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"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.

"I thought you told me he had an apartment on Park Avenue," she said.

"Did I say apartment? I meant his business was on Park Avenue."

Trisha was impressed with the apartment building. She leaned out of the cab to hug me after I had stepped out.

"Have a wonderful holiday," I said. "And thank you for making it possible for me to have one too."

"Call me if you change your mind and really want to come," she said.

We kissed each other's cheeks and then she left. I watched her taxi drive away. She waved to me from the rear window and then I went into Michael's apartment house to spend five glorious days with the man I loved.

9

SECRET LOVERS

Just before school had recessed for the Thanksgiving holidays, I had given Michael a list of groceries to buy for our Thanksgiving dinner. He had everything spread out over the kitchen table when I arrived.

"It's all here," he said, gesturing at the cans and boxes, the turkey and produce. "Just as you requested."

"Good. I'm going to make our pies tonight," I explained and took off my coat quickly and began to put on the apron he had hanging on the inside of the pantry door.

"You are? What kind?" he asked with an amused smile.

"Apple and pumpkin. I learned from an expert, Momma Longchamp, although we rarely had enough money to spend on desserts, even for the holidays." I began taking out the pots and pans and setting out the mixer.

"How poor you must have been with your first family," he remarked and sat in the kitchen watching me prepare and listening to my descriptions of what life had been like living with Daddy and Momma Longchamp.

"I remember having nothing more to eat than grits and peas. Daddy would get so depressed he would go to a tavern and drink up whatever extra money we had and then we'd find ourselves scrounging. After Fern was born, it became even worse. We had another mouth to feed and Momma couldn't do much work. I had to do the housework, care for the baby and keep up with my school work, while other girls my age were dreaming of boys and going to parties and dances."

"Well you're never going to suffer like that again," Michael said. He was moved to get up to kiss me and hold me and whisper promise after promise in my ear. "You're going to be a famous and very rich singer someday soon, so rich that you won't even be able to recall being that poor."

"Oh Michael," I said, "I don't have to make piles and piles of money. As long as I have you and you love me, I'll be as rich as I want."

He smiled, his eyes becoming soft, limpid pools of desire. His gaze made me tremble so, I had to look away.

"What's wrong, little diva? Don't you like looking at me?"

"I love looking at you, Michael. But when you gaze at me like that, it's as if you were undressing me with your eyes, taking me to bed with your eyes."

He laughed.

"Perhaps I am. Perhaps I should," he added and kissed me lovingly on the forehead. I saw he wasn't going to release me from his embrace.

"Michael, I've got to mix this batter," I cried, pointing to the bowl on the counter. "And I want to make a stuffing for the turkey and . . ."

"The food can wait," he declared. When that look came over him, there was no holding him back. It was infectious. I couldn't resist his kisses and soon I was kissing him back as hard as he was kissing me, and embracing him just as tenderly. Before I could protest, he scooped me into his arms and carried me out of the kitchen.

"Our dinner!" I cried.

"I told you—I get hungry after I make love," he said, laughing.

It seemed we were in bed most of the time for the first few days of the holiday, but I did manage to prepare a small turkey, stuffing, candied sweet potatoes, fresh peas, a homemade bread, cranberry sauce, and the two pies. Michael said it was the best Thanks-giving dinner he had ever eaten.