Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

and thumb together. "This much. Every ten minutes," he added and laughed again. His laughter carried him forward and he had to reach out to brace himself on the wall so he wouldn't fall on his face.
    "Michael!" I cried and ran to him. He put his arm over my shoulder and leaned on me. How he smelled. It was as if he had taken a bath in whiskey. "Where were you? Why did you drink so much? How did you manage to get home?"
    "Home?" he said. He gazed around. "Oh yes, home."
    As I guided him toward the sofa, I noticed what looked like lipstick smudged on the side of his chin. There were also hairs on his jacket, red hairs!
    "Michael, where were you? Who were you with?" I demanded. He didn't respond. He lowered himself to the sofa and fell back, gazing at me dumbly and blinking, obviously trying to bring me and everything around us into focus.
    "Why is this room spinning around and around?" he muttered and closed his eyes. Then he slid down the back of the sofa until he was on his back, his eyes shut tight.
    "Michael!” I shook him, but all he did was groan. "Oh, what's the use," I cried. I lifted his legs and took off his shoes. Then, with great effort and strain, holding him up as I did so, I peeled off his overcoat and sports jacket. He was too heavy for me to carry to the bedroom. Instead, I hung up his coat and jacket and got him a blanket. When I spread it over him, he moaned and turned on his side. I fixed the pillow under his head and then I sat at his feet, watching him breathe deeply and regularly.
    My eyes drifted to our little Christmas tree. All decorated and lit up, it looked beautiful, warm, and very precious, but with Michael passed out on the couch, it looked as sad and as alone and disappointed as I was. Michael hadn't even noticed it. He had hardly even noticed me!
    I rose slowly and turned the lights off on the tree. I took one more look at Michael. He was snoring. I put out the lights in the living room and then retreated to Michael's bedroom to fall asleep alone.
     
    Michael was up before I was. I felt him sit on the bed and I fluttered my eyelids open just as he touched my face.
    "Michael. What time is it?"
    He was still wearing the clothes he had worn the night before. His shirt was open and his hair was wild, the strands going every which way. He yawned and shook his head.
    "It's early. I'm sorry, Dawn," he said. "I'm sure I must have been some mess last night. I don't even remember falling asleep on the couch, or your getting me a blanket. I was what they call . . . blotto drunk."
    I ground the sleep out of my eyes and sat up quickly.
    "Where were you? What happened? Why did you get so drunk?"
    "It was a celebration of sorts. I tried to leave them, but everyone insisted I go along. I was the life of the party, you see, the center of attraction. We had to wine and dine these investors, who paid for everything. The champagne flowed all night." He stretched and yawned again.
    "But where were you?"
    "Where was I? Let's see," he said, thinking as if it were a major question on a math exam or something. "Where was I? Well, first we were at this producer's office. Then we all went to dinner at Sardi's. After that, we started to hit nightclub row. I should recall one or two places, but they all seem to run together in my mind now."
    He sighed and bowed his head into his cradling hands.
    "Who was with you?"
    "Who was with me?" He looked up, thought and then shrugged. "Some of the production people and the investors."
    "Was that red-haired woman there too?" I asked.
    "Red-haired woman? Oh, no, no," he said. "There was no red-haired woman. Well, I'd better get into the shower. I feel like last week's pot roast. I'm sorry," he repeated and leaned over to drop a quick kiss on my cheek. "Thank you for looking after me."
    He rose like a cat, undulating and stretching. I lay back on my pillow and watched him undress and go to take a shower. Was he lying to me, I wondered, or were those red hairs on his jacket there from some previous time, maybe one of the times he had to escort the wife of his friend? I just couldn't believe he would lie to me. He loved me too much to hurt me.
    I got up and went to the kitchen to put up our coffee and prepare some breakfast. When Michael appeared, he was bright and fresh, his hair neatly brushed. He wore a light blue, silk robe.
    "Um, that smells good," he said, coming up behind me to embrace me. "I'm really sorry about last night," he repeated. "Everyone was so excited about