6: First Steps Toward Love
He thought he had packed up quickly, but he supposed he’d dallied more than he thought, in his excitement: by the time he was in the lobby, the doors had already been shut.
Well, that’s that.
With no other choice, he found a comfortable place to watch a livestream. The audio quality was lacking, but he could get a rough sense of the performance. He got so carried away that he didn’t notice her approach.
“Thanks for the show, Masaru.”
Crap, the chatterbox found me.
Masaru wanted to click his tongue. He’d tried to avoid seeing her during the competition, but.
Jennifer Chan, in an elegant burgundy sweater and jeans, tall of height and strong of personality.
“You came. I didn’t think you’d come until the results,” Masaru murmured, more hostile than he’d wanted to show.
“Oh, I despise mediocre performances, but yours I’ll go any distance for.”
Teasing just bounced off Jennifer. It was one of her strengths.
From their mutual first days at Juilliard, Jennifer had come to see him as something of a rival, and here and there found places to run into him and try to play some mind games. He was sure there were some back in New York who watched their performances and rivalry with interest.
Jennifer had recently had her competition debut and had also been the soloist in several concerti with renowned orchestras. To the casual observer, she must have seemed ahead of Masaru. Some have even, to his face, said that he was behind because of his “idleness”—that is, his playing the trombone and going to livehouses.
Masaru has never thought Jennifer Chan a rival, nor has he even thought of musicianship as an endeavor where having a rival was possible. The occasional comparisons irked him more than anything.
And, he intuited, Jennifer’s interest in him was not merely musicological. Whether Jennifer herself realized her feelings—and, if she did, whether she would admit them—was another question. Anyhow, when dating enters the musical scene, things treble in difficulty. Masaru received more than his fair share of attention after spurting nearly a foot in a year and a half at fourteen. He also learned (the hard way, if you must know) that becoming the target of a crush was both fortune and mis-; people, he learned, could be deeply sensitive and prideful and delicate in romantic matters.
“Anyhow,” Jennifer said, “Your Spring and Havoc was pretty simplistic. What did Silvie say? Did he approve?”
Masaru laughed bitterly at her bluntness. “It’s an interpretation that I came to, and that Nathaniel is well aware of.”
“Fine. And also. I know he’s friendly with Hishinuma. Is that how the composer thinks it should be played?” Jennifer asked as though it had just occurred to her. Her expression of jealousy rubbed Masaru the wrong way.
“No. The only things Hishinuma told me are in the program book and the score. Same as you. I told you, it’s my interpretation.”
“Really?” Jennifer seemed doubtful. When Masaru thought that they’d be a terrible match, these were the sorts of encounters that came to mind. If Jennifer had been in Masaru’s position, she would surely have asked Nathaniel to introduce her to Hishinuma and asked how best to perform his piece. She would have used her position to maximal advantage. And this would be the obvious thing to do to her, the obvious thing to do as a musician.
Masaru suddenly became curious. If he had asked Nathaniel, would he have introduced them?
Yes and no, the possibilities were two. Nathaniel knew Masaru’s strategy and talent, and already thought highly of him. If he asked, wouldn’t he accede? On the other hand, he would just as well say that it wouldn’t be fair, that he didn’t need to.
It was an interesting question. He made a mental note to ask.
“By the way,” Jennifer asked in a tone that gave away that this was the real reason she had approached him at all. “The girl you were with. She’s a Japanese contestant, right? How do you know her?”
At her words, his mind went blank.
She wants to know about Ajang?
He’d tried not to be conspicuous, but of course she had picked it up. The only times he’d been with her were the last day of the First Round and yesterday, the first day of the Second. Who had told Jennifer? Or did she herself see?
“Oh, we were neighbors for a few months when we were kids. It’s really quite a coincidence.” He tried to play it off as if it were nothing.
“Really? I didn’t know you’d lived in Japan.”
“Yeah, when I was a kid, for a hot second. We had the same piano teacher.”
“Talk about a coincidence. And you both were talented enough to make it to the second round of an international competition.”
“Right.”
Jennifer lowered her voice. “If I were you, I’d be careful.”
“What do you mean?” Masaru couldn’t quite believe his ears.
“From what I could tell, she was active professionally from when she was a kid, and then dropped off the face of the earth when she was like twelve.” Masaru snorted at her sussing out her shall we say rivals. “That’s the kind of girl who’s going to make your own luck run away from you. Don’t you think she’s maybe aware that you’re a favorite to win and trying to use you on the way to her own return?”
Masaru was at a loss. “You can’t be serious.”
He looked at Jennifer’s grave expression. He wasn’t sure whether to get upset or to laugh it off. He marked this down as another one of her character flaws. She pretended to be rational and cooperative, and then ridiculed others’ supposed irrationality or behavior. She made up nonsense about the causes and patterns of luck. Masaru knew he was lucky in many, many ways, but this was more self-serving than he was willing to hear. More than anything, he was sure that she hadn’t even listened to Ajang’s performance.
“Thanks for the advice,” he said coldly.
Thankfully, Jennifer didn’t even register it; she was looking at her watch.
“I’ve got to go.”
“You’re not going to hear the next performance?”
“I have a Third Round lesson,” she said casually. “Besides, yours is enough for today. See you.”
Jennifer waved slightly, and then walked away, staccato steps, checking her phone. Masaru watched her leave.
She was incredible for assuming she’d make it to the Third Round, but it was also very Jennifer Chan of her to think the only performance worth hearing that day out of eight ostensible peers was his.
Masaru turned his attention back to the screen. He had missed almost an entire performance. The current contestant was playing Liszt’s “Mazeppa”—how they all dispatched of the hardest pieces ever written with such ease.
But Jennifer’s almost accusatory glare did not leave his consciousness easily. He was surprised that she’d known that much, that she cared so much about the goings-on in other people’s lives. He was sure Ajang would be upset to hear Jennifer’s opinion of her. He’d have to be more careful about how and where they spoke—when that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Masaru’s stomach dropped.
When he first moved to America, he had become close with a bor girl close to his age, and they walked to school and hung out together. He found out long after that the other girls in their class, envious of his attention, had bullied her mercilessly. After that incident, he had learned to think of others’ well-being even in ways he might not be expected to.
In a competition, with so many people, it’s only natural that diverse sorts of meetings occur. People from all over the world, ranging in age from mid-teens to late-twenties, gather for some of the most stressful two weeks of their lives. It’s only natural, then, for these meetings to spark, well, encounters—not that the latter ever last very long.
Which raises the obvious question—how good of an idea is it for two people, two perhaps aspiring professionals at that, to play the same instrument? There are countless musical couples, but they’re almost always conductor and pianist, composer and singer: two places where the two would not have to compete.
Even in the most common combination he’s seen, two-pianist couples, one is more of an educator or critic or theorist. Very few are both touring musicians.
He could only imagine how “one” a couple playing the same instrument must feel when they got along, but if their musicalities or interpretations clashed, he couldn’t imagine a more unbearable environment. He thought of the least favorite interpretation of his favorite piece, being played and practiced every single day, by the person he loved. He would commit murder.
How would Ajang and I do?
He found the thought floating into his head and shook his head, laughing silently.
We’ve only just met again. Masaru, get yourself together.
Masaru stretched. He blamed Jennifer.
But the glint in her eyes would not disappear. He supposed he didn’t think her entirely incorrect.
—… unlucky …
He didn’t think Ajang was bad luck per se. But he did think there might be some deeper meaning to her re-entry into the world of professional music and his life.
He crossed his arms and watched the contestant finish out his performance, but his mind didn’t settle until the hall doors opened again.