Aria in Ice

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  Bless Mitchell. He took over by quickly saying, “Not hard to make. I’ve schlopped plenty of ‘em into tall glasses during my stints as bartender all over New York.”

  I added, “Well, you’ll only have to be making pina coladas at cast parties pretty soon. You won’t have to rely on tending bar. This film is going to hit big and your big worry will be what part of Manhattan you want to move into while you sit back and let others bring those drinks to you.”

  He nodded. “Not sure about that. Not about the movie. I agree. It’s going to be wonderful. But I kind of like my rat-hole down in Soho. The rats and I are on first name basis and I’d hate for them to have to find a new tenant to bond with.”

  Franz chuckled. “It sounds as though we have the same apartment but in different countries. My flat in Vienna is… what do the Americans say? A dead ringer? Yes. A dead ringer for your Soho apartment. Even the same rats. I should make the little rodents pay the lease. So, Mitchell, I understand well that you are a composer. Yes. But you are also a studio musician, is that correct?”

  “True. Composing is my passion but playing guitar for up-and-coming rap artists pays that lousy rent and buys groceries.”

  Shay returned in time to hear this remark. “Mitchell’s an awesome guitarist, guys. And wait ‘til you hear his stuff. I kidnapped him after hearing a musical he’d composed for some Indie theatre group down in the Village. He was skulking around the lobby trying not to notice the standing ovations every number was getting from extremely enthusiastic audiences. I grabbed him and shoved a contract in his face.”

  Mitchell beamed at her. “And I was smart enough to sign it which is why I’m in Prague.” An evil twinkle lit up his eyes as he serenely stated, “Oh yeah, I’m also single and love walks in the rain.”

  Lily inhaled and pushed her expansive bosom to its limit.

  He added, “I don’t collect Barbies though. Just Kens. In real life.” Dramatic pause. “Did I mention I’m gay?”

  If my lips hadn’t been pressed together to stifle hee-hawing laughter, I’d’ve been on the floor clutching my sides. This time it was my turn to leave the room for the ever-popular restroom.

  Johnny followed me. “I assume you don’t really need to use the facilities?”

  “You got that right. It was far too difficult being in silent communication with Shay back there. Or you. In case you hadn’t noticed, I was studiously avoiding looking at either you or my roommate. And much as I’d’ve love to stay to watch Lily Lowe turn her charms away from Mitchell while pretending she’d never flirted with him… well, we don’t need to alienate a cast member who has talent.”

  “Very diplomatic.”

  “So, dearest darling, what are you going to confess for this little show-and-tell session at the castle? The entertaining tale about how the lions now sleep well at night in their rescue habitat? Or are you going to discuss the multi-tasking Gregory Noble does in every damn episode of the soap?”

  “Now, now, I’m too modest to talk about myself.”

  I snorted. “Or you just don’t want to spend the next three hours answering questions about your possibly delinquent past.”

  “Well, there’s that too.” His smile broadened. “Whacha think? I could just tell everyone that I’m doing a mural for Veronika and leave them marveling at my artistic talent?”

  I nudged him. “Only if we get to see that mural. I’ve been wondering for days if it’s all a figment of your imagination. I hear talk but see no results. Gab. Gab. Gab. Put up or shut up, Gerard.”

  He grabbed my hand. “Want to take a trek to the east wing sitting room? That’s where it is. I’m not sure we won’t freeze on the way since this castle doesn’t seem to be any guard against the cold but trust me, it’s worth it. Oops. Sorry. That sounded pretty arrogant didn’t it?”

  “Since you multi-task as well as, if not better, than your noble alter ego, I’d imagine the mural is marvelous. If you’re not confident about your various works, then I have a feeling you just don’t do them at all.”

  He gave me a sharp look. “Hey, come one, Abigail. I’m not a perfectionist. I have numerous disasters in several endeavors attached to my name. You’ve witnessed more than one of them on more than one occasion” He stated, “But this mural is good. I think. And we won’t stay long enough for your toes to turn to ice.”

  I kept my hand in his. “You’re on.”

