Cutler 2 - Secrets of the Morning

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Cutler 2 - Secrets of the Morning Page 20

by V. C. Andrews


  Later in the afternoon, I went to the library and read about pregnancy so I knew what to look for when I went home. I took off my sweater and bra and examined my breasts in the mirror. I quickly realized that what I had thought was happening because I was maturing was happening for other reasons. My breasts were enlarged and my nipples, besides becoming larger, were darker in color. Tiny new blood vessels were visible just under my skin. Verification of the symptoms made my blood run cold. There was no denying what I saw and what it meant.

  I bowed my head in defeat. Love had made me foolish and careless. Why didn't I think? Michael's love for me and my love for him had turned me into a woman very quickly. I had felt a woman's passion; I had kissed and had made love to him as a grown woman would, and I had captured his heart only the way a mature woman could. Why hadn't I realized that I could also suffer a woman's possible consequences when I threw myself into Michael's embrace with abandon?

  "What are you going to do?" Trisha asked me after I returned to our bedroom and described all my symptoms and what it surely meant. "Maybe you should call your mother."

  "My mother? I went to her when Grandmother Cutler was insisting I change my name to Eugenia, which was the name they supposedly first gave me."

  "Eugenia?"

  "It was the name of one of Grandmother Cutler's sisters, one who had died from small pox. When I complained to my mother, she almost went into a coma. The slightest tension drives her into a panic. She's useless. Of course," I added bitterly, "she just puts it on so that everyone will leave her alone and pity her."

  "Well, you'll tell Allan, won't you? You would have thought a mature man would have been more careful and would have thought about this as much as you should have. After all, he has been married and everything."

  I didn't say anything. I was afraid to tell Michael, afraid of what this would do to all our wonderful plans . . . my being on the Broadway stage, our being together forever and ever.

  "Maybe he just didn't care," Trisha said, but her hard expression softened immediately. "I'm sorry if I sound harsh, Dawn," she added quickly.

  "No, no," I said. "It's not that he doesn't care. He is just so much in love with me and love can blind you when it's that bright," I said. "You don't think; you lose yourself in the ecstasy. You heard the way some of those girls talk in the locker room, how they have trouble keeping their boyfriends from going too far, and those are just . . . just teenage romances."

  "Well, you have no choice, you have to tell him," she said.

  "Yes, yes, of course, I'll tell him. I'm just afraid he'll be quite upset."

  "He has to share in the responsibility," Trisha snapped. "My mother always says, 'It takes two to tango.' "

  "Yes," I said, fingering my locket nervously. "I know."

  I didn't say it, but this was a dance I would have rather sat out.

  10

  BITTER FRUIT

  I paused at the bottom of the staircase on our way to dinner.

  "Trisha, tell Agnes I'll be right there," I said. She saw where I was heading: the sitting room where we had a telephone.

  "You're going to call Allan now and tell him?" she asked, her eyes wide in anticipation.

  "Yes. You were right. He has to know immediately." Trisha followed and lingered in the doorway. I knew she was dying to hear what I would say, but I couldn't let her listen in or she would know I was speaking to Michael.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm too nervous to have anyone around when I speak with him." Disappointed, she left.

  I lifted the receiver slowly. It wasn't until I began to dial Michael's number that I realized I could never tell him over the phone. I needed to see his face and have him hold me and tell me it would be all right, we would still find a way to do all the things we planned on doing. His phone rang and rang. I was about to cradle the receiver when he said hello. He sounded all out of breath.

  "Michael, it's me," I said quickly.

  "Dawn?"

  "Are you all right? You sound like your gasping."

  "Oh no, no, I'm fine. I heard the phone ringing just as I was coming in and ran to pick up the receiver. Everything all right?"

  "Michael," I said, "I . . . I've got to come over to see you tonight."

  "Tonight? Tonight's not good, Dawn. I have another dinner meeting with the producers of the Broadway show and you know how those things can go on and on," he said, following it with a short trail of laughter.

