Cutler 2 - Secrets of the Morning

by V. C. Andrews

"An artist," she continued, "lives for her work. That's the difference between an artist and a performer, who is usually a person infatuated with himself and not with the beauty of what he creates. Fame," she lectured, "is often more of a burden than a blessing. This country is very foolish when it comes to its entertainers, celebrities," she said, spitting the words. "They worship them and then suffer when they discover their gods of stage and screen have feet of clay.

  "Keep your feet on the ground and your head out of the clouds," she preached. "Do you understand?"

  I nodded, my head still bowed. She spoke as if she knew about Michael and me. But how could she? Unless . . . Richard Taylor, I thought, my heart racing with fear.

  "Dismissed," she snapped and pivoted quickly to march out of the music suite. I was left listening to the clicking of her heels as she walked down the corridor, each click feeling like a slap across my face.

  I hurried out of the school and, without lifting my eyes, charged across the campus to the sidewalk. I rushed across streets, not seeing anyone.

  It was a gloomy, overcast late fall day. The sky was a sea of bruised, angry-looking clouds threatening to drop a cold, hard rain over the city. The wind found every opening in my jacket and filled me with a chill that made me walk even faster. When I arrived at the apartment house, I charged up the stairs and through the doorway. I wanted to run up to my room and bury my face in my pillow.

  But a package on the small table in the entryway caught my eye. It was where Agnes left all our mail. This package was very big and covered with stamps. 1 recognized the handwriting immediately: it was a package from Germany, from Jimmy. I scooped it into my arms and hurried down the corridor to the stairway.

  Trisha wasn't back from a late dance practice, so I was alone. I sat on my bed and slowly unwrapped the package. Then I lifted the cover off the box and gazed down at a beautifully embroidered satin pillow with silk tassels. It was bright pink with hearts and forget-me-nots. The letters were in black and spelled out I LOVE YOU in German as well as in English. For a moment I just held it on my lap, unable to move, unable to think.

  I hadn't thought very much about Jimmy these past few weeks. When his letters arrived, they sat for days on my dresser unopened. And then when I finally opened them and read them, I read them quickly, almost as though I was afraid of his words, afraid to read how much he loved me, afraid to hear his voice in my mind and see his face before me.

  He had already noticed something different about my last letter. It was much shorter than any of the others and I hadn't written over and over just how much I missed him. He wondered if I were sick and he hoped his gift from Germany would cheer me up. In the letter with the pillow, he wrote, "Just knowing you're lying back with your head on this pillow makes me feel good. For me it's like you were lying back with your head on my lap."

  I threw the letter down and covered my face with my hands. I didn't want to betray Jimmy, and yet, I couldn't help loving Michael. I knew how it was going to break Jimmy's heart to learn about Michael and me when it finally came out. I couldn't stand the idea that he would hate me for it.

  Twice I sat down and tried to write a letter to Jimmy explaining what had happened and how it was nothing I could have planned on happening. It was just part of my musical life, I wrote, but that didn't sound any better than anything else I had written. In the end, I tore up both letters and decided I would wait to write him.

  I put the satin pillow back in its box and hid it away in my closet. If I kept it on my bed, I would see and feel it every day, and every day I would hate myself for the moment when Jimmy would find out about Michael and me.

  "I have a present for you," Michael said as soon as he opened his apartment door to greet me. "It's on my bed. Go put it on," he added, stepping back. He was holding a glass of wine and had soft music playing and the lights low. "I'll pour a glass of wine for you."

  "What is it?" I asked, a little alarmed. He looked like he had already drunk quite a bit of wine himself.

  "Just go and see," he said.

  I moved quickly through the apartment to his bedroom. There was a long, white box on the bed. I opened it and looked down at a sheer, pink silk nightgown, so filmy and transparent I might as well be naked. Did he want me to put this on now? I wondered.

  "Do you like it?" he asked from the doorway.

  "It's very nice," I said.

