Johnny blushed. “Thanks, Hon.” Then he chuckled. “Did you like the witches? Did they remind you of anyone?”
I chortled. “Ha! I was just telling Shay that our hostesses, or landladies or whatever from Kouzlo Noc probably loaned the theatre their entire wardrobe for this. And didn’t that one witch with the raspy voice look just like Veronika when she’s pissed?”
Shay cackled as though she was auditioning to be one of the witches. Johnny smiled, then looked somber. “What’s sad is those “outfits” the Duskovas have are pretty much it for them.”
“Yeah, I do remember you mentioning to Lily Lowe that the Duskovas didn’t exactly have a chic wardrobe left after Soviet rule. Nor the money to go out on a shopping spree, I’d wager.”
“They are one step above abject poverty. Really. I’m doing the mural for free and Corbin Lerner has a grant for his research so the Duskovas aren’t paying him either. If you guys hadn’t found the castle and rented it for the movie, they were looking at being forced to sell and find some tiny flat in the city. That wardrobe is probably left over from the days when they worked for those few members of the Communist Party who used the Duskova castle as a nice hotel.”
“That stinks. Really. Veronika is spooky but it could be she’s just been through so much she’s not sure how to play gracious lady of the manor anymore, so she’s got the Victorian governess routine down to an art.”
Johnny agreed. “She does, doesn’t she?” He turned to Shay. “If there’s any way you can get the sibling trio into your movie and pay them, as well as paying rent, it would be a godsend to them. I gather Headlights has some major backing for this flick?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Of course. I already have it planned to perfection. Those girls are going to be in every crowd scene we have and I’ll just use Marta as the maid who waits on the heroine when she comes from London. Lays out the clothes, the warming pan, all that good stuff.”
“I’m not sure Marta speaks English, Shay,” I interjected.
“Pish-tosh. Not a problem. A few “miladys” will suffice. It’s the look I want and Marta’s got it.”
“Damn straight.” I nodded. “Say, I forgot to ask you earlier today, but do you think Bambi would have any problems using the Duskovas as our food service, too? I mean, they whip up some mean goodies and it would probably be cheaper than hiring some caterer to come tromping all the way out to the castle every day with a big van to feed the ravenous actors. I already mentioned this to Veronika and she seemed to like the idea.”
Johnny brightened. “That would really help them. And they can cook more than just kolaches, strudel and scones. Wait ‘til you taste Trina’s special cheese dumplings. I’m trying to convince them to open up Kouzlo Noc as a bed and breakfast once the movie is done. But I love the idea of using them as extras and as chefs.”
Shay held up her hand. “I’ll ask Bambi as soon as I track her down. She’s been hanging out in Mumbai for the last month. I expect she’ll tell me to employ the lovely ladies every which way I can. And costume them as well. Are y’all satisfied?”
Johnny held out his hand to Shay. She took it, with some suspicion. He turned her wrist so her palm faced down, then leaned over and kissed her hand. It had the desired effect. She giggled. I groaned. Johnny the charmer.
“What?”
“Can’t you just shake on the deal like a normal person?” I asked.
Shay growled at me while simpering at Johnny. “Hush, Abby. I love this hand-kissing routine. So European. So romantic. So…“
“Words fail her,” I said sarcastically. “Well, if you two are through with wheeling, dealing and smooching palms, can we go find some dinner somewhere? I’m starving.”
Shay, never one to pass up the opportunity for eating, jumped up from the bench. “Great idea. I’m all for romantic gestures, but they pale in comparison to the thought of a nice bowl of gulas and a plate of those little slices of ham with the horseradish smeared all over them.”
Better and better.
I rose. Johnny rose. “There’s a great place that’s not in any of the guide books not far from here. Trust me?”
Johnny Gerard—actor, muralist, Japanese tour guide, zookeeper (well, miniature horse keeper), marrionetteist-singer supreme and gourmet extraordinaire.
Trust him? “‘Lay on, Macduff.’”