  "No, Michael. I must see you," I insisted. "When are you going to dinner?"

  "In an hour or so. What is it? Why can't it wait? Can't you tell me at school?"

  "I'm coming over right now," I said. "Please, wait for me," I begged.

  "Dawn, what is it? Just tell me on the phone. There's no need . . ."

  "There is a need. I must see you. I must, Michael. Please," I implored.

  He was silent a moment.

  "All right," he said. "Come over, but I do have to leave in an hour," he added. "These meetings are very important. A great many people are depending on me."

  I wanted to say I'm depending on you, too, Michael, but I cradled the phone quickly and ran upstairs to get my overcoat instead. Then, without telling anyone anything, I rushed out of the house and ran up to the corner where there was more traffic and I had a better chance of hailing a taxi cab. It was bitter cold and a slight rain had begun, the drops like drops of ice pelting my face. Because of the weather and because it was rush hour, it took me nearly fifteen minutes to get a cab. Traffic was horrendous, so that even after I had managed to get a taxi to stop for me, we were at a crawl for blocks and blocks. I was terrified Michael would have to leave before I arrived.

  "Isn't there any way to go any faster?" I cried to the driver. He behaved as if he didn't understand English. All he did was grunt. Finally, the traffic lightened up and we were able to make better time, but he dropped me off in front of Michael's apartment house nearly forty-five minutes after I had phoned.

  The doorman had an elevator waiting for me. I thanked him and nearly pushed a hole in the button until the doors finally closed and I was on my way up to Michael's floor. I was panting, out of breath myself when he opened the door to greet me. My hair was soaked and messy, the strands stuck to my forehead and down my cheeks.

  "What is it?" Michael asked, stepping back, obviously surprised by my appearance. "What could be so important to make you rush out in this weather?"

  "Oh, Michael." I started to cry.

  He went to embrace me, but then realized that my coat was wet and he would ruin his sports jacket.

  "Take off that coat. You're drenched. Let me get you a towel," he said and hurried off to the bathroom. I took off my coat slowly and looked about what had been our rainbow room of dreams. The little Christmas tree was unlit and looked depressed and sad, even with the gifts wrapped in holiday paper beneath it. The walls of my heart quivered. I held the tears within and swallowed the cries that tried to emerge from my throbbing throat.

  Michael came back with a towel and I wiped my head and my face. He looked at his watch.

  "I'm going to be late as it is with this traffic and weather. All right," he added when he saw the way my lips and my chin were trembling. He guided me to the sofa. "Sit down, relax and tell me what the problem is.

  Whatever it is, we'll solve it together. Does it have something to do with that horrible grandmother?"

  "No, Michael." I shook my head. "I wish that's all it was." I had to wet my lips which had gone dry. My legs betrayed me and began to shake. I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I started to sob uncontrollably. Michael sat down beside me and took my hands into his. He kissed away some of my tears and put his arm around my shoulders.

  "Here now, it will be all right. I promise. It can't be that bad; nothing is that bad. How can I help you? What's gone wrong?"

  "Michael . . ." I swallowed. "I'm pregnant."

  He didn't blink nor did he turn away, but a funny glazed look came into his eyes.

  "Are
you sure?" he asked. His tight smile widened and he looked like he would laugh. "Girls are always saying they think they're pregnant."

  "Yes. I'm positive," I said firmly. I was surprised at his reaction. He didn't act upset or angry. He looked thoughtful and sat back to contemplate me.

  "How do you know for sure?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

  "It's been over six weeks since my period and I have some of the other symptoms."

  "So you haven't gone to a doctor then?"

  "No, but I'm sure. There's no sense pretending it isn't so. I've been sick a number of mornings now, and . . . and there are other changes in my body."

  "I see. Well, we still have some time before you have to say anything. You certainly don't look pregnant. I bet you won't show it for a good two months more. By that time," he said, "my semester as visiting celebrity teacher will have been over. Does anyone else know?" he asked quickly.

  "My roommate," I said.

