Nocturne(118)

“It was a good thing to do, Gregory.”

I shrugged, unsure about how to engage in “normal” conversation with her.

A tall man, in his early forties approached, sliding his arm around her waist. Surprisingly comfortably.


She smiled, blushing a little. “Gregory, meet Richard Hightower. Richard, this is my ex-husband, Gregory Fitzgerald.”

Richard—apparently her new boyfriend—reached out to shake my hand. I gritted my teeth for a second, then let it go. He looked like one of those guys who liked to test his manhood by squeezing the life out of opponents during handshakes. But I was surprised. His grip was surprisingly limp.

“Pleased to meet ya, Greg.”

Karin winced when she heard him shorten my name. His false familiarity was both grating and somehow gratifying. On the one hand, anyone who shortened my name and spoke to me in such a casual manner was extremely irritating. On the other hand? I was happy to see she’d found someone, especially someone so unlike me.

Two could play that game. “Nice to meet you, Dick.”

Karin actually looked amused as she said, “Richard is associate director of the endowment at Harvard.”

“I see ... so you share a line of work. How nice.”

My eyes were starting to glaze over. So it was a blessing when I heard Madeline’s voice across the room. “Gregory!”

“Please excuse me,” I said. “Karin, a delight to see you. Dick.”

We exchanged pleasantries and I escaped as quickly as I could, joining Madeline and James at the opposite corner of the large room. They were part of a small circle of men and women, mostly musicians, who stood near Joseph, our host. Madeline was drinking soda water. They were expecting a baby in June.

Madeline leaned close and whispered in my ear. “I saw you cornered over there.”

I shrugged. “It was really all right. Though her new boyfriend Bob is a little insufferable.”

“I think his name is Richard?” Madeline said.

I shrugged. At that moment I froze in place. Vita Carulli and her fiancé Malcolm Carroll had approached the crowd.

I’d once admired Vita. She was a remarkable performer.

She was also Savannah’s mother ... the mother who had hurt and abandoned her.

“Gregory,” Vita said, nodded. One star of the music world to another.

I turned away from her, taking a sip of my drink. I had an established reputation as an arrogant bastard; might as well monopolize on that by snubbing a world class opera singer. Her career was on a downturn anyway.

James clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s time you moved on. I meant to tell you, I met a lovely young cellist the other day ...”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “James, really ...”

“Seriously. He needs to go out and—”

“Don’t say it.” Madeline raised a disapproving eyebrow as he spoke.

I chuckled. “I think you can let it go,” I said.

“So ... what are your plans?” she asked.

I shrugged. I didn’t have an easy answer to that.

“Whatever it is,” James said, “you look ... relaxed. Happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

“I am happy,” I replied. And in truth, I was. I had a cello still, but somehow giving up the Montagnana had freed me. Freed me of the kind of expectations that I’d put on myself. The house was gone. My divorce was final. I no longer had a million dollar instrument weighing me down like a chain around my neck. “I’m very happy, in fact ...”

As I began to expand on that, someone in the crowd began to shout, counting down the seconds until midnight. I trailed off. They didn’t really need to know where I was headed, anyway. But as everyone shouted “Happy New Year!” my thoughts turned, far off to the east, to a woman I’d loved and lost.

And hoped to win again.





Savannah


One of the lovely things about attending the Bolshoi Christmas Ball is the dancers; several of whom were twirling in circles in extravagant ball gowns as I stood on the sidelines watching. I’d always been a confident dancer, but in front of these women? Hardly. I sipped my champagne and let my eyes scan the crowd.

It was a lavish setting without a hint of pretense. It was a celebration. Polished white marble columns that climbed to forty-foot ceilings. Four hundred or more people were in attendance. Musicians, dancers, businessmen and women, politicians, and diplomats. A small contingent of soldiers were led in a dance by the beautifully gowned dancers of the Bolshoi.

Like many of the women in the crowd, I wore a ball gown and felt unabashedly like a princess. The dress was a soft gold, all the way from the fitted silk bodice, down to the tulle-covered oversized skirt. Gold rhinestones covered the bodice and trickled down throughout the skirt, creating a dazzling effect under the lights. I chose black opera length gloves to compliment my mask. Ah, the mask. It was a deeper gold than my dress and adorned with scrolls of black music notes and black, silver, and gold feathers along the outer edge. Thick jewels circled my eyes. While it paled slightly in comparison to the rich opulence around me, I felt like I was in the middle of a fairytale. The vodka, the music, the dancing … it was choreographed with breathtaking precision.

My evening had begun by playing for an hour with a small ensemble, but others had taken over, and I had the rest of the night to avoid the politics and infighting and enjoy my evening.