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I had seen pictures of him in magazines and newspapers, of course, but nothing compared to seeing him in person. He stood a little over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a trim waist. His dark, silky hair was brushed neatly on the sides with the front flowing back in a soft, gentle wave. He looked casually elegant in his white shirt and gray slacks. As he gazed over the line of hopeful candidates, his smile widened and warmed, those dark sapphire eyes sparkling with an impish glint. He had the most glamorously white smile I'd ever seen—it was like watching someone step out of a movie.
We had heard that Michael Sutton had just flown in from the French Riviera, which accounted for his even, rich tan. I heard the sighs of girls ripple down the line in an undulating wave of "ooh's and aah's."
I thought he was easily the handsomest man I had ever seen in person. Just gazing at him made me tremble and quickened my heartbeat. I was sure 'I would make a total fool of myself when it came time to sing for him. Maybe, I would be incapable of uttering a sound and would just open and close my mouth. The thought of it made me redden and I felt my cheeks grow very hot. Agnes had been right. I was certainly glad I wasn't at the head of the line. I pitied the girl who was.
"Hi, everybody," he said. "We're just about ready to begin." He had a soft and melodious voice with just a hint of an English accent. "First, let me thank you all for coming. Seeing so many of you here doesn't hurt my ego one bit, I can tell you that," he said and there was light laughter.
"I wish I could take all of you," he said, his face turning serious, "but obviously, that's not possible. I might choose one or two of you simply for the sake of variety, so nothing that happens here is meant to be a definitive comment on your talents and abilities. If you don't work with me this semester, I'm sure you will work with other capable teachers, maybe even more capable teachers than I."
He slapped his hands together and I saw the thin, elegant gold watch on his left wrist.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, "I'll give you a start on this, one at a time," he said, indicating his tuning harmonica, "and I would like you to run up and down the scales for me."
He asked the first student to step forward. It grew very quiet, so still I could hear the deep breathing around me. He gave her the note and she did her scales. When she was halfway through, he said thank you and asked the next candidate to step forward. The line moved very quickly and before I knew it, I was going to be next.
I noticed Michael Sutton's eyes swing from the boy ahead of me to me. Terrified, I made my eyes flee from his long, searching look, afraid he would see how nervous I was. When I looked back at him, he was smiling. He listened to the boy for a moment and thanked him. Then he spun around to face me completely, his full, sensual lips open. For a long moment, he simply stared at me, drinking me in from head to foot. Numbness tingled in my fingers, perhaps because I had my fingers locked in so tightly together.
"All right," he said and brought his tuning harmonica to his lips to give me a note.
I started to sing and felt my throat tighten. I stopped immediately.
"That's all right," he said softly. "Try again."
This time I did my scales as best I could. When I was finished he merely nodded and I felt my heart sink. I hadn't realized just how much I'd hoped to be in his class until this moment.
"Thank you, number thirty-nine," he said and I stepped aside.
When everyone in the line had performed, Michael conferred with Richard Taylor. Then Richard stepped forward and held a sheet up before him.
"These people please remain. The rest of you, thank you," he said curtly, and then read out the numbers. Halfway through the list I heard my number called out. I couldn't believe my ears. So many students had sounded better than I had, and so many weren't as nervous and looked like they would make better students and singers. Trisha squeezed my arm.
"You lucky thing," she said enviously.
"There's still the second cut," I reminded her.
"You're going to make it. Good luck," she said and left with the other disappointed, rejected candidates.
The next step in the audition was to give Richard the sheet music for the piece we wanted to sing so he could accompany us while Michael Sutton listened, sitting in the rear of the auditorium with his pen and notebook in hand. I had decided I would sing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," the song I had sung successfully at the music concert when I had attended Emerson Peabody in Richmond.
This time around, we had to announce our names and our song titles.
"Dawn Cutler," I declared. "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."'
Once I began my song, the same thing happened to me that always happens when I sing. I forgot where I was and who was listening. I was alone, possessed by my music. All my vision and concentration went into the perfection of those notes. I traveled on a magic carpet of melody that carried me up and away from worry and pain. I forgot the past and the present. I was like an eagle soaring in the wind, obsessed and infatuated with her own ability to fly. Not the clouds, nor the stars, nothing seemed too far away.
I didn't open my eyes again until I had finished. For a moment there was a deep silence and then there was applause. The other candidates were clapping enthusiastically, forgetting for the moment that we were all competing for only six positions. I looked back at Michael Sutton. He was smiling and nodding.
"Next," he called.
Again, after everyone was finished, Michael conferred with Richard Taylor. This time, however, Michael Sutton stepped forward himself to make the announcement.
"I can't tell you all what a wonderful experience this audition has been for me," he said. "I am impressed with just how much talent there is here. And, very pressed to make a decision. But, alas, it has to be done," he added and turned to his note pad. "The following students will please remain so we can discuss your schedules," he said and then he read off the names.
My name was the last to be called out, but when I heard it, I felt my heart burst with joy. I had been chosen, selected out of all these other talented students to work with someone famous. What are you going to say and think when you hear about this, Grandmother Cutler? I wondered. Never in your wildest thoughts that horrible day when we confronted each other in your office did you even imagine that I would achieve so much. I was one of Madame Steichen's prize piano pupils, already practicing the piece I would play at Performance Weekend this year, and now, I was one of six special students selected to work with Michael Sutton!
Your revenge has become a double edge sword with the sharper end pressing toward you, Grandmother Cutler.
"Please give Richard the schedules of your other classes, your required classes," Michael Sutton said, forcing me out of my hateful thoughts, "so we can plan out your private lessons. We will meet only once a week as a group. The rest of the time, I w
