Aria in Ice (14 page)

“Guide as in
‘this is the cathedral where
Saint Agnes dyed her hair red and don’t get lost and meet me at the
bus at two o’clock?’
’”

“That about covers it. I look upon this as
research for the next four hundred nutty occupations Yolanda sticks
Super Detective Noble into before next year’s ratings.”

“Which reminds me,” I interrupted. “What
wacky device did Yolanda use to get you off the show for the time
you’re in Prague, then traisping down to Florida to design for the
seniors? Please tell me not another coma?”

Johnny began to whistle. “Nope. No more
comas. For at least a year.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve disappeared.”

“Disappeared? As in Gregory Noble got eaten
by a large lion while on safari and we’re waiting for the cowardly
beast to cough him up whole in a few months?”

Johnny loved it. “I wish. Nah, this is almost
realism. During the last safari episode, Greg Noble takes off after
the Communist spy—Cade Kern—remember him, Abby? He played Letitia’s
brother last year?”

I nodded. “So Letitia’s brother is now an
agent for the former KGB?”

“Oh yeah. Except Cade is doing the National
Tour of
Wicked
, so he needed a way out of the show.”

“With you.”

“Precisely. When last seen, Gregory Noble is
chasing the man he’s learned is ‘Vladimir Borodin -agent’ into the
jungle. Of course, I’ll come out unscathed and heroic in a couple
of months once my gig with the Sarasota bunch is over. Cade will be
in ‘Oz’ singing his little heart out. His body will not be found in
case the producers decide to bring him back after his tour is
done.”

I couldn’t help lift my eyes to the heavens.
Pointless to comment since I was secretly still pissed—and jealous
the soap had dumped my part a couple of months before Johnny headed
off to Africa.

Shay teased him with, “So—Noble—where else
should we expect to see you during your stay in Prague? Will you be
presiding at the courthouse later today? Perhaps preaching at Mass
this Sunday at the Church of Our Lady Victorious? Uh …?

I joined in, “Waiting on tables at Pravda?
Cooking the goulash and potato pancakes at the Café Kafka? Driving
a riverboat up the Vltava? Wrangling the miniature
przewalski
?
‘Working at the car wash, yeah,’
?”

“Don’t knock the ability to multi-task,
ladies. I have incredible life experiences stored within under this
charming exterior. Feel free to partake at any time.” He winked at
me. “And, you’ll be thrilled to hear that as Gregory Noble I spent
two weeks at the Prague Zoo caring for the
przewalski
before
arresting their trainer for diamond smuggling. Just wish Endless
Time had taken longer for those episodes. I really enjoyed that
gig.”

Shay screamed. Softly. “Stop it you two! What
the heck is a pretezalitskytitsky? Pretzels with special
sauce?”

Johnny was finishing a swig of coffee, so I
answered. “Miniature horsies. Remember? I told you about them when
we were doing the guide book thing this morning at breakfast?”

“Well, yeah, you told me about teensy
horsey-doos but you didn’t start blathering in Czech. Most
annoying.” She hopped to her feet. “I’m dying to see them. Sometime
after lunch?”

“We’ll see the horses, Shay. I have to admit
the admittedly awesome culture of this day is beginning to wear.
Nice, cute, cuddly little animals sound like a welcome relief.”

Johnny glanced at his watch. “Oh nuts. Sorry,
ladies. Have to haul it even though I’d love to stay and eat
strudel and drink coffee and personally escort you to the zoo but
I’m subbing at the
National Marionette Theatre
in an hour.
They normally don’t perform weekdays, but this is special event. If
you’re up for just a bit more culture, drop on by. We’ll be
performing the Verdi version of
Macbeth
. With really eerie
and scary witches. You’ll love it.”

The invitation had been too good to refuse.
Johnny Gerard at the puppet show. He hadn’t said whether he was
subbing for the ticket-taker, the popcorn-seller, or the guy who
dangles strings for dancing puppets on high. Either way this took
precendence over tiny horses, no matter how cute they were.

I didn’t see him when Shay and I took our
seats, but I quickly heard him. The man was bloody well singing.
And singing bloody well—Johnny’s an amazing baritone. He was
dangling a puppet and singing the role of Macduff, who is really
the hero in the play and the opera.

I nudged Shay. “Thank God it’s Verdi and
they’re singing Italian. I love Mozart but if I’d had to hear
Die Zauberflote
or even
Cosi Fan Tutte
in German or
something today, I’d’ve gone and jumped back into the Vlatava River
to catch the next boat.”

“Ssshh. You’ll get us thrown out of here.
Especially if you say anything derogatory about Wolfgang.”

I whispered,”Never. I just
said
I
adore the man. But everyone needs a rest from symbolism and magic
now and again. I’ll bet Mozart would’ve watched bad Slasher flicks
if he’d had a DVD player. So, a nice murdering, flat-out greedy
Scottish king is quite refreshing.”

We stayed silent after that, enjoying the
music and the really intricate movement of the puppets. The
artistry of all the performances erased thoughts of the Austrian
composer. In fact, the name of Mozart didn’t even float across my
mind until long after Birnam Wood had come to Dunsinane and Macbeth
had met his well-deserved fate.

The witches, as promised, were marvelous. I
wished Minette had been there since she’s also now big into Wiccan
magic (which she smoothly juggles with Catholic theology without
incurring the wrath of any of the priests in Texas. A minor feat of
magic in itself.) These “Wyrd” sisters reminded me of my initial
introduction to the Duskovas, which isn’t the nicest thing to say,
but in my defense, it was the costuming that made the comparison so
sharp. This version of
Macbeth
was set in the Victorian era,
so the black-garbed-governess-with-buns-for-hairdos-look had been
chosen for the three puppets singing about toils and troubles.

The curtain call was for puppets only. No
humans allowed. The wooden actors danced back onstage and bowed and
curtseyed to an enthusiastic crowd. Johnny’s face wasn’t seen, but
his hands still worked Macduff. He got a standing ovation from the
crowd. No great surprise.

We waited for him outside on a bench where we
could watch the citizens of Prague along with the tourists buying
sausages and potato pancakes. The performance had been scaled down
to last only about ninety minutes, so it was just now five in the
afternoon and the sun was still shining. Shay and I soaked up the
warmth and talked about the various performers we’d just heard,
especially the witches and how good they’d been.

Johnny found us at the bench not more than
ten minutes after he’d finished the show.

“Well?”

“I loved it,” I told him. “I’ve never really
thought about puppetry before—especially with opera, but this was
fantastic. Some of the puppets were more real than some singers
I’ve heard at the Met. And all the voices were really, really good.
Even that chap who played Macduff. I’m impressed.”

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.’
”

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?”