Two-Part Inventions (32 page)

“No, it's early. I just found out a couple of weeks ago. Are you really shocked?” Elena followed Suzanne into the kitchen while she got the coffee ready.

“Not anymore. No. You always did things your own way.” Suzanne grinned and Elena grinned back, and for a moment it was as if they were girls again, girls who understood each other well and wordlessly. As soon as she felt that kinship, she realized how much she missed it.

“Are you still in touch with Richard?” Suzanne asked. She poured carefully, no longer looking at Elena.

“Of course. He's got a new opera opening next season. This is some Chinese folktale theme, I forget what. Didn't he tell you?”

“No, I read about it in the papers. It's been a few months since I spoke to him. You know how New Yorkers never like to leave the city. I'm surprised you found your way up here.” The moment of intimacy had passed. She hoped it wouldn't be long before Elena got to the point. Surely she'd come for a reason.

“But you and Richard were such close friends! Why are you burying yourself up here, Suzanne? Everyone you know is in the city. Even Phil's studio is there.”

“I like it well enough. I don't feel buried.”

Elena sat down on the couch and set her mug in front of her on the coffee table. “Well, I guess it's not my business. I'm sure
Richard'll send you tickets to the opening. Listen, I've heard some of your CDs. They're fantastic. And I saw some of the reviews in the music magazines. I'm glad for you.”

“Yes, they're doing well. You know Phil, once he gets an idea in his head. He talked me into it.”

“Really?” Elena turned to look at the piano. “I see it's the same Steinway. I remember it from your apartment in the Village.”

“It's still in good shape. I practice on it, but for the recordings I go to the studio in town.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the Chopin CD,” Elena said.

“The one with the ballades. It's a wonderful performance, of course. You were always fantastic.”

Suzanne smiled. Maybe this was nothing but a friendly visit. Maybe now that she had established a reputation, Elena wanted her friendship again, or thought she or Phil could be of use, though she hardly seemed in need of anything.

“There was just something . . . something that bothered me.”

“Don't tell me I made some awful gaffe. Philip would have caught it.”

“No.” Elena stayed silent, her mouth open, as if the words were stuck in her throat. “I don't know how to say this, but . . .”

“What?”

“I thought you would know. But maybe you don't. In the third ballade, the second and third movements actually . . .”

“Well, what?”

“Suzanne,” she said. “Parts of them are mine. They're taken off my CD, the Chopin one I did way back when.”

Suzanne set her cup down very slowly, as if it contained a
toxic substance, mercurial, that would spill at her peril. “What on earth are you talking about? I played them in the studio and Phil did the editing there, too.”

“You know these things can be done, with all the fancy equipment they have now. I was shocked, but I know it's mine.”

“This is madness. I don't even want to hear it.”

“No, please. Please just listen a minute. Let me tell you what I heard. If you don't know, you need to know. I was listening to the second movement and something tugged in my ear, sort of like an itch deep in the ear. At first I let it go. But then a few minutes later, in that chromatic passage, you know, it happened again. Just like . . . I can't explain it, almost like a sense of déjà vu. So I listened all over again and it was that fermata, you know, after the runs . . . there's that fermata, and it was held just a little longer than it should be. I tried to remember where I'd heard that done before, and I realized it was me—I also did it the time I played it at Carnegie Hall. And the second time, a little later on, there was an ornament I added, a tiny trill—no big deal. But it's impossible that you'd do exactly the same thing. And if you did, it's odd that it got onto the CD. It probably shouldn't have gotten onto mine, either. What I couldn't figure out is why he'd copy a passage that had that. Maybe he just liked it.”

Suzanne stood up. “I can't even keep track of what you're talking about. This is absurd. Stop it. Just stop it. You're saying he took your recording and put my name on it? That's crazy.” Could he have done that? Even as she denied it she felt a shiver of dread. He was capable of it. Of course he was. There had been hints all along, but she hadn't allowed herself to pay attention to them. What had she been thinking? The fear shot through her and left her sick.

“No, no. Mostly it's you playing. He just inserted those Two-Parts. I'm not sure where it starts and ends, but I know there's a section of me in there. What I did was, I played my recording alongside yours. They weren't the same all the way through, not at all. Yours is even better in places, or at least different. Remember, we were always different? You were more restrained and I tended to go overboard. Not so much anymore, though. Anyway, it's just those two passages. I swear to you, Suzanne. Do you think I'd make this up? Listen for yourself. Here”—she rummaged in her big leather purse—“I brought my CD. Put it on and see.”

Suzanne wouldn't look at the CD Elena held out. “Put that away. I don't want to listen. For all I know, you
could
make it up. You've always wanted to take everything away from me, from the very beginning.” Suzanne stood up and turned her back to Elena. She didn't want to see or hear her. She wished she could make her disappear or pretend this was not happening. Out the window, three birds were pecking at the feeder; she felt as if they were pecking at her own skin. Elena was pecking, jabbing with her sharp beak. “First you took Phil. Then Richard. What is it now? Isn't your reputation enough for you? You can't stand that I'm having some success, too?”

“Suzanne! Phil was a silly high school romance, for God's sake. I thought we'd been through that over twenty years ago. You're married to him—what more could you want! I've hardly exchanged two words with him since. And Richard! I didn't ‘take' him. He wasn't yours.”

He
was
mine, Suzanne thought. Ever since I was a child. Mine.

