We were out the door in six minutes. We had no idea where we were headed but the guidebook we’d been treated to courtesy of our hotel’s “social director” listed at least four great night clubs within close walking distance. We picked a name at random, Club Krev, and took off.
Club Krev was big and noisy and the décor just a bit bizarre. Apparently the owner had decided to cash in on the wave of vampire movies and books and cults that have been springing up in the last few years all over the world. Club Krev sported fake mirrors on the walls that did not reflect. Cloves of (thankfully) fake garlic hung down en masse from the high ceilings.
Coffins had been set up in front of the bandstand where a band was belting out tunes at high volume. The female singer was decked out in a black leather and lace corset and black lace thigh-high boots. The male members of the group were in Lord Byron-style white poet shirts tucked into tight black leather breeches tucked into tight black leather riding boots. Little replicas of bats swung from side to side over each table. And silver bow and arrow sets were tacked onto every inch of the wall that didn’t have a mirror.
It appeared that every table was already taken, so we prepared to just stand by the bar and inhale the atmosphere. But when we heard a shout, “Shay! Abby!” we figured someone we actually knew was nearby and wanted to see us.
We were right. Lily Lowe and Franz Hart shoved their way through the mob of the dancing undead.
“Come join us. We have a table in the back. It’s not as noisy there and we can hear one another if we want to talk.”
Getting back was harder than it looked. Dancers were swirling not only on the floor reserved for the activity but in and out of spaces between tables. How the waiters were able to juggle drinks without incurring major injury to themselves or the glasses on their trays was a mystery. They were amazing. I hope they got great tips.
The table was by the exit door, which reassured me immediately, since, while I like night clubs and dancing and partying, I get a bit paranoid about getting stuck in one of those places if, God forbid, a fire should break out. Franz noticed my perusal of the door.
“It’s unlocked. From both sides. We checked.”
I glanced at him. “You share my worries?”
Franz’ face grew somber. “I survived a night club fire in Hamburg only three years ago. It was truly a miracle that no one was killed or injured, but it was the most terrifying experience I’ve ever been through and I don’t wish to repeat it.”
“Gotcha. I’m with you. Open door policy all the way.”
Franz and Lily stole two chairs from an empty table nearby.
“The couple who originally staked this table haven’t quit dancing or going outside to kiss for the hour we’ve been here. When they haven’t been kissing in here on the dance floor. They do not even realize this table is where they first ordered drinks from,” said Lily.
“Good. I don’t want irate customers coming back and tossing Shay and me out on our respective butts. By the way, for you native Czech speakers, what does Krev mean?”
Lily smiled. “Blood.”
“Oh, yuck,” Shay wrinkled her nose.
“Well, it’s a vampire theme club, so that was a good choice, really.”
“ All true, but still—oh yuck.”
“Come on Shay, ambiance and all that. This place would be awesome for the film.”
“Hmmm. Let me ruminate on this idea for a moment.” She closed her eyes for approximately three seconds, before opening them and delightfully declaring, “I could sneak in a vampire scene—not in the club here, but in Kouzlo Noc. Vampires are still good box office. I can just see the T-shirts for the movie. I could make Count Zilania a vampire? No, that’s too cheesy even for me. But perhaps there’s a way to hint that vampires have been stalking the heroine on her journey to London?”
Shay was off and running. There was no good point in responding to her flights of film fancy, so I didn’t bother to say anything.
Franz had barely settled in the chair he’d swiped from the other table, before popping up again and extending his hand to me. “Want to dance?”
“Only for a bit. My foot isn’t quite up to a lot of hopping around in heels. But yeah, thanks.”
We found a spot that allowed two people to move arms and wiggle bottoms and not much else, and gyrated to the heavy metal rock sounds from the band. This was great. I needed this. I’d had too much culture and too much musical history crammed into my brain the last couple of days. I needed a break to go wild and listen to music that had no social significance and would never survive two-hundred-fifty years. Or even two years. The band was awful. I loved it.
