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I turned about desperately, looking for a place to throw it. Suddenly, I heard someone say, "Hi, honey. Slumming tonight?"
I spun around to face a man with an unshaven face with eyes that looked more like empty sockets. When he smiled, he revealed a mouth missing many teeth. I could smell his whiskey breath. He looked like he had slept in his faded brown rain coat and creased pants. His sneakers were torn at the sides.
When he laughed, I pivoted as quickly as I could and ran as fast as I could in my high-heeled shoes. Agnes's white shawl flew off my shoulders, but I didn't stop to retrieve it because I heard the horrid man shout. Just as I reached a corner, one of my heels gave way. I threw off my shoes and kept running, not looking back. I ran as hard and as fast as possible until I came to a busy intersection. There, I took hold of a light pole and caught my breath. Passersby glanced at me, but no one stopped to ask me what was wrong or if he or she could help.
I was finally able to flag down a taxi cab.
"Must've been some party," the driver said after I got in. I realized my hair was a mess, the strands flying everywhere. Tears had streamed down my cheeks. My dress was rumpled and I was barefoot. Yet, I still clung stupidly to the wine glass I had taken from the reception. I gave the cab driver my address and sat back, my eyes closed all the way.
When we arrived, I quickly paid the fare and rushed up the stairs and into the house. The moment I entered, I heard voices from the sitting room and remembered Agnes was having some of her theatrical friends over. I tried slipping by the door, but Agnes had heard me come in. She stepped out of the sitting room.
"Dawn," she called. "Come and tell us about the reception." As I drew closer to her, she realized something was wrong. "What happened?"
"Oh Agnes," I cried. "I got lost and lost your shawl. I'm sorry."
"Oh dear. You never got to the reception? But how could that be? Surely the taxi took you directly there."
"No, afterward," I explained. She stared at me and then looked at the glass in my hand.
"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head. "Why do you have that glass?"
"I . . . I don't know!" I cried and rushed past her and up the stairs.
Naturally, Trisha was up and waiting to hear about my exciting evening, but as soon as she to
ok one look at me, her smile turned to a look of shock.
"What happened to you?"
"Oh Trisha, I'm so embarrassed. It wasn't a date with Michael. He hardly spoke to me. I ran out of the reception and forgot to give back this glass. Then I got lost and a horrible man came after me so I ran and ran, losing a shawl Agnes had given me as well as breaking off a heel," I cried and fell on my stomach on my bed.
"I don't understand what you're saying," Trisha said. I spun around and screamed through my tears.
"I'm saying it's no good to try to be someone you're not. I shouldn't have dressed up like this. I shouldn't have even gone. Grandmother Cutler's right. I'm a nobody who was dropped back on the doorstep of rich, fancy people; but everyone can see I'm not one of them and I don't belong."
"That's stupid. Of course she's not right about you. Anyone can get lost in New York at night. Stop crying," Trisha demanded. "So you forgot to give back a glass. Big deal. At least you forgot. Other people probably swipe them on purpose, even rich, sophisticated people. Anyway, did Michael Sutton see you run out?"
"I don't know," I said, grinding back my tears. "So?"
"I felt so foolish," I repeated. "No one spoke a word to me, not even the people I sat next to. They're all so stuck up. I felt like I was in a room filled with Grandmother Cutlers."
"They'll be sorry," Trisha said, sitting beside me and stroking my messy hair. "Someday, they will all come to hear you in a recital and you can remind them of this night."
I looked at her and shook my head.
"Anyway," Trisha said, taking the glass and putting it up on my dresser, "we have a real souvenir, a memento marking your first night with Michael Sutton, whether he knows it or not."
She widened her eyes and we both laughed.
Thank goodness I had Trisha, I thought, the sister I had never known. I would trade Clara Sue for her in a moment. Grandmother Cutler was wrong: blood wasn't always thicker than water.
7
PRIVATE LESSONS
Now that I was a senior, my enthusiasm for beginning my second year at the Bernhardt School was greater than my enthusiasm for beginning my first. When I strutted through the campus and saw the faces of the new students green with anxiety, I couldn't help but feel a sense of superiority. Also, I enjoyed some celebrity as Madame Steichen's star pianist and as one of the six students chosen to attend Michael Sutton's classes.
I knew that Agnes had done her duty and reported these events to Grandmother Cutler because my mother, during one of her so-called stronger moments, phoned to congratulate me.