“It was a brief fling, a few months, one of those things. It happens all the time. We became friends—it was you who
wanted us to meet and be friends, remember? And then it just happened. It wasn't ever serious. Richard does that, you know, with men, with women. He's omni . . . omni something, or ambi . . . I don't know the word. Ever since that old boyfriend of his died—Greg, was it? And no, it wasn't AIDS, thank God, if that's what you're thinking. They were very careful. Anyhow, Richard flits around, I don't know, for distraction, maybe. It didn't mean he wasn't still your friend. I wasn't even very hurt when he ended it. I just . . . Look, I don't want anything that's yours. I never have. But you never trusted me. Just because I'm not the kind of person you grew up with. It's so provincial, my God. But look, Suzanne, what matters now is that if Philip is messing around this way, you've got to get him to stop. Someone's going to find out and there'll be trouble.”

“I suppose you'll see to that.”

“As it happens, I won't. I haven't said anything and I'm not going to. If that was what I had in mind, I would have let my agent handle it. You and I were friends. I came to ask you how it happened. You say you don't know, and okay, I trust you. But Phil is doing something and you can't let it go on.”

Suzanne wheeled around to face her. “This is outrageous.
You
are outrageous. Why don't you just go?”

“Suzanne, I came here as a friend. You need to know about this.”

“We have nothing more to talk about. It's a terrible accusation.” It was, and more so because it might be true.

“I'm not accusing. But I did hear what I said I heard. I could let that go, I
will
let it go, but if there's more of the same, others are going to hear it, too, sooner or later. Maybe I should talk to Phil. Is he around?”

“No, and I'm sure he wouldn't have anything to say to you.”

Elena gathered the jacket she'd thrown on a chair. “I'm sorry it turned out this way. Will you at least talk to him about it? For your own sake?”

“He wouldn't do anything to hurt me.”

“He may think he's helping. Not that you need help—the playing is fine. That's why I don't see why—”

“I've asked you to go. Will you go now?”

Elena took a step forward as if to embrace her or simply take her hand, but Suzanne backed away. A moment later the door closed. The car started with a low rumble, and Elena was gone. For ten minutes Suzanne sat looking at the half-empty coffee cups, waiting for her heart to stop pounding. Elena's cup had a bright red lipstick smear on the rim; that tangible evidence of her presence was infuriating. Suzanne took it immediately to the sink and attacked the smear with a soapy sponge. She would have liked to pretend the visit had never happened. Could what Elena said be true? And if it was, could she live with that knowledge?

Back in the living room she noticed the CD Elena had left on the couch, her recording of the Chopin ballades. Suzanne didn't want to touch it. She picked it up with two fingers as if it were something filthy or sticky. She couldn't think what to do with it, and finally put it on the rack with the others; she would never listen to it. She returned to the kitchen, tied a dish towel around her waist, and resumed slicing the sausage.

That was hours ago. Now, she forced herself to look at the TV screen. The culprit, once again seated in the tiny room with the false windows, persisted in denying everything, but it was clear that this time he was defeated; the police were breaking
him down. Philip must not do that ever again, she thought. But could she control what he did? Was there any way to control Philip, so good to her, always looking out for her welfare, so elusive, so insistent?

Over the voices on the screen—the cops exultant, the criminal deflated—came a whisper from the voice inside that she couldn't suppress: If he had to do it, then she was glad he'd used Elena. Elena, who had taken so much from her. It was only right that she, Suzanne, should take something back. Of course he must never do it again—she'd find a way to see to that. But meanwhile, she couldn't prevent a smile at the thought of this small but useful betrayal. Now the jury was giving its verdict, but she no longer cared whether the defendant was found guilty or not. She knew he was guilty, but it really wasn't such a terrible crime. He didn't deserve a lengthy sentence. She fell asleep on the couch.

It was close to midnight when Philip came out of the studio and sat down on the edge of the couch. “Come to bed. It's much more comfortable there.”

“Oh. Did I sleep long?”

“I don't know. Did you?”

“I guess so. Have you been working all this time?”

“Yes. I'm not tired, though.” He put his hand under her sweater and touched her breasts. “You're not too tired, are you?”

She smiled. “I was, but I'm persuadable. Persuade me.”

He lay down next to her and began caressing her. In a moment he had his fingers inside her. “You're not still upset, are you?”

“No,” she whispered. “But you will do what I asked, won't you? No more of that?”

“Shh, sweetheart, it's all a fuss over nothing. Think about this instead.” She was already moaning. It took no time at all these days. He dug his fingers in harder, and she was gasping and clutching at him. He smiled. He loved to watch her come—he felt he was seeing the secret Suzanne, the one no one knew but him, the one behind the music.

Finally she stopped and sighed.

“That was just for openers. Now we'll go to the bedroom for the real thing,” he said. He felt, as always, that he was directing a performance, produced, stage-managed, all conceived by him. She was his material, his setting, his cast. “My star,” he said, and led her to bed. Chances were, she would never mention that other business again; she'd forget, or pretend to forget. He knew her better than she knew herself.

He was right. She didn't bring the subject up for a long time after that evening, simply played and left him to go about his business. That was the best he could hope for. It was no surprise to Phil that she was ignorant of how the real world operated. No one had ever explained to her that the goal was to get what you wanted, by whatever means. What he did was harming no one. And look at the benefits: It made Suzanne happy. He'd certainly rather see her happy than moping around the house, as she had for so long. If she thought it over carefully, she would feel the same, he was sure.