"I could carry one of those for you," he offered.

"I won't steal your food," he added with a soft smile when I hesitated.

"How do you know where I'm going?" I asked.

"The Egyptian Gardens, right? I saw you there yesterday. I was at the pool when you went by. I live there, too," he said. "I'm walking that way anyway,"

he added, "going home." He shrugged when I didn't reply. "Light's changing."

"What?"

"We can cross now," he said, indicating the traffic had stopped.

"Oh."

He reached out and took one of my bags.

"Better hurry up," he said. "This is one of the shortest lights in L.A."

He grabbed my elbow and gently directed me across the street. We walked quickly and didn't speak again until we were on the sidewalk.

"I don't blame your hesitating to accept my offer. I don't trust my groceries with strangers either,"

he said with that silly, impish grin again. "Strange women are always approaching me and offering to carry one of my bags."

"Very funny."

"My name's Mel Jensen."

"Melody . . . Simon," I said.

"There. Now we're no longer strangers," he quipped. "I can carry your groceries all the time."

"Just because we exchanged names doesn't mean we're not still strangers," I replied and he turned very serious.

"You're right. Besides, around here, you're never sure the person is giving you his or her real name anyway," he said with a tiny turn in the corner of his mouth, and I felt myself turn a bright crimson.

He was looking straight ahead, so he didn't notice.

"But that's my real name and I intend to make it a household word," he bragged, now turning to see my reaction.

"What are you selling?" I asked and he laughed, the light in his eyes getting even brighter. He paused when he saw I wasn't kidding. "You're serious? You think I'm a salesman?"

"Well, you said household, so I thought . . ."

"What are you doing in L.A.?" he asked, suddenly very curious and suspicious. I looked away before replying.

"I'm visiting my sister," I said.

"Sister? Simon," he thought aloud. "Oh, you're Gina Simon's sister?"

"Yes," I said. I never thought of myself as a good liar and I had doubts that I would be able to fool people the way Mommy and Richard Marlin wanted. I was positive people would see through me or hear the hesitation in my voice and know immediately I wasn't telling the truth, but if Mel Jensen saw my deceit, he ignored it.

"Of course," he said nodding, "you two do look a lot alike. I suppose you want to be an actress and a model, too?"

"Not really, but my sister's agent thinks I can be. He says he's going to try to get me a job while I'm here," I replied.

"Stranger things have happened. The doorman at the Four Seasons got offered a small part in a television pilot. The pilot was picked up and he got a recurring role in it. Now he's an actor who drives up to the Four Seasons in his own Mercedes and has doors opened for him."

"Are you an actor, too?"

"No, I'm a dancer, jazz, interpretive, that sort of thing. However, if they made musicals the way they did when Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire were alive, I'd be in the movies," he claimed. "Anyway, this job packing groceries and stocking shelves is just something to keep a roof over my head while I fight the good fight. I share an apartment with two other guys, who both happen to be actors. Aren't you and your sister from the Midwest someplace?"

"Yes," I said quickly, hoping he wouldn't press me for details. I didn't know all the lies Mommy and Richard had spread about themselves.

"I'm from Portland."

We turned into The Egyptian Gardens and I stopped to take back my second bag of groceries.

"That's all right," he said. "I'll go up to your sister's place with you. I'm not in any rush. I'm not waiting for anything. I have an audition tomorrow morning and then I'll be hovering around the phone."

He laughed and we walked down the pathway to Mommy's building. "You should see the three of us when we've all gone for something and the phone rings. It's a mad dash. Lately, all three of us have been disappointed, but my luck's changing. I can feel it."

"I hope so," I said.

"Thanks. See, we can't be strangers any longer.

You're already wishing me luck."

He stepped into the elevator with me and carried my bag of groceries to the door of Mommy's apartment.

"Thank you," I said as he put the bag into my arms.

"Just an added service we provide at the Bay Market," he replied with a soft, beguiling smile on his lips. "What are you doing with the rest of your day?"

"I'm . . cleaning," I said.

"It's so hot today."

"I have to do it," I said.

"When you take a break, come on down to the pool and I'll introduce you to some of the other tenants." "I'd like that," I said hesitantly.

"See you later then," he replied and started for the elevator.

I don't know why I said I might go to the pool, I thought. I don't even have a bathing suit. I put away the groceries and began to clean the apartment. From the gobs of dust and the cobwebs I found, I realized neither Mommy nor Richard had ever done much cleaning since they had moved into this place. The pail of water turned black from my dipping the mop in it after two or three swipes of the kitchen floor. The windows were so crusted with grime, they made the outside world look gray even on a beautiful day.

The bathroom was even dirtier. Stubborn mildew had formed in every crack and space, and when I moved a small rug near the tub, I jumped back a foot because of the size of the bugs that came crawling out.

Finally, I turned my attention to the bedrooms.

The little balls of dust under the beds were like tumbleweeds. There wasn't any vacuum cleaner either, so I had to sweep under the beds and wash by hand the places the mop wouldn't reach. I didn't know whether Mommy would want me to go into her and Richard's dresser drawers, but .1 saw she wasn't folding her clothes any better than she used to fold them back in Sewell. I did most of our washing and ironing back then, too.

Clothes were draped over chairs and there was a pair of jeans and a blouse crumpled on the floor.

