The rest of my first German season pottered on quite pleasantly: boat trips on the Rhine, the odd train trips up to Köln and down to Frankfurt, lots of socialising and the occasional visit from friends from England. The end of the season proved to be quite interesting, though...
One of our dancers, a Brazilian called J..., received a visit from his sister. She was a photo model, and not because she was classically beautiful. She had an extraordinary androgenous look and could have been a man or a woman, depending on your own perception of her appearance. She was absolutely delightful and struck up a friendship with B, one of my direct colleagues; a friendship which, predictably enough, ended up in the sack. This was curious, as many suspected B of preferring his own gender, but maybe the Brazilian model's look satisfied his curiosity and desire to conform at the same time.
A little while later, she left. B then struck up a relationship with J..., the brother. He insisted it was platonic, but no-one was fooled, nor did they care. Things came to a head when the sister announced she as coming back to visit B at the end of the season, in early July...
In the meantime, plans were afoot for the Theatre Open Days. B and I were to supply the accompaniment to a performance of La Cage aux Folles (seriously) on two pianos; there were to be public song recitals, open ballet classes, the lot. I was marked down to play for the ballet on stage and to accompany a baritone in a lunchtime concert. This would have posed no problem had I not made the acquaintance of L, an Irish girl visiting a friend in the orchestra at that time.
Her friend was a percussionist, a great bloke from North London who had taken time out from the LSO to get a bit of continental orchestral experience. He, his girlfriend (a friend of L's), L and I went for a pizza after the performance of La Cage. Much wine later, L decided it would be a good idea if I walked her home. Being the good Irish girl she was, she'd brought a bottle of Jameson's whiskey with her to Germany, just in case they'd never heard of it in Germany. We set about finishing the bottle then celebrated nakedly until about 8am, at which point I had to get up and prepare for the second Open Day. Still dressed in my DJ and black tie, physically destroyed and hung over, I ran back to my flat to find the music I needed for the ballet class and subsequent recital. Playing in front of 500 screaming schoolchildren at 10am when you're still blind drunk with one eye closed so you can focus, is no fun. Believe me. Concentrating so hard that you hit the right notes in the right order makes you sweat like a pig, you're dying of thirst and you just wish that everyeone would just go away and leave you in peace so you can go and curl up in a ball in bed. It went OK, though, but there was also the matter of the Schubert recital to get through. A strong coffee in the canteen didn't help matters; it just seemed to send the Riesling and the Jameson's on one last triumphant lap of honour around my body. In front of 300 people, I closed my right eye and struck up the first bars of Der Wanderer...Since that day, I've never touched a drop before having to go on stage.
The best was still to come, though. The second Open Day was also the last day of the season. I was leaving for England the next day with my American neighbour and wouldn't be back for six weeks. J... was living with B across the road but his sister was coming and didn't know about the love triangle that had sprung up in her absence. J asked if he could spend the night on my sofa before he and his sister headed back to Brazil for the summer. No problem, I said, but you'll have to be out by nine, when I leave for England with C. Deal.
There was a little party at B's place after the evening concert. The two Brazilians were there, J... leaving earlier with my spare key so as not to go mad with jealousy, seeing his lover fondling his sister. L showed up, too! I was really happy to see her and she came home with me around midnight. Two sweaty and moist hours later, my doorbell rang. It was the Brazilian model, seeking asylum from B's lunacy. He'd confessed everything to her (after they'd made love, of course) and she, appalled, went off to look for her brother. They shared the sitting-room sofa while I crawled back to my Emerald beauty.
The only thing was, I needed to leave at 9am the next day. L, J and his sister were still out for the count and couldn't be roused. In the end, I left notes for them all, telling them where to leave the spare key and reluctantly closed the door behind me on three people I hardly knew, fast asleep in my flat that I was now basically leaving open for six weeks while I went abroad.
No comments:
Post a Comment