Franz took turns dancing with me, Shay and Lily. I let the other two take extra innings since I really didn’t need the stress on my feet and I was having fun watching. About the fourth time Franz danced with Lily, leaving Shay and me to sing with the band since they’d started playing top American hits, we were joined by two men—Corbin Lerner and Mitchell Herbert.
“Looking for us?” asked Shay.
“Yep. This the fifth club we’ve hit tonight trying to hunt you down,” was the response from Mitchell.
“Reason?”
“Boredom. Not knowing anyone in the city and wanting to be part of a group.”
Corbin smiled at me. “I have been in Prague for three weeks now but I’ve mainly been up at the castle working in that awful graveyard. This is a good break for me.”
“If you don’t mind a nosy question, what exactly are you doing for the Duskovas? Other than jumping out of crypts at unsuspecting location scouts? I mean, don’t they know their history by now?” I queried.
“I’ve heard this,” said Mitchell. “Shay? Wanna dance?”
She was up and running before the ‘c’ in dance sounded.
I prodded Corbin. “So? Your work?”
“Well, you saw how destroyed that cemetery was.”
“That’s an understatement. It looked like a third world country after a third world war.”
“Nice way of putting it. Veronika told me the graveyard has been vandalized for years and years, long before she and her sisters were even born. And when the Communists were using Kouzlo Noc as their headquarters, they cleaned up the original cemetery, but didn’t bother with that one. Veronika said that it was originally built because the other cemetery got too crowded, but she was embarrassed to tell you the truth.”
“Which is?”
“The graveyard, Saint John of Nepomuk Cemetery, was named in honor of the saint tossed off the Charles Bridge by Wenceslas the Fourth sometime in the Fourteenth Century—not the Christmas “good king Wenceslas’ who had an earlier reign—became the cast-off burial ground for the Duskova clan. Cast-off as in, um, servants or various other working people who’d died and hadn’t enough money for a decent burial at another site. Or less-than-desirable folks who’d gotten into trouble somehow near Kouzlo Noc. Duskova family members who’d brought disgrace to the name through various means. The usual stories of the maids who’d been taken advantage of by barons and sons of barons and died in childbirth.”
I shook my head. “I knew that place felt sadder than a normal cemetery. Unwanted. And the vandalism just made it so much worse. So your job now is—what?”
“Discovering who was buried when and where and in what plot their remains should have been kept. Plus learning as much about the history of who, what, where and when to document for the Duskovas. So it’s not literally genealogical search but that’s what I’m calling it.”
I paused. “Found anything really interesting?”
He paused. “Such as?”
“Oh, let me run with this. Um. Buried gold coins underneath a skeleton with a pirate hat and a cutlass and a big sign that reads,‘Treasure from the Spanish Armada—Dive in, Dude!’ Something of that nature.”
I don’t know if he bought that particular idea but he did chuckle before stating, “No. The closest thing of value are the jewels I discovered in a rotted velve
t bag.”
“Jewels?” I perked up.
“I use the term very loosely. Upon appraisal by a local jeweler in Prague it was determined that the loot is worth about a hundred dollars tops. Diamonds, but very poorly cut and hardly worth anything at all.”
“Ah well. I’m sure you’ll stumble onto a cache of emeralds and sapphires around the neck of some serving wench dressed in the garb of a highwayman.”
His laughter sailed across the table. “I can see why you and Miss Martin are making a movie. You obviously have a taste for romantic fiction.”
“We do. After all, what’s life without a touch of improbable romance?”
Shay, Franz, Mitchell and Lily all returned in time to hear my last remark.
Mitchell queried,” What are you guys yakking about?”
Corbin answered, “Abby is giving me a glimpse into the workings of a show business mind filled with glamour, mystery and fantasy. It’s very interesting.”
Lily spoke up. “Speaking of mystery, I have a piece of a puzzle that needs answering. Well, perhaps it could be said to be more along the line of gossip that furthers a mystery.”
