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“Leila Feran learned to play the Tchaikovsky at age seven, and it’s still her favorite. It’s the most over-played violin concerto in the world, and yet every major symphony will put it on the schedule if she agrees to perform. Tchaikovsky’s music is passionate, and Leila Feran’s playing is passionate, but it’s more than that.” She paused, thinking. “It’s like entering heaven for thirty-five minutes.”
    We sat through a short piece that seemed mainly to warn everyone the concert had started, as during the applause, streams of latecomers rushed to their seats. Then a dark-haired woman in a plain black dress entered the stage, and she lifted her violin to tune the strings.
    “Always black,” Hyunkyung whispered to me amidst the roar of applause. “No sequins, no glitter, no lamé. She wears it in honor of her wife, who insists that Leila perform classical music, not a sideshow. And Leila, who could buy half a dozen ball gowns for each concert of the year, asks her wife to choose her dresses.”
    Hyunkyung sat upright in her chair, applauding wildly as Leila took a bow. Then the music began, and I forgot I hated stuffy symphony music. Not because I enjoyed the music, but because I stared at Hyunkyung. Her body dipped and swayed, her fingertips twitching with the rhythm and tears shining on her cheeks. Her lips parted, she drank in each note as if it were nectar.
    I tried as hard as I could to enjoy the music, and, for the first few minutes, I took in the grandeur of the setting. After that, however, I watched only my companion. Could this be the brittle, judgmental snob who ordered me onto a plane because I couldn’t speak her language? Or was this a frustrated artiste , one whose soul longed to sing music incongruous with her cutthroat business life?
    After the concert, Hyunkyung took me backstage to sip flutes of champagne and chatter with the conductor and performers. Leila, the star of the show, embraced Hyunkyung as if she were a schoolmate from childhood. Perhaps she was. I realized how little I actually knew about Hyunkyung and her background. Then again, she said she’d spent her childhood in the country, or was that only for a few years?
    “It was magnificent, as always,” Hyunkyung gushed, starry-eyed.
    I stared at her once more. I understood playing a solo violin piece meant some degree of fame, but I had never heard of Leila before tonight. Hyunkyung could have been a teenager at her favorite rock band concert.
    She is , I realized. This was Hyunkyung’s rock band, and this was her soul. Touched at seeing this side of the powerful business magnate, I smiled from behind my flute of sparkling wine. I couldn’t hold much liquor, so I sipped more for show than taste.
    “Carene sends her love,” said Leila, and it took me a moment to understand she meant her wife. “She wanted to see you, but she hates jet lag. Come and visit us the next time you’re in New York. Maybe that will convince Carene to visit me for once, instead of me always going to her.”
    Hyungkyung laughed, a tinkle of delight and high spirits. “City mouse. You underestimate the country,” she said. “You always did.”
    Feeling left out, I edged toward the refreshment table. Most of the conversation was in Korean, but quite a few people gave me sidelong looks. I couldn’t understand why, but I didn’t return their gaze. I was out of place, even in my one-night finery. Maybe midnight would strike in a few moments, and I’d find myself dashing home as pumpkins and mice rolled every which way.
    “Your new girl,” Leila’s voice broke over the hubbub of Korean. “Is this the one? You’ve been teasing me for ages about settling down.”
    I blinked, dropping my chocolate cookie. Hyunkyung only had one companion tonight. She murmured something I couldn’t hear, and Leila’s voice rose again.
    “But the way you look at her! Does she know what she’s getting herself into? The big, bad Hyunkyung. I believe mothers