Chapter 14
As advertised, dinner was wonderful. Not only did this café, hidden in a back street that looked exactly like the alley for some of the scenes set in the film Amadeus, serve incredibly delicious food, but they boasted music as well.
Not opera. Klezmer. For those who’ve never heard this style of music before, I shall attempt to clarify.
Klezmer was originally Hebrew liturgical music played by roving minstrels throughout Eastern Europe but evolved to include gigs at wedding ceremonies and then jazz clubs and there are now bands, even in the U.S., that tour like rock groups. The instrumentation is generally made up of violins, cymbals, clarinet, trombone and accordion and when words are sung, they’re sung in Yiddish. Think ‘bar scene in Fiddler on the Roof with the bottle dance’ then jazz it up some. That said, there are many different styles and sounds; just like American “C & W” can claim Hank Williams Jr., Dolly Parton, Garth Brooks, Tim McGraw and Carrie Underwood. Eclectic but huddling under and sharing that umbrella called “country.”
At this café (named something so Czech with so many consonants I hadn’t the slightest clue how to pronounce it) the Klezmer musicians were casually dressed in black turtlenecks and slacks and yarmulkes, which gave them the appearance of Jewish Bohemian beatnik band circa 1950’s. They were called Klezmer Volny Rabin and they were incredible.
I knew ‘rabin’ meant ‘rabbi’ but the adjective defeated me. “What’s Volny mean?” I asked Johnny. I figured he’d learned some Czech for the soap episodes filmed in Prague. At any rate he had to have a heckuva lot better grasp of the language than I did.
He did. “Means ‘free.’”
“Ah. Very post Communism political of them, huh?”
“Possibly.” He chortled. “Then again, it could just mean that Martin, the owner of this fine establishment, doesn’t pay them.”
Shay tapped his arm. “Do you suppose they’re really rabbis?”
“Well, I can’t speak for all of them, but the accordion player, Jacob, can be found teaching at the temple school most days. And Joshua, the clarinet player, is a cantor. Come to the Synagogue next Saturday and you can hear some fine singing.”
I knew a crafty look had just surfaced across my face. Shay glared at me.
“No.”
“What? No?”
“No.”
“Shoot, Shay, don’t tell me no. You don’t mean it.”
“I do. No.”
Johnny put his hand between our faces. “Would you like to let me in on this little tiff since I have no idea what Shay is saying ‘no’ to since as far as I can tell, no topic has been introduced that would cause that word?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Shay is being stubborn.”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
“Am not. You’re being nutty.”
“Children. Children. Stop. Give me a break here. What are you going on about?” Johnny nearly shouted.
Shay shifted her glare to him. “Abigail wants to add the singing Rabbis to the film.”
Johnny’s expression became one of fascination. “Where did that come from? I didn’t hear her say anything even close?” He stared at Shay. “Do you suddenly have the Fouchet gift for extra sensory perception? Can you now read minds?”
I snorted. “Try rooming with someone you’re also in class with twenty-four-seven. Identical twins don’t have the communication Shay and I have.” I added with a sneer, “Not that it helps when one of the duo is digging her heels in and not agreeing to what could be a defining moment in the movie.”
“Defining moment?” she yelled. “You want a bunch of bearded guys with beanies to p
arachute in ala Gregory Noble or have ‘em pop out from behind that marble coffin and start jamming to the tune of Sunrise, Sunset while all around them counts and countesses and maids and butlers dance a hora?” She brightened. “Wait. When the whole vision comes clear, it’s not that bad an idea. In fact, I’m getting to like it. It’s inspired! I’m so glad I thought of it. Let’s ask these guys if they could use a few extra bucks and get their names splashed onscreen.”
I shot Johnny an “I told you so” look, then contently settled back in my chair to sip coffee and enjoy the music, which was quite a bit livelier and had more jazz influence than Sunrise, Sunset.
I didn’t stay content for long. The Rabbis were taking a break and the violin player was approaching our table. Johnny motioned for him to sit. The musician, who didn’t seem to be a day over sixteen, introduced himself as Benjamin, the “real” rabbi’s younger brother, and gratefully accepted the coffee Johnny had just ordered.
