Free Page Turner Pa by David Leavitt Page B

every item on a list has been checked off. Sometimes Kennington even sensed that it was all he could do to keep from throwing the affair in his mother's face. Love pushed him toward a boldness, even a recklessness, that only the speed bumps of his own anxiety kept in check.
    "What do you think of my mother?" he asked now, as they strolled up Via del Babuino.
    Kennington considered the question carefully. The truth was, he hadn't thought much of Paul's mother at all; to him, she was merely an obstacle, a source of trouble he needed to flatter in order to ensure that he and Paul could continue sleeping together. And yet to admit this might sound callous, since no matter how much Paul complained about her, she was still his mother.
    He cleared his throat. "Pamela's a very nice woman," he said, adding as an afterthought, "clearly she adores you."
    "She's always lived through me. A typical stage mother, really." They turned left, onto a side street. "Was your mother like that?"
    "No, no. My mother was a very simple woman, very self-effacing. Oh, she encouraged me, took me to my lessons and came to my recitals and all that. And yet I always wondered whether she cared much, in the end. Then she deposited me into Joseph's hands, and he held the reins from there."
    "And your father? You never talk about your father."
    "My father was irrelevant," Kennington said simply. "He disappeared early. He doesn't signify."
    Sidling past a truck that was taking up most of the street, Paul said, "Sometimes I wonder if my mother even has a clue as to what's going on between us."
    "Better that she doesn't."
    "But I get so tired of being careful! Of making up stories, and talking around things."
    "It's important that you do, though. For her sake."
    They had arrived at the Ricordi. Paul turned, looked at Kennington with disaffected curiosity. Then they went in. In the classical department, he hurried to the piano section, where he dug out Kennington's first recording. "This was made in London, wasn't it?"
    "Yes. Paul, please put that back. You're embarrassing me."
    Paul waved the CD in Kennington's face, waved his own face in his face: younger, of course, and wearing glasses rather like the ones Paul wore now.
    "What did it feel like, making it?"
    "I was a kid. That afternoon Joseph had shown me how to shave."
    "Had you ever been to Europe before?"
    "I'd never been out of America before. Please put it back. Thank you."
    "Was anyone else in your family musical?"
    "They say my great-grandfather wrote 'Home on the Range,' but someone stole it from him. Hey, I thought—"
    "Look, here's your encores disc! I love this record. What's the most encores you've ever played in concert?"
    "Eight, I think."
    "Where?"
    "Was it Lyon? Lyon."
    "What were they?"
    "I'm not sure I remember—"
    "Please?"
    "Okay, let's see. The first, I think, was a Chopin waltz. And then I did Godowsky's transcription of 'The Swan.' That one was very moving for me because my teacher—"
    "But that's not on the encores disc."
    "True. As I was saying, Godowsky was important to me chiefly because—"
    "By the way, I think this picture of you is the best anyone's taken."
    "Probably."
    "Whereas the best cover without a picture of you was on your Schubert record, without a doubt. Let's see if they have it—"
    "I know what it looks like. Anyway, it's out of print."
    "Oh, look at this. What do you think of four-hand repertoire?"
    "It's fine."
    "What do you think of repertoire for the left hand?"
    "It's fine."
    "I tried playing one of those Saint-Saëns études for the left hand once. What would you do if your right hand got mangled in some horrible accident? Would you start playing left-handed?"
    "Probably I'd breathe a sigh of relief and retire forever. So do you want to buy anything?"
    "All of
your
CDs I already have. How about you?"
    Kennington shook his head. They left.
    "I'm hyperventilating," he said on the street. "I'm not used to such youthful energy."
    "You don't mean