Shay brightened. “Gossip? Is this some lovely obscure bit of info about a rock star involved in seducing some other rock star?”
Lily almost sneered. “No, no. This is about some one we know.”
We waited.
“It’s about Johnny Gerard.”
I sat up straight and took a sip of my drink (vampire teeth used in place of umbrellas in red liquid) and tried to ignore the pounding of my heart that was sounding louder than the bass of the band onstage. Shay shot me a quick warning look, then said, “Is this fun gossip—or something best left unshared?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it was fun, but it’s important.” She looked at me.
We waited again. The woman had dramatic pauses down to an infinitely fine art. Finally she spoke. “Johnny Gerard has a prison record. He’s an ex-convict.”
Before my mind could register what that meant, Franz added, “He’s also here in the club. Well, actually he just climbed onstage. It looks like he’s going to be the guest DJ while the band takes a break.”
Chapter 16
The rest of the night at Club Krev hadn’t been much fun for me. I danced with all the guys and I drank some new drink called Teeth of the Vampire that was good enough to rate a space in my memory for future reference. I chatted with Shay, Lily, Franz, Mitchell and Corbin about the movie and what the plans were for Headlights Productions next few projects. I didn’t care. I kept alternating between avoiding staring at Johnny Gerard who, naturally, was making a huge hit with the crowd as the guest DJ and deliberately staring at Mr. Gerard. I also wavered between wanting him to come over to our table and praying that he wouldn’t see us this far in the back.
The latter turned out to be the prayer answered but I wasn’t happy about it. Shay and I stayed at the club for about two hours after Johnny had done his forty-minute DJ stint and we hadn’t seen him once he’d left the stage. Presumably, he’d just done the job and gone home.
Our own crowd left together about one-thirty in the morning and walked back to our respective hotels. Well, Shay and I, Franz and Mitchell were at hotels. Lily took a cab to the house of some relatives of hers and Corbin got into an old Jeep and took off for Kouzlo Noc where I gathered he had been given room and board for the duration of his work in the old cemetery.
Shay and I were silent as we trudged up the stairs to my room. We both sank onto my bed as soon as we were inside the room.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.”
“Oh Abby, don’t start that again.”
“Well? Prison record? I thought he and I had no secrets from each other. When the hell was in in prison? And why the hell didn’t he tell me? Man! This little jaunt to Prague is getting weirder and weirder when it comes to the man I’m marrying—whenever.”
She frowned. “Not buying it and you aren’t either. You just want something to obsess about. So, damn well ask him tomorrow if it’s A—true and B—if so, what was he convicted of? Remember all the b.s. you thought about Johnny and Tracy when y’all were first dating? You put yourself through hell and all for nothing. Yes, you have some trust issues—which, playing shrink, I personally think were pushed into your tiny brain by your dear mother right after birth but that’s beside the point. What is the point—for once in your life can’t you push them aside and hear the man out? Be a good little American and not presume guilty?
“Yeah, right. Great sentiments.”
“Ah shit!” She exclaimed. “How many of those Teeth of Vampire drinks did you have? Lord Above and the good Sisters of St. Agnes, help us. Johnny Gerard is a pussycat and you’re so nuts about him it’s sickening to be around. So just go to sleep and I’ll see you in the A.M. when you’re sober and not letting your imagination take over what’s left of your zapped brain cells.”
Good advice and I knew it, but it still took me another hour before I was finally able to get the words “prison record” out of my head enough to sleep.
They came back in my head when the hotel called me at seven to tell me I had a visitor in the lobby. Johnny Gerard wanted to take me to breakfast.
I got ready in fourteen minutes. My hair was still slightly wet from the shower and my outfit, black jeans and a black turtleneck (I looked like one of the Klezmer Volny Rabin) wasn’t the fanciest thing in my suitcase, but my make-up was on and I was as prepared as I could get for a nice morning repast with an Irish-eyed, well-rounded felon.
