ring that caused them to stand out in stunning contrast to his lustrous midnight hair.

He smiled at me, arrogance in his full mouth. What a bad, bad boy! His expensive black suit hung on that six-four frame like it’d been placed there by a legion of devils out to enslave hapless females who crossed his path.

A long white manicured hand reached out to mine. I averted my eyes. The luster of this creature was too brilliant for mortal sight. Power emanated from him and I was drawn irresistibly— knees weak, dripping wet. My heart raced in my chest to keep up with the frantic pace of the intimate pictures forming in my brain.

I stole another glance. Icy eyes locked on mine and a most intriguing grin enlivened his hauteur. Recognition, something in my expression he liked.

When at last he spoke, I melted. His voice was deep and rich as a perfectly tuned cello, and to top it off a soft southern accent, infinitely pleasing in its highs and lows, warm and lazy as a summer breeze. “Miss Disantini? Very pleased to make your acquaintance. I enjoyed your performance immensely. You have an extraordinary gift. I shall be keeping my eye on you.”

My mouth parted. I lost all sense of place and time, imprisoned like Merlin, rendered powerless in the crystalline ice caves of his eyes. Yet, in spite of the chill, there was heat in my veins. If he’d said come, I’d have gone— no question. I managed to summon my voice. “Thank you, Mr… .”

A flush overcame me. My knees sagged. He caught my elbow and steadied me. The marble-hard hand was hot through the wool of my dress. His eyes mocked me as if they were used to young women swooning under their gaze. “Miss Disantini? Are you poorly?”

I lied of course. “Just a little tired after my performance.”

“Such a role requires great insight.” He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. “You’ve captured her spirit very well and that’s not an easy task.”

I was baffled by his knowledge. “You’re an actor?”

Well, he looked like a matinee idol. Cold eyes lit up and his face creased in merriment, he laughed, guffawed even, a rich rolling sound from deep within his chest.

“Miss Disantini, you’re a very charming young lady. Might I ask— ”

He never finished the sentence because my lover, Richard, came into the Green Room, calling out to me impatiently. The beautiful stranger threw him a withering look.

I hated to tear myself away from this apparition of delight. “Master’s voice— gotta run.”

“Until we meet again Miss Disantini. A privilege.”

I half expected him to bend over and kiss my hand he was so very courtly and archaic, yet he merely gripped it firmly and then turned to go. I tingled all over. Cast and crew parted like the Red Sea to let him pass, not one head topping his. I’d never seen anything like him. He positively glittered.

In the bedroom that night, I met Richard’s caresses with a fervor that surprised us both, but it wasn’t him I made love to. It was the dark one of my dreams.

The play had gotten me notice and I was asked to audition to replace another young actress in a Broadway hit. I would take over when my run ended in The Master Builder. My career was going along swimmingly. February of nineteen fifty, I turned twenty. Richard planned to take me out after the show for dinner, dancing and the whole nine yards. I splurged on a new evening dress, black satin, cut down to there. I felt sophisticated and devastatingly chic in it. The saleswoman assured me black was my color. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that.

What had become of my stranger? Probably squiring swan-necked debutantes in limousines, drinking champagne from their slippers and that bullshit, I assured myself. He looked like he had a pedigree worthy of the royal family. What could he possibly want with a five-foot-two daughter of immigrants?

After the show, I sat at the dressing table as was my habit, going over the play, humming and removing makeup, when Richard rushed into the room in a fluster. His wife had decided to attend the performance with some friends. He ran off to intercept them while I wiped the last traces of make up away. My face looked pale and oh so very young. Who was I? Some little wop from Brooklyn he’d picked up from his acting class. She was