Ce..le…brate
All night long!
Come on!!
It's a ce… le… bra…shun!!!
Dance music blared triumphantly through giant loudspeakers on all four sides of the enormous room. Strobe lights pulsed in hypnotic rhythm, bouncing spangled reflections off the kaleidoscopic mirror-ball hanging from the ceiling. We shoved our way towards the bar. The Moxie was Prague's hottest nightclub, a converted movie palace in the heart of Prague's art deco Old Town district. The seats had all been ripped out and the big screen resembled an abstract expressionist work-in-progress on which the kids practised their graffiti skills. The place was packed with Prague's hippest: little teeny-boppers in tied-dye rags and piercings on every conceivable body part, cool party-girls with spiked white hair and black band-aid skirts barely covering their shapely hips, battered old hippies with long ponytails and vacant looks in their rheumy bloodshot eyes. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and incense and the pungent odor of home-grown pot. The drug-dealers and prostitutes plied their wares surreptitiously in corners under the benevolent eye of the blatantly plain-clothed and easily bribed policemen, and yet an odd innocence prevailed: this was, after all, the capital of Bohemia.
Lulu, Stash, Barbie and I lolled against the bar and let the world flow by. "Psst, want some X?" The bartender whispered, taking us in with a practised eye.
"Not for me, thanks." Having inadvertently eaten a Truth sandwich on the way back from Budapest, I felt all drugged out. "Just another beer…"
"Ecstasy? I'd like a hit," Barbie said brightly. I tut-tutted at my little friend. She stuck her pointy tongue at me and grimaced horribly. "Want some, Lulu?"
"Of course, darling," Lulu replied. "Stash will have some too."
"Will it wake me up?" Stash asked dubiously. "I'm not sure I want that."
"Oh, don't be so grumpy. You two grouches can just hang out here and get smashed. Barbie and I are going to have some fun." The two girls popped their pills and pranced off to cavort on the dance floor, instantly drawing a circle of drooling men around them, like iron filings to a pair of magnets. Stash and I took our beers to a table and slumped into companionable silence, grunting occasionally, asking for a match, the occasional appreciative head jerk indicating an exceptionally cute chick, a casual sexist slur here, a bigoted remark there… Male bonding is so undemanding.
"Pretty girl, Barbie," Stash said. "She good in bed?"
"We've never slept together." Stash raised an interrogative eyebrow. I shrugged. "I've known her since she was six."
"Never stopped me. I had slept with every girl in my neighbourhood by the time I was fourteen."
"Yeah but that was in Katholic Poland. You had repressions to overcome."
"And you didn't in laid-back Kalifornia?"
I shuddered. The Truth drug was wearing off but I still felt an insane compulsion to confess everything. Just then a deafening drum roll induced a momentary hush. All the lights went out and we were enshrouded in inky darkness. "Ladies and gentlemen!" an excited voice boomed. "We have the pleasure to present this evening an extraordinary entertainment… A surprise performance by the one and only… Artist Who Dares Not Speak His Name!" After an instant of stunned silence, loud cheers and shrill whistles resounded through the night club. I stuck my fingers in my ears and watched the graffiti-laden big screen lift up, revealing a makeshift stage. Dry ice billowed everywhere and amp;$%*=$ leaped onto the stage and struck up a fast and furious rendition of his notorious classic "Black Wedding":
Baby I don't care what you feel
As long as you do what I tell you
You can dress up in rags
Or just crawl in a sack
Nobody will come to save you
Don't ask for a bedtime story
'Cause it’s a
Black wedding
Always wanting to be bad
Go straight down to hell
You can rip off your shirt
And wax the hair on your breasts
And play rebel-rebel
Don't ask for a fairy tale ending
'Cause it's a
Black wedding
amp;$%*=s managers were quick to deny reports of the reclusive artist's surprise performance in Prague when reports spread like wildfire on the internet the next day. "It must have been an imposter," one spokeswoman insisted. "amp;$%*=$ would never travel without his pet chimpanzee!" However, I remain convinced that the Artist I saw that night at Moxie was the real thing: the patented MarswalkTM had the authentic dragging lethargy and the slow wiggle of the hips at each refrain bore undeniable testimony to the Artist's distinguished history as a topless go-go dancer. I sat in my chair, goggle-eyed, and when the whole thing was over and amp;$%*=$ had vanished as unexpectedly as he had appeared, I was barely able to walk weakly to the bar and beg the bartender for a bit of X.
