Physics Can Be Fatal Read Online Free PDF Page B

over the back of his shirt collar.  Like Ravi, Paolo wore a jacket and tie and jeans.   
         “You look fetching this evening,” Paolo remarked, taking in Lois’s ensemble of a chiffon skirt, black angora sweater, and black tights.
         “This reminds me of my parents’ cocktail parties when I was a kid,” Lois said.  “I remember sneaking downstairs to spy on them, and being shocked by the parallel universe in the living room.  A sea of beautiful, glamorous people––the women in little black dresses and pearls, gossiping and smoking cigarettes––the men in suits and ties, looking very alpha and predatory . . . everyone throwing back high balls like there was no tomorrow . . .”
          “Seth, have a drink, for Christ sake,” Sheila Dubin snapped.  “You’d think it was your prom night and your date didn’t show up, you look absolutely miserable.”
         Ravi Kapoor took a glass of champagne from a tray, and handed it to Seth.  Ravi and Paolo clinked glasses with Seth.
         “Cheers, my friend!” Ravi said, his dark eyes sparkling, as he patted Seth gently on the back.
         “ Cin cin!” said Paolo.  “Drink up!”
     
    *
         
         A rangy six feet four, dressed in tweed jacket, corduroy trousers, and a pair of fisherman’s sandals with thick socks, a wild mane of silver hair framing a bemused face, a blithely cheerful Alan Sidebottom appeared in the doorway of Sanborn House Library at eight o’clock, propped up by Donald Gaylord.  Registering annoyance, but looking resplendent in an Armani suit, Donald settled the guest of honor onto the nearest sofa. 
        Professor Sidebottom promptly embarked on a loud conversation with anybody who happened to be nearby, and launched into an off-color joke about two string-theorists and a sausage, oblivious to the looks of consternation and astonishment around him. 
         Donald Gaylord sidled up to Edwina and slid his arm around her waist.  His cologne smelled of orange blossom and amber. 
         “Sidebottom is smashed out of his skull!” Donald whispered in her ear.  “He insisted on stopping for a drink on the way from the airport, and I couldn’t get him back in the car until he’d had three scotches!”     
         Professor Alan Sidebottom looked distinctly relaxed.  His rangy figure was comically folded into the deep-cushions of the sofa, his long legs crossed, a plate of hors d’oeuvres balanced precariously on one bony knee.  He was gesturing broadly in an animated conversation until––inevitably––the plate of food fell to the floor.
         “Goddamned Isaac Newton!” he laughed uproariously.
         “He seems to be having a good time,” Edwina said, observing all of this.  “Why don’t you just enjoy the party?  Have a drink, Donald.”
         “Yeah, you’re right.  Nothing I can do about it,” Donald said, straightening his tie.  “Listen, would you mind very much seeing Professor Sidebottom home after the party?  I can only stay tonight for an hour––I’ve got to get back to Boston.  He’s staying at the carriage house––it’s only a five-minute walk.  I dropped his bags off on the way here, and left the front door unlocked.”
         “Sure thing, Don,” Edwina said.
         Donald smoothed back his hair, picked up a bottle of champagne and roamed around the library like the lord of the manor––joining in conversations, dispensing compliments, and refilling empty glasses.
         Mitchell Fender, to everyone’s great surprise, chatted amiably with the guest of honor, his walrus moustache moving comically up and down as he spoke, his mouth concealed by it.  Mitchell hooked his fat thumbs through his suspenders, and rocked gently back and forth on his heels as he traded stories with Alan Sidebottom, who was sprawled on the sofa. 
        Mitchell’s colleagues were under the impression that since Mitchell had