  "Very nice?" He stepped up behind me and took my shoulders in his hands before kissing me softly on the back of the neck. "It's very expensive, too. Put it on. Nothing else," he added. "I've dreamt all day about you in it," he said and kissed me behind the ear before turning to return to the living room.

  His kisses had made me tingle all over, and just the thought of wearing nothing but this nightgown made me tremble and my heart pitter-patter.

  Slowly, I got undressed and then slipped the nightgown over my head. It felt no heavier than a breeze. I gazed at myself in the mirror and saw how my nudity was quite visible. Wrapping my arms around myself, I walked slowly to the bedroom doorway and peered out. Michael had put on one of his own recordings. He was sitting back on the sofa, a tight, amused smile on his face. When he saw me, his smile widened and he sat forward.

  "Come in. Don't be so shy," he said. "You look absolutely breathtaking." He poured another glass of wine and held it out for me to take. I walked toward him, my arms still wrapped around my bosom.

  "I'm embarrassed," I said, hesitating.

  "Don't be," he replied, his face becoming very serious and intent. "Not with me, not ever with me." He put down the glass of wine, stood up and kissed my forehead. Then he pried my arms apart gently and looked down at me, his eyes full of desire. We kissed, a long kiss, but a soft one. Wonder filled me. He did love me. It was in his voice, in the way he held me.

  "You're trembling. Are you cold?" he asked.

  "No, not cold."

  "You poor thing, so innocent still. I told you," he said firmly, "we are special people, linked forever and ever by our talent and music. You believe me, don't you?" he asked. I nodded.

  "I know what we will do," he said, smiling again, his eyes twinkling impishly, "we will make it official."

  "Official?"

  "Of course. We will bind ourselves formally by taking formal oaths. Just like a wedding ceremony," he added and took my hand in his to turn me about so he and I faced the mirror. In the subdued lighting, we looked like phantoms. It was as if we were in another room and our shadows had met secretly for their own clandestine lovemaking.

  Michael had us step closer to the mirror. He looked so slim and sensual. One of his love ballads was playing on the stereo, almost as if he had planned it perfectly.

  "Now, Michael Sutton," he said, facing the mirror, "do you take this beautiful, young singer, this siren of song, this new goddess of the stage and screen, to have and to hold, to protect and to cherish, to be your lifelong romantic lead until the curtain is drawn down and the applause finally ends?

  "I do," he replied to his own question.

  "And you, Dawn Cutler," he said, turning toward me and making his voice deep and serious, "do you take this handsome young man, this shooting star of the musical stage and screen, to have and to hold, to protect and to cherish, to be your romantic lifelong romantic lead until the curtain is drawn and the applause finally ends?"

  I stared up at him, my lips trembling. Oh, how I wished this were truly a real ceremony and we were taking these vows in a big, fancy church, before a clergyman with hundreds of special guests present, people from the theater and the newspapers. Of course, all the Cutlers would be there, especially Grandmother Cutler, chaffing at the bit, but forced to smile every time someone congratulated her. Clara Sue would be burning up inside from envy and my mother would have to deal with someone other than herself being the center of attention.

  "Well?" Michael asked again.

  "Yes," I said "I do."

  He turned back to the mirror.

  "Then by the power invested in me
by the gods and goddesses of the theater, I hereby declare you Michael and you Dawn to be male and female leads for the rest of your natural lives. You may kiss the bride with real passion and not with a stage kiss," he said, turned and scooped me into his arms for a long, hard kiss, his tongue searching for mine. He followed it with a shower of kisses over my forehead and cheeks. Then he lifted me into his arms, laughing.

  "Time for the honeymoon," he whispered and carried me back to his bedroom.

  This time our lovemaking was different. It lasted three times as long as the first time, and I cried out often, each time finding myself at a greater height of ecstasy, just as he had promised. Then, when I thought we were finished, he started to turn me and pull me over him. Unsure of what was happening, I became stiff.

  "Relax," he said. "There's another way," he whispered and guided me until I was riding him.

  When our lovemaking ended, we lay still, listening to each other's quickened breath, our hearts still pounding.