  "Oh." His face turned glum.

  "But she doesn't know about you; she thinks the man I'm seeing is named Allan and he's a businessman."

  "Very good," he said, brightening quickly. "Let's keep it that way."

  "But Michael, what about afterward?" I asked.

  "Afterward? Oh, afterward. I go directly to Miami from here. I have a short tour in Florida, but I don't have to be back in New York for rehearsals for the show until the summer. You'll have the baby down in Florida then," he said quickly.

  "Down in Florida? You mean, I'll go with you?"

  "Of course. You can't very well stay here once it's out." He smiled. "You don't think I would desert you, do you? Not after I have invested all this time and energy in making you a singing star."

  "Oh Michael!" I threw my arms around him and he laughed.

  "Now, now, take it easy. You're a pregnant woman, you know. You have to be careful how you toss yourself about" He kissed the tip of my nose. A tingle traveled through my fingers laced in his.

  "But Michael," I cried, "a mother. I wanted to sing, to be with you on the stage as we dreamt I would be."

  "And you will," he said. "What, you think a baby will hinder your career? Absolutely not. We can afford the best nanny in town. Only the best for my wife and child anyway," he added.

  Just hearing him say "wife" made my heart glow and washed away all the sadness and tears. Those gray clouds that seemed to follow me everywhere I went were blown far off beyond the horizon.

  "We'll take the baby with us everywhere. I have a number of entertainer friends who do the same thing," he assured me.

  But I remembered the things Agnes had told me about marriage, a family and show business.

  "Michael, isn't it so much harder to raise a family when you're in show business?"

  "It's harder, but it's not impossible. Especially, if two people love each other as much as you and I do. So," he said, clapping his hands together and standing. "No more tears. Come on now." He held his hand out for me to take. "I'll have my taxi drop you off at your residence on my way to my meeting."

  He helped me put my overcoat back on and put on his own.

  "Now remember," he said after he kissed my cheek, "you must keep this quite secret until I'm finished at the Bernhardt School. There are some other teachers here who would just love driving me out on the furious waves of a scandal. It might even hurt my singing career."

  "Oh Michael, don't worry. No one will know anything. I'd die before saying anything to anyone."

  "But you already have . . . to your roommate," he reminded me.

  "Yes, but Trisha won't say anything to anyone either. She's my best friend. I can trust her."

  "I would still not tell her about me. Keep it as you have it. It's perfect. You're quite ingenious, you know," he said and I beamed with pride as he put his arm around my shoulders and led me out.

  By the time I returned to the residence, dinner had ended. It was Trisha's week to help so she was still clearing the table when I arrived. She was the only one left in the dining room.

  "What happened to you?" she asked. She lowered her voice and looked toward Agnes's room. "Agnes is upset. After she went looking for you and you were nowhere to be found, she became very panicky. You forgot to sign out. Every time someone's not where he or she is supposed to be, she thinks they might have run off like Bones did. Where were you?"

  "I went to his apartment and told him," I said.

  "And?"

  "He's not upset or angry. In fact, he's happy about it. Oh Trisha, we're going to get married."

  "What? When?"

  "In about two months."

  "But what about school, your career?"

  "It won't interfere. He's figuring it all out. He's so wonderful about it and he doesn't care about what kind of an expense it will be to hire a nanny while I continue with my career. He's always wanted a child," I continued, embellishing on my fabrication, a fabrication that had become a romantic dream to me. "He was sorry that he and his first wife never had any children.

  "But I must keep it all a secret for a while longer, Trisha, so please don't tell a soul any of this. Will you promise?"

  "Of course, I promise, but you can't hide it forever," she reminded me. She stared at me a moment and then shook her head, smiling. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

  "Oh yes," I said. "More than you could ever know. I'll finally have a family, my own family, and even though we have a nanny to help, I'll never neglect my child or let him or her feel unloved."

  "Then I'm happy for you," Trisha said, taking my hand.

  "Thank you."

  We hugged.

