For a long moment I didn't see him—or, more correctly, didn't recognize him—for he was seated on the sofa directly ahead of us, reading a newspaper. He lowered it and smiled. My heart stopped and then started again, the blood draining from my face so quickly, I thought I would embarrass all of us by falling into a faint.
But when Michael stood up my trepidation turned to surprise and curiosity. Approaching us was a man who looked years and years older than I remembered him. His dark, once-silky hair was dull and spotted with gray. He was still six feet tall, of course, but his shoulders turned in, and he didn't have that arrogant, confidant gait. He looked a great deal thinner, his face almost as lean as Daddy Longchamp's; and although he wore a dark blue sports jacket and slacks, I thought he looked seedy: the pants not pressed, the jacket stretched and out of shape. Even the knot in his tie looked clumsily made. This was not the immaculate, debonair man with whom I had fallen so quickly and so deeply in love. This man couldn't even sweep one of my chambermaids off her feet, I thought.
"Dawn," he said, extending his hand. Gone was the impressive gold pinky ring and the glittering gold watch. His fingers seemed to tremble in my grasp. "It's so good to see you after all these years." Although his face was ashen, his dark sapphire eyes still had that impish glint.
"Hello, Michael."
"And this," he said, stepping back and looking down, "must be Christie. I couldn't have missed you in a crowd of schoolgirls your age," he added. "She's beautiful," he said, lifting his eyes to me. "You've done a wonderful job. Hello, Christie." He offered her his hand, and she took it and shook it like a little lady. He laughed. "I bought you something," he told her, and he fished in his jacket pocket to produce a small box.
"Oh, Michael," I said.
"It's all right; it's nothing special," he said.
"Yes, but I'll have to explain it," I said.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't resist getting her something."
"What is it?" Christie asked. Michael winked at me.
"I'm a jewelry salesman," he said, "and I thought you might like a sample of what I sell."
She took the gift.
"What do you say, Christie?"
"Thank you. Can I open it? Can I?"
"Sure," Michael said. "Let's go right in here and have a cup of tea or something," he said, indicating the lounge.
"We can't stay long. I have my chauffeur outside," I told him.
"I know. We'll sit for just a few minutes and visit. Christie," he said, extending his hand. She took it, and he led her toward the lounge. I took a deep breath and followed. We sat in a booth, and Michael ordered Christie a Shirley Temple.
"Would you like tea, or something stronger?" he asked. "Tea would be fine."
"Tea, and a scotch and soda for me," he said. He smiled at me across the table. "Remember that first day when I took you for cappuccino?"
"I remember. But more important, I remember the day you weren't there," I said pointedly. Michael's aged and disheveled look diminished the magic I feared would blind me to the truth and cause me to overlook the effects his mean and cruel behavior had had on me and my life. Looking at him now, I saw him as only a man. He didn't walk in a spotlight; there was no music in the background. His face was no longer the face enshrined on magazine covers.
"Oh, look, Momma," Christie exclaimed after she opened the box. She had lifted a gold chain and a locket from it; the locket had a musical note on the outside.
"Oooh," Christie exclaimed with admiration as she dangled it before herself.
"I once gave a locket like that to someone I loved very much," Michael said, gazing at me.
I remembered; it was on a Thanksgiving, but I had left that behind with so many other things when I had been whisked off to The Meadows to give birth.
"The note looks like an A," Christie declared. Michael laughed.
"Don't tell me she's a musician, too."
"She's taking piano lessons," I said.
"I bet she's very good," he replied, nodding, his eyes small and intent, "considering her parents' genes. What grade are you in, Christie?"
"First grade," she replied proudly. "And I'm in the first group."
"First group?"
"She's being accelerated," I explained. "She does second grader's work."
"Oh, I see. That's very nice. She's absolutely the most precious little girl I've ever seen," he declared. "What I lost, huh?" he said. The waitress brought our drinks. I sipped my tea as Michael took a long gulp of his scotch and soda, as if to fortify himself.
"Yes, Michael," I finally said, "what you lost, what you turned away, discarded without so much as leaving a note behind. Do you have any idea what that was like for me?" I asked, my eyes burning with anger. His eyes turned softer, meeting and locking with mine as I went on. "Not to even give me a warning, a hint, a phone call." Tears flooded my eyes, but I kept them trapped. I was determined not to cry, not to give him the satisfaction.
"I was horrible, I know," he replied. He lowered his gaze to his glass and then looked up at me. "But I couldn't stop myself from falling in love with you, even though it was very wrong for me to do it."
"We were overcoming those things, Michael. We had real plans, and you knew I didn't care what people said, including my so-called family at the time. Our age difference wasn't important, and as far as your being my teacher and your risking your teaching career, you were a renowned performer. You didn't intend to remain a teacher."
"No, no, none of that is what I mean," he said. "It was wrong for other reasons." He shifted his eyes away.
"What other reasons, Michael?"
He bit down on his lip, inhaled deeply through his nose and sat back.
"I think," I said, "it's time I knew everything, don't you?" He nodded.
