Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

rug. The floor-to-ceiling windows were hung with off-white satin drapes. Right now, they were pulled back to provide an unobstructed view of the night skyline.
    I stepped into the living room and instantly recognized the music playing on the stereo to be Tchaikovsky's "Sleeping Beauty."
    "What a beautiful apartment," I said.
    "Thank you. A little home away from home," he said, closing the door behind me. "You didn't tell anyone you were coming here, did you?" he asked, squinting with concern.
    "Oh, no."
    "Good." He smiled and indicated I should have a seat on the couch.
    "I shouldn't offer you any cocktails," he said, following behind me, "but I guess I can give you a little white wine. Would you like that?"
    "Oh, yes," I said.
    "Just make yourself comfortable."
    I went to the center of the sofa and sat down. I was so nervous I didn't know what to do with my hands. First, I folded them on my lap. Then I thought that looked silly, made me look like a school girl at her desk, so I put my right arm over the back of the sofa and dropped my left over my lap. I crossed and uncrossed my legs.
    "You look very nice," Michael said, bringing me my glass of wine.
    "Thank you." I took the glass with both hands, afraid that my trembling would cause me to spill some on the sofa.
    "Actually," he said, sitting beside me, "I'm glad you arrived before the others. It gives me a chance to get to know you even better without any distractions." He took a sip from whatever he had in his glass and put the glass on the coaster on the table. Then he leaned so close to me, we were practically touching.
    "Let's see," he continued, that impish glint returning to his sapphire-blue eyes. "I know you attended a private school in Richmond and you sang a solo there at the spring musical and you were a spectacular success."
    "I was just one of many people performing that night," I said.
    "Uh, huh. And then your family realized you were talented and sent you to Bernhardt. Do you miss being away from home?"
    "No," I said, perhaps too quickly. He raised his eyebrows. Then he nodded to himself.
    "That's right. You were away from home when you went to that private school, but you're not with your brother and sister anymore. Doesn't that bother you?"
    "We don't get along that well," I said, unable to hide a smirk.
    "I understand. I don't get along that well with my two brothers. We rarely see each other and they never come to any of my performances. You're lucky to have a family that's at least supportive," he said. "It's paid off; they've raised a very nice young lady, as well as a talented one."
    "Thank you," I said, but it was nearly inaudible and I couldn't keep the tears from breaking free of my lids.
    "Something wrong?"
    I bowed my head as the tears streaked down my cheeks and dropped off my chin. I hated all this deception, all these lies. Michael was so sincere and so devoted to his singing and had been so wonderful to me, making me feel so special, and here I was telling him one false thing after another.
    He reached out and lifted my chin.
    "Dawn?"
    When I gazed into his dark eyes, I saw the confusion.
    "Oh Michael, I don't really have any family," I said. "My mother lives in her bedroom most of the time, doting on herself and being waited on hand and foot. My sister hates me, is very envious of me, and my brother . . . my brother . . ."
    "Yes?"
    I started to cry harder, sob like a baby. My shoulders shook. He put his arm around me quickly.
    "Now, now, it can't be all that bad. Whatever it is, it's behind you. You're away from it and you're here at Bernhardt and working with me," he said. He kissed my forehead and brushed away some strands of my hair that had fallen over my eyes. Then he reached into his smoking jacket pocket and produced a hand-kerchief with which to wipe away my tears. As he did so, I gazed into his eyes. I felt like an instrument of yearning, filled with a ravenous desire for romantic fulfillment and I know he saw it in my face, for his expression changed into a more thoughtful one.
    "There's something bewitching about you, Dawn. I knew it the first time I set eyes on you at the audition.
    One second I look at you and you are a naive, young girl, and then I blink and your face changes and you become a provocative, seductive woman, a woman who seems to know exactly what she's doing."
    He was mistaken, I thought. I never intended to be seductive. I hadn't started to cry for that reason. I shook my head and mouthed a "No," but he