Cutler 2 - Secrets of the Morning

by V. C. Andrews

  "What did he say?" I asked, grimacing.

  "I tend to exaggerate," she said and giggled. "He's very nice and very funny in class. See," she said, "I told you people are friendly here."

  When we entered the school, we were greeted by an enormous mural in the lobby. It ran up the wall almost from the floor to the ceiling. It was a portrait of Sarah Bernhardt with her left hand up as if she were reaching for something and her eyes tilted toward the heavens.

  "This way," Trisha said and we went off to the right over the light brown marble floors. Late afternoon sunlight was filtered through the high, stained-glass windows, painting a rainbow of colors over the walls. Trisha led me down a long corridor. We stopped in a smaller lobby in front of two sets of double doors. On a large bulletin board was a poster advertising an upcoming production of Chekhov's The Sea Gull.

  "This is the amphitheater," Trisha explained and opened one set of doors softly. She gestured for me to get closer, and I peered in over her shoulder.

  It was a large auditorium with seats in a semicircle facing a stage. At the moment there were a half dozen people on the stage rehearsing a scene. Trisha pressed her right forefinger up against her lips and indicated I should follow her down the aisle. About midway to the stage, she stopped and directed me to sit beside her. For a few moments we listened as the young director explained where he wanted one of the actors to stand during the scene. Trisha leaned over to whisper in my ear.

  "That boy all the way on the right is Graham. Isn't he dreamy?"

  He was a tall, blond-haired boy with chiseled facial features. His hair lay lazily over his forehead and he leaned back against a wall as if he were totally uninterested in whatever was going on.

  "Yes," I said.

  After a moment she urged me to get up and we retreated up the aisle.

  "Come on," she said as soon as she closed the doors behind us. "I'll show you the classrooms and the music suites and the dance rehearsal room."

  Although our tour was done with lightning speed, I felt more secure about attending the classes the next day. Now I knew where most everything was. When Trisha saw what time it was, she hurried us out through a side exit and took me on a shortcut over the grounds to what was the delivery entrance for the school. We burst out on the sidewalk and rushed to the corner. All we had to do was go down another block and we were at the apartment building.

  The moment we entered, Agnes Morris popped out of the sitting room as if she had been hovering at the door.

  "Where have you been?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.

  "Dawn and I went to George's Luncheonette to have ice cream sodas and then I took her to the school to show her around," Trisha said. "Why?"

  "Why didn't you see if Arthur wanted to go along? He might have liked to go for an ice cream soda, too. You're usually more thoughtful, Trisha," she said, eyeing me. "Don't let anyone influence you badly." She pulled herself up haughtily. "Hereafter, sign out when you leave so I will know you are gone. Is that clear?" she asked, directing her glare at me again.

  "Sign out?" Trisha said incredulously.

  "Yes. I'm leaving a pad on the small table in the entryway here. Name and time from now on," she said. "I took Arthur to your room to introduce him to Dawn and there was no one there," she added, making it sound like the most horrible thing ever.

  "I'm sure he didn't mind," Trisha replied and swung her eyes toward me.

  "Nonsense. Of course he would mind. It was like walking out on a stage and having no audience. Come along, Dawn," she said. "I'll introduce you now. I don't like Arthur being slighted."

  Trisha and I followed Agnes up the 'stairway. We stopped at a closed door and Agnes knocked softly. There was no reply, nor did anyone come to the door. Puzzled, I turned back to Trisha, who only shrugged. Agnes knocked again.

  "Arthur? Arthur, dear?"

  A few moments later, a very tall and exceedingly thin boy opened the door. He had a prominent Adam's apple. I could hear Daddy Longchamp saying, "Now there's a bean pole."

  Arthur had large, sad, black eyes the same color as his ebony black hair, which was long and straggly. It looked like he had never taken a brush to it. He had a long, lean nose and a mouth with pencil-thin lips. His face was narrow with his chin almost coming to a point. Against his jet-black hair and eyes, his skin looked very pale. He made me think of wild mushrooms growing in damp, dark places in the forest.