  "Now that's a honeymoon," Michael finally said and kissed me on the cheek. The tiny glow of the small lamp made his eyes shine. He touched the tip of my nose. "Are you happy?" he asked.

  I didn't know how long the rapture between Michael and me would last. I longed for passion undying, for ecstasy everlasting. Yet my suspicious self guessed that nothing as glorious as what Michael and I had could go on indefinitely. He would soon tire of me, a child whose experiences and sophistication couldn't compare with his or the other women he knew.

  "I am happy," I said, "but every time I've been happy in my life, something has come along to destroy it."

  "That won't happen this time. We were meant to live fantasy lives, lives that go on happily ever after, just like in the movies or in great novels. You must not be afraid to enjoy life and enjoy it with me."

  "I don't want to be afraid," I said. "I want everything you said to come true."

  "Then it will," he declared and waved his hand in the air. "I wave my magic wand over us. Nothing can stop us or hurt us or come between us."

  "Oh Michael, do you mean that? Really mean that?"

  "Of course," he said. "Didn't we take the oath before the magic mirror?" He kissed me again and then turned over on his back and put his hands behind his head. I rose to go into the bathroom.

  When I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, I saw my face was still quite flushed.

  Still naked, Michael came up beside me and put his hands on my shoulders. He looked into the mirror as he kissed my neck, holding his lips there a very long time. Then he ran his lips over my shoulders and brought his hands back to my breasts, watching himself as if he and I were in a movie.

  Later, Trisha took one look at me after I slipped into our bedroom and knew I had done more than listen to music and talk with my older man.

  "That's a hickey on your neck," she said. The powder I had splashed over it was all but gone. "What happened tonight?" she asked. "And don't tell me you just sat sipping wine and talking."

  "Oh Trisha, I made love and it was wonderful, more wonderful than I imagined it would be."

  "I knew it," she said. "I knew that a man in his thirties wouldn't be satisfied only holding hands and talking."

  "Oh, but Trisha," I said, "I'm really in love, more in love than I thought possible. And we've made promises, even taken oaths together."

  "Oaths? What sort of oaths?"

  "To have and to hold and to cherish each other, just like marriage vows," I told her, but she scrunched up her face and shook her head.

  "My mother told me men will say anything to get you to do what they want."

  "No," I said. "That's not the way it is with us. We're special together. He needs me, even more than I need him. He's been all over the world and has seen many different beautiful women, yet he wants me. Me!

  "Oh please, please, Trisha," I begged, "be happy for me."

  "I'm happy for you, but I can't help worrying about you also," she said.

  Trisha's words were like cold raindrops trying to pierce the roof on my house of love. They bounced off and were then dried away by the bright light that came when I recalled Michael's loving smile. Trisha and I lay awake in bed for a long time talking. Rather, I did the talking and she did the listening.

  I spun a tale of wonder and joy. I told her Allan was already making plans for the day I graduated. We would take a long honeymoon, on a luxury liner, and then return to New York to live in a fancy apartment while I auditioned for parts in musicals. A few times I became so involved in my story, I nearly said "Michael," instead of "Allan." I had to keep catching myself, stopping my tongue that wanted more than anything to be truthful.

  "It sounds very nice," Trisha said when I finished. "Just be careful," she warned.

  I fell asleep that night dreaming about Michael's and my mock wedding ceremony and praying with all my heart that what we had pretended would someday become reality.

  I went to Michael's apartment at least once a week after that. After our lovemaking we would sip wine and listen to music and talk about our careers. Michael had many offers for roles to play waiting in the wings and promised that he would soon be arranging for me to have auditions so that I could join him on the stage.

  "Of course," he said, "I wouldn't put you in a tryout until I believed you were ready. We will have to work harder and harder on your lessons and get you to the point where no one will want to turn you away."

  He hadn't forgotten about his other promise to help me find my real father. He said that his agent friends were still looking into a history of performers who traveled the beach cities and would have played a hotel like Cutler's Cove. He claimed it wouldn't be long now before we would have a list of names and could go about crossing off those who were obviously not my father.

