures, just like I wanted.
    I’m amazed all over again, and kind of shivering while I stand looking down at the water sluicing me and think, what would it be like if we took a shower together? I’m really torn. Do you do it or do you not? Calabasas was no help—the girls ran in packs, and to hear one pack talk, all the other packs were basically whores. Actually, most of them were like me, complete virgins.
    I finish the shower and slab on enough makeup to make Mom believe that I’ve decided to do it her way. But then I dress in a black, very severe Jil Sander dress that makes me feel good and bad, which is part of my love affair with Jil, I guess.
    I have a heartbreaking day to endure with this ancient composer and his equally ancient lyricist. Back to Reynolds to do some songs he’s probably had in a drawer since the days of Brandy. Brandy, the former star of Moesha , grew up into oblivion and that’s what I fear is my fate.
    “You look great,” Mom says as I come into the kitchen and eat a strawberry Pop-Tart.
    As so often before, I feel this intense love for my mother, despite the fact that I’m still angry about last night. I go over and kiss her on the cheek.
    At first, there is no reaction. Then I realize she has stopped moving. Her hands clutch the countertop, her head is down, and her hair hangs around her face. I hear her quietly crying.
    Suddenly we are in each other’s arms and I’m saying I’m sorry and she’s saying she’s sorry, and we’re bawling.
    You cannot hate your mother for very long, at least I can’t. In the limo, we sit hand in hand. This time, I don’t get sick. This time, she does not smoke. We have, thankfully, left Mr. Dr. Shrink behind to water the plants.
    We meet Jim Dexter at Reynolds, and his partner, Ray. Jim and Ray. They smile. I can see that they’re happy for this work. I have a vision of a tiny apartment somewhere cheap, and them counting their change for food.
    The first words out of my mouth stun me: “Could you do an arrangement of ‘Nature Boy’ for me?”
    This sounds insane, even to me, but I know why I am saying it, and when Mom gives me a funny look, I just turn away.
    Mom and I are not only mother and daughter, we are also business partners—and practically a married couple. But we’re business partners who don’t trust each other. At the core, it’s mom and kid, I guess, and that’s where we always end up.
    We go to work in a little acoustic studio with a piano. People like Elton John