Mingling with the Jet Set

This evening I was invited to a private concert given by an award-winning, genuine world famous pianist at his own home. My friend Fongue was the one who got me the invite, so I had to agree to pick him up and take him home. The concert was to be followed by a buffet reception and we were all supposed to bring some food, pot luck style. Fongue, who has been to many more fancy cocktail parties than me, decided that we would go to our usual Vietnamese food caterer and pick up some food to bring to the concert and while we’re there, we’ll have something to eat because the concert doesn’t start until 8 PM and we don’t want our growling stomachs to attract glares and snarly comments. So that’s what we did. I was wearing my new coral necklace and feeling pretty good. Of course, I bought too much food, because I didn’t want to look cheap.

There were about a hundred people at the maestro’s house: lots of Vietnamese, most of them his students, some Chinese, some Japanese, some Caucasians, a lot of them Russians. We went straight to the kitchen to put down our potluck food and meet the master’s mother, a lovely and gracious 87 year old little lady. Guests were milling around, waiting in line to pay respect to her and the master’s students were busy setting up chairs in the living room for the concert. The master himself was nowhere to be seen. Fongue was busy networking, shaking hands with the men and kissing and hugging the women: he’s probably the only person there (beside the master) who knows everybody. I was busy admiring the master’s superb bougainvillea, with its massive heads of magenta flowers cascading down a trellis.

By 8PM, everybody was seated and one of the students went to fetch the master, who was resting in another room. Standing ovation when he arrived, tan and smiling. The concert was a wonderful treat. The master decided to play exclusively Chopin pieces. His Fantaisie Op. 49 almost brought tears to my eyes. But during some of the pieces, I thought I heard some accompanying trumpets, although I couldn’t find the source of those sounds and nobody else seemed to notice them. The audience being composed of adoring fans, each piece was followed with thundering applauses and the master graciously gave an encore.

Then we were directed to the reception room where the buffet was set. Guests who brought food went to the kitchen and proceeded to prepare and serve their respective dishes. I brought a salt-steamed chicken with sticky rice and a chicken feet salad. Fongue brought a shrimp and pork salad and something else. There were also fried noodles, egg rolls, lots of sushi, tabouleh salad, cold cuts, etc.. For dessert, three cakes, a giant fruit salad, some Japanese strawberry thingies, etc..

After I brought my chicken and chicken feet salad to the buffet table, I went to the kitchen with my plate, and ate leaning against the stove, because the crowd was just too overwhelming. Because of Fongue's stupid idea, I was too full to eat anything more than a few egg rolls. Soon I was joined in the kitchen by a few people I know and we talked pleasantly about the concert. That’s when I found out that the trumpets I thought I was hearing were actually some guy snoring loudly during the concert.

I also got to talk to the master’s mother who just got back from Vietnam. The master eventually came to join our group and promised to do more private concerts after he gets back from his tours abroad. And we’re all invited!

P.S. I’ve got compliments for my coral necklace! And a Japanese potter/painter whose work I admire said that the minute she looked at me, she knew I was an artist, because my clothes and my jewellery were so creative! And I took pictures of the bougainvillea before we left! What a perfect evening!