Johnny greeted me in the lobby with a red rose. Only Mr. Gerard could do that at seven-fifteen in the morning and still look smooth. He gave me the rose, then crooked his elbow so I could link my arm through. We exited the lobby without exchanging a single word.
The silence remained until we found a café three blocks away that had an empty table and wasn’t filled with business people jabbing fingers at pocketsize computers and organizers.
Johnny poured coffee into my waiting cup, then sailed right in. “So Lily decided to make the shocking pronouncement that I have been in prison.”
My eyes opened. I was wide-awake before I’d even tasted my coffee. “Hold up there, pardner. Were you skulking near our table last night and overheard? Been in communication with cousin Julien’s shaman guide Bubba?”
“Nothing so crude. Nope. Shay called me at three in the morning to tell me what the sweetly vicious Miss Lowe had said.”
“Ah.”
He plopped a huge dab of whipped cream in my coffee and sprinkled cinnamon on top. Which is exactly what I’d done with my cocoa and Kahlua at the café the afternoon we’d run into each other under the tree at Kouzlo Noc. One of many reasons I adored him. He remembers little things like that.
He continued, “Shay did not ask for the story behind this incarceration. She said she’d let me give you the details and she trusted that I hadn’t done anything “really rude” like hijacking planes and dumping small children out over the Atlantic while I smoked Cuban cigars and had wild sex with a dozen kidnapped Rumanian prostitutes—or mowing down little old ladies crossing Trafalgar Square in London and stealing all their worldly possessions. Something to that effect. I told her to keep all those in mind for story lines on the soap so Greg Noble can catch the creeps that really do that stuff.”
I hid my amusement and looked staright into those hypnotic green eyes of his. “And so… what is the true story behind your felonious past?”
He shook his head. “Two-fold and all revolving around circuses. I got into some trouble when I was eleven down in Houston. I was hanging out at some circus musing over a career as the Elephant Man and I ended up being friends with Serpent Boy who was about my age. One afternoon we decided to take a joy ride in a customer’s classic Corvette convertible while the customer was watching the antics of fifteen clowns in a Volkswagen towed by a sleepy elephant who had nothing to do with Elephant Man.”
I snorted. “You desperado, you.”
�
��Hey! We brought it back. Absolutely intact. Better even. We’d taken it to a car wash and got the thing cleaned for him since we hated seeing dust on a vehicle that fine. The customer was very understanding, especially since he’d been dumb enough to leave the top down and the keys in the ignition. Serpent Boy and I got the whipping of our young lives from his parents and my mom grounded me for a year so that ended my days of benign carjacking.”
“And the second half of that fold?” I asked.
“I was in Montana doing summer stock when I was still in college and I -well—I stole two lions from a different circus touring the Western states in the U.S. Those poor beasts were being abused beyond belief. So I snuck in and got them out with the help of a group who ran a rescue habitat for animals. We got caught. The owner of the circus rather gleefully pressed charges even though it was obvious the cops were in sympathy with all the rescuers. I refused to give up the whereabouts of Fred and Ginger, the lions, so I was indicted with a felony charge since the animals were considered worth in excess of $50,000. Two others actors from the company and I spent seven nights in the clink in Butte, where we learned of things best left forgotten. Although, once the inmates knew why we were there they were rather nice. Kieran always told me that other than serial killers and general sociopaths, most guys behind bars are major softies when it comes to kids, puppy dogs and large animals who’ve been beaten every day since they were born.”
“Did Kieran get you and your felonious buddies out?” Kieran, Johnny’s Dad, is Deputy District Attorney in Manhattan.
“He made a call to a local judge he knew from Yale.” Johnny beamed at me. “The judge happened to be president of the local animal shelter. So I—quote unquote—did time for a whole week. What gripes my butt is why some dimwit bimbo like Lily Lowe is doing searching my background. I mean—why?”
I was silent for a moment, taking time to ingest this along with my coffee and kolaches.
Aria in Ice Page 12