  "What will we do with the names that remain?" I asked.

  "Perhaps you will get your mother to tell you a little more and then we will be able to narrow it down to one or two. Let's wait to see how many there are first," he replied.

  Of course, I was impatient and excited about someday confronting my real father. I had made up my mind he couldn't be worse than my mother. He was a victim, just like me.

  The weeks passed 1 ore quickly for me now, and before I knew it, we were about to begin our Thanksgiving holiday. Everyone was leaving to spend it with their families. Michael asked me to remain behind after our private lesson that week and as soon as Richard Taylor left, he turned to me.

  "What are you going to do with your holiday? Are you going back to the hotel?" he asked.

  "I don't want to," I said, "and no one really wants me to. My mother hasn't phoned for weeks."

  "Good," he said. "I'm not going anywhere either and I have an idea if you can find a way to manage it so no one knows."

  "What idea?" I asked excitedly.

  "I want you to come to my apartment and stay with me for the entire long weekend. We'll have our own holiday. Would you like that?"

  "Oh yes, Michael," I said. "I would love it. I'll cook our Thanksgiving dinner. I'm a good cook, you know."

  He laughed at my exuberance.

  "I don't doubt you are. But no one must know, of course, and we won't be able to go about the city together. People recognize me and if you are seen with me . . ."

  "I'll find a way, Michael. I will," I promised and spent the rest of the day thinking about it. I considered telling Agnes I was returning to Cutler's Cove, but then I was afraid she would speak to Grandmother Cutler and they would discover I had been lying. I was desperate for an idea when Trisha gave me one by asking me if I would like to come home with her for the holidays.

  "Oh, Trisha," I said, "I would, I really would, but at a different time. Allan has asked me to spend the holiday with him, only I didn't know how I could manage it until now. That is, if you will go along with it."

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "I'll tell Agnes I'm going home with you for Thanksgiving," I said.

  From the way Trisha gazed at
me, I didn't think she would agree. For a long moment, she just stared.

  "You're getting so involved with him," she finally said. "Are you sure you should?"

  "I've never been happier with anyone, nor could I be. As soon as I can, I will tell the world and he and I won't have to sneak about. I can't wait for that day, but until then . . . Oh Trisha," I said, "I know it's unfair to ask you to lie, but you don't really have to lie. If I'm ever discovered, I will take all the blame. I'll say I did promise to go home with you and you thought I would, but I changed my mind at the last moment and there was nothing you could do about it."

  "I'm not worried about myself," she said. "I'm worried about you."

  "Don't be," I said. "I couldn't be happier or feel safer than I do when I'm with him."

  "All right," she said, "I'll help you if you're positive this is what you want to do."

  "Oh, I am. Thank you, Trisha, thank you," I cried and embraced her. She smiled, but her eyes were filled with concern.

  I, of course, could fill my eyes with nothing but Michael. Everywhere I looked, I imagined him. He was walking through the school grounds; he was crossing a street; he was gazing back at me in my mirror. He lived behind my eyelids. I heard his voice, his whispers of love. When I closed my eyes and envisioned him, I felt his lips on mine.

  I told Agnes I was going home with Trisha for Thanksgiving, being sure to do it when Trisha wasn't with me.

  "Does your grandmother know?" Agnes asked suspiciously.

  "I told my mother the last time she called," I lied. I hated all these lies, building one false story on another to create a foundation of deceit, but I told myself they were good falsehoods because they were making it possible for something wonderful and true to happen. The people I was deceiving were conniving behind my back all the time, and besides, my family wouldn't care if they found out the truth. I was lying only because I didn't want to make trouble for Michael.

  And so early in the afternoon at the beginning of our school break, Trisha and I took a cab together that was supposedly taking us to the bus station. Everyone wished each other a happy holiday and we left. After we drove away from the apartment house, I gave the driver Michael's address. The moment I did, Trisha turned to me with surprise.