Heart of Stone by James W. Ziskin Page A

evaporated, leaving nothing but a smudge on the wall where he’d rested his greasy head.
    â€œThank you, everyone,” said Isaac. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” A chorus of nos replied. “So who can tell me the piece we just played?”
    No one volunteered.
    â€œYou must have some idea, Irv,” he said, chiding one of the guests. “I thought you liked music. Surely someone has a guess.”
    â€œEllie knows the piece,” said Max. There was silence.
    Isaac looked surprised. I blushed. “Really?” he asked.
    â€œOf course,” said Max. “I know it myself, but I just can’t remember the fellow’s name or what it’s called. But Ellie knows.”
    The entire audience fixed its eyes on me. Isaac waved his bow like a sword and pointed at me. I still said nothing.
    â€œMax is right,” said Aunt Lena. “Don’t doubt her. She’s uncanny at this thing.”
    â€œTen dollars says she doesn’t know,” chimed in Simon.
    Isaac drew himself up and, acting like a game show host, asked me again. “Ellie Stone, for ten bucks and . . .” he searched his mind for another prize, “. . . and Simon’s toothbrush, can you tell us all the piece we just played?”
    â€œIt was Gabriel Fauré,” I said. “‘Piano Quartet Number 1.’”
    â€œThat’s it!” said Max. “That’s what I was going to say, only I couldn’t remember it.”
    Simon’s face told the tale, and Isaac jumped for joy. “That’s absolutely correct.”
    The assembled applauded politely at my parlor trick. Even Simon congratulated me, handing a wadded mess of bills to Isaac to award me. The ceremony took place immediately. I accepted the money on behalf of the UJA. I thanked Simon for the cash but told him he could keep his toothbrush.
    â€œYou’ll need it to wash the taste of crow out of your mouth.”
    Max looked up from his seat. “Congratulations,” he said, holding up his glass. “Oh, look at that. Finished my drink. Be a good girl, Ellie, and fetch me another?”
    â€œI’ll help you,” said Isaac.
    I was so happy that I didn’t mind Max’s transparent ploy. In fact toasting with an empty glass was one of his signature moves to finagle a refill. Basking in Isaac’s adoration, and still tingling from Miriam’s exceptional performance, I floated across the room to fill Max’s glass with port, not even noticing the giant ground sloth blocking the drinks table until I’d practically run into him. Ralph “Tiny” Terwilliger stood before me, a half-drunk glass of beer in his hand.
    â€œNice party,” he said, then sloshed down the rest of his beer and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “You look surprised to see me.”
    â€œNot surprised,” I said. “Startled.”
    â€œI told you I was coming here to get my pictures. Do you have them?”
    â€œGive me a minute,” I said, leaving Isaac with the chief, and recrossed the room to retrieve the envelope I’d left on my seat.
    Max gaped in horror at my empty hands. His lower lip began quivering, and I told him to hold his horses. I’d bring him his port in a moment. I rushed back to the drinks table just in time to hear Terwilliger compliment Isaac on the fine spread they’d put out.
    â€œGlad you’re enjoying it,” said Isaac.
    â€œI didn’t care much for the music, though.”
    Isaac shrugged. “Sorry about that. The accordion’s on the fritz.”
    â€œDon’t get me wrong,” said the charmer. “You all played real good. Just not to my taste.”
    â€œHere are your photographs,” I said, holding out the envelope. “I didn’t have an enlarger, so the pictures are small. You can get some prints made later with the negatives.”
    â€œI doubt I’ll need to do