Free Rhapsody by Judith Gould

you know?"
    "I'd have thought it would be very exciting,"
Misha said.
    "It can be," she said. "It was in the
beginning, but it's gotten to be old hat. It seems like I'm always
surrounded by a thousand assistants. Hair stylists, makeup artists,
shoot stylists, the clothing people, publicity people, a huge
technical crew. You know, the last time I did a shoot in L.A.—a big
movie star—there were twenty-two of us there to get the pictures."
She sighed and looked at him. "Is that ridiculous? Sometimes I
wonder what happened to me and the camera. Just me and the camera.
Do you know what I mean?"
    "I think so," he said. "It's like the music
business. Recording and performing. It seems like sometimes the
least important things are me and the piano or me and the music.
All the business of recording and performing, all the hoopla
surrounding it, take precedence. It's like last night's performance
was important because the big European connections to Salzburg and
Bayreuth were there. The business going on there was probably more
important than the performance."
    "Exactly," Serena said. "Sometimes I think
I'd like to start over, or go in a new direction. I know I'm lucky.
I make tons of money and all that. But I think I'd like to start
concentrating more on what I photograph. Take off somewhere with
nothing but me and the camera."
    "Sounds to me like you want to do some
experimenting," Misha said. "Maybe you're getting more interested
in art photography."
    Serena nodded. "Yes," she said, "I guess
that's it. People are talking more about the money I make and the
celebrities I shoot than about the pictures themselves." She
laughed. "I guess I want some respect."
    "From critics?" he asked.
    "Yes," she said, "that, too. I want to be
taken seriously, and do some work that's more meaningful to me.
Even if I'm not sure what that is."
    "You'll find out, Serena," he said
confidently. "I'm certain of it."
    She took another sip of champagne and tossed
her head. "Oh, well, enough about me and my luxury problems," she
said. "Come on, tell me all about yourself. It has been five
years."
    Misha looked into his champagne glass, then
looked over at her. He shrugged. "What do you want to know?"
    Serena lasered him with those brilliant hazel
eyes of hers. They gleamed golden brown in the light, punctuated by
shards of blue and green. "Come on, Misha," she said. "You can do
better than that."
    "I don't know what to say," he demurred.
    "I know your career is going great guns," she
said. "I mean, I do read the New York Times, so I'm always seeing
that you're performing somewhere. And you can't miss the ads for
your new CDs when they come out. Not many classical artists get
full-page ads in the Times and do personal appearances at record
stores." She paused a moment, tilting her head as she looked at
him. "Next thing you know, you'll be like the three tenors."
    He laughed lightly. "Yes," he said, "I do get
a lot of publicity." He took another sip of his champagne.
    "What about the rest of your life?" she
cajoled. "Why are you being so mysterious?"
    "I'm not being mysterious," he protested. He
looked at her seriously now. "You mean my family life."
    Serena returned his look. "Yes." She nodded.
"Your family life."
    "You know about my marriage . . ." he
began.
    "...To Vera," Serena finished. "Yes. I've
seen her picture in the Times, too. She's very beautiful."
    "Yes," Misha said.
    Serena got up to retrieve the second split of
champagne. "Are you happy, Misha?"
    He looked lost in thought for long moments,
staring off into space, before he finally turned back to her. "I
...I'm feeling a little ...neglected, I guess," he finally said.
"Vera's always so busy with social obligations. You know, she's on
the boards of God knows how many music organizations. And all her
auction clients. It seems like there's always another party or some
kind of function that I'm supposed to lend my presence to."
    Serena listened while she popped the cork on
the second split of