  Arthur wore a black cotton shirt that ballooned out around him as though it was filled with air. It was tucked into charcoal-gray slacks.

  "Good afternoon, Arthur," Agnes said. "Here is the young lady I promised you would meet: our new student." She stepped back so I could step forward. "Dawn Cutler, meet Arthur Garwood."

  "Hello," I said, extending my hand.

  "Hello." He looked down at my hand as if he first had to inspect it for germs and then took it and let it go so quickly, I wasn't sure we had actually touched. He glanced at me quickly, but I thought I saw the glint of interest in-them even though he dropped his gaze to look down at the floor.

  "Arthur, as I told you, is a very talented musician," Agnes said.

  "I'm not talented," he snapped, looking up sharply. His dark eyes flared.

  "Of course you're talented," Agnes said. "You're all gifted young people or you wouldn't be here. Well," she said clasping her hands together and pressing them to her bosom, "I hope you all become very good friends and years and years from now, when all your names are up in lights, you will remember how I first introduced you."

  "I'll never forget it," Trisha said. I looked back and saw her smiling.

  "Let's all get ready for dinner," Agnes said, not hearing Trisha's sarcasm.

  Arthur Garwood took that as a cue to close his door.

  His action caught me by surprise and I had to step back quickly or get my foot caught. Trisha saw the look of shock on my face and seized me under the arm to pull me to our room. As soon as our door was closed, she burst into laughter, laughing so hard she made me laugh, too.

  "See what I mean about Bones?" she said, holding her stomach. "I'm not talented," she said, making her voice deep to imitate him.

  "Why is he so unhappy?" I asked. "I don't think I've ever seen such deep, melancholy eyes."

  "He doesn't want to be here. His parents made him come. Maybe, when you want to put yourself into a depression, you'll get him to read you some of his poetry. Anyway, thank goodness you're here," she added, "so I don't have to face that all alone." She began to undress to take a shower.

  "You can use the other bathroom to shower," she said. "You don't have to wait for me."

  "But I thought Agnes said that was supposed to be for the boys?"

  "It is, but Arthur never showers and dresses for dinner. He wears the same clothes day in and day out, and there's no one else here yet."

  I chose a pretty pink princess-shaped dress to wear to my first dinner at the student house, laid it out on the bed, and then scooped up my bathrobe and went to take a shower. I had just gotten undressed and stepped into the stall when I heard the doorknob turning and saw the lock snap open. It was obviously faulty. It happened so fast, I had no time to do anything. Arthur Garwood stepped in with a towel over his shoulder, his eyes down. I screamed, covering my bosom the best I could with my left arm and hand while my right hand dropped to shield the nudity beneath my waist. Arthur looked up. The moment he saw me, his mouth dropped open and his pale complexion turned so red, he looked feverish. Then I reached out and pulled the shower curtain around my naked body.

  "I . . . oh . . . sorry, I . . ." He stepped back and closed the door quickly.

  My heart was thumping like a tin drum and it wasn't just because the door lock had given way and caused an embarrassing moment. My mind reeled back to the memory of my brother Philip and what had happened between us at the Cutler Hotel. I felt myself grow nauseous and dizzy, from the memories, and I had to pause and sit on the edge of the bathtub and take deep breaths. Even so, I couldn't stop th
inking of Philip's hands touching my body, his lips pressing down on my breast as he babbled and pleaded and forced himself on me that day at the hotel. I'd never been able to reveal what had happened that day because Jimmy was hiding in the hotel and didn't want to endanger him. How horrible it had all been. The vivid images were like tiny knives poking at my heart. I embraced myself and rocked back and forth for a few moments until my nausea subsided. Then, after a few more deep breaths, I got up and showered, turning the water almost as hot as it would go, so hot that it burned and hurt as it splashed down on me. Perhaps I hoped I could burn and scrub away the shame of my thoughts and memories. But I know now I'll never be free of them.

  When my skin was so raw and red I couldn't stand it any longer I got out and dried myself quickly, slipped into my robe and hurried back to my room. Trisha was already dressed and was just finishing her hair. I shut the door behind me and lay back against it, closing my eyes.

