Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child (41 page)

"That's all right, Jimmy. It's just a fast trip," I said, afraid that he might find a way to join me later.

Now, as I sat in the limousine and we drove off, all my fabrications came home to roost, and I felt just horrible.

"Aunt Fern wanted to know why I wasn't getting out of the car, Momma," Christie said.

"What? Oh . . . what did you say?"

"I told her I was going to the hotel. She looked at me funny," Christie added.

"It's all right, honey. It's better this way," I assured her. "Where are we going?"

"Oh, just to do some shopping, and to stop by and see an old friend who's staying at a hotel in Virginia Beach," I added as casually as I could.

"Why didn't this old friend stay in our hotel?" Christie asked quickly. She was so sharp.

"He had business in Virginia Beach and is staying only one day," I replied. I'm sure I was imagining it, but she looked skeptical.

I had Julius drive us directly to the Dunes. My intention was to see Michael and get it over with immediately. Then I would take Christie to a department store and buy her some new underwear and stockings, as well as a new sweater. Winter was just around the corner. We had already had cold mornings with flurries, and the clouds that came rolling in from the northwest looked angrier and darker than ever. The period between the end of fall and the heart of winter always depressed me. Trees had lost their leaves and looked bare and still but had not yet taken on sleeves of snow over their branches. They looked most gloomy in the moonlight, until they had either snow or ice crystallized on them. Then they would twinkle and make me think of Christmas.

"Here we are," Julius announced. The doorman at the Dunes shot forward and opened our doors before Julius could. Christie stepped out, thanking him, and I followed, my heart beginning to pound against my chest like a sledgehammer. I had to stop to catch my breath. Christie looked up at me quizzically.

"We'll be no more than fifteen minutes, Julius," I said firmly.

"Very good, Mrs. Longchamp. I'll be right out here."

"Okay, Christie, honey." I took her hand and started for the front door. My legs felt as if they had turned into rubber. I was positive I was wobbling and looked every which way to see if people were staring at me, but no one was looking. The doorman opened the door for us, and we entered the posh lobby.

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."