"When I met you in New York and we began seeing each other and loving each other, I was already married," he confessed.
"What?" I exclaimed.
"I had been married for almost two years."
"I don't believe it. No one said anything, and the magazine stories about you never—"
"No one knew it," he said. "My public relations man made me keep it a secret. He warned that my announcing my marriage would hurt my career; it would stop young women from fantasizing about me."
"Where was your wife all this time?" I asked skeptically.
"She was back in London; she was an English girl I had met while I was working on a show. She was with the set designers. We fell in love quickly, almost as quickly as you and I had, and one day we just drove off to the country and got married in an old church. I was quite foolish and impulsive in those days, and as I said, my manager and publicity people were quite upset.
"My work and my traveling eventually diluted the love we had for each other. Actually, I had intended to tell her about you and ask her for a divorce, but before I could, I got word she was dying from a kidney ailment back in London, so I left to be with her and accepted a role in a London show. She hung on for months and months, and by the time it was all over, you were already gone. I did try to find you, but your whereabouts were secret.
"Disillusioned and lost, I returned to Europe to continue my career. Eventually I found out about your marriage and all."
"Why didn't you ever tell me about your wife?" I asked.
"I was afraid to; I was afraid you would leave me," he said.
"But why didn't you tell me at the end, or leave me a note?"
"I couldn't. I was weak, I know. I let my manager and publicity people take control of my life. They threatened to leave me; they told me I was destroying myself. What can I tell you?" he said, lifting his eyes toward me—eyes that seemed so full of tears now, they looked on the verge of releasing a flood of drops down his cheeks. "I had to choose between romantic bliss and my career, and I chose my career.
"I guess deep down I was married to the stage before I was married to anyone. That was my first love, and my strongest. Everything else weakened and paled beside it. I was younger,
and very much infatuated with myself and my fame.
"Now that I look at you, and at beautiful Christie, I realize how great my loss has been.
"But it doesn't have to be," he added quickly. "I've come to my senses. Oh, admittedly years late, but still, I'm here."
"Michael, what are you saying? What are you proposing?" I asked, astounded.
"We had magic once, magic like no other two people had. When two people have such magic, they can get it back," he asserted.
It depressed me to hear the quaver in his voice. He seemed a small boy who was pleading for the impossible to happen.
"I couldn't be more happily married than I am now, Michael. Heaven and earth couldn't pull me away from Jimmy. What you and I had was magic, at least for a little while, but you destroyed it. I'm sorry for what happened to you, and I'm sorry you never told me these things when we were together. Nothing would have come between us then, but I'm a different person now. That star-struck young girl is long gone."
Michael nodded and gulped down his drink.
"I thought you would say something like that," he said, smiling. He looked down at Christie and smiled wider. She sipped the last of her Shirley Temple.
"We have to go, Michael. I'm taking Christie shopping." "Oh. Of course." He signaled for the bill.
"What are you doing in Virginia Beach?" I asked.
"I'm just passing through on my way to New York City. I was in Atlanta."
"You're driving?"
"Yes. I have some time, and there are things I haven't seen, so I thought I would."
The waitress brought the bill, and Michael fumbled through his pocket for his wallet. He looked at the bill and then at the money in his billfold.
"Oh, I have to go to the main desk to cash a check," he said. "I don't have enough cash."
"That's all right. I’ll pay for it," I said.
"Well, actually," Michael said, smiling and leaning forward, "that was another reason I wanted to see and speak with you."
"Oh?"
He kept his smile.
"Since you are doing so fabulously now, I thought you might be willing to lend me some money," he said. "What?"
"I need to get back on my feet. Five thousand dollars would do fine."
"Five thousand dollars!"
"I'm sure it's not a great deal to someone who owns one of the country's most famous seaside resorts."
I stared in disbelief. This wasn't just another reason he wanted to see me and Christie; this was his main reason. Never did he look more dishonest and cheap to me.
"Michael, even if I wanted to give you the money, which I don't, I could never do it without drawing attention. All my business affairs are run by a comptroller."
"You must have some personal funds," he pursued.
"Jimmy and I have personal funds," I corrected.
"So?"
"You expect Jimmy to approve such a thing?" Was there no end to his gall? I wondered.
Michael shrugged.
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," he said.
I pulled myself back into a stiff, firm position and glared at him.
"Jimmy and I don't keep secrets from each other. Our marriage is built on trust."
Michael stared at me, his eyes growing smaller, the impish glint turning into something harder, something sly and conniving.
"Did you tell him you were coming here to meet me today?" he asked.
"Of course not. He would be furious, and he wouldn't have permitted it."
"So?" Michael said, lifting his arms and smiling again. "You've lied to him before."
I shook my head.
"You're despicable, Michael. I came down here out of pity. I thought it was horrible that you had never seen Christie, and now you're turning it into something sordid. I've got to go," I said. "Come on, Christie."
I took some money out and threw it on the table for the bill. Then I stood up and helped Christie out of the booth. "Wait a minute, Dawn," he said.
"No, Michael. There's no reason for me to stay here any longer."