  "But you had better go to Agnes's room and let her know you're back," Trisha said. "She's probably rifling through her chest of costumes right now, trying to find the appropriate one for a new tragedy."

  I left her and went to Agnes's room. Just as I was about to knock on the door, however, I heard voices within. Someone else was in there with Agnes.

  "It's always been like this for you," the other woman said. "You do something to drive them away. You might as well make up your mind—you will die a spinster and you have no one to blame but yourself."

  "That's unfair," Agnes said. "I did nothing to drive him off. You drove him off; it was you and your jealous ways."

  "Me?"

  Who was in there? I wondered. What were they talking about? It wasn't about me. I turned to walk away when Mrs. Liddy stepped out of her room.

  "Oh, m'dear, where have you been? Agnes was so worried. Come to tell her, have you?"

  "I . . . yes, but, she's busy; she has company," I said.

  "Company?" Mrs. Liddy raised her eyebrows. Then she smiled. "Oh, no. Just knock," she advised. "Go on."

  I did as she said and Agnes opened the door. She wore a dark red peignoir and had her hair down. Her cheeks looked streaked by tears. When I looked past her, I saw there was no one else in the room. I looked back at Mrs. Liddy, who nodded slightly, her eyes closed. Then I realized: the other voice—it had been Agnes creating her own dialogue, rehearsing some scene from some play she had been in.

  "Well, where have you been, young lady?" she said, folding her arms under her bosom and snapping her shoulders back. "You didn't sign out, nor did you tell anyone you were going anywhere.

  "Well, where were you, Dawn? Why weren't you at dinner when you said you would be?" Her eyes took on a glassy stare, her pale hands trembling as they unfolded and fluttered up from her waist to her throat. "Only Mrs. Liddy prevented me from calling your grandmother."

  "I'm sorry, Agnes. I was on my way to dinner when I remembered to call a friend who is in some terrible personal trouble. She was overwrought and I had to rush out to go to her before she did something terrible to herself," I emphasized, my eyes wide.

  "Oh, dear," Agnes said, pressing her clasped hands to her breasts. I was correct in assuming the high drama would be something she could appreciate, but Mrs. Liddy looked very skeptical and tilted her head as she sucked in a corner of her mo
uth.

  "I'm sorry," I repeated, turning back to Agnes quickly.

  "Yes. Is everything all right now?"

  "Oh yes, yes," I said, now thinking of myself. "Everything is . . . perfect."

  And it was as far as I was concerned. Gradually, in the weeks that passed between Thanksgiving and the Christmas holiday, my morning sickness lessened and lessened until it came to an end entirely. In fact, I began to feel unusually well and found myself more energetic than ever. When I gazed at myself in the mirror, I thought I'd never looked more radiant. My eyes sparkled with a brightness they had never before possessed. Other people noticed these changes in me, too; especially Madame Steichen.

  "Now you are playing with a passion," she told me one afternoon. "Your fingers don't just roll over the notes; you have become one with the piano and the piano," she said, pulling her head back proudly to indicate she was responsible, "is playing you."

  I was riding a soft, marshmallow cloud. I floated through the corridors. Young men who had given me only a passing glance or hello were now smiling widely and looking for excuses to stop me in the hallway for a chat. I had at least a half dozen invitations from a half dozen different boys to go on dates. Of course, I had to turn them all down. I was afraid they would all think me stuck up, so I took great pains to come up with reasonable excuses and be kind and friendly to them.

  I wondered if Michael noticed these changes in me because he didn't mention them. Except for his occasionally asking how I felt, the subject of my pregnancy never came up. If anything, Michael acted more like my teacher and less like my lover since that cold, rainy day when I had gone to his apartment. His work on the plans for the Broadway show had kept him very busy every weekend since and one weekend, he had to go with the producers to Washington, D.C., to meet with some investors. I missed him and told him so. He promised that he would spend every available free moment with me as soon as he could, but it had been so long since he'd had any free time, I was beginning to worry.

 

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