Read Online Balls by Julian Tepper, Julian - Free Book Online

burst heat. He drew around a graduate, his fingers slipping from her white gown. He strode past a group photo. Soreness came into his testicle. He put his hand to his pants, holding them to his body. One thought dominated his mind: he must get between Paula and Moss. And when he was within five feet of them, he stopped short. What had made his legs feel so weighted-down? He listened to teacher and student speak to one another. There was too much celebration happening on all sides of him to hear precisely what they said. But the tone, thought Henry, the tone was the same used by lovers.
    Hello Doctor Moss, said Henry, putting out his hand to shake.
    Moss took Henry’s hand, gripping it firmly. The coils of brown hair were springing wildly from his head this morning. A mustache was there above his upper lip.
    Henry , he said, I’d been onto something before you showed. Yes, I’d been asking Paula if the little dogs were going to pieces. And so dear…are they?
    Paula covered her mouth, subduing a strange laughter.
    Are they dressing at least?
    Jeffrey, stop , Paula implored him.
    Through hot eyes Henry smiled at a joke which he didn’t understand. He took a protective, albeit small, step closer to Paula. Moss, himself, was standing on top of her. Could she smell his aftershave? It was splintering Henry’s nostrils. At the back of his throat was its strong menthol odor. Moss was positioned on what Paula called her good right side. In contrast to the left, the eye was perfectly almond shaped, the teeth straight, not jagged, her skin generally clearer.
    I was in Paris last week, said the doctor of the violin, his eyes focusing intently on Paula, and do you know who I saw while there? Monsieur Michel Drouot. And I told him he’d be very fortunate if I let him hear you play.
    Did you?
    I did, Paula.
    The name Michel Drouot meant nothing to Henry. Or perhaps it did, because at once he set a hand on Paula’s hip and his head began to hover possessively above her bare shoulder.
    You should have seen Drouot’s face when I told Boris Lang the same. We were having drinks near the Opera House. Michel got so angry. He said, You told me that I’d have the first exclusive recital at my home with Paula Mills. What are you trying to do?
    So you’re saying he was mad?
    Oui, Madame . And that’s how we want him.
    Paula took Henry’s hand from her hip, kissed it, and returned it to the air. Even as Henry felt mildly spurned—she’d given his hand a kind of harsh toss-off—he still shot Moss a look, one that said, Well there you have it, she’s mine and I’m hers, so get lost.
    But Moss, with his head tilted back, didn’t acknowledge it. His eyes were closed, and he was saying:
    Gertrude Hausmann pulled me aside after we’d left the café. What a woman, cunning, deadly. She asked me, When do I get to meet Ms. Mills? I said, Be patient. Your time will come. She’s in New York, sitting in on a record with Yo-Yo Ma. How’s that for savvy?
    Very savvy, she assured him.
    Henry’s thighs were profusely sweating. He didn’t want to be here. They should go to lunch. It was time. Henry signaled to Paula’s father.
    Our reservation’s in twenty minutes. We should really get going.
    Marcel, in agreement, took his wife by the arm and they began saying their goodbyes to Jeffrey Moss. The way the professor looked at Paula, it was all so clear: he was fucking her. Henry couldn’t blame Marcel and Denise for not seeing it. A parent’s vision was strictly impaired in such cases, taking in solely the purest meaning of everything. What with Paula’s stepmother holding Moss so tightly in her arms, and her father calling him a great man. Meanwhile a polite smile persisted on Henry’s face, and in his heart was the firm desire to break the professor’s teeth.
    Finally Henry was alone with the Mills. They rode in a taxi to the Four Seasons, Marcel