Heart and Soul by Sally Mandel Page A

studio on Wednesday afternoon. I didn’t 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. He’d done it twenty years ago with Eugene Seidelman and he might still have the satisfaction of creating another star.
    It wasn’t unusual to find his door ajar with a shoe holding it open. Sometimes when he’s been hitting the cigars pretty hard and there’s 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.
    â€œThere’s no one to equal Eugene as an interpreter of avant-garde composers,” Professor Stein was saying, “but 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 generation’s answer to Horowitz.”
    â€œTragic for her, perhaps,” David Montagnier said, “but it may be good luck for me.”
    â€œI tell you, it breaks my heart,” the Professor went on. “And it’s not that she doesn’t have courage, but I’ve never seen a more extreme case. We’ve tried everything short of electric shock.”
    I was amazed that they couldn’t 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 Montagnier’s good fortune.
    â€œIt’s not just her musicality, Harold,” David went on. “It’s one thing hearing her through a practice studio door but quite another in person. It’s palpable, that star quality. She has extraordinary presence.”
    At that, a surprised snorty noise came out of me, but they still didn’t seem to notice.
    â€œWhat’s to become of her, David?”
    At first, I thought Montagnier answered, “I wonder,” but then I realized it was I want her.
    â€œAfter playing with her only once?” the Professor asked. “You have no idea if she’ll be able to perform.”
    â€œLook 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 haven’t 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 I’d been waiting for. I just knew. She was speaking to me through the door, through her music.”
    â€œHow are you going to get her out on a stage?” the Professor asked.
    â€œI’m not worried about it,” David answered.
    This time I covered my mouth. He wasn’t worried about it!
    â€œI think either you’re deluded or you’re a little bit in love with her.”
    â€œI assure you, Harold, neither applies. But you’ll see, I’ll get her past this fainting nonsense.”
    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 Stein’s 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.
    â€œHi,” 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 Stein’s weary old face