Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

practice," he emphasized, his eyes widening. "It takes some talent too. It has to be in you to be something. My parents can't see that they want to make me into something I'm not."
    "You're right, Arthur. They're just going to have to understand. Someday, they will, I'm sure."
    He shook his head woefully. "I doubt it. I don't even care anymore." He took a deep breath, his narrow shoulders rising and falling. Then he looked at me with those beady eyes again.
    "I'm going to write a poem, just for you, Dawn," he said quickly. In fact, it will be about you," he said, "because you're different," he added and then blushed when he realized how emphatically he said it. "I . . . I mean . . . you're very nice." He stood up so quickly that he almost stumbled and fell over.
    "That's very kind of you, Arthur," I said. "I look forward to reading it."
    He stared at me a moment and then smiled for the first time. A moment later, he was gone.
    I shook my head in amazement and wiped the last lingering tear from my cheeks.
    The next day I had a wonderful surprise waiting for me when I returned from school. Jimmy had written to tell me he was getting his leave the following week and he would use the time to visit Daddy Longchamp and then swing around to see me. He would be in New York on the weekend and be at our apartment house by twelve o'clock to take me to lunch. I couldn't contain my excitement. Every night I planned the things I would wear. I wondered aloud about changing my hair style. Trisha said I was driving her insane.
    "You would think a movie star was coming," she said. "I never got so excited about my boyfriend's visits," she said a little enviously.
    "It's been so long since I've seen Jimmy and so much has happened to both of us. Oh Trisha, what if he's met so many pretty girls that he thinks I'm still a child next to them," I moaned.
    She laughed and shook her head.
    "If he likes you as much as you say he does, nothing can change the feelings you have for each other," Trisha declared.
    "I hope you're right."
    The next day we went to Saks Fifth Avenue. I was in luck because there were two beautiful models in the cosmetics department lecturing customers on the proper way to apply makeup. I chose a different shade of lipstick and bought some perfume. The model showed me how to put on eye liner and blush and even gave me some advice about my hair. I used some of the money my mother had sent me to buy a new sweater and skirt outfit I had seen in a fashion magazine.
    I was on pins and needles from the moment my eyes snapped open the day Jimmy was to arrive. I had been practicing with the makeup just the way the model had shown me, and after I was finished I brushed my hair long and hard till it shone like a fairy princess's. I put on my new sweater and skirt and then I nervously looked in the full-length mirror. I couldn't believe my eyes. Excitement had made my cheeks flush pink and my eyes sparkle, and the soft blue wool molded itself gracefully around my breasts and waist before falling to my knees, like a dancer's skirt. I couldn't help thinking, conceited though it was, that I looked beautiful.
    I was too nervous to eat breakfast. Although summer had lingered into late September and it was still warm, the sky was overcast and dreary. I was afraid it would rain—I'd had so many fantasies and daydreams about Jimmy and I walking through the city, his strong hand holding mine. Trisha went to the library to get some research books for a term paper we had to do. By the time she returned, it was after noon and Jimmy still hadn't arrived.
    "He's late," I cried. "Maybe something happened and he can't come."
    "He would have called you, wouldn't he? Stop worrying. It's not so easy traveling through New York, you know. You're chewing your nails down to your finger bones," she declared. I pulled my fingers from my lips.
    "Here," she ordered, giving me one of the books. "Take out your notebook and go down to the sitting room and read and wait."
    "Oh, I just couldn't, Trisha," I moaned.
    "It will help you pass the time until he comes. Just do it," she commanded. "I'll sit and wait with you."
    We went downstairs. As the hours ticked by I began to get discouraged. I took out my mirror and checked and rechecked every few minutes, primping and patting my hair. Arthur Garwood returned from Saturday instrumental practice and looked in, his pencil-thin lips twisting into a smile, but when he saw Trisha was there with me, he snapped himself