"I need that money, Dawn," he said, his eyes fixed on me. "I need this second chance, and you are in a position to help me now."
"How can you ask me after what you did, no matter what your reasons were?" I said. I shook my head and started away.
"Dawn!" he called, but I didn't turn back.
"Momma, that man is calling," Christie said.
"Just walk, honey," I told her. She turned around, and I dragged her along, fleeing from what seemed to me to be the evil side of the man I had once loved.
18
JUST DESSERTS
THE PHONE WAS RINGING IN MY OFFICE THE MOMENT I returned. Somehow I anticipated it would be Michael.
"Dawn, you had no right to run out on me like that," he declared angrily.
"I had no right to run out on you? You call that running out? How about the way you ran out on me?"
"I thought I explained all that," he said.
"Michael, there is nothing more to be said. We have to go on with our lives."
"That's exactly what I'm trying to do," he insisted, "and why I need the money."
"Michael, I can't—"
"I have some rights, you know," he said quickly.
"Rights?"
"To Christie. She's my daughter, too," he asserted.
"I was nice enough to play your little game, pretending to be someone else for now, but if I come around again . . ."
I sat down slowly.
"Michael, are you trying to blackmail me?"
"I just need a miserable five thousand dollars for now," he contended.
"For now?"
"And you can continue to pretend Jimmy is Christie's father, if you like. I won't contest the adoption."
"Contest the adoption? Do you think you would have any chance? A man who deserted a pregnant teenager?" I said, amazed he would even suggest it.
"Maybe not, but the trial would certainly bring me much-needed notoriety. As my agent says, publicity is publicity. There is no such thing as bad publicity in my business. That's why performers don't really mind it when they find themselves written up in the tabloids.
"Besides, a good lawyer could easily paint a different picture—the picture of a man who was going to do right by you. It was you who disappeared and then went and married the man who had lived as your brother. Can you imagine what the tabloids would do with that?" he asked in a laughing tone.
"You're despicable," I said. "Even more despicable than I imagined."
"All I want is a little money," he whined. "It's a drop in the bucket for you, but for me it's a chance to get back on my feet."
"It's not a drop in the bucket," I snapped. "And it's not just the money. Jimmy would—"
"Would be very angry to know you've been lying to him and meeting me on the side," Michael said, his voice dripping with erotic suggestion.
"My God, there is no limit to how low you will go," I said.
"I'll give you two days. Bring the money to the hotel," he ordered. "I'll need it to pay my bill. Two days," he repeated, and he hung up.
I sat there with the dead phone in my hand, my face flushed, my heart pounding. What was I going to do? Jimmy would definitely be enraged and very disappointed in me. And yet I knew if I got Michael the five thousand dollars, it wouldn't end. He would be at me continually for more, always threatening, always promising to bring us great emotional pain. I wanted so to protect Christie from the sort of misery and turmoil I had experienced. She had a wonderful, happy life with all her needs well provided for; she lived in a world of love and security, protected, never exposed to the bleak, dark forces that dwelt outside our gates.
If I told Jimmy about all this, there could be a terrible scene, and Michael might do just what he threatened to do anyway. I heard the desperation and the determination in his voice; he had nothing to lose, and in a sick way, he was right—he could gain some fame. Lawyers could distort the truth and make it look like I was the evil one
. Christie would be considered no better than a freak. She would grow up with people always whispering around her. I knew firsthand how cruel other girls could be, especially when she became a teenager. How could I permit such scandal to follow her all the days of her life?
What was I to do?
I buried my face in my hands and started to sob. Would it never end? Would the sins and indiscretions of my youth follow me and those I loved forever? I felt exhausted, overwhelmed, defeated, and I sank back in my chair.
My gaze drifted to the portrait of my father. His eyes seemed to be locked on me, his wry smile an expression of anticipation. It was as if he were waiting to see what I would do, how I would contend with this new and great crisis. Would I be strong and win, or would I be weak and lose? I was sitting in Grandmother Cutler's chair, working at what had been her desk, overseeing the business she had built so well.
This sort of crisis wouldn't throw her into a desperate panic, I thought. She wouldn't sit there weeping and feeling sorry for herself. I hated to model myself after such a hard, cold person, but apparently there was a place in this world for such people and such behavior. Events dictated it.
I suddenly realized that sometimes we had to put on masks and become people we despised as well as people we admired. The more responsibility we had, the more chance that would happen. I could almost appreciate and understand Grandmother Cutler right now, I thought.
It was as if I gathered this desperately needed strength and resolve from the very walls of the office Grandmother Cutler had inhabited for so long and so well. I wouldn't permit Michael to burst into my life and destroy the happiness I had finally found. But more important, I wouldn't permit him to hurt our daughter. If he wanted to be ruthless and selfish, fine, but he would discover he was no longer dealing with an innocent teenage girl infatuated with his fame and glamour.
I straightened up in my chair, my back as firm and as stiff as Grandmother Cutler's had been whenever she sat there. Then I picked up the phone and called Mr. Updike. He listened carefully as I described the events and what demands and threats Michael had made.
Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child Page 36