“You play beautifully,” I told him. “I can see this is going to become a fixed hangout for us while we’re in Prague.”
“You are here to visit for how long?”
Shay jumped in and explained about the movie, finishing by asking him to ask his fellow klezmerites—which probably isn’t a word Shay’s dad would buy either, but I liked it—if they’d be interested in performing a number for the film.
Benjamin’s eyes shone. “I would love to do that. I would bet the rest of the band would be interested as well. We are all great film enthusiasts and the chance to actually be in one is not something to pass up.”
That was settled. So we discussed various films that had been shot in and around Prague, mostly the American action films that made such great use of the Charles Bridge in between blowing up historic-looking buildings.
“No CIA explosive devices or spies in this one,” Shay told him. “No wait, that’s not quite true. In the novel we’re adapting, Count Zilania has actually worked as a spy for the British government. I don’t recall the author ever really explaining why though, so this could be nothing more than glossing over that particular piece of back story.”
Benjamin smiled. “I do not care whether a troupe of secret agents appear, I am just thrilled to be asked to play.” He tapped Johnny’s shoulder. “Which brings me to why I came to sit with you—other than simply to say hello and meet these beautiful ladies.”
Shay and I preened. He was a kid, but one preens when one is called beautiful by a male of any age.
Benjamin continued, “I need to get home and finish work for a test in my Biology class tomorrow. Would you mind sitting in for the rest of the evening?”
Johnny enthusiastically agreed, asked us if we could handle being on our own and getting back to the hotel without incident, then, after we assured him that we were not that helpless, he followed Benjamin back to the small platform that served as a stage. He rosined up a bow and began to play the next set.
I groaned.
“What? You’re looking morose. Problems?”
“There are times when I see my wedding to Johnny Gerard getting as lost in time as Ignatz’ flute.”
“Why?”
“Because he gets everything right. I mean, he’s done everthing and is way too well-rounded to be human. Look at today.”
“What? He guides Japanese tourist and still leads us to a Klezmer band who will playing their wonderful tunes soon in our movie to the delight of millions the world over. Not too mention he’s cute as a bug, talented, has steady income, is smart and makes you laugh. Y’all are getting married as soon as he’s not flying around filming Endless Time for two seconds. What’s the problem?”
“I feel like a dweeb next to him.”
“Ah, come on. Yes, the man has more than his share of talents, but you’re not exactly a one-gifted woman yourself.”
“Oh? Really? Aside from breaking feet while roller-skating in bad productions of Starlight Express, what the hell else can I do?”
She shoved a bourbon and coke at me. (We’d switched from coffee after the food had arrived.) “You want the breakdown? The sizeable schemer? The entire enchilada?”
“If it will prevent you from using alliterative metaphors, yes, fine. How in hell can I keep up with The Gerard and his coat of many colorful careers—most of which are related to his beyond-normal soap character?”
Shay took a sip of her own drink, then toasted me. “I like that. Nice. Coat of colorful careers. Well, let me get to your jacket, buddy mine.”
“Before you and I both end up in the Retirement Home for old dancers?” I countered.
“You’re the one stalling. I’m ready to list your accomplishment any time you can keep your mouth quiet for longer than twenty seconds. I shouldn’t do this. This is what your damn idiot agent Angela, who is also my idiot agent, should be doing. But be quiet and I’ll buck up your ego.”
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“I said ‘okay.’ Now who’s stalling?” I downed my drink. “I don’t have other accomplishments, right? That’s why you don’t want to list them. It won’t even take a twentieth of a second, much less twenty.”
“Stop!”
“Okay.” I closed my mouth, then immediately opened it again. “I’m morose.”