"Did you see that?" Barbie demanded, wide-eyed. "That was…"
"amp;$%*=$. Yes, I know, Barb. I took you to see him in concert on your thirteenth birthday, remember?"
"I saw him just last week at your mom's place. He was serenading her."
"Oh fuck." I winced. "Did I miss her birthday again?"
"You're in big-time trouble, boy. She'll leave me all her money if you don't watch out."
"Were you sucking up to her again?"
"I just happened to be visiting my parents in Caramel-by-the-Sea," Barbie replied innocently. "And my mom was having her nails done…"
"At Nails-by-the-Sea…"
"Which happens to be next to Salon-by-the-Sea where your mom was having her hair done before her birthday party."
I shuddered. "Was it big?"
"Not really. Just a couple of thousand people."
"And the Artist sang Happy Birthday. What devotion."
"It was all over the newspapers that week."
"The tabloids, you mean."
"Yeah, whatever." Barbie only read the National Busybody and Tittle Tattle. "Anyway, your mom misses you. She told me so. And I saw the tears in her eyes."
"She can turn them on and off like a tap," I replied indifferently. "They taught her how to do that in the days of the silent movies."
"You're so mean."
"I'm her son. You want to dance?"
Barbie and I went out under the lights and swayed our limbs in wild abandon, letting the staccato rhythm of the rave sweep through our bones. Time ceased in that ecstatic moment and I was free, anonymous, without attachment or history or famous mother as the sweat dripped down my nameless face and my heart pounded to the beat of the music. Lulu had persuaded Stash to join in, and the four of us danced through the night, an orgy of movement punctuated only by frequent visits to the bar and toilet. I guzzled bottle after bottle of mineral water, savouring its bitter saltiness. My thirst was as endless as the night.
But all good things come to an end, just as they should, and my friends and I walked out of the night club into a cold blue dawn. We walked down a long deserted boulevard, past a solitary tram making its stately progress, its lights pale gold against the lightening sky. The pale blue was taking on a rosy flush by the time we crossed the Vltava at Charles Bridge, taking deep breaths of the frosty smoke-scented morning air, expelling the night's detritus from our lungs.
"So you guys won't stay here for a few days?"
Lulu shook her head. "It's been lovely to spend time with you, sweetheart, but we must get back to Berlin today. I've got to finish my manuscript. The publishers are waiting with bated breath and they've been so patient, poor darlings. And Stash has to work on his movie…"
"Will he find someone to replace Anastasia?"
"It shouldn't be too hard. Lots of ambitious actresses out there. Will you be able to replace her as easily, my poor baby?"
I sighed. "I don't know, Lu. I have to find the right girl."
"Lots of pretty airheads out there," Lulu said reassuringly. "Just keep hanging out at night clubs and taking drugs. Things will work out." She cast a sidelong glance at Barbie, striding along beside Stash, chattering away happily. "I like Barbie. What about her?"
"I can't do that," I said, shocked. I looked back surreptitiously at Barbie's bright face and opulent curves. "She's my friend."
"You are allowed to fall in love with your friends, you know," Lulu chided.
"Yeah, but Barbie is going out with my friend Luke," I replied weakly.
"What's that got to do with it? You've known her longer than he has."
I played my trump card. "My mother likes her."
"That does make it difficult. Are you sure you can't overcome this obsession you have with annoying your mother, angel?"
"No," I said rebelliously. "It's my one principle."
"Ah well," Lulu observed philosophically. "I prefer not to have any principles at all. But then I am a married woman so I can afford it."
"But I am running short of money so I will call my mother and wish her happy birthday."
"Darling, how reasonable of you. Let's go find a pub somewhere and have sausages and beer. This calls for a celebration!"
All night long!
Come on!!
It's a ce… le… bra…shun!!!
Dance music blared triumphantly through giant loudspeakers on all four sides of the enormous room. Strobe lights pulsed in hypnotic rhythm, bouncing spangled reflections off the kaleidoscopic mirror-ball hanging from the ceiling. We shoved our way towards the bar. The Moxie was Prague's hottest nightclub, a converted movie palace in the heart of Prague's art deco Old Town district. The seats had all been ripped out and the big screen resembled an abstract expressionist work-in-progress on which the kids practised their graffiti skills. The place was packed with Prague's hippest: little teeny-boppers in tied-dye rags and piercings on every conceivable body part, cool party-girls with spiked white hair and black band-aid skirts barely covering their shapely hips, battered old hippies with long ponytails and vacant looks in their rheumy bloodshot eyes. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and incense and the pungent odor of home-grown pot. The drug-dealers and prostitutes plied their wares surreptitiously in corners under the benevolent eye of the blatantly plain-clothed and easily bribed policemen, and yet an odd innocence prevailed: this was, after all, the capital of Bohemia.
Lulu, Stash, Barbie and I lolled against the bar and let the world flow by. "Psst, want some X?" The bartender whispered, taking us in with a practised eye.
"Not for me, thanks." Having inadvertently eaten a Truth sandwich on the way back from Budapest, I felt all drugged out. "Just another beer…"
"Ecstasy? I'd like a hit," Barbie said brightly. I tut-tutted at my little friend. She stuck her pointy tongue at me and grimaced horribly. "Want some, Lulu?"
"Of course, darling," Lulu replied. "Stash will have some too."
"Will it wake me up?" Stash asked dubiously. "I'm not sure I want that."
"Oh, don't be so grumpy. You two grouches can just hang out here and get smashed. Barbie and I are going to have some fun." The two girls popped their pills and pranced off to cavort on the dance floor, instantly drawing a circle of drooling men around them, like iron filings to a pair of magnets. Stash and I took our beers to a table and slumped into companionable silence, grunting occasionally, asking for a match, the occasional appreciative head jerk indicating an exceptionally cute chick, a casual sexist slur here, a bigoted remark there… Male bonding is so undemanding.
"Pretty girl, Barbie," Stash said. "She good in bed?"
"We've never slept together." Stash raised an interrogative eyebrow. I shrugged. "I've known her since she was six."
"Never stopped me. I had slept with every girl in my neighbourhood by the time I was fourteen."
"Yeah but that was in Katholic Poland. You had repressions to overcome."
"And you didn't in laid-back Kalifornia?"
I shuddered. The Truth drug was wearing off but I still felt an insane compulsion to confess everything. Just then a deafening drum roll induced a momentary hush. All the lights went out and we were enshrouded in inky darkness. "Ladies and gentlemen!" an excited voice boomed. "We have the pleasure to present this evening an extraordinary entertainment… A surprise performance by the one and only… Artist Who Dares Not Speak His Name!" After an instant of stunned silence, loud cheers and shrill whistles resounded through the night club. I stuck my fingers in my ears and watched the graffiti-laden big screen lift up, revealing a makeshift stage. Dry ice billowed everywhere and amp;$%*=$ leaped onto the stage and struck up a fast and furious rendition of his notorious classic "Black Wedding":
Baby I don't care what you feel
As long as you do what I tell you
You can dress up in rags
Or just crawl in a sack
Nobody will come to save you
Don't ask for a bedtime story
'Cause it’s a
Black wedding
Always wanting to be bad
Go straight down to hell
You can rip off your shirt
And wax the hair on your breasts
And play rebel-rebel
Don't ask for a fairy tale ending
'Cause it's a
Black wedding
amp;$%*=s managers were quick to deny reports of the reclusive artist's surprise performance in Prague when reports spread like wildfire on the internet the next day. "It must have been an imposter," one spokeswoman insisted. "amp;$%*=$ would never travel without his pet chimpanzee!" However, I remain convinced that the Artist I saw that night at Moxie was the real thing: the patented MarswalkTM had the authentic dragging lethargy and the slow wiggle of the hips at each refrain bore undeniable testimony to the Artist's distinguished history as a topless go-go dancer. I sat in my chair, goggle-eyed, and when the whole thing was over and amp;$%*=$ had vanished as unexpectedly as he had appeared, I was barely able to walk weakly to the bar and beg the bartender for a bit of X.
