Page Turner Pa by David Leavitt Read Free Book Online

here: loneliness, the approach of forty, a nasty article in
The Boston Globe
that accused him of "perverting" Schubert. It had been his intention tonight to assuage that ill humor with bourbon and the writing of letters he would not end up sending; then, when Paul arrived, to assuage it with the sort of sexual despoiling that elegant hotel rooms always seemed to adore. Yet was it possible that Paul had come simply to—no, not to talk about music; that was
too
simple; perhaps, then, to look for something even the name of which he didn't know? In which case the shock of simultaneously learning what he wanted and getting it—it might have been too much.
    The phone rang. Hoping it might be Paul, Kennington hurried to answer.
    "Hello?"
    "I've been trying to reach you all night. Were you at dinner?"
    "Just taking a walk."
    "Oh, that sounds nice. Walking through the streets of old Rome." Across an ocean, Joseph Mansourian sucked on his cigarette. "So listen, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Sophie's not doing too well."
    "Really? What's wrong?"
    "Well, yesterday Maria called me at work and said she was having trouble breathing, so in the afternoon I took her over to Dr. Wincote, who thinks it's time ... you know, to put her to sleep. And I understand his point. Still, I just can't. Not while she keeps looking up at me that way."
    "I'm sorry, Joseph."
    "And it's not like she's in pain or anything. She's eating. Most of the day she just lies on the kitchen floor, and she seems peaceful." Another drag on the cigarette. "So for the moment, I've decided to wait. Do you think it's the right decision?"
    "I suppose, as long as she's not in pain."
    "That's my feeling, too. And I'm glad you agree because it's tough having to ignore Dr. Wincote's advice, him being the professional." He coughed. "Well, and how are you doing over there?"
    "Fine. Relaxing."
    "By the way, I got an e-mail from the Santa Cecilia people. They were thrilled with the concert. They want you back next year."
    "Wonderful."
    "Oh, and speaking of Santa Cecilia, I hope you're not planning to skip that dinner tomorrow night with Mr. Batisti."
    "What do you mean, skip it?"
    "Just ... well, Richard, you know as well as I do, that in the past, you've sometimes forgotten—"
    "Forgotten is not the same as skipped. Say what you mean. You want to make sure I don't stand Batisti up."
    "No!" Another inhalation. "Look, let me start again. I only want to stress, as your manager, the importance of this dinner in terms of your career. After all, that's my job."
    "I know it's an important dinner."
    "Okay, so long as that's clear. Anyway, not much other news from here, except—oh yes, I had dinner with Tushi last night. She has a new young man. A doctor."
    "Handsome?"
    "And twenty-seven."
    "May we all be so fortunate as Tushi."
    "Yes, she does look fantastic, considering her age. What?" A hand muffled the phone. "Listen, I'd better run. Accounting's been keeping an eye on my phone bills, if you can believe it. Last week they actually sent me a pissy memo suggesting that I should try to go easier on the overseas calls. Me, they send this memo to! As if there'd even be a company without me." Almost audibly, he shook his head. "And here I am, babbling on about how I'm not supposed to babble on."
    Silence.
    "Well, I'll let you go. You must be tired. When are you flying back?"
    "Saturday, I think. I'm still not sure."
    "It doesn't matter as long as you're back by the fourteenth." A pause. "You will be back by the fourteenth, won't you?"
    "Of course. What do you take me for?"
    "I just wanted to make sure.... Well, sweet dreams. I miss you."
    "I miss you, too."
    Another pause. "I love you."
    "I love you, too."
    "Good night, darling."
    "Good night."
    Kennington hung up. Over the course of the conversation something white near the curtain had caught his eye. Now, putting down the receiver, he went to see what it was. A piece of paper, folded in eighths, shone bright against the