Secrets of the Morning (Cutler 2)

"Educators don't know anything about this," he said disdainfully, his face filled with disgust. "They do things by the book, even in a school like this; but we'll be different because we are different. You don't mind, do you?" he asked. I wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but I said no anyway, my "no" coming out so softly, I wasn't sure myself whether or not I had actually spoken.

"Good!" he exclaimed. "Good," he repeated softly and then he spun around quickly and went to the chair where he had placed his things. He began wrapping his scarf about his neck, smiling at me as he did so.

"I've got to run off," he said. "I have a dozen errands to do. I'm having a few people over tonight. Nothing special, just some hors d'oeuvres and champagne." He stared at me a moment and then he picked up his jacket and put it on as he approached me again.

"Can you be discreet?" he asked me.

"Discreet?"

"Keep a secret," he said, smiling, "especially if it's special?"

"Oh, yes, yes I can," I said. "I'm not close to anyone except my roommate and I don't tell her everything." I thought he was going to ask me not to tell anyone he had kissed me.

"Good." His stare lasted so long this time, as he debated whether or not to go any further with what he wanted to say. "I'd like to invite you to my apartment this evening," he finally said. "There should be some very interesting people there for you to meet, only . . ."

He turned to be sure the door of the music room was still closed. "Only the administration here wouldn't quite understand my inviting a student. Obviously, these limited-minded people would frown on such things, but rubbing elbows with theater people is good for the juices; it's stimulating. However," he warned, "if you should even mention it . . ."

"Oh, I wouldn't say a word!" I exclaimed. He pressed his forefinger to my lips and gazed back again. "The walls have ears," he said. I nodded, holding my breath. He smiled softly.

"I'm at the Parker House on East

Seventy-second Street, apartment 4B," he said. "Come at eight, but remember . . . not a word to anyone, not even your roommate. Promise?"

"Yes," I said.

"Fine. See you later," he said starting away.

"Oh. What should I wear?"

"Nothing special. Come just as you are, if you like," he replied and was gone.

For a long moment, I simply stood there looking after him. Did I really hear what I thought I had heard? I spun around and looked at the piano. Did what happen here really happen? I pressed my hand to my heart as if that would slow the pounding. Then I picked up my things and started out, walking slowly, like someone still passing through a dream and afraid only of something happening to waken her.

Trisha noticed something different about me immediately when we met in our room after school. She was full of her usual energy, spinning one school incident after another, weaving in characters and events so quickly, she summarized her entire day in fifteen minutes. I listened, my face frozen in a small smile, my eyes on her, but my mind in a completely different place, my ears hearing a different voice, Michael's.

"Have you heard a thing I said?" Trisha suddenly asked,

"What? Oh. Yes, yes," I said quickly, unable to prevent a rush of blood into my face. It was as if my thoughts were visible. Trisha tilted her head to one side and studied me a moment. Then her eyes widened and she practically jumped off the bed.

"I know that look!" she exclaimed. "You met someone, didn't you? Someone you like very much and you're head over heels in love. Come on, tell me," she whined when I didn't respond.

"Oh, Dawn," she moaned with impatience, "you can trust me. I've told you millions of things I wouldn't tell anyone else and you've told me very intimate things about yourself and your life and I've never said a word to anyone, have I? Well?"

"No, you haven't," I agreed. I was so tempted to tell her what had happened at the vocal lesson. The need to tell someone was building and building inside me like a balloon, filling with air. I was afraid that if I didn't say something, I might explode with excitement.

And yet, I recalled my promise to Michael. He had asked me if I could keep a secret; in other words, could I be mature? How could I betray him the first chance I had? What if Trisha said something to someone without realizing it, and it got back to Michael?

I bit down on my lower lip to keep the words from spilling out.

"Well?" Trisha said, curling her legs under her and sitting back on them. "Tell me!" she squealed.

"Yes," I confessed, "I did meet someone."

"Oh, I knew it. You had the look in your face from the first moment I set eyes on you. So? Who is he? He's a senior, right? It's not Erik Richards, is it? I saw him looking at you the other day and whispering to his friends. He has such dreamy eyes! It is Erik, isn't it?" she concluded quickly.

"No," I said. "It's someone else." I bit down on my lower lip again to think a moment. I could tell her without telling her, I realized.

"Then who is it? Tell me!"