Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

sec," she said without pausing for a breath. "What do you mean, your family traveled around a lot? Agnes told me your family owns a famous hotel and has for a long time. From the way Agnes described it, it's practically a historic site."
    "It is."
    She shook her head. "I don't understand."
    "It's complicated," I said, hoping to leave it at that. I was sure that once I told her my story, she would regret having me as her roommate.
    "Oh, I'm sorry if I sound like I'm prying. Mr. Van Dan, our English teacher, says I should be writing the gossip column for a newspaper."
    "It's a little hard for me to talk about it all right now," I said, but I could see that only interested her more.
    "I'll wait. We've got plenty of time to poke into each other's business," she added. I had to laugh.
    "Is that a picture of your brother or your boyfriend next to your parents' picture?" I asked. "Since we're being snoops, that is."
    "My boyfriend back home," she said, nodding. Then she held her arms out and cried, "I'm an only child. And I'm very spoiled," she added. "Look what my father sent me last week." She extended her wrist to show me the beautiful gold watch with two diamonds in it, one for twelve and one for six.
    "It's very beautiful." My compliment was sincere, but I couldn't help the tears that began to fill the furrows at the bottom of my eyes. Would I ever know who my real father was, much less meet him and have him love me the way a father should love a daughter? According to Grandmother Cutler, he couldn't have cared much less about my birth and was happy to get away without any responsibility. But deep down I harbored the hope that Grandmother Cutler was lying about this, just the way she had lied about other things concerning me. In my secret, putaway heart, I dreamt that because I was in New York, the capital of entertainment, I would somehow find my real father. And when I found him, he would be overjoyed to see me.
    "He's always sending me presents," Trisha continued. "I suppose I'm a Daddy's girl. What's your father like? Do you have any brothers or sisters? I can ask that right now, can't I?"
    "Yes. I have a brother and a sister. My brother Philip is older, and my sister Clara Sue is a year younger." I thought about Jimmy and Fern and how hard it still was not to call them my brother and sister. "My father is . . . a very busy man," I added dryly, thinking about Randolph and the way he had always managed to be doing something whenever I needed him.
    "Say no more," Trisha said and leaned over the table. "So what do you do?"
    "Do?"
    "Your talent, silly. I'm going to be a dancer. But you already know that. So?"
    "I sing, but . . ."
    "Oh great, another singer," she said, sighing. Then she flashed a smile and her face brightened, her eyes like Christmas tree lights. "No, I'm just kidding. I can't wait to hear you sing."
    "I'm not really that good."
    "You made it into Bernhardt, didn't you? You passed their gruesome audition. Didn't you just hate the way they looked you over? But someone important thinks you've got talent," she said. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here,"
    What was I to say? If I told her Grandmother Cutler pulled strings to get me in, Trisha might resent me for it. I would have to explain how it was all part of an arrangement and then I would have to tell her everything.
    "Anyway, before long, Agnes will have you singing at one of her gatherings."
    "Was she really an actress?"
    "Oh yes, and she still is. I don't mean on the stage or screen, but in real life. And she has all these old actor friends who come over for tea on Sundays. It's fun to listen to them reminisce. Did you meet Mrs. Liddy?"
    "Yes. She's very nice."
    "She and Agnes have been together for ages and ages. Sometimes, she's the only one Agnes will listen to, but don't worry, you'll love it here. You'll see. Just don't let Bones get you down."
    "Why would he do that?"
    "He's always so glum. I swear if he smiled, he'd crack his face," she said as the waitress brought our ice cream sodas.
    "Why do you call him Bones?"
    "When you see him, you'll know. Yummy," Trisha said and started sipping on her straw. Her personality was like a warm summer day. I had never seen such a happy, exuberant girl. "Better get to your soda," she said. "We have a lot to do and I have to get back to help with dinner. It's my week."
    "Oh. Right."
    Trisha insisted on paying. When she put down a tip for the waitress, I told her what had happened with the taxi driver.
    "He had