“I was in Copenhagen, Juliana.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

Copenhagen hadn’t been one of her more memorable performances. In fact, it had been distinctly forgettable. But Shuji didn’t comprehend things like bad nights, and Juliana knew better than to make excuses. “It was an inferior performance,” she admitted, “but skipping Vermont isn’t going to change that-and what the hell are you sneaking into my concerts for? Haven’t you got anything better to do?”

“I was in Paris also.”

“Well, then, you know Copenhagen was an aberration.” She had received a standing ovation and rave notices in Paris-and had earned them.

But Shuji was shaking his head solemnly as he crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’m not interested in what went on on the surface, I’m interested in what’s going on beneath the surface.” He always talked like that; it drove her nuts. “I heard something in Copenhagen and in Paris-on a ‘bad’ night and on a ‘good’ night, if you insist. It was an uneasiness, I believe, a hint of unpredictability. No one else would notice, of course, but soon they will, if you let it get away from you. Be aware of it. Control it. Find out what it is, Juliana, and use it to your advantage. The only place you can do that is in the practice room.”

What he’d heard was J.J. Pepper creeping into her work, but that wasn’t something Juliana wanted to discuss with Eric Shuji Shizumi. “Fine. I’ll work on it after Vermont.”

“You’re in a funk, Juliana.”

“I’m not.”

His black eyes probed her face. “Are you afraid of burning out?”

“No.”

“I was, when I was thirty. You don’t remember. You were just a child and had no understanding of such things. But despite all the acclaim, the recordings, the bookings, I wondered if I’d still be around when I was thirty-five. Countless young pianists are just flash-in-the-pans, brilliant for a few years and then gone-poof. Sometimes it’s their choice; sometimes not.”