  "What's wrong?" she asked. "You look upset."

  I quickly told her that Arthur Garwood had walked in on me.

  "It brought back bad memories," I muttered when I'd finished and sat on the bed,

  "Really?" Trisha started to sit beside me. Then she looked at her watch. "Oh, I've got to go down and help Mrs. Liddy. We'll talk later tonight. We'll go to bed early and put out the lights and talk until we both fall into a drop dead sleep, okay?"

  I nodded. I couldn't help it. Part of me wanted to keep all my twisted secrets locked in my heart, but another part of me longed more than anything for someone to confide in. If only I had a normal mother like other girls did—a mother you could laugh with and bring your problems to, who would hold you and stroke your hair when you were hurting. My mother was a frail, fragile flower to whom nothing sad could ever be spoken.

  All the people I really loved were gone from my life, and all the people who were in my life now were people I could never love: suspicious, cruel Grandmother Cutler; Randolph, my detached, distant always too busy father; my pale, frantic mother; Clara Sue, my vicious sister; and Philip, who wanted to love me in only the ways a brother should never love a sister. I needed a friend like Trisha desperately, perhaps too desperately. I hoped and prayed she wouldn't be like so many others and eventually betray me. But sometimes, we have no choice but to trust someone, I thought.

  After Trisha left, I got dressed, brushed out my hair and went down to my first dinner at the student house.

  If Arthur Garwood had been too shy to look at me before, he was terrified of our even crossing glances now. His cheeks still looked rosy with embarrassment and he only looked up from his plate when he absolutely had to.

  The dinner was wonderful: pot roast and potatoes with a delicious gravy. Mrs. Liddy did something wonderful with the vegetables, too. I had never tasted spinach and carrots quite like this. For dessert we had sponge cake soaked in wine and covered with macaroons, almonds and whipped cream. Mrs. Liddy told me it was called a trifle.

  After Trisha had helped serve the food, she sat down beside me, but we didn't have much chance to talk. Agnes Morris dominated the conversation at the table with her stories about different actors and actresses she had worked with and known, plays she had performed in, and where she had gotten her training. She appeared to have an opinion or a story about everything, even the spinach when I squeezed in a compliment about it.

  "Oh, that reminds me of a funny story," Agnes said. I looked at Arthur. He had been stealing glances at me all night, but whenever I caught him doing so, his blush returned and he looked back down at his plate. "About a horrible young actress I knew, whose name will remain anonymous because she has become quite the rage in Hollywood these days. She was about as conceited a person as you could find," she said, looking at me pointedly. "Why, she couldn't pass even a store window without stopping to gaze at herself.

  "Anyway, this young lady pursued a young man, a rather handsome, debonair young man, until she persuaded him to take her to dinner and then a ride through Central Park, which she hoped would be very romantic. It wasn't and in fact, when he brought her home at the end of the evening, he simply shook her hand and said good night. Not even a quick, good night kiss," Agnes emphasized.

  "Well, my conceited friend was quite upset, as you might imagine. She hurried up to her room to cry into her pillow, but when she stopped to look at herself in the mirror in the hallway, as she always did, what do you think she saw? A piece of spinach stuck right between her two front teeth!" Agnes clapped her hands together and laughed. Trisha looked at me and raised her eyes. I turned toward Arthur who nearly smiled. His lips trembled and he shook his head.

  I offered to help Trisha clear the table, but Agnes repeated how we each had to take our own turn. She practically ordered me to follow her into the sitting room so she could show me her scrapbook.

  "Of course, Arthur can come along, too, if he likes," she said and Arthur uttered his first words of the evening.

  "Thank you, but I have to finish my math homework so I can practice," he said, twisting his mouth on the word, "practice," as if it were a profanity. Arthur stole a last glance at me, and shot off. He couldn't be more shy if he were a turtle, I thought.

  It turned out that Agnes didn't have only one scrapbook; she had five and all full to the last page. She had saved every single word ever written about her, even reports and notes written by her grade school teachers. Sentences were underlined, especially ones like "Agnes shows a dramatic tendency."