“You’re whacked. Be quiet or I’ll disown you. Shoot, Abby, you’re smart. You memorize songs and lines faster than composers and playwrites get them on paper. You can dance, you can sing, you can act. You can choreograph although I’m much better. Uh. You find locations. Well, you found one and you will doubtless find more in future times since you are somewhat accident prone and you do break your feet at least once a year, usually because some idiot director makes you do something idiotic. Where was I? Oh. You can walk into a bare house and decorate it in your mind within minutes of entering. You make the meanest batch of brownies on the planet as well as chili that can peel paint. You love animals and thanks to those episodes on Endless Time playing Vanessa Manilow, Olympic equestrian coming out of a coma, you can even ride a horse without getting thrown, bitten, falling off or making a total fool of yourself. Of course you turn into a blathering, blithering idiot around roaches and you have a tendency to be a wimp most of the time, then lose your temper and spout dumb eptihets at people, but other than that—how’m I doing?”
I shrugged. “Johnny Gerard can paint murals. He sings, he plays violin and guitar and doubtless every instrument in a marching band. He can swing on a trapeze with ease. He’s taught English. He can speak languages and is energetic and personable enough to help guide tours in a country not even his. Every damn female in every damn country in the world is hot for him. What am I missing so far?”
“Nobel-prize winner?”
I groaned. “Wouldn’t doubt it. Hell, Shay, I quit. What’s going to happen when we do get married? How soon will he get bored with me, the bone-breaking underachiever of the millennium?”
“Shit, Abby, you’re such a dweeb. You’re a nice person. And you’re funny. And you listen and you don’t judge people unless they happen to be leading ladies who resemble bitchy dancers you’ve known. You make all kinds of people adore you. . And you’re loyal. And in today’s world, I wouldn’t trade you as my friend for all the gold in Arabia. Or wherever gold comes from. And if Johnny is half as smart as we both agree he is, then he won’t trade you either.”
She added, “Not even for a dozen Hannah Hammersteins.”
Chapter 15
We listened to Johnny jam with the rabbis for the next forty-five minutes or so, then decided to head back to the hotel and rest. We’d eaten too much, possibly drunk too much and we intended to get some work done tomorrow out at Kouzlo Noc. The idea was to wander, notebook in hand, from room to room, deciding what furniture needed to be brought in, what room worked for what scene—all real work needed for making the movie look as authentic as a Gothic novel turned musical flick with Klezmer musicians and rock singers could be.
It took us an hour to get back to the hotel.
Of course, the café where we’d been bobbing heads to Klezmer music was actually less than a fifteen minute walk from our hotel, but we hadn’t grasped that fact that when we left the place (after trying to pay the check and being waved off by a smiling Martin, owner of the joint, who explained in halting English that the bill was already paid. By Mr. Gerard. Naturally.) We’d lied to Johnny when he’d asked us if we knew where the hotel was and if we’d have any problems finding our way there. We hadn’t a clue. And we even knew it was a lie when we boldly assured him that we were independent, tough, navigators who had the location of every café and hotel in Prague memorized down to the last square foot. Which sounded much better than admitting we were both so directionally-challenged we could get lost in an elevator in the Empire State Building. Johnny, of course, knew that but was tactful enough not to point out our deficiencies in front of the Klezmer band.
Once Shay and I reached the right hotel (with the aid of two guide books and four very kind Prague natives who spoke excellent English) we’d parted at the door of my room, agreeing to meet the next morning around eight to rent a car and head back up to Kouzlo Noc. I’d slipped the card key into the lock, taken two steps into the room and promptly collapsed on the bed for a well-deserved sleep.
That lasted about thirty minutes. I woke up and felt recharged. I checked the clock by the bed—and my new souvenir Astronomical clock as well—both proclaimed the time to be ten-thirty. A great hour for the nightlife in Prague to start revving into high gear.
I got up, took a shower, washed my face and reapplied make-up, then found a nice little basic black dress with a swirly hem and threw it on. Only then did I head to the phone and call Shay’s room. I knew one of two things would happen. Either she would be in a deep sleep and I’d hear obscenities she’d learned from choreographing a Way-the-Hell Off Broadway semi- pornographic musical five years ago and be told to go away until tomorrow. Or—and this quickly became the case—she’d say, “Meet you in the lobby in five. Whacha wearin’ ?”
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