Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

you over into what they expect or want you to be. When you sang for me today, you became your own person, your own special person living in your music. It pumps your blood around. I know; I have the same feelings when I sing, and the moment I saw you, saw someone who reminded me of myself, I knew I had discovered my star pupil."
    Was I really sitting here listening to Michael Sutton tell me I had the potential to be a singing star? I wondered. Or was this only a dream? In a moment I will wake up and it will just be morning and Trisha and I will start debating what to wear to the audition.
    I closed my eyes and then opened them, but Michael Sutton didn't disappear. He was still there, sitting across from me, gazing at me with enough admiration to make my heart pound. His eyes were laughing, full of sparkling lights as he templed his fingers beneath his chin and smiled.
    "You look like you're about to cry," he said. I swallowed back my tears of happiness.
    "It's just nice to hear you compare me to you," I said. He nodded and leaned back, gazing toward the doorway of the café a moment.
    "Well," he finally said, "I think when you have been blessed with a talent and have been able to be successful all over the world, you have an obligation to help others who have been blessed with talent.
    "That," he said, turning back to me with a fire in his eyes now that made my heart quicken, "is why I have agreed to spend my time teaching at the Bernhardt School. I knew I would find not only talented young people here, but also young people who needed guidance and the advice of someone who has traveled the hard, high road.
    "And that's why I think it's important for me to be personal, informal with my students, my special students," he emphasized. "If I can't give them the benefits of my experience, what good is it?
    "Anyway," he continued, putting his hand over mine again, "I feel as if I know you well. If you are like me, you are a passionate person. You feel everything more deeply than other, ordinary people do, whether it's happiness or sadness, pleasure or pain, and then you are able to translate that experience into song through your beautiful voice. Am I right?"
    "Yes," I said. "I think so."
    "Of course I'm right. Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked, sitting back again.
    "I do, but he's away in Europe. He's in the army."
    "I see." He nodded. "Remember this, Dawn," he said leaning toward me, "passion makes us desperate."
    I stared into his eyes, mesmerized. It was as if my heart had stopped. I didn't dare to breathe for fear I would shatter the fragile moment. His smile came slowly, softly and then he sat back again.
    "Tonight," he declared, "there is a recital at the Museum of Modern Art, and afterward, there is a wine and cheese reception. Of course, I am one of the honored guests and now I would like you to be one as well."
    "Me?"
    "Yes. Be at the museum at eight o'clock. I'm sure you know how to dress. Don't look so surprised," he said, smiling. "In Europe it is très chic for a teacher to invite one of his prize students to a recital. Anyway, I want you to hear these people sing. There are things to learn. Each moment of our day must be a positive and worthwhile moment. From this moment on," he said, "don't let any opportunity slip through your fingers."
    He looked at his watch and then reached for his wallet.
    "I have to be going. Errands to do before I can be free to enjoy. I'm glad we had this informal chat and got to know each other a little better and I look forward to seeing you tonight. You will be there?"
    "Oh, yes," I said quickly. My mind raced along as I considered my wardrobe and what would be proper attire. Wait until Trisha found out, I thought.
    Michael stood up and we left the café. On the sidewalk outside, we parted. I watched him hail a cab. He waved just before he got in and then he was gone.
    I stood there, my thoughts whirling around in my head making me so dizzy I had to lean against a street light pole and catch my breath. Was I dreaming? Finally, I started across the street, feeling as if I were walking on air. I had to look down to be sure my feet were touching the ground. I didn't even realize where I was until I found myself standing in front of the apartment house. Then I rushed up the stairs and through the door. I raced up the stairway, and burst in on Trisha who looked up from her magazine.
    "You will never believe," I said with a gasp, "where I am going tonight and who asked me to