Free Vienna Station by Robert Walton Page B

slightly. Kelly is just in front of my music stand. At least I’m not alone with this guy.
    He claps his hands and hops toward me. “I know! Come and have coffee with me! Today at three! I’ll reserve a table at the Café Sacher!” He looks at Kelly. “Bring your lovely friend, too!”
    I hesitate, “Well, I only just arrived.”
    “Wonderful! Coffee at Café Sacher is a perfect introduction to Vienna Station. Please say that you’ll come!”
    I glance at Kelly. She inclines her head slightly. I say, “I’ll come.”
    The small man leans forward and takes my hand. “Wonderful!” His lips brush my knuckles—moth wings, spider webs drifting on a night-fog. Shivers tumble over each other in their haste to rush down my spine.
    He murmurs, “Aufwiedersehen,” and releases my hand. He straightens. His smile catches golden light as he turns and departs.
    I shake my head. “You’ll see me again in your dreams, Mr. Moth Lips!”
    Kelly smiles sardonically. “That was him, you know.”
    I look at her. “Who?”
    “The boss.”
    “The boss?”
    “Sure, that was Mozart.”
    “Mozart?”
    Kelly nods. “Mozart. You seem to have made a good impression on him, too.”
    I slowly slump in my chair. Mozart thinks I play beautifully. The new Mozart, that is. He also wants to have coffee with me. I look back at Kelly. “My god! I’ve got to go!”
    Kelly grins. “Of course, you do. We both do and we’ve got to find something for you to wear.”
    I’m numb. I look down to see if my fingers are still attached to my hands. I mutter, “He thinks I play well.”
    Kelly smiles and pats my shoulder. “You do. And you’ll look great in an 18th Century gown, too. There’s a laser dressmaker in the warm-up room. You like purple?”
    “Purple?”
    Kelly nods. “The boss likes purple.”
    I nod. “Purple.”
    Kelly pats my shoulder again. “Put that away and come with me. It’s almost two now.”
    “I feel ridiculous!”
    Kelly smiles, “Relax. You look great.”
    I glance quickly at the mirror and am again shocked by what I see. Yards and yards of purple and cream satin swirl around me, yet only just manage to conceal my bosom.
    Kelly plops a wide, multi-feathered had on my head. “There. That will do it.”
    I snort, “It certainly will!” I look at her. Her green and yellow gown seems chaste and sober compared with mine.
    She pats my hand. “Quit griping. It’s free. We work here.” She glances at the clock. “Let’s go.”
    A long, curving hallway takes us to a modern reception area. Beyond that is the Concourse. We pause.
    Kelly chuckles, “Ready?”
    I shrug. “I guess so.”
    We walk through the doorway and I discover I wasn’t ready at all. I knew beforehand that the Concourse is an 18th Century fantasyland, but I never expected the relentless intensity of the simulation.
    Men and women stroll, bow, embrace and kiss on faux cobblestone streets. The women are dressed in gowns with plunging necklines. Their powdered bosoms are slathered with pearls and diamonds. They wear silver wigs done up in pompadours. The men wear brightly colored satin suits with long tails, knickers and silk stockings. Elaborate, puffy white wigs adorn their heads. They also are bejeweled beyond a pirate’s dreams of treasure.
    We stroll through this scene, not drably dressed, but by no means conspicuous either. A rank, barnyard odor blasts the various perfumes wafting through the air. Kelly grabs my elbow.
    “Be careful!”
    I look down. A pile of round, green, steