Read Page Turner Pa for Free Online Page B

blades.
    "So where do you want me to lie down?" he asked, once he'd gotten out of the T-shirt.
    "Here." Kennington spread the towel out on the bed.
    Paul took off his glasses. "This is a comfortable mattress."
    "Do you think so? You're welcome to sleep on it any time you want."
    "Oh, but I've got my own room! Of course it's not as nice as this one. And smaller. Still, I like it. There's this window that ... ow, that lotion's cold!"
    "It'll warm up in a second." Under Kennington's hands, Paul's body gave off a faint, sweet staleness.
    "You know what Miss Novotna once told me? She told me that Cecile Barrière—she was one of her pupils—has it written into her contracts to have a massage at every hotel she stays in."
    "Sounds like Cecile."
    "Is she a friend of yours?"
    "An acquaintance."
    "Then maybe you can tell me what the thing is with her Haydn disc. I know it got a great review in
Gramophone.
Even so—"
    Kennington slapped lightly at the back of Paul's head. "I thought we'd agreed not to talk about music."
    "I forgot."
    "Why don't you shut up and just relax? You're never going to play Chopin until you learn to relax."
    "Okay."
    "Good." Kennington breathed. He touched the backs of Paul's calves very lightly, so that goosebumps rose.
    Outside the rain started up again, a steady drumming against the window.
    "Relax," Kennington incanted. "That's right." Bending over, he kissed Paul's neck.
    Instantly Paul tensed.
    "Hey, you're shivering," Kennington said. "You'd better get under the covers."
    "I'm sorry. I'm afraid you've misunderstood—or maybe I have."
    "Misunderstood what?"
    "Why I came here."
    "Why did you come here?" Kennington pursued.
    "To see you. Not because ... I mean, how can you know what you're like if you haven't done anything?"
    "You can't," Kennington said. And switching the lights off, he began, in the dark, to unbuckle his watch.
    Â 
    "Are you all right?"
    "Fine."
    "But you didn't—"
    "It doesn't matter."
    Climbing out of the bed, Paul started pulling on his boxer shorts.
    "Don't you want to take a shower?" Kennington asked, turning on the light for him.
    "It's okay, I don't need to. Say, I really had a great time tonight. And thank you for the—"
    "Paul, slow down."
    He stopped, turned and gazed frankly at Kennington, who got out of bed, walked toward him, put his hands on his shoulders. "There's no need to rush," he whispered.
    "But I'm tired. More tired than I've ever been in my life."
    "Then why don't you sleep?"
    "Because I have to get back. My mother will be worried."
    "Are you sharing a room?"
    "No."
    "Then how will she know?"
    "You haven't met my mother. Knowing her, she probably went down to the lobby and checked to see if the key was in the box."
    Pulling away, Paul reached for his trousers, turned his T-shirt right side out. Kennington sat down on the bed. A sparse line of hairs, like sentries, marched from Paul's navel into his pants. Then the hairs disappeared inside the T-shirt, the T-shirt inside the shirt. Socks and shoes went on last. It was like watching a film run backward.
    Finally he pulled on his jacket, patted his pants pocket, his breast pocket, his wrist.
    "Wallet, watch, keys," he said. "Only tonight I don't have keys." He held out his hand. "So, good night. Thank you."
    "Paul—"
    "I'll never forget this evening ... obviously."
    "Let me ask one thing. Did I make a mistake tonight? Did I lead you into something you weren't ready for?"
    "No, of course not."
    "Because I assumed that when you came here, well, that this was what you came here for."
    "I'm not sure why I came here," Paul said. "A lot has happened. It's been a long day and I'm tired."
    "I understand."
    "So, good-bye."
    "Good-bye." They shook. Kennington walked him to the door, where Paul turned.
    "You do realize," he said, "that I love you."
    Kennington opened his mouth.
    Paul left.
    Kennington sat down. All day he'd been in an ill humor, only some of the reasons for which need be enumerated