"Then I shouldn't take it," I said.
"No, it's all right. I want you to have it. Please," he insisted.
I saw he wouldn't be satisfied until I accepted his gift, so I took it and put it on. He smiled.
"Thank you, Billy." I leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, which automatically turned crimson. Then I hurried to the car.
"Mind the galaxy while I'm away," Holly called back to him. He laughed and waved as we drove away. I looked back and waved again until we rounded a corner and he disappeared from sight.
"It's funny. I haven't been here two full days, but I feel like I've known Billy for years and years," I said.
Holly nodded.
"That's the effect Billy has on everyone. I'm glad you had a chance to spend some time with him before you left for California," she added.
California! Just the way she said it and the way I thought about it made it seem like another planet. I sat with my knees together, my hands nervously twisting on my lap as we wove our way out of the city and toward the airport. Think of something pleasant, something calming, I told myself.
On the way to the airport, Holly described her sister in more detail, but admitted they hadn't seen each other for nearly a year.
"I won't go out there, and even when she comes here, I feel like I'm embarrassing her. She's seven years older, so there's nearly a generation between us, but deep down she's really very kindhearted."
"It's very nice of her to do all this for me, a complete stranger," I said, wondering just how deep was deep down.
"Dorothy loves being magnanimous. It makes her feel even more like a queen," Holly said, laughing. "I have something for you to give her." She reached into her pocketbook to produce a small jewelry box wrapped in paper decorated with the ram, the sign for Aries, Dorothy's sign. "It's a bracelet filled with amethyst. The gems for the Aries are amethyst and diamond, but she has enough diamonds. You'll see."
"I'll make sure she gets it right away," I promised, tucking the tiny box away in my purse.
"Thanks. Well," she said as the airplane hangars came into view, "we're almost there."
My heart thumped like a parade drum at the sight of all the cars, the limousines and buses, people scurrying everywhere and skycaps loading luggage. Horns blasted, policemen shouted at drivers and waved at pedestrians to make them walk faster. Airplanes thundered overhead. How would I ever find my way through this maze of activity? Everyone else looked like he knew where he was going and was going there fast. I felt like I was floating through a dream and could be bumped toward one direction or another.
"Now don't worry," Holly said, seeing the expression on my face. "As soon as we pull up, the skycap will take your bags and give you your baggage receipts. Then he'll tell you what gate to go to for boarding. The directions are posted clearly inside the airport," she assured me. "And if you have any questions, there will be someone from the airlines nearby."
I took a deep breath. I was here; I was actually going. She pulled to the curb and we stepped out. The skycap took my bags and stapled the receipts to my ticket.
"Gate forty-one," he mumbled.
"Gate forty-one?"
I tried to get him to repeat it, but he was already helping someone else. I turned to Holly.
"I can't stay parked here any longer. They just give you enough time to drop someone off. You'll see a television monitor inside with your flight number and gate number, along with the time your plane takes off."
"Thanks for everything, Holly."
"You call and I'll call you," she said. She held my hands and stood looking at me. Then she shook her head. "Your mother must have been some blind woman to leave a daughter like you behind," she said. She hugged me and I held on to her, held her as if she were a buoy keeping me afloat in this ocean of people and noise and activity.
She turned and got back into her car, flashing a final smile my way. I watched her drive off, waving and looking after her until she was gone. Now I was really all alone, without a friend in the world. Two elderly people brushed past me roughly, neither realizing they had almost knocked me over with their suitcases. I was standing in the wrong place. I clutched my purse and headed inside before someone else trampled me.
It wasn't much different inside. People were rushing by, pulling luggage on wheels, calling to each other. At the desk, a man was arguing vehemently with the attendant while the people behind him all wore looks of annoyance and frustration. How they could all use Billy Maxwell's calming words and meditation, I thought, shaking my head.
"What's so funny?" a young man in a dark gray suit asked. He had curly blonde hair and impishlooking hazel eyes with a dimple in his right cheek that appeared when he pressed his lips together. He carried a black briefcase and an umbrella.
"What? Oh. I was just watching those people and seeing the steam coming out of their ears."
