Heart and Soul by Sally Mandel Page B

with all its familiar sags and wrinkles to David Montagnier. Once in a great while, I guess life pulls off some unlikely pranks, and this one was a beaut. There he was, David Montagnier; darling of the media and the concert stage, speaker of six languages, romancer of starlets, brilliant musician and intellectual. Who could possibly have been more alien to me? And all I could think of when I looked at him sitting there on a heap of piano music was, Okay, Bess. You’re home.

Chapter Four
    T he following morning when I showed up at David’s apartment, he greeted me with a grin like an exploding flashbulb. After the dazzle dots cleared, I realized he was smiling because we were identically dressed in jeans and black T-shirts. God, I’m a sucker for men with long, lean legs.
    He gave my shirt a little tug. “A good sign, don’t you think, Bess?” and bent to give me kisses on both cheeks. The last time anybody in my neighborhood ever kissed me on both cheeks was when I was twelve and Jake tried to give me symmetrical hickeys.
    â€œWhat can I get for you? Espresso?” David was asking. The man had an old-world courtesy that reminded me of my grandfather. For forty years, Grandpa was the headwaiter at a restaurant in Little Italy. He wore a flower in his lapel, never raised his voice, and nobody ever gave him lip.
    â€œI’m fine,” I said, but I was nervous. “I think I’d like to dive in.”
    David nodded, pressed his hand against my spine, and walked me over to what I already considered to be my piano.
    We practiced all morning, first the Milhaud, then La Valse by Ravel. I’d always dismissed the Ravel as bubblegum music, but once we started digging in, I developed a healthy respect for the demands of the thing. Impressionist music is a challenge for me because it’s subtle and I’m not, or wasn’t until David got hold of me. But once we started playing, I forgot about everything else, the perfect view out the window, the smell of coffee turning to mud in the kitchen, the E-flat that was slightly off key, even how much I’d wanted to jump the guy at the other piano. Three hours passed in a blur of notes.
    Finally, David ran a hand across his face. “Bess, wouldn’t you like to take a break?”
    Once we stopped, I realized how stiff I was. I never felt it in my shoulders. I always worked hard to make sure I didn’t carry tension there because I believed it translated into a brittle tone. But my lower back ached like I’d just had a fusion. “Yuh. Yeah. Yes,” I said. David’s elegant speech made me self-conscious about my own clunky Long Island lingo.
    â€œWould you enjoy a walk in the park before we get back to work? Or perhaps you’d prefer to be on your own for a while. Shop, perhaps?”
    I smiled. Shop, with what? I’d taken personal days for both jobs, which I’d probably lose if I kept this up. “A walk would be great.”
    â€œYou’re not sick of me?”
    Oh, sure. Sick of him. Sick about him was more like it.
    We went into the park, following the same route I had stumbled along the first day I played with David and realized I was in love. The trees were still vibrating.
    â€œHow do you feel about those dogs?” he asked.
    I looked around for a German shepherd but he was pointing at one of the frankfurter stands that sell hot dogs with a side of salmonella. I smiled. “I like them fine,” I said.
    We took our hot dogs and Cokes to a bench. It’s amazing how many calories you expend at the piano, and we were both starving. When I was working up a new repertoire, I could count on losing five pounds easy.
    As we scarfed down our lunch, I noticed how people responded to David. The park was pretty full, with joggers, tourists from nearby hotels, and students relaxing on the grass. Everyone stared at David, I guess out of reflex because he was just so beautiful you couldn’t help