Page 68 of The Cocktail Bar
River delved, overenthusiastically into his suitcase’s thin outer pocket, his large hand straining, mimicking a duck webbed foot until he finally fished out a spare CD. He handed it to Alice. “You’re in luck,” he told Piet, whose eyes remained permanently fixed on their new object of desire.
“Pen?”
Alice challenged him, unperturbed by such public sleaze. Piet opened the drawer beneath the desk, still unable to break out of his trance. “The travel group have made a booking for a restaurant called ‘Nejen Veprové a Knedlíky’ this evening. This loosely translates as ‘Not only Pork and Dumplings’, in case you are interested. It is geographically located near the castle across the Charles Bridge,” Piet said, with all the automation of a robot, as if he had always known this would be a part of their check-in drill.
“Thank you,” said Alice. “We got there eventually… and um,” the intensity of his gaze was starting to wear a little thin now, clearly knocking her confidence, “would you be able to add us to this reservation… as well as um… as well as kindly booking us a separate taxi, for an hour later… please?”
“Why of course, Madam… and Sir,” Piet finally snapped out of it. “That would be my pleasure, and thank you again for the CD. I look forward to playing it… very, very soon indeed. Yes, very soon indeed.” He held it close to his chest and River could feel Piet’s eyes burning his back as they wheeled their cases to the antiquated looking lifts which would apparently take them to the penthouse suite on the upper deck.
They squeezed themselves inside, River suddenly regretting the garlic croutons he’d unnecessarily sprinkled on his budget airline soup at 38,000 feet a couple of hours prior to their current jigsaw puzzle of a conundrum – although, the way they’d equally been squashed together on that flight had hardly afforded them that many extra inches than their latest dilemma.
“You push yours into your corner first then wedge yourself up against it, and I’ll just have to sit on mine and curl into a very small ball in my corner,” said Alice. “And please God, nobody else attempt to join us or I think I might die.”
River craned his neck awkwardly to press the button to their floor, the doors shut, the mechanics creaked ominously, and finally there was upward movement. Just for a little while anyway. Seconds later the lift stopped with a rather abrupt clunk.
“Holy shit! What did you do?” Alice shrieked. Her eyes were wild and terrified, bouncing back at him through the mirrored glass. “We should have stayed home and opened the bar, I knew it. Never mind that Jägermeister bomb you referred to, this is like drinking Ernest Hemingway’s Death in the Afternoon, quite literally.”
“But I did press the right button, floor three we’re on… I swear I hit the right one,” River said cringing at his bleary reflection as it steamed up the mirrored glass, and wanting but not daring, to smile at the fabulous way mixology jargon had started to creep into Alice’s vocabulary.
Before either of them could further process the horror that was, or search for the alarm button, a familiar voice came through the loudspeaker, though curiously it was quiet as a mouse.
“Sit tight. This always happens when there are two in a lift. I will just go to the technical room to hoist you back down. Then one of you must take the stairs.”
“I think we’ll both be taking the stairs, mate!”
“Bloody hell, I need that mulled wine and I need it now,” screamed Alice.
***
“Oh,” said Alice minutes later. “I thought we’d booked two singles.”
“I’ll behave if you will,” said River with a wink, secretly delighted at the rather snug double bed Alice was flinging her case on, practically unzipping it mid-air such was her enthusiasm for catching the Christmas market before dinner, as well as generally exiting the hotel.
“You know how important my rules are to me and now you’re just making them a mockery.” She stopped her unpacking suddenly and fell in a frazzled heap on the bed. He couldn’t blame her. The early start, the entrapment in the lift and now the let-down that was a poo brown hued room dubbed a penthouse, had put him in a sour mood himself.
“Let’s just make the best of this,” he said, sitting beside her on the hideous seventies inspired duvet complete with its giant moths perched on sunflowers. “This was a last minute decision anyway, so I take full responsibility for the current balls up. Next time you are in charge, and we’ll go wherever you like, promise. In any case, this trip was simply to surprise our friends and family, to feel proud of what we’ve both helped a bunch of people who previously didn’t get out much, to achieve.”
“You make them sound like they’ve never left Somerset.”
“Well in Terry and Hayley’s cases, that couldn’t be more accurate.”
“She did drive us down to Dover.”
“Yeah but only with the lure of a four times mark up on the fare… plus two service station stops for a snack both on the way there and on the way back.”
Alice was all smiles again. “Ohemgee, her head’s going to be positively spinning at all the Czech dumplings and sweet pastries in the markets. I can hardly wait myself.”
“Well then, let’s take a quick tour of the erm… hotel… boat… whatever it markets itself as, and get going.”
They hugged and Alice walked over to the massive window to draw back the curtain linings and drink in the view.
“Actually, River, furnishings aside, it’s pretty damn impressive. Just look at this.”
He crossed the epically large room; that was the curious thing, in terms of space they were practically inhabiting a palace; it was just a shame the décor hadn’t caught up with the modern world, and put his hand around her waist, in awe of the beauty in front of him, as well as the beauty beside him. He slid the sheer glass double doors wide open so they could step out onto their own personal balcony and enjoy it even more. The water twinkled, dappled here and there, reflecting sunbeams in other spots as the light hit its surface, a barge tugged with the grace of a swan to the right of them, its cargo headed for who knew where, canoeists hugged the Vltava’s outer banks, canary yellow and populated with bobbing heads, the bridges of Prague hung elegantly over the river like strings of pearls as far as the eye could see, the castle overseeing all of this in its top hat Gothic grandeur. And music floated from one of the lower decks. It sounded suspiciously like banjo music, which hardly went hand in hand with the distinctly wintery climate or the city’s architecture.
“Banjo Boy, it’s gotta be,” said River.
“Well, he is here with the group after all, and I must admit, I’m wondering how Cassandra is keeping him soentertained, shall we say, twenty-four-seven.” Alice folded her arms and took to jogging lightly on the spot in a bid to warm up.
