Heart and Soul Read Free Page A

suspect that even somebody with heavy-duty calluses would get a buzz from that kind of exploration. I recommend it in the foreplay department. In fact, the impact of David’s total physical presence was something you couldn’t begin to imagine from the photographs in a magazine. His thick dark hair had just the right amount of wave at the ends, with maybe six threads of gray, a harbinger (vocab word from two weeks ago, thank you very much) of the distinguished way he would age. When he looked up from the table, those brown eyes fastened on you and didn’t let you go.
    â€œIn the second movement,” David said, “the left hand should dominate. It must be ferocious, not wempy.”
    I smiled. “Wimpy?”
    â€œYes. And don’t allow the tempo to accelerate so precipitously. It must be like a clever thief escaping from the house he has just robbed. First creeping away, stealthily, then picking up the pace until he is running headlong into the darkness. It must have drama.”
    Suddenly the section made sense. I felt my fingers twitch with eagerness to try it out.
    â€œYou need more time with Chopin,” he went on. “Especially the Etudes.”
    â€œI did those when I was a kid,” I protested, and felt myself getting red in the face. Any idiot knows you can always learn something from good music.
    â€œNot properly, I would guess,” he said. “The Professor fully agrees with me. You play magnificently, Bess, but there is an emotional restlessness in your work. Chopin will help you with that.”
    â€œYou’ve talked about me with Professor Stein?” I was beginning to get pissed.
    He gave me a smile and a charming shrug, which I tried to ignore. “Lookit, Mr. Montagnier, you want to tell me what’s going on?”
    â€œPlease, it’s David. I wonder if you’d ever consider experimenting with the two-piano repertoire?”
    â€œI guess it never occurred to me.” Hard enough to find one piano in my old neighborhood, let alone two. I had just noticed that practically everyone who came into the café stopped to stare at us. It made me feel like I was in a play. It couldn’t possibly be real life.
    â€œI’ve never even done duets,” I admitted.
    â€œI think you might enjoy it. Could I convince you to take a look at the Scaramouche by Milhaud? It’s lively and fun and I think you could play the daylight out of it.”
    So what was I supposed to say? Correct him on “daylights” and tell him I had better things to do right now, like giving up my career? I’d actually been scanning the want ads over breakfast. “Sure. I’ll get a copy from Patelson’s,” I said.
    â€œI took the liberty of giving one to the Professor.”
    There were a couple of things I liked. One was that he offered me a sheepish grin when he said this, which acknowledged how pushy he was, and second, he called my teacher “the Professor” instead of “Harold,” which I thought was respectful. I recently overheard another female student complain that Professor Stein was getting too old to teach and she was lucky to escape with her life.
    Montagnier waved at the waiter. “I wish I didn’t have to rush off, but I have a rehearsal in a few minutes.”
    I happened to know that he was due to perform at Lincoln Center that night with the Oxford Harmonia Chamber Orchestra. I had cheap seats up in the nosebleed section so I could catch an hour of bliss in between jobs.
    â€œSo what happens next?” I asked as he paid the bill.
    â€œHere’s my number.” He scribbled it on a napkin. “Call me after you’ve had a chance to work on the Milhaud.” He glanced at his watch and stood up. “A pleasure to meet you, Bess Stallone-no-relation.” Then he hurried out and left me sitting there panting. A couple of groupies were standing by the cash register and when they turned to gape