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"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.