studio on Wednesday afternoon. I didnât take my music with me. It was time the old man focused what limited energy he had left on someone who could deliver the goods. Heâd done it twenty years ago with Eugene Seidelman and he might still have the satisfaction of creating another star.
It wasnât unusual to find his door ajar with a shoe holding it open. Sometimes when heâs been hitting the cigars pretty hard and thereâs not much cross breeze, he does that to keep from setting off the smoke alarm. The smell of that funky old stogy was just too much for me. I started crying again out there in the hallway and stood mopping rain and tears off my face. I was damned if I was going to show up all weepy and pitiful. But while I was busy dehydrating myself, I realized that words were floating out along with the cigar smoke. I recognized the voice of David Montagnier. I could almost hear the hiss as my tears evaporated. I shoved my ear next to the opening.
âThereâs no one to equal Eugene as an interpreter of avant-garde composers,â Professor Stein was saying, âbut Bess can play anything. The first time I heard her, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. She should have been her generationâs answer to Horowitz.â
âTragic for her, perhaps,â David Montagnier said, âbut it may be good luck for me.â
âI tell you, it breaks my heart,â the Professor went on. âAnd itâs not that she doesnât have courage, but Iâve never seen a more extreme case. Weâve tried everything short of electric shock.â
I was amazed that they couldnât hear my heart clattering like a kettledrum on the other side of the door. I realize it was not exactly kosher, my eavesdropping like that, but I was dying to hear how come my catastrophe was David Montagnierâs good fortune.
âItâs not just her musicality, Harold,â David went on. âItâs one thing hearing her through a practice studio door but quite another in person. Itâs palpable, that star quality. She has extraordinary presence.â
At that, a surprised snorty noise came out of me, but they still didnât seem to notice.
âWhatâs to become of her, David?â
At first, I thought Montagnier answered, âI wonder,â but then I realized it was I want her.
âAfter playing with her only once?â the Professor asked. âYou have no idea if sheâll be able to perform.â
âLook here, Harold, I knew she was the one the first time I listened to her practicing. What made me walk past that studio that particular hour; that day? I havenât been down that hall in years. It could have been an old lady with three heads in there, but I knew this was the person Iâd been waiting for. I just knew. She was speaking to me through the door, through her music.â
âHow are you going to get her out on a stage?â the Professor asked.
âIâm not worried about it,â David answered.
This time I covered my mouth. He wasnât worried about it!
âI think either youâre deluded or youâre a little bit in love with her.â
âI assure you, Harold, neither applies. But youâll see, Iâll get her past this fainting nonsense.â
Putting it mildly, this was a lot to absorb. I was pretty light-headed and had to grip the doorknob to keep from toppling over. Professor Steinâs next-door neighbor came out into the hall with her godzilla of a dog on a leash. It shoved into me affectionately and gave me a sloppy kiss on the hand. This seemed like a signal so I knocked and let myself in. Professor Stein was on the windowsill letting in the rain. Montagnier was perched on a pile of Schumann.
âHi,â I said.
They stared at me without speaking. It was a strange moment, really, the three of us stuck there on the edge of something. My eyes went from Professor Steinâs weary old face
Shannon McKenna
César Aira
Hafsah Laziaf
Sheri Anderson
Megan Abbott
V. K. Powell
Diane Duane
Selena Kitt
Kit Tunstall
William Goldman