The Silence Between

Chapter 9

Juilliard's annual fundraising gala – black tie only – was scheduled to take place the following week at Cipriani's, so naturally, Eddy's Saturday afternoon was ruined by Belle's insistence that they go shopping. It was somewhat incomprehensible to Eddy, as Belle had accumulated ten thousand gowns already for her solo recitals, but he knew that women, once they'd made up their mind that they needed a new dress, were difficult to dissuade.

Bergdorf had a vestigial and austere elegance that other New York department stores had long lost. In its perfumed halls, the women swung their Hermes bags carelessly and clipped along in their Louboutins while engaging in quiet chatter and soft giggles. The stench of Fifth Avenue—the sweat of tourists, the smell of horse dung, the urine of the homeless – was kept safely at bay; the world was a dazzling place where the worst thing that could happen was someone else picking up the last limited edition Chanel jacket in the time it took you to take out your AmEx.

Eddy knew next to nothing about evening gowns. In fact, a few years ago, when one of his female peers at the conservatory had coquettishly asked for his opinion of her dress—a strapless low-cut number that exposed a whole lot of cleavage—he had realized that he didn't have much interest in women, generally speaking.

He sat stiffly on a white couch outside the dressing room, tapping his foot to the bland elevator music assaulting his ears while trying to eke out the next phrase to his composition.

He hadn't made much progress since that night at the Lincoln Center. Every melody he wrote sounded vaguely like something he'd heard before. There was nothing novel or interesting about it.

This weekend at the Royal Festival Hall, young Australian violinist Edward Chen performed the Tschaikovsky Violin Concerto. Chen's smooth performance displayed technical mastery with clarity of sound and intelligence of concept, bringing him a standing ovation. Yet, there was something faintly imitative in his playing, recalling to mind the romanticism the likes of Nathan Milstein, but lacking true emotional resonance. Chen, who first rose to prominence as a child prodigy playing obvious fare and who can dazzle crowds with his technical virtuosity, appears to be in search still for his own creative style . . . .

Eddy crossed out a few notes and put away his sheet music.

A young woman standing a few racks over was lamenting loudly to her friend about men—apparently, one of her conquests looked better on paper and was the one she should date but the other one was more fun and "felt right," whatever that meant. Eddy's brows furrowed. Vapid, he thought absently. If you really wanted someone, none of that would matter. For example, hypothetically speaking, it wouldn't matter that they couldn't play the violin well or were flunking their classes or, very probably, dating an older sugar daddy. It wouldn't matter, because you were pretty rich too and you could just steal them over and—

"Eddy, what do you think?" Belle asked, popping out of the dressing room.

Eddy looked up and shrugged. "Looks just like the last one you tried . . . ?"

Belle took a deep breath and muttered useless under her breath, which made Eddy smile. He was about to lob a retort when he caught a look excitement on Belle's face.

"Jenny!" she cried unexpectedly. Confused, Eddy followed her gaze towards entrance and saw that a young Asian woman had just entered their section of the store. The young woman, spotting or hearing Belle, shouted her name back and the two ladies were soon galloping towards each other for a dramatic hug.

It was utterly bizarre, but what made the scene all the more surreal to Eddy was that Brett Yang had trailed in after the young woman, and was staring back at him with complete bewilderment.