"Did you see that?" Barbie demanded, wide-eyed. "That was…"
"amp;$%*=$. Yes, I know, Barb. I took you to see him in concert on your thirteenth birthday, remember?"
"I saw him just last week at your mom's place. He was serenading her."
"Oh fuck." I winced. "Did I miss her birthday again?"
"You're in big-time trouble, boy. She'll leave me all her money if you don't watch out."
"Were you sucking up to her again?"
"I just happened to be visiting my parents in Caramel-by-the-Sea," Barbie replied innocently. "And my mom was having her nails done…"
"At Nails-by-the-Sea…"
"Which happens to be next to Salon-by-the-Sea where your mom was having her hair done before her birthday party."
I shuddered. "Was it big?"
"Not really. Just a couple of thousand people."
"And the Artist sang Happy Birthday. What devotion."
"It was all over the newspapers that week."
"The tabloids, you mean."
"Yeah, whatever." Barbie only read the National Busybody and Tittle Tattle. "Anyway, your mom misses you. She told me so. And I saw the tears in her eyes."
"She can turn them on and off like a tap," I replied indifferently. "They taught her how to do that in the days of the silent movies."
"You're so mean."
"I'm her son. You want to dance?"
Barbie and I went out under the lights and swayed our limbs in wild abandon, letting the staccato rhythm of the rave sweep through our bones. Time ceased in that ecstatic moment and I was free, anonymous, without attachment or history or famous mother as the sweat dripped down my nameless face and my heart pounded to the beat of the music. Lulu had persuaded Stash to join in, and the four of us danced through the night, an orgy of movement punctuated only by frequent visits to the bar and toilet. I guzzled bottle after bottle of mineral water, savouring its bitter saltiness. My thirst was as endless as the night.
But all good things come to an end, just as they should, and my friends and I walked out of the night club into a cold blue dawn. We walked down a long deserted boulevard, past a solitary tram making its stately progress, its lights pale gold against the lightening sky. The pale blue was taking on a rosy flush by the time we crossed the Vltava at Charles Bridge, taking deep breaths of the frosty smoke-scented morning air, expelling the night's detritus from our lungs.
"So you guys won't stay here for a few days?"
Lulu shook her head. "It's been lovely to spend time with you, sweetheart, but we must get back to Berlin today. I've got to finish my manuscript. The publishers are waiting with bated breath and they've been so patient, poor darlings. And Stash has to work on his movie…"
"Will he find someone to replace Anastasia?"
"It shouldn't be too hard. Lots of ambitious actresses out there. Will you be able to replace her as easily, my poor baby?"
I sighed. "I don't know, Lu. I have to find the right girl."
"Lots of pretty airheads out there," Lulu said reassuringly. "Just keep hanging out at night clubs and taking drugs. Things will work out." She cast a sidelong glance at Barbie, striding along beside Stash, chattering away happily. "I like Barbie. What about her?"
"I can't do that," I said, shocked. I looked back surreptitiously at Barbie's bright face and opulent curves. "She's my friend."
"You are allowed to fall in love with your friends, you know," Lulu chided.
"Yeah, but Barbie is going out with my friend Luke," I replied weakly.
"What's that got to do with it? You've known her longer than he has."
I played my trump card. "My mother likes her."
"That does make it difficult. Are you sure you can't overcome this obsession you have with annoying your mother, angel?"
"No," I said rebelliously. "It's my one principle."
"Ah well," Lulu observed philosophically. "I prefer not to have any principles at all. But then I am a married woman so I can afford it."
"But I am running short of money so I will call my mother and wish her happy birthday."
"Darling, how reasonable of you. Let's go find a pub somewhere and have sausages and beer. This calls for a celebration!"
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