  He led me through the enormous kitchen (where I almost begged off from going further since it was the coziest room in the castle), then through a second back staircase I’d never be able to find again, through a room empty of furniture that rivaled the main ballroom in size and finally to the east wing sitting room. I’d missed this during my sneak-through of various areas of Kouzlo Noc the other day. I was almost glad now I had. Because seeing the mural with Johnny, its creator, was much better than stumbling into the room and wondering where this thing had come from.

  I guess I’d expected a mural with images similar to the window seat with the tapestry depictions of knights and peasants engaged in the act of killing one another. Or perhaps one of those family portrait murals with the visages of Duskovas from centuries past smiling (or frowning) serenely down on all art lovers.

  Instead, what greeted me was a backdrop for a comic opera. Specifically, one comic opera. The Magic Flute. Pillars of fire bordered a pyramid that stood in front of a dark forest. Three male figures in white robes floated in the air above the pyramid. In the opening to the pyramid stood three figures. A white robed male with a headpiece that screamed “Egyptian” held his hand up as those offering a marriage blessing to the other two figures, a male in the gold and red garb of an Oriental prince and a female similarly dressed in the trousers and tunic of a princess. On one side of the pyramid I could see the feathered covered shape of the birdman Papageno and his mate, Papagena. At the far end of the mural behind gates of fire three women huddled together in an attitude almost of terror as they stared down into what was obviously a hell pit. In that pit a woman dressed all in black stood with raised hands. The right held a sharp bladed weapon, like a scimitar.

  There were other details, such as a flute in the hand of the prince and pipes in the hand of the bird catcher, Papageno. It sounds crowded and messy, but it wasn’t. Each image was carefully crafted to force the eye to the next image so the overall effect was one of movement.

  I turned to Johnny, who appeared to be holding his breath.

  “This is amazing! Wow. I had no idea you could do this kind of work. Hell, you could quit the blasted soap and become the toast of Manhattan’s artsy folk. Johnny, this is wasted at Kouzlo Noc. This should be in the museum along with the furniture Mozart used when he was in Prague and some of the props from the Estates Theatre. Damn. I’m just so impressed.”

  He exhaled. “Thanks. You love me, but you’re also so bloody honest all the time, I knew you’d tell me if it stunk. I had to beg, bargain and promise tickets to a Yankees game to get Veronika to agree to this scene.”

  “She doesn’t like it? You’re kidding.” Then it hit me. “Wait. Yankees?”

  “Yep. Veronika loves baseball. And the Yanks are her favorite team. Whoda thunk it, huh? Anyway, she now tells me she adores it. The mural. But she originally wanted me restore a very ruined mural of a landscape of the ground surrounding the castle. I told her that was boring. I’m surprised she didn’t fire me then and there. And when I told her what I had in mind she turned ten shades of green and white but finally said to go ahead. She’s afraid this could lead to suspicious characters searching for a certain flute.”

  “Oh, right, like that hasn’t been happening on a daily basis for two hundred years?”

  He ignored me comment and instead, suddenly reached out and grabbed me. “Damn it. It’s colder than that hell pit in the mural where I consigned the Queen of the Night for eternity but I’ve waited all day to do this.” He stopped. “That’s a lie. I’ve waited three months and nineteen days.”

  His lips met mi
ne. His hand began wandering over portions of my anatomy that were rapidly changing from ice to steam. If there’d been anything other than cold hardwood under our feet we’d’ve on the floor within seconds. But we had to stop. This wasn’t the place and with the tragedy of what had happened this afternoon, it probably wasn’t the time either.

  I could see this thought mirrored in Johnny’s eyes. We reluctantly drew apart, then clasped hands before heading back to join the other members of this house party.

  Still, Shay would definitely have rated the last minutes as high-impact aerobics.

  Chapter 22

  If by chance no one had taken notice of our absence, Shay quickly shattered the hope that Johnny and I could slip back into the cozy little group without comment.

  “Damn long bathroom break, kiddies. Where’ve you been hiding?” she asked with far too much glee in her voice.

  “We decided to baptize various rooms in the castle with a series of teeth-rattling sexual encounters. Happy?” I replied.

  “Well, if I thought that were true, I’d at least be interested. Since I see ‘I’m lying’ stamped in huge letters on your forehead, tell us, where have you been? For real this time.” Through the sweet sarcasm in her voice, I could detect a note of worry.