"Steam?" He turned and looked at the line.
"Oh." He smiled pleasantly. "You're a seasoned traveler, huh?"
"Who? Me? No sir. This is my first trip on an airplane, ever!" I exclaimed.
"Really? Well, you don't look it. Where are you going? Wouldn't be Los Angeles by any chance, would it?"
"Yes," I replied. "I've got to go to gate fortyone."
"That's easy. I'm heading that way, too." He nodded to his left. He took a few steps and paused when I didn't follow. "I don't bite," he quipped.
"I didn't think you did." I said nervously, and started after him.
"I'm Jerome Fonsworth," he said.
"Unfortunately, I have to travel a lot so I am a seasoned traveler." He grimaced. "Hotel rooms, taxis and airports, that's my life. What a life," he concluded with a smirk.
"Why do you travel so much?" Like everyone else, he walked at a quick pace. I nearly had to jog to keep up.
"I'm in banking and I have to go from Boston to New York or to Chicago or Denver often. Sometimes I go to Atlanta and sometimes I go to Los Angeles. Today, it's Los Angeles. Ever hear of that movie, If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium?"
I shook my head.
"Well, anyway, that's me. Busy, busy, busy. Sometimes, I feel like a bee," he muttered, swinging his briefcase as he walked. He stopped suddenly and turned to me.
"Look at me," he said. "Do I look like a man in his late twenties or a man in his late thirties, early forties? Don't lie."
"I don't lie," I said, "especially to strangers." He laughed.
"I like that." He paused and tilted his head to consider. "You know, that makes sense. You have to know someone to care enough to lie to him. I don't lie much to strangers either." He thought and nodded. "Well?"
"You don't look like a man in his forties," I said.
"But I look like a man in his thirties?" He waited, his eyes tightening.
"Early or mid-thirties," I admitted.
"That's because my hair's starting to thin out at the top of my forehead and that comes from stress. I'm really only twenty-eight." He started to turn and stopped. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't tell you my name, but it's Melody, Melody Logan."
"Melody? Don't tell me you sing and you're on your way to Los Angeles to become a star," he said disdainfully as he continued walking.
"No, I'm not going there to become a star," I replied, but I didn't think he really heard me.
"Right up here," he said, indicating an escalator. "You've got to check your purse, so if you have a gun in it, you'd better take it out now."
"A gun!"
"Just kidding," he said.
When we reached the entryway, I watched him put his briefcase on the table and realized they were looking at an X-ray screen. I put my purse on the moving table and walked through the metal door. A ringing sound started and the attendant stepped up to me.
"Have any change or keys in your pockets?"
"No, ma'am," I said.
"It's probably that necklace. Put it in the basket," she ordered.
Jerome Fonsworth stood watching and s
miled at me. Slowly, I took off the necklace Billy had given me and put it in the basket. Then I walked through the gate again, this time without the ringing sound.
"Okay," she said, offering me the basket to take out my necklace. I did so quickly and put it on. Then I grabbed my purse and joined Jerome.
"I should have told you that would happen. I always have to take off this watch." He checked it as he slipped a shiny gold watch back on his wrist. "You're going on American, flight one-oh-two also?"
"Yes."
"We have almost an hour. Want a cup of coffee or something?" he said, nodding toward the cafeteria.
"I might have a cup of tea."
"Stomach's woozy?" he kidded.
"As a matter of fact, it is," I said. I didn't see why I should be ashamed of being nervous. I bet he had been nervous the first time he had traveled like this, I thought. He heard the defensive tone in my voice.
"It's all right. The reason mine isn't woozy is because it's turned into a tin can from all the fast food I eat on the road and all the plane food I eat. Come on," he said and led me into the cafeteria. He ordered a coffee and a doughnut and a cup of tea for me.
"Thank you," I said when he insisted on paying for it.
"It's no big deal. I'm a bank executive in my father's bank. Money grows on trees," he said and indicated a table near the front of the cafeteria. We sat and he handed me my tea.
"Do you really hate your job as much as you claim?" I asked.
