Besides, “El Condor Pasa” was an authentic folk tune.
“We play what the public will pay for,” I said. “And there are relatively few Latin folk fans in Prague, believe it or not.” I took off my fedora and held it out to him. “But I didn’t realize you were an aficianado. If it’s authentic folk music you want, then it’s what you’ll get.”
Jesse gave an amused little grin, reached into his Burberry, and produced a wad of notes that he dropped into my hat.
“Gracias,” I said, and put the hat on my head. I didn’t realize till later that he’d stuck me with Bulgarian currency.
I returned to my chair and took my guitarra in hand. Jesse hung around on the fringes of the crowd and talked on his cell phone. When the medley was over, I led the band into “Llaqui Runa,” which is about as authentic folk music as you can get.
Jesse put away his cell phone, put on his shades, and sauntered away.
But that wasn’t what put me in a bad mood.
What had me in bad temper was the fact that I’d have to deal with the water ballet guys.
*
Three beautifully manicured pairs of hands rose from the water, the fingers undulating in wavelike motions. The hands rose further, revealing arms, each pair arced to form an O. Blue and scarlet smoke billowed behind them. The owners of these arms then appeared above the wavetops and were revealed to be mermaids, scales glinting green and gold, each smiling with cupid’s-bow lips.
The mermaids began to rotate as they rose, free of the water now, water streaming from their emerald hair, each supported by a pair of powerful male hands. As the figures continued to rise, the male hands were revealed to belong to three tanned, muscular Apollos with sun-bleached hair and brilliant white smiles.
The figures continued to rotate, and then the brilliant clouds behind billowed and parted as three more figures dived through the smoke, arrowing through the circles of the mermaids’ arms to part the water with barely a splash.
The Apollos leaned mightily to one side, allowing the mermaids to slip from their embrace and fall into the water. Then the Apollos themselves poised their arms over their heads and leaned back to drop beneath the waves.
For a moment the water was empty save for the curls of red and blue smoke that licked the tops of the waves, and then all nine figures rose as one, inverted, arms moving in unison, after which they lay on their sides, linked themselves with legs and arms, and formed an unmistakable Leaping Dolphin.
The Leaping Dolphin was followed by Triton in His Chariot, the Anemone, the Tiger Shark, the Water Sprite, the Sea Serpent, and a Salute to the Beach Boys, which featured the California Girl, the Deuce Coupe, and climaxed with Good Vibrations. The finale featured more smoke, each of the mermaids rising from the water wearing a crown of sparklers while the six men held aloft billowing, colorful flares.
“Magnificent!” I applauded. “I’ve never seen anything like it! You’ve outdone yourselves!”
One of the Apollos swam to the edge of the pool and looked up at me, his brow furrowed with a modesty that was charming, boyish, and completely specious.
“You don’t think the Deuce Coupe was a little murky?” he said.
“Not at all. I’ve never seen a Deuce Coupe in my life, and I recognized it at once!”
I was in California, while the rest of my band was on their way to Hong Kong, where they could expedite their visas to the mainland. I myself was traveling on a U.S. visa belonging to my cousin Pedrito, who was in Sofia and not using it, and who looked enough like me- at least to a U.S. Customs agent- for me to pass.
Laszlo deVign- of Laszlo deVign’s Outrageous Water Ballet of Malibu- vaulted gracefully from the pool and reached for a towel, making sure as he did so that I had a chance to appreciate the definition of his lats and the extension of arm and body. “So, you have some kind of job for us?” he said.
“Recovery of a coffin-sized box from the hold of a sunken ship lying on an even keel in sixty meters of water.”
He straightened, sucked in his tummy just a little to better define the floating ribs, and narrowed his blue eyes. “Sixty meters? What’s that in feet?”
I ran an algorithm through my head. “Just under two hundred, I think.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “That should be easy enough.”
I explained how the whole operation had to be conducted on the q.t., with no one finding out.
He paused and looked thoughtful again.
“How do you plan to do that?”
I explained. Laszlo nodded. “Ingenious,” he said.
“You’ve got to get over to Hong Kong right away,” I said. “And bring your gear and cylinders of whatever exotic gasses you’re going to need to stay at depth. The ship will give you air or Nitrox fills, but they’re not going to have helium or whatever else you’re going to need.”
“Wait a minute,” Laszlo said. He struck a pose of belligerence, and in so doing made certain I got a clear view of his profile. “We haven’t talked about money.”
“Here’s what I’m offering,” I said, and told him the terms.
He argued, but I held firm. I happened to know he’d blown his last gig in Vegas because of an argument with the stage manager over sound cues, and I knew he needed the cash.
“Plus,” I pointed out, “they’ll love you over there. They’ll never have seen anything like what you do. You’re going to hit popular taste smack between the eyes.”
He looked firm. “There’s one thing I’m going to insist on, though.”
I sighed. We’d reached the moment I’d been dreading for the last two days.
“What’s that?” I asked, knowing the answer..
He brandished a finger in the air, and his blue eyes glowed with an inner flame “I must,” he said, “I absolutely must have total artistic control!”
*
Six days later we found ourselves in Shanghai, boarding the Tang Dynasty. It had taken that long for me to bribe two key members of the Acrobat Troupe of Xi'an into having hernias, thus leaving the Long Peace Lounge without an opening act for the Bloodthirsty Hopping Vampire Show. Fortunately I'd been in a position to contact the ship's entertainment director- who was underpaid, as was most of the ship's crew- and I was able to solve both his problems, the absence of an opening act and his lack of a decent salary. That he could have a genuine California water ballet, complete with Deuce Coupe, for a token sum was just a fraction of the good luck I bestowed upon him.
The Tang Dynasty was a themed cruise ship that did the Shanghai-Hong Kong-Macau route twice a week. The bulbous hull was more or less hull-like, though it was entwined with fiberglass dragons; but the superstructure looked like a series of palaces from the Forbidden City, each with the upturned eaves common in China and with the ridgepoles ornamented with the ”fish tail” standard in Tang Dynasty architecture- a protection against fire, I was told, as in the event of a blaze the tail was supposed to slap the water and drown the conflagration. The buildings were covered with ornament, slathered with gold and vermilion, crowned with phoenixes, twined with dragons, fronted with lions.
To say nothing of the audioanimatronic unicorns.
The interior carried on the theme. The staterooms, swathed with silks and embroidery, gave every impression of being rooms of state in a thousand-year-old palace. At any time of the day, passengers could dine at the Peaches of Heaven Buffet, have a reading from any one of four fortune-tellers (Taoist, Buddhist, Animist, and an alcoholic Gypsy imported from Romania), get a pedicure at the Empress Wu Pavilion of Beauty, light incense at the Temple of Tin Hau, Goddess of the Sea, or defy the odds in the Lucky Boy Casino (international waters and Macau SAR only).
The crew were dressed in Tang Dynasty costumes, with the captain garbed as the Emperor, in yellow robes covered with the five-toed dragons reserved for the Son of Heaven. Those of us who played in the lounges were not required to dress as Chinese entertainers, except of course unless they were Chinese entertainers.