  Johnny answered for us both. “I wanted Abby to see the mural I’ve been working on here. And she needed to stretch her legs for a moment. Did we miss much?”

  Franz shrugged. “I talked, but you already know who I am and where I am from and everything about Vienna.”

  I smiled at him. “We did get a fair amount of information from you the other day at the café.”

  He smiled back. “And Shay has told us of more exploits of ‘Seven D’ of the two of you. So we are all friends now. Yes? Except Frederick is new and Mr. Gerard’s past does appear a bit of a mystery.”

  Johnny’s show bounced off satellites around the world daily but apparently Franz was not a fan of daytime drama. Johnny yawned as he oozed down onto a chair cushion that had been tossed on the floor.

  “I’m an open book. Musician. Muralist. Tour guide.” He paused. “Actor.”

  “A damn good one,” I stated.

  Lily looked at Johnny with more interest than she’d previously displayed. I figured now that Mitchell’s gender preferences had been aired she needed fresh meat on which to carve her considerable charms. Her eyes widened. It had taken our observant Ms. Lowe nearly a week to get it but this night finally the light dawned. “Oh my God! You’re Gregory Noble, aren’t you? I did not realize this since it has been a year or more since I’ve seen the show. You were in a coma a long time back then.”

  Johnny smiled. It was lovely and it was fake. “Gregory Noble. Supercop. That’s me. Putting bad guys behind prison walls every damn day of the week.”

  Lily inched her way toward him, crooning about how much she had adored the show and his role on it before being forced to miss it while on location for Little Crystal. My fists clenched as I muttered, not quite inaudibly, “Lily-livered, loose-lipped, leeching, low-down trollopey, lackey…”

  Shay winked at me, then told Lily. “He’s also Mister Animal Activist. Saves lions, tigers and bears. And puppies. He has a lot in common with Ms. Fouchet who decided to douse a white fur with red wine once—while the owner was wearing it.”

  Not quite true, since I hadn’t taken any out and out active steps to accomplish the dousing. That had only been a fantasy of mine one evening when I’d seen Johnny in the company of a fur-clad lady but Lily looked a bit startled anyway. Then her overly shadowed and mascared eyes opened even wider. “Wait. You are also on that soap opera! Yes? In a coma too for awhile? What was that character’s name?”

  Nothing to do but admit it. “Yep. I played Vanessa Manilow. Who arrived on Endless Time after her hot-air balloon crashed and she ended up next to Gregory Noble in the coma ward of Saint Sympathys Hospital in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, New York.”

  Franz stared at me. “I knew you were familiar. Didn’t you and Johnny have something to do with corruption in theatre on Broadway?”

  Johnny sighed. “We had something to do with solving corruption and murder elsewhere in the city, Franz so that Broadway would retain its lovely, pure-as-Prague-snow status.”

  Franz looked at Johnny, then at me again. “Together?”

  Shay chimed in, “They were both in Boundaries. Johnny won a Tony and Abby was nominated for best Featured Actress.”

  Miss Lowe didn’t grasp yet that Johnny and I were more than soapy colleagues. From the looks thrown our way, everyone else got it. So much for keeping the relationship a secret. Lily purred. “You are a true Renaissance man, Johnny. That is very attractive.”

  He inclined his head. “Thank you. Um, didn’t Franz say our tuning genius here hadn’t gotten his life story aired?” He waved at Fritz, who was trying to look invisible by sitting alone on the dreadful window seat but failing miserably. “Fritz. You’re on.”

  “Oh. What do you want to hear?”

  I whispered to Shay so no one else could hear, “Every damn detail, Fritzi-boy. Especially—are you available? Can Shay be your sex slave for the next ten years or so?”

  Shay poked me so hard in my ribs I considered asking for workmen’s comp. “Ouch!”

  All eyes turned to us. “Problems, children?” asked Johnny.

  Shay batted her lashes. “Nope. Nothing. Abby got a cramp in her foot. Probably because it’s not accustomed to being out of her mouth. Please, Fritz, so sorry for the interruption. I’ll keep Ms. Fouchet quiet here. You were saying?”

