Aria in Ice (21 page)

Lily jumped in. “Racing? Horse, downhill
skiing or what?”

Corbin smiled. “Cars, Ms. Lowe. My passon and
hobby is racing.”

“Ooh,” she purred. “I love watching the car
races. Very sexy! You’ll have to take me to a track sometime and
watch you race.” She quickly smiled at Franz to reassure him she
hadn’t blown him off. “You are a ski racer, yes?”

Franz nodded but it was obvious that gliding
over ice was dull next to Lily’s desire for a fast car on a slick
track.

Since Lily now had everyone’s focus, she
began to tell us a about her background. It turned into a long
monologue about her very artsy family. She didn’t really explain
how she was able to go to England but apparently she’d arrived in
London at the ripe old age of fourteen, enrolled in a drama school,
then gone on to graduate from the Royal Shakespeare Academy.

I sat up. Lily came off as a bimbo, but Royal
Shakespeare had a rep for disallowing dumb broads into the program.
There was more to Lily Lowe than met the eye.

She continued. “I’ve done four major
films—American, but shot in Prague. The last one was
Little
Crystal
. It was a musical version of the Grimm fairy tale
called
The Crystal Ball.
I was the star.”

Rumor had it that
Little Crystal
had
been a good movie. It had premiered at the Cannes Film Festival
last year to fantastic reviews. Shay and Bambi, both astute
businesswomen, had chosen the leading lady not only for her talent
but for some durn good name recognition.

Lily wasn’t finished with her parade of
accomplishments. She giggled, “For my hobby, I collect Barbie
dolls. I have models from the very first ones made. Over three
hundred. And Ken dolls too.” Her gaze was directed this time at
Mitchell, whose mouth had dropped at the staggering thought of all
those Barbies. “And I’m single and I love cozy nights by a
fireplace and walking across beaches on cool nights even when I’m
caught in the rain.”

That did it. I quickly focused on the
embroidery work Marta had left in the room and simultaneously
crammed a piece of chocolate cream pie (a Marta special she’d made
before any of the tragic events of the day) into my mouth to keep
from howling. The fact that I didn’t give a rip about embroidery
was irrelevant. I had to look anywhere except at Shay Martin. We
both waited to hear Lily announce she loved
pina coladas
. If
we made eye contact with each other anytime before, during or after
that announcement we were positive was coming, we’d be on the floor
sharing hysterics and in grave danger of offending our female star
and we needed her for
Silhouette Tower
.

No use. Out it came. “Oh. And I love—what is
that wonderful beverage with the rum and coconut and pineapple? I
love those.”

Shay got up, quickly muttered something about
using the restroom and left. I intended on being right on her
heels, but we’d look like a parade, so I held in all signs of
bubbling hilarity and chewed pie crust, even when Mitchell nodded
and responded, “They’re called
pina coladas
.”

Lily giggled again. “Yes! Well, I just love
them.”

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 mine. 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.

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.”