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"What's a Christmas tree without gifts beneath it," he declared, setting them out.

"Who are those gifts for, Michael? Do you expect some of your family?"

"Family? No. These gifts are all for you," he said.

"All for me? Oh Michael, you shouldn't have bought so much!" I exclaimed, gazing at the enormous pile.

"Of course I should," he declared firmly. "Who else should I spend my money on, if not you. Certainly not my ungrateful family." He smiled impishly and reached into his jacket pocket to produce a small box wrapped in pink paper with a pink ribbon around it. "This," he said, "couldn't wait. It's a Thanksgiving present."

"People don't give each other presents on Thanksgiving, Michael," I cried, laughing.

"They don't?" He shrugged. "Well, I'll start a tradition and from now on, they will. For you," he said, extending his hand.

I took the small box and opened it carefully, my fingers trembling with excitement. There, in a bed of cotton, was a beautiful gold locket on a gold chain. The outside of the locket had tiny diamonds shaped in the form of a heart.

"Oh, Michael, it's beautiful."

"Open it," he coaxed.

I pressed the release and when the locket opened, I saw a bar of notes etched within. I played them quickly in my mind and smiled. It was the first phrase of one of his own love songs, "Forever, my love."

"Oh Michael," I cried. Tears of happiness flooded my eyes. "It's the nicest gift anyone's ever given me. And it's so special."

I threw my arms around him and smothered his face in kisses.

"Whoa," he cried, holding me back. "We don't want to get ourselves all worked up right now. We've got to get ready to go to our quiet little dinner, remember?"

My heart was so full of happiness, I thought it was sure to burst. I had packed some things in my suitcase in anticipation of Michael and I having a night like this. Trisha had gone with me to buy an uplift bra. My deepened cleavage and my surging bosom made me look years older. I couldn't help the blush that settled at the entrance to the valley between my breasts, but I thought that made me look even more enticing in my black V-neck, three-quarter-sleeve dress. The tiny diamonds on my locket sparkled on my chest.

I brushed my hair until it was silky smooth and it lay obediently over my shoulders, shining softly. Then I put on a little rouge and lipstick and some eye liner. Satisfied that I looked more like the women Michael was used to having on his arm, I emerged from the bedroom to let him inspect me. He had just finished speaking to someone on the telephone and cradled the receiver. He turned and smiled with his dark eyes glimmering and his sensual lips opening in appreciation.

"You are beautiful," he said. "Very beautiful. I can't wait until I can introduce you to society. Everyone will be envious of my discovery, and," he added, stepping closer, "my love."

I beamed with pride. Michael helped me put on my coat and kissed me on the cheek.

"Our taxi is already here," he said and we left the apartment.

It was a long ride through the city. Michael wasn't exaggerating when he said he knew an out-of-the-way restaurant. The driver wound us around street after street until we finally arrived at a small Italian restaurant on the corner of a block. The restaurant was simply called Mom's. It was far from anything fancy—a small room with a very small bar and about a dozen tables, but to me it was the most romantic and wonderful restaurant I had ever been in.

Michael sat us at a corner table in the darkest section of the small room. He was right about our not attracting attention. No one seemed to notice us or care once we had entered and taken our seats. But everything we ordered and ate was homemade and delicious. Michael ordered the most expensive wine and we drank nearly two bottles of it. He knew so much about wines and foods because of his traveling. He described some of the famous restaurants he had been to all over the world.

The only thing I could tell him about was the food at Cutler's Cove Hotel. I described Nussbaum, the chef, and how special every dinner was at the hotel.

"Grandmother Cutler, with my mother sometimes accompanying her, greets the guests at the door and then visits them at their tables, making them all feel at home."

"She may be a tyrant," Michael said, "but it seems she knows what to do to make the hotel a success. She sounds like a very smart businesswoman. I wouldn't mind meeting her one day," he said.

"You would hate her. She would make you feel lower than an ant just because you are only an entertainer. She respects only pure bloods, wealthy pure bloods," I said, practically spitting the words.

I told Michael how she had tried to ruin my days at Bernhardt from the beginning by writing the letter of lies to Agnes.

"Soon you will be free of all that," he said, placing his hand over mine and squeezing my fingers lovingly. "And people like her won't be able to hurt you anymore."

"Oh Michael," I said, "I can't wait for that day." "Well," he said, a sly twinkle in his eyes, "it may be sooner than you think."

"Michael," I cried, nearly jumping out of my seat, "what do you mean?"

"I shouldn't tell you this," he replied, a small, tight smile on his lips, "but there is a strong possibility I might be able to get you a spot in the new Broadway show."