  “Oh. Well, I grew up many years in Vienna, but I was born in East Germany. My family escaped to the West only months before the wall came down. We were afraid to leave because we are a big family and we were not certain we could do this without being caught—and without reprisals visited on the aunt and uncles and cousins who could not come. I was very, very young you understand. But when my oldest brother was to be entered, um conscripted—is that the right word? well, forced is perhaps better—into the army, my father, also a musician said, ‘No. We go. Now.’

  He made it sound as if they’d just packed a few bags and driven their car across the barricaded borders from East to West Germany like they’d been going for a day’s outing at the circus. We all stayed silent, thinking about the painstaking planning that had doubtless occurred for many months. The constant fears to trust someone who might ultimately betray the refugees. Living with total panic on a daily basis. The sheer terror of the entire escape was something none of us could begin to imagine.

  But Fritz was smiling. “I love Vienna. I love the music and the museums and most of all I love the pastries and the sweet desserts that are to be found at every café. But of course, Prague has great music and museums and wonderful food at the karvany (cafés).”

  That did it. Shay was already in attraction mode. She’d just met a fellow food hound who was sensitive and smart and cute in an artsy way and who had a great backstory. The only question to be answered was when these two would be engaging in some high-impact aerobics themselves. I’m sure Shay would be betting me as to whether she and Fritz answered the mating call at the castle before Johnny and I did. And then she’d make sure she won that bet.

  “Why did you move to Prague, Fritz?” asked Corbin.

  “The Rombergs are originally from Czechoslovkia and my family felt it was right to return.”

  “Family?” was Shay’s question. I knew she was praying that didn’t include a Frau Frederick Romberg.

  It didn’t. He explained that five sisters, three brothers, an aunt and three nephews who’d all headed to Prague to commune with their ancestral roots. Every one of them was older than he and every one of them was a musician. Shay relaxed. I could see wheels turning in her head for the campaign to win the heart of this quiet man of music. Watch out, Fuji.

  Fritz had finished telling us what he considered the pertinent parts of his life story. We all knew there was a lot more but we also knew that much
of it doubtless wasn’t pleasant. Fritz was looking a bit pale by the end of his saga. Time to move on.

  Johnny stood, then crossed over to the fireplace and began poking logs to encourage the flame to burn hotter. “Anyone heard any weather reports?”

  As if he’d been waiting for this cue, Jozef Jezek entered the room with a radio already tuned to an all news station. He raised the volume so we could all hear, although that was pretty useless for those of us with limited—or non-existent—skills in understanding Czech. Jozef politely waited until the newscaster had switched to the latest political scandal involving a Congressman and an evangelical preacher before giving the Americans the bad news. We didn’t need for him to translate the juicy tail of sex the newscaster was delightedly sharing with listeners -the names had been all over the news for three weeks and I could just imagine the details had gotten juicier. The weather was the important topic.

  Jozef frowned. “The announcer says we are snowbound. For this night, at least. It is the wind that is causing the trouble because it has ruined the visibility. They are warning people to stay inside.” He added simply, if unnecessarily, “That is good advice. I have looked outside in the last half hour and there is nothing but white. We are having a full moon this night, yet it cannot even be seen because there is snow still falling.”

  Veronika had entered behind Jozef, so silently we barely noticed. Her tear-stained face was painful to see but her dignity was intact. “We haf plenty room at Kouzlo Noc so no one try to get back to Prague tonight. In those leettle cars that are like toys! No! Iss not safe. I find blankets but we must share rooms because not all of castle has good heat.”

  This was why Shay had requested a castle with “beyond modern heating.” My friend wasn’t dumb. I was sorry now I hadn’t stressed this requirement.

  Veronika whirled around and headed off, presumably to rummage through old hope chests and new linen closets and raid them for the best covers for her unexpected guests.

  We were silent for a moment or two, then Shay took charge. “Okay. As Silhouette Tower’s big bad director I feel like I’m entitled to be the one giving out room assignments. There’s about four bedrooms that have heat so it’s going to be a night of bundling, gang. Uh, Franz? Why don’t you and Corbin and Jozef take that room that has the day bed settee thingee in it and those humongous stuffed chairs.”