While organizing one of her dresser drawers, I found a light pink two-piece bathing suit and I thought about Mel Jensen's invitation. It was still very sunny and warm outside and I was about due for a break.

When I tried on the bathing suit however, I realized it was very revealing. I was going to take it off and look for another, more modest suit, but all I found was another bikini, this one even skimpier.

I stood up and gazed at myself in the mirror again. The suit fit well. I was a little bigger in the bosom than Mommy so the top was snug. My hips were more narrow, but the suit was like new and not stretched. I turned around, gazing at myself from different angles, not unhappy with what I saw. I didn't approve of girls who flaunted themselves, but I didn't see why I should be ashamed of having a nice figure. I could use a little tan, I thought, and conjured up Mel Jensen's soft, handsome, inviting smile. Did I have the nerve to go down to the pool in this suit? Just the thought of it was titillating.

While I was considering it, the phone rang. It was Cary.

"I tried calling earlier," he said, "but when the answering machine came on, I decided not to leave a message. You wouldn't know when to call me anyway. I'm in and out so much."

"I went shopping for groceries."

"Shopping for groceries? Where are you? What did you tell Ma? She can't remember anything these days. What's happening?" He fired questions at me without taking a breath.

I told him about my confrontation with Mammy and summarized her story quickly.

"So they sent a strange woman's body to Provincetown? I can't believe it. That's against the law, isn't it?" he asked.

"I suppose so," I said.

"What about the woman who's in the grave?

Isn't anyone looking for her?"

"I don't know all the details, but there are a lot of people here who have left their families behind forever. Besides, I think it was mostly Richard Marlin's doing," I added. "Mommy seems . . . under his control, but I'm going to get her out of here," I said and explained why I wanted to stay in Los Angeles and try to save her from Richard's evil grip.

"Maybe she doesn't want to be saved, Melody,"

Cary said.

"I've got to try."

"Why? She didn't care about you. Look at what she did. If your friend back in West Virginia hadn't found that picture in the catalogue, do you think your mother would have ever called again?" he argued.

"She was just like those other people you mentioned, people who forgot their families."

I knew he just wanted me to go home to him, although what he was saying was not untrue.

"That's just it, Cary. I did see the picture and I did find her and I know she needs me. One day she's going to find herself all alone here. Once Richard decides he can't get anything more out of her, he'll leave her stranded."

"She should have thought of that herself. You don't belong there," he insisted. "They're criminals, sending a stranger's body to be buried as if it were your mother's. Grandma Olivia's going to be furious."

"Maybe you shouldn't tell her anything just yet." "What do I do when she asks, lie? Is that what you're learning how to do out in L.A.?"

"No."

"Your mother's a good teacher," he muttered.

"We both know that."

"Look Cary, no matter what she's done, she's still my mother. You'd feel the same way."

"No, I wouldn't," he said quietly and I could hear the sadness in his voice.

"How's your father doing?" I asked.

"There's been no change. He's still in the cardiac care unit in the hospital. It was raining here this morning, a small storm, so we didn't go out in the boat. I'm depending on the cranberry crop to get us through the year anyway," he added. "There's going to be a lot of work to do soon."

"Maybe I can come back to help," I suggested.

"And then what, return to L.A.?"

"I just don't know, Cary."

"You probably like it out there. Hollywood," he spat. "It's a lot more glamorous than living in an old house and harvesting cranberries. I don't blame you,"

he said in a tired voice. "I wish I could run away from my responsibilities, too."

"I'm not running away from my responsibilities, Cary Logan. I'm running toward them. I'm trying to help my mother," I said firmly, determined to make him understand.

"Right. Well, you know where I'll be. Give me a call sometime, if you have time," he said, not disguising his frustration and anger.

"Oh, Cary, you know I'll call."

"I gotta get back to the hospital," he said. "I left Ma up there with May. Bye."

"Cary."

The phone went dead. I held the receiver in my hand a moment and then put it back on the cradle, my heart feeling like cold stone. Cary didn't do well with sadness and hardship. He turned inside himself and bitterly closed up like a clam. It was the way I had found him when I had been left there to live with Uncle Jacob and Aunt Sara, and it had taken a while to get him to say two friendly words to me. I felt just horrible not being there at his side when he needed me so much.

But when I gazed around this small apartment and thought about Mommy completely under Richard's control, I knew I had to stay. I had to try. It was times like this I wished there were two of me. I would send my other self back to Provincetown. I should have been the one to have a twin, not Cary, I thought.

A rich peal of laughter came flowing up from under the patio. I went out and listened. Two young women were walking down the path toward the pool.

They were both in bikinis, even skimpier than the one I was wearing.

I do need a break, I thought, just a small intermission from all these troublesome thoughts. Just for a little while, I'll pretend to be one of them. My only fear was that whatever madness drove them would be contagious and what Cary suggested would come true. I'd find it was easier to just run away into my dreams and fantasies, and like everyone else here, not worry if they had any reasonable relationship to the truth.

Despite that fear, I searched for and found a beach towel at the bottom of the closet and a pair of sandals. I scooped up Mommy's coffee-stained and cigarette-burned terry cloth robe and slipped it over myself. Then I headed down to the pool, telling myself it was just for a little while. No harm done.

Right?

"This is Melody Simon," Mel Jensen told the stout, light-brown-haired man on the lounge beside him. "Melody, meet Bobby Dee," Mel said.