Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

line up and were given cards with numbers on them to use instead of their names. The line that had been formed stretched from the piano all the way on the other side of the long room to just outside the door. Richard Taylor, a senior and one of Madame Steichen's prize pupils, greeted us. Richard was talented but somewhat arrogant about it. He had been assigned to Michael Sutton as his teaching assistant and he was swollen with self-importance.
    Richard was a tall boy, as lanky as Washington Irving's Ichabod Crane with long legs and arms and very long fingers. it was a sight to see him play the piano because his hands were so large, they looked like independent little creatures dancing over the keys. He had a narrow face with a nose that reminded me of a weather vane and a long mouth with corners that -tucked in so tightly, they resembled dimples. His lips were naturally bright; it always seemed like he was wearing lipstick. He had a very fair complexion with tiny streams of freckles running through his cheeks and across his forehead. His light brown eyes were deeply set. He kept his rust-colored hair long, with strands going down his neck and under his collar.
    "Just take a card and get in line," he commanded in his thin, nasal voice as the students arrived. "After the first cut, we will be taking names. Until then, numbers will suffice." He scowled at some of the candidates as if to say, "Why waste your time and ours?"
    Most of the girls paid no attention to him; they strained their necks and twisted every which way to get a glimpse of Michael Sutton, who was standing near the piano with his back to us and gazing down at some sheet music.
    "How many students will be in Mr. Sutton's class?" Trisha asked as she took a number card for herself and for me.
    "Six," Richard replied.
    "Six! Only six," she moaned.
    "Will, it be three girls and three boys?" one of the girls behind me asked.
    "It won't be determined by sex; it will be determined by talent," Richard said and shook his head. "Where do you think you are, summer camp?"
    Those students who heard his reply laughed. The girl who asked the questions shrunk down behind the students in front of her. Satisfied with himself, Richard Taylor strutted toward the front of the line and then tapped Michael Sutton on the shoulder. He turned and looked our way.
    I had seen pictures of him in magazines and newspapers, of course, but nothing compared to seeing him in person. He stood a little over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a trim waist. His dark, silky hair was brushed neatly on the sides with the front flowing back in a soft, gentle wave. He looked casually elegant in his white shirt and gray slacks. As he gazed over the line of hopeful candidates, his smile widened and warmed, those dark sapphire eyes sparkling with an impish glint. He had the most glamorously white smile I'd ever seen—it was like watching someone step out of a movie.
    We had heard that Michael Sutton had just flown in from the French Riviera, which accounted for his even, rich tan. I heard the sighs of girls ripple down the line in an undulating wave of "ooh's and aah's."
    I thought he was easily the handsomest man I had ever seen in person. Just gazing at him made me tremble and quickened my heartbeat. I was sure 'I would make a total fool of myself when it came time to sing for him. Maybe, I would be incapable of uttering a sound and would just open and close my mouth. The thought of it made me redden and I felt my cheeks grow very hot. Agnes had been right. I was certainly glad I wasn't at the head of the line. I pitied the girl who was.
    "Hi, everybody," he said. "We're just about ready to begin." He had a soft and melodious voice with just a hint of an English accent. "First, let me thank you all for coming. Seeing so many of you here doesn't hurt my ego one bit, I can tell you that," he said and there was light laughter.
    "I wish I could take all of you," he said, his face turning serious, "but obviously, that's not possible. I might choose one or two of you simply for the sake of variety, so nothing that happens here is meant to be a definitive comment on your talents and abilities. If you don't work with me this semester, I'm sure you will work with other capable teachers, maybe even more capable teachers than I."
    He slapped his hands together and I saw the thin, elegant gold watch on his left wrist.
    "All right, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, "I'll give you a start on this, one at