"Hate it? No, I've gotten so I don't feel anything about it. I go through the paces, do what I have to do, and then go home," he said. He didn't look at me when he spoke. His eyes continually wandered. Like everyone else around me, he seemed to be a bundle of wild energy. I thought he might just go poof and rise to the ceiling in a small cloud.
"Where is home?"
"Boston. I told you that," he said. "You weren't listening, Melody Logan." He waved his long right forefinger at me. "See, I remembered your full name. Pay attention to everything and everyone when you travel," he advised. He bit into his doughnut and then offered it to me.
"No thank you."
"You'll calm down once you're in the air," he assured me. "Actually, flying's the best way to travel. You put on earphones, sit back and fall asleep. Most of the time, I've got to work on the plane because I'm behind in my paperwork. I hate paperwork."
"What exactly do you do?"
"I work on commercial loans," he said. "It's not as glamorous as what people do in Hollywood. So why are you going there? Vacation?" He continued to look around after he asked me questions, as if he didn't care what I would answer or he was looking for someone else. "No, I'm going to meet my mother."
"Oh." He turned back. "Your parents divorced and you live with your father?"
"Not exactly," I said.
"You don't have to tell me your private business. I'm just being nosy to pass the time. Your name's Melody, but you don't sing?" he asked. He looked to his right, chewing his doughnut quickly, actually gobbling it.
"I play the fiddle."
"Fiddle?" He turned back to me and laughed. "Not the violin?"
"It's different. I was brought up in West Virginia where playing the fiddle is very popular."
"Oh. I thought there was something unusual about your accent. Fiddle huh? Well, I suppose that's nice." He swallowed the last morsel of his doughnut and licked his fingers. "I'm hungrier than I thought. I think I'll get another doughnut."
"Oh, let me get it this time. You bought my tea," I offered.
He laughed.
"A woman of independent means. I like that. Sure. Get me a plain . . . no, make it a chocolate doughnut this time," he said. I reached into my purse, opened my wallet and took out two dollars.
"Is this enough?"
"Yes," he said, shaking his head. "It's more than your tea cost so it's not exactly a fair exchange," he warned.
"That's something a banker would say," I replied and he laughed harder.
"Thanks."
I went to the counter and picked out the doughnut. His eyes were still full of laughter when I returned.
"I'm not used to women buying things for me. The girls I know belong to the leech society," he said, taking the doughnut. "Come on, share this one with me, okay?"
"All right," I said and took the half he broke off. We ate in silence.
"I was in Los Angeles two months ago for a convention," he said when he'd finished his half.
"Did you like it?"
"Los Angeles? I stayed at the Beverly Hilton. That's the way to see Los Angeles . . . chauffeurs, the best restaurants. Matter of fact, that's the way to see any place. Where's your mother live?"
I rattled off the address because I had committed it to memory soon after Kenneth Childs had given it to me in Provincetown.
"West Hollywood. Could be nice," he said. "How come you've never been there before?"
"She hasn't been there that long," I replied. He saw from my face that there was much more to the story, but he didn't look like he wanted to pry anymore. He nodded and then looked around again.
"I just remembered I gotta make a phone call. Would you watch my briefcase? I'll be right back," he said and jumped up before I could reply. He hurried down the terminal. The way he was burning up energy, he probably would look like forty or fifty soon, I thought.
I sat back and watched the crowds of people moving along, the children clinging to their parents' hands and the couples who also held hands or walked side by side. Where were all these people going? I wondered. Were any of them first time airplane travelers like me?
Suddenly, Jerome appeared again, looking all out of breath.
"I got a new crisis," he said, "here in New York."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"I've got to return to the city." He picked up his briefcase and then he paused. "The trouble is I had to get these papers to Los Angeles today. Listen, could you do me a great favor? I would be willing to pay you."
"What is it?" I asked.
"There will be a man at the airport waiting at the gate when you arrive. He'll be holding a sign that reads Tonsworth.' Just give him this briefcase. I'll be calling and telling him to expect you. Okay?"
"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.
Logan 03 Unfinished Symphony Page 3