Page 55

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.