Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky Read Online Free Page B

Coco sees a jaunty balding man, looking dapper in his dress-suit, stand up at the front. Small, five feet one perhaps, he marches down the center aisle in full view of everyone. His face shines whitely under the house lights. The dab of a bald spot glints. Hunch-shouldered and slightly bandy-legged, he strides on. Row after row, pairs of eyes turn to watch him as he sweeps heroically out of the hall. In a fury, he slams the door shut behind him. The action corresponds with a thud on the drums.
    â€œWho’s that?” Coco asks Caryathis.
    â€œStravinsky.”
    â€œThe man with the nude pictures of himself?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œHa!”
    â€œYou wouldn’t think it, would you?”
    â€œAnd is he married, this Stravinsky?”
    â€œHe certainly is.” Her head moves closer to Coco’s as she adopts a scandalized tone. “To his cousin!”
    â€œI didn’t think that was allowed.”
    â€œIt isn’t,” Caryathis whispers, settling back behind her fan.
    The two women look at one another and begin giggling wickedly.
    The orchestra and dancers battle on until the farce comes to an end. With a grave sense of duty, the principals take their bows. Members of the orchestra solemnly file out. Still buzzing, the audience swarms from the auditorium, spilling onto the streets and into the May night.
    Coco emerges from the scrim. Sweating, she is glad to be out in the cool evening air. But she feels exhilarated, too, having experienced the same volatility within her that agitated the theater’s tight space. A spark still lingers, lighting her eyes.
    Caryathis asks, “So what do you think?”
    â€œAstonishing.”
    â€œNo, not the ballet. Dullin!”
    â€œOh, Charles! I’d almost forgotten.” She allows her lips to sink with indifference.
    Actually she did quite like him until he began feeling her knee. He’s charming company, and handsome. But he’s too forward, she decides; she doesn’t like that. Besides, he’s an actor. Actors are poor and, well, she’s rich. Success has raised her expectations.
    â€œI feel faint. I want to eat,” she says. Her ears still ring with the music. Her body still hums with the vibration from the floor.
    Caryathis gestures to the men. “Let’s go.”
    Then Coco exclaims, “Hey, look!”
    She directs her friend’s gaze toward the magnolias. As though shaken down by the force of an explosion, she sees that everywhere the pavement is suddenly scattered with white blossoms. For an instant, struck by the theater’s lights, the petals almost dazzle her.
    Feeling again the excitement of a bride, she throws back her shoulders and presents her profile, poised as on a coin.
    â€œYes, come on,” she says, “let’s go.”
    Linking arms, Coco and Caryathis lead the way. The men follow. A chastened Charles plants his hat on his head. He pokes disconsolately at the blossoms with the steel tip of his cane.
    Signaling for them to hurry, Coco adds, “There’s a table waiting at Maxim’s.”

CHAPTER THREE
    1920
    Frustrated by his lack of access to a piano, Igor fingers a dummy keyboard in his hotel room in Paris. Reduced to silence, he sits on the floor with the keyboard ranged across his lap. His feet press at nonexistent pedals. His youngest son, the ten-year-old Soulima, sits next to him, fascinated by the odd bridges his father’s hands make as they noiselessly span the keys.
    â€œCan I have a go now?”
    â€œNot yet. I haven’t finished.”
    â€œWhen will you finish?”
    â€œWhy don’t you watch and try to get the pitch?”
    Soulima accepts the challenge. He hums along, his voice approximating the modulations in tone signaled by Igor’s fingers. His voice cracks as he reaches the upper notes.
    Igor laughs. “That’s pretty good.”
    â€œ Now can I have a go?”
    Igor ruffles his son’s