"Mercedes Lackey & Rosemary Edghill - The Bard - 03 - Spirits " - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

circuitтАФwhich only proved, to EricтАЩs mind, how little Levoisier knew about the RenFaire circuit.

As the professor had expounded on each and every way in which he felt that Eric resembled half-drunk
FairegoersтАФat exhaustive lengthтАФEric stood there silently. Every single word was calculated to get Eric
to explode with temper.

And that would have worked, once, but Eric was a far different person now than anyone that the
professor had ever encountered before, at least within the hallowed halls of academe. He had waited,
quietly and calmly, until the professor grew frustrated by EricтАЩs lack of agitation, embarrassment, or any
other identifiable emotion.

When Levoisier finally ran out of insults, Eric had simply said, тАЬThe Review Committee and the Entrance
Committee were satisfied with my performances, Professor, as are the rest of my teachers,тАЭ and sat
down again. And at that blessed moment, the change-of-class bell sounded, and he was free.

Not as satisfying, perhaps, as telling the professor off would have been. Not nearly as satisfying as
pointing out the professorтАЩs own deficiencies as both a musician and a teacherтАФmany of which Eric had
already heard for himself during faculty recitals. Yehudi Menuhin, the professor was not.

Yahoo Menudo, maybe.

But the point wasnтАЩt to get the better of the arrogant Frenchman. The point, in fact, was not to even
bother with making a point. The point was to take what was good, leave what was bad, and pass
through all the name-calling and innuendo like the wind through the grass.

Be Teflon. ThatтАЩs the only way to handle guys like this. HeтАЩs insecure, ignorant, and arrogant. Just
let everything slide right off until he gets tired of not getting a rise out of me. By then heтАЩll
probably have gone far enough to expose himself as the trivial goon that he is. That might take the
full eight-week summer session, but Eric didnтАЩt mindтАФwhile Levoisier was heckling him, he wasnтАЩt
picking on the younger and more inexperienced students, who were not equipped to deal with him. The
bastard had already reduced Midori to silent tears before heтАЩd turned on Eric.

Well, let him wear himself out on me. Levoisier doesnтАЩt know half of what he thinks there is to
know about me. I have a black belt in Verbal Aikido, you arrogant Frog.

LevoisierтАЩs appointment wasnтАЩt an insoluble mystery. Eric knew why Juilliard had such a miserable
excuse for a teacher on its staff this year. Levoisier was no great shakes as an interpreter of music, but he
was a brilliant technician. Even Eric was willing to admit there was a lot he could learn from the man, if he
ever decided to stop humiliating the students and elected to teach. And even at his worst, he was
teaching valuable things to his students.

Though he knows it not. Though he intends it not.

It was a cruel, cold world out there, a world singularly lacking in first-chair jobs in fine symphony
orchestras and prestigious traveling ensembles, recording contracts, solo tours, and praiseтАФand full of
cruel critics and low-end positions teaching in schools or playing in little city orchestras under conductors
who themselves had failed to make the cut for a high-end professional musical career. Trial-by-Parisian
might harden some of them to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. The students at Juilliard were
fairly well equipped to deal with professional rivalry and even sabotage from other students, but they
werenтАЩt ready for the real world of real people and the fact that most of them were doomed to eke out a