  "Here's a picture of me at the age of two dancing on the veranda."

  The picture was so old and faded, it was impossible to make out her little face, but I smiled and said it was remarkable. Agnes had things to say about each and every scrap in the scrapbooks. We had only gone through a book and a half when Trisha returned from her kitchen chores to rescue me.

  "It's time for me to do my English homework," Trisha announced from the doorway. "I thought I would show Dawn what we have done so far so it will be easier for her to catch up."

  "Oh, of course," Agnes said.

  "Thank you," I said, getting up. I shot a look of gratitude toward Trisha and backed away from the sofa.

  When Trisha and I reached the stairs, we rushed up, both of us swallowing our giggles until we closed our bedroom door.

  "I know what that's like," Trisha said. "She tortured me with it the first few nights I arrived. Of course, I was trapped," she added. "I had no one to save me like I saved you.

  "I wonder what's caused this new insanity about signing in and out?" Trisha said. "Agnes was never like that with us before."

  "It's all my fault," I said.

  "Your fault? You mean because you weren't here to be introduced to Arthur. No, I think . . ."

  "It's because my grandmother wrote a letter about me to Agnes and told her some horrible things. Agnes told me I'm already on probation."

  "Probation? Agnes said that? How odd. She rarely enforces any of the rules or cares. Most of the time, she can't recall them herself. But why did your own grandmother do such a thing?" Trisha asked.

  Before I could reply, there was a knock on the door and then Agnes poked her head in.

  "There's a phone call for Dawn," she said.

  "A phone call?" I looked at Trisha.

  "I forgot to tell you that we don't permit phone calls after seven o'clock at night, unless it's a dire emergency or it has something to do with the school. Since this call is long distance, I made an exception and said I would get you," Agnes said. "You can take it in the sitting room."

  "Is it my mother?" I asked getting out my bathrobe slowly.

  "No. It's someone called Jimmy," she said.

  "Jimmy!" I hurried past her and bounced down the steps to the sitting room to scoop up the receiver. "Jimmy!"

  "Hi, Dawn. How are you? I hope I didn't get you in trouble by calling this late. The lady who answered sounded upset."

  "No, it's all right. How are you?"

  "I'm great. I've got some big news to tell you and since I've got
to leave tomorrow, I thought I'd better try to phone."

  "Leave tomorrow? Where are you going?"

  "I've enlisted in the army, Dawn. I'm going to boot camp tomorrow," he said firmly.

  "The army! But what about school?"

  "The recruiting officer explained how I can get my high school diploma while I'm in the army, and I'll learn a skill I can use when I get out."

  "But Jimmy . . . the army . . ." I paused, my heart racing as I recalled that helpful soldier at the airport, the one who had reminded me of Jimmy. Had that been an omen, a prophecy?

  "It's all right, Dawn. It will be good for me. I want to be on my own and not passed from one foster home to another." Jimmy's voice rang with determination.

  "But Jimmy, when will I see you?" I cried.

  "Right after boot camp, I'll get a leave and come to New York to see you. I promise. There's no one else for me to see anyway, no one else I care about but you, Dawn," he said softly. The image of his sweet face flashed before me, his dark eyes shimmering, crying out for the love we both had thought was forbidden between us. Now that we knew it wasn't, we were like infants learning how to walk, tottering and stumbling along, searching for the right words, the right way to act toward each other. After years and years of living as a brother and sister, it was so difficult to cast off those identities and put on new ones.

  "I miss you, Jimmy," I said. "More than ever now that I'm in New York. It's so big and scary."

  "Don't worry, Dawn. I'll be there before you know it and I know you're going to do well."

  "I've already made a friend, my roommate, Trisha Kramer. She's very nice. You're going to like her."

  "See? I knew it."

  "But Jimmy, you should try to find Daddy, especially now that you're going into the army. He needs you, Jimmy. I hate to think of him coming out of that horrible prison and being all alone. He doesn't have Momma; he doesn't have Fern; and he doesn't have you."

  There was a silence between us.

  "Jimmy?"

  "I've written him a letter," Jimmy confessed.