Unfinished Symphony Read Online Free PDF Page A

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 smiled 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,