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"Oh. Yes," I laughed and jumped up. We started toward the gate.
"So, you live in one of the school-approved residences nearby," he said as we walked.
"Yes," I said; suddenly feeling quite tongue-tied.
"And do you like living in New York?" he asked. As we turned a corner he took hold of my arm. I would have expected such a gesture would make me nervous and embarrassed but instead I found myself relaxing and feeling surprisingly safe.
"It's fun," I said, in answer to his question. "But it takes getting used to."
"My favorite city is London. You must see it one day. In London one walks in the shadow of places built centuries ago, and yet the modern world is all around you, too."
"That does sound exciting," I said.
"Haven't you traveled much?" he asked.
"Not outside the United States, no," I replied.
"Really? I thought all the students here were very sophisticated travelers," he said and I thought now he will think less of me. "But then again," he said, stopping and turning to me, "what I noticed most about you in the audition was your innocence, it seemed so sweet." We stopped walking and when I turned to him to see why he was staring at my face so intently, my heart began to flutter wildly. I found myself looking into his eyes and unable to pull my gaze away. "You have the look of someone about to be discovered, and about to discover," he said, so softly I could scarcely hear him. He raised his hand and for a moment that seemed to last an hour I thought he was going to touch my face. Then he lowered his hand to his side. "And yet," he continued, "there's something else behind those blue eyes, some wisdom that suggests you have had perhaps very painful experiences. I'm intrigued." His eyes still held mine and he seemed to drink me in. Then the moment passed and he suddenly turned away.
"Here we are," he said, leading me into the café and to a corner table. When the waitress asked if we wanted our cappuccinos with cinnamon or chocolate, I had to confess I had never had one before and didn't know which to choose.
"You look like you would like the chocolate," Michael said and gave her the order. "Tell me more about yourself. I like to get to know my students personally. I've read your file, of course, and I know you're from Virginia and your family owns a famous resort. I've never been there. What's it like?" he asked and I described the hotel and the ocean and the small seaside village of Cutler's Cove. He listened attentively, his eyes rarely leaving my face as I spoke. Occasionally, he nodded and asked about something else. I didn't speak in great detail about my family, except to say they were usually very busy with the work at the hotel.
"1 haven't seen my parents for a long, long time," he said sadly. "I've been on tour, as you know. The life of a performer, a well-known performer," he added, "is very complicated. Things the rest of humanity take for granted are very rare for us. For example, I can't remember when I last had a holiday dinner with my family. I always seem to be on the road when these things come up."
He looked over his steaming cup of cappuccino and fixed his eyes on mine, which were now filled with sympathy and surprise. I never imagined that someone as famous and successful as Michael Sutton would have such unhappy thoughts. In every picture taken of him, he always looked like he was on top of the world, smiling down at the envious and the adoring.
"Yes," he said suddenly, nodding, "there is something very diff
erent about you, from your name to those blue eyes that continually change shades to match what you're thinking."
I started to blush, but he reached out and put his hand over mine.
"Don't change," he said so fiercely he surprised me with his vehemence. "Be yourself and don't let others make you over into what they expect or want you to be. When you sang for me today, you became your own person, your own special person living in your music. It pumps your blood around. I know; I have the same feelings when I sing, and the moment I saw you, saw someone who reminded me of myself, I knew I had discovered my star pupil."
Was I really sitting here listening to Michael Sutton tell me I had the potential to be a singing star? I wondered. Or was this only a dream? In a moment I will wake up and it will just be morning and Trisha and I will start debating what to wear to the audition.
I closed my eyes and then opened them, but Michael Sutton didn't disappear. He was still there, sitting across from me, gazing at me with enough admiration to make my heart pound. His eyes were laughing, full of sparkling lights as he templed his fingers beneath his chin and smiled.
"You look like you're about to cry," he said. I swallowed back my tears of happiness.
"It's just nice to hear you compare me to you," I said. He nodded and leaned back, gazing toward the doorway of the café a moment.
"Well," he finally said, "I think when you have been blessed with a talent and have been able to be successful all over the world, you have an obligation to help others who have been blessed with talent.
"That," he said, turning back to me with a fire in his eyes now that made my heart quicken, "is why I have agreed to spend my time teaching at the Bernhardt School. I knew I would find not only talented young people here, but also young people who needed guidance and the advice of someone who has traveled the hard, high road.
"And that's why I think it's important for me to be personal, informal with my students, my special students," he emphasized. "If I can't give them the benefits of my experience, what good is it?
"Anyway," he continued, putting his hand over mine again, "I feel as if I know you well. If you are like me, you are a passionate person. You feel everything more deeply than other, ordinary people do, whether it's happiness or sadness, pleasure or pain, and then you are able to translate that experience into song through your beautiful voice. Am I right?"
"Yes," I said. "I think so."
"Of course I'm right. Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked, sitting back again.
"I do, but he's away in Europe. He's in the army."
"I see." He nodded. "Remember this, Dawn," he said leaning toward me, "passion makes us desperate."
