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to take the position seriously. I'd no sooner gotten myself taken seriously
than the Hartpence administration had been swept into office in the elections
as a result of popular revulsion, and I'd retired to Vanderbraak Centre.
At Llysette's suggestion, we did stop at the Ghirardelli Chocolatiers off
Dupont Circle to pickup a box for Judith and Eric. Embassy Row was little
changed. The section of sidewalkin front of the embassy of Chung Kuo was still
cordoned off, although in the bright sunlight I couldn't see the ghosts of the
Vietnamese monks who had immolated themselves there nearly fifteen years
earlier.
When we got out of the cab in front of Eric and Judith's, Judith was waiting
on the front porch, her silver hair cut shorter than I recalled. She was
wearing a blacksuit, with a red and silver scarf, as if she'd just come from
the gallery, which she probably had.
I let Llysette tender the chocolates while I paid the cabbie and struggled
with the luggage.
You shouldn't have, Judith protested, but her gray eyes sparkled. She was
pleased. She followed us inside the Tudorinfluenced dwelling, into the
two-story foyer and under the crystal chandelier.
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I can take these upstairs, I said to them.
You are certain, mon cher? asked Llysette.
Let him, suggested Judith, with a laugh. Every man needs to do something to
prove he's still masculine and vigorous, and Johan's still young enough that
he has to prove it.
For now, I quipped back, before heading up the wide stairs to the second
level. After laying out the valises, and unpacking the hanging bag so that our
formal wear wouldn't get more wrinkled, I came downstairs. Llysette was
sitting at the table in the nook off the kitchen, and Judith was preparing
chocolate and tea.
While I'm getting this ready, there's a story in the Columbia Post-Dispatch
that you ought to read, Judith said. It's about the dinner. I saved it for
you. It's over on the counter there.
I skimmed over the boilerplate of the introduction, about speculation over the
awards for achievement and then the quotes from all the notables about the
need for support of the fine arts, before I got to the part that concerned
us.
Among the distinguished attendees will be the Russian violinist Solomon
Volkov, who recently fled tzarist Russia, and Llysette duBoise, the former
First Diva of Old France. Her recent performances have electrified audiences,
and her Salt Palace diskthreatens to break all records for a recording of a
single live classical performance. She will be accompanied by her husband,
Johan Eschbach, former minister in the Vandenburg administration. An expert in
environmental technology, Esch bach is von Behn Professor of Natural Resources
at Vanderbraak State University. . . .
Actually, I was officially the von Behn Professor of Applied Politics and
Ecology, but I could see that whoever had written the story had wanted to
emphasize my technical expertise in ecology, not my technical expertise in
other areas. Afra Behn would have understood, I thought.
I passed the paper to Llysette.
She read through the article slowly, then looked up. Johan . . . if so many
of these disks I am selling, why are we not rich? Again, there was the glint
of humor in the deadpan delivery.
Two reasons, I replied, equally deadpan. There are very few recordings of
classical live performances. That means you can breakrecords and still not
make a lot of money. And second, the contracts say that you don't get paid
until six months after each accounting period. So . . . if you're rich, we
won't start finding out until next April.
Both women smiled as Judith seated herself in the chair with her backto the
island.
After waiting for Llysette to lift her cup, I tooka sip of the chocolate from
the heavier mug. It's very good. It was, as always, but I would have said so
in any case. And I'll try not to eat all the butter cookies this time.
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