"It's just down this street," he finally said, after making a right turn. My heart seemed to stop and then pound, pound, pound like someone beating on a locked door. I held my breath as he slowed the limousine.

"That's it," he said, "The Egyptian Gardens. I just love the names they give these places."

I peered out the window. Tall hedges walled in the pink stucco complex that wound around the pool in an ell shape. The buildings were only five stories high, each unit with its own small balcony. Some had flower boxes with plants overflowing the sides. All had a small table and chairs. Although the pink shade was bright, the buildings looked worn, tired, chipped and battered in places. The lawn was spotty, some of the bushes looking sickly with many branches without blossoms.

There was a directory of the residents just to the right of the main gate above which was the name of the complex scrolled in dark pewter. Spike was right.

I saw nothing Egyptian or even vaguely Arabic about the place and like him, wondered why it was called The Egyptian Gardens. The main gate opened and two young men in shorts and polo shirts, wearing sneakers without socks, walked out laughing. They were both slim and good looking, both with wavy dark hair.

They were so identical, in fact, they looked like they could be twins.

"Pretty boys," Spike mumbled. He got out and opened my door. For a moment I thought my legs wouldn't work, but I pushed myself up and stepped out. "I'll wait right here for you," Spike said.

"Thank you," I said, or at least I thought I had. I wasn't sure I actually made the sounds. He tilted his head.

"You okay?"

I nodded and crossed to the main gate. I looked up at the directory and read the names until I found Gina Simon. My fingers trembled as I reached up to press the button next to the name.

"No point in doing that," I heard a female voice say and turned as a young woman with bleached blond hair came up beside me. She was in a pink tank top and white spandex shorts and had her hair tied in a ponytail. She jogged in place as she spoke, her pretty face flushed, small beads of sweat across her brow. "It doesn't work. They were supposed to fix it last week and the week before and the week before, but nothing gets done fast around here." She took deep breaths and continued to lift her feet in rhythm. "Who you looking for?"

"Gina Simon?"

"Oh, Gina. Sure. She's right across from me.

Four-C. Come on," she said and jogged through the main gate. She paused, holding the gate open, and continued to lift and drop her feet as she did so. "It's not locked. So much for security here."

I followed her in and she continued to jog down the walkway. I walked quickly, just about jogging myself to keep up. She paused when we reached the pool. Three young women in bikini bathing suits were sunning themselves on lounges. I gazed about quickly to see if Mommy was at the pool as well. I was relieved she wasn't. I didn't want to meet her in front of all these people.

A tall, very thin young man with short light brown hair sat dangling his legs over the diving board.

"Hey Sandy, how was your workout?" he asked the young woman who had let me into the complex.

"I nearly got hit by an idiot on a motor bike near Melrose," she said.

One of the women on the lounges sat up and braced herself on her elbow. She had long, reddish brown hair. Except for her nose, which was very pointed, she had nice features, too.

"Did you lose the five pounds?" she asked, rolling her eyes and smiling like a cat.

"I'm getting there," Sandy said. She spun on her heels and looked at me. "C'mon, before they eat you alive," she said and the three young women laughed. I hurried after her. She took me around the pool, down a walkway to the steps of the second building. Once inside, she stopped jogging.

"I'm trying to lose weight for an audition. It's a photo shoot and you know how the camera puts the pounds on you. The elevator's right down here," she said, indicating the corridor on her left. "I'm Sandra Glucker, but my show business name is Sandy Glee."

"My name's Melody," I said.

"Perfect," she said, shaking her head. "I love it.

Actress, dancer, singer?"

"No," I said.

"No?" She stopped walking and turned back to me. "Are you a writer?"

"No," I said, smiling. "I'm not in the business."

"Oh. Oh," she repeated as if just realizing there were other kinds of people in California. She looked at me again. "You're pretty enough to be."

"Thank you."

"Gina Simon. How do you know, Gina? Oh, don't mind me. You don't have to tell me. I'm just someone addicted to gossip, but it's not as bad as some of the other addictions around here."

We stepped into the elevator and she pushed the button for the fourth floor.

"We know each other from someplace else," I said and hoped that would be enough for her.

"Someplace else? Is there someplace else?" She laughed at her own remark. I smiled and the elevator door opened. "You're from Ohio?"

"Ohio?"

"That's where Gina's from, some small town near Columbus, I think. So, what, did you meet in school or something?"

"School? No." How old did she think I was?

Even more important, how old did she think Gina Simon was?

"What, is it top secret? There's Four-C," she pointed to the door down the hallway. Instead of going into her own apartment she watched curiously as I walked toward apartment 4C.

I gazed back at her and flashed a nervous smile.

Then I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"The door buzzer works," she said. "At least, it should."

"Oh. Thanks." I pushed it and waited. So did she. No one came to the door. I pushed the buzzer again. The seconds seemed more like minutes.

"She's probably not there. Maybe she went to an audition. Didn't you call first?"

"No," I said sadly.

"Too bad. In L.A., you should always call first.

I'll probably see her later. You want me to tell her you were here?"

"No," I said and realized I said it too quickly. I smiled. "I was hoping to surprise her."

"Oh. Oh! I love surprises. So does Gina, I'm sure." She snapped her fingers. "You're not her sister, are you? She told me she has a younger sister. You are, aren't you?" she followed before I could speak.

"That's terrific. She'll be so happy. She misses her family so much."

"She does?"

"Of course. Deep down inside, no matter how beautiful she looks and sophisticated she seems, Gina is a simple girl. That's why everyone loves her. You want to wait in my place?"

"Er, no. I'll just come back later. Thanks," I said.

"You sure. Because-"

"No, thanks," I said, my heart thumping fast. I hurried into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. As the doors closed, Sandy Glee stepped out to look at me one more time, her face full of confusion.

The minute the doors opened, I rushed out.

Then I did jog down the walkway, past the pool, where everyone looked at me, and to the gate. I hurried out and to the car.

"What happened?" Spike asked, stepping out to open my door.

I shook my head.

"She wasn't there, and . ."

"And what?"

"I don't think it's my mother!" I cried.

4.

A Different World .

"Do you want to go right back to the house?"

Spike asked me.

"I don't care," I wailed and curled up in the corner of the seat. I've come all this way for nothing, I thought, for a dream, a child's dream. I should have done what Dorothy suggested: had a private detective do the footwork first. But even that idea was silly.

Where would I get the money to pay him? Grandma Olivia wouldn't have given it to me for that. She couldn't care less whether or not my mother was really alive unless it meant I was out of her hair, out of Provincetown and away from her precious family.

"I'm sorry you were disappointed," Spike continued, "but in L.A. you've got to learn how to live with disappointment."

"I don't want to be in L.A.!" I cried.

"Sure you do. You haven't seen the best of it yet," he replied. "Look at those houses up there. They call that the Hollywood Hills. The views are terrific.

See how some of them are built on the edge of the hill? I bet they get a thrill when the earth shakes, huh?"

Despite myself, I peeked through my hands to look at the houses.

"And you're so close to the ocean here. If you want to go and relax or get some sun, hey, all you do is drive a few miles. show you," he said and made another turn, sped up and headed west. "Say you're at work, see, and you've had a bad day, so before you go home to the old lady, you take a little detour," he rambled. "Back in the boondocks, you'd stop in some grungy tavern and moan over your suds. But here . . .

hey, look over there. See that building. That was used as the front shot in Gone with the Wind. That's Tara!"

I glanced out the window.

"This is a movie studio," he continued. I sat up and gazed at the long white buildings and the trucks.

Minutes later, Spike told me to look straight ahead, and there it was . . . the Pacific Ocean. Just the sight of the waves and the vast silvery blue water pulled at my heart. I thought about Cary and May and walking on the beach with Kenneth's dog Ulysses at my heels.

I remembered the wind in my hair, the smell of the salt air, the sound of the terns above me, the wonderful feeling of being alive and part of nature.

Spike was right. We started out in a city and moments later, here we were, parking on a bluff overlooking a long stretch of beach.

"Let's walk over to the fence and look down over the Pacific Coast Highway." He got out and opened my door. I took a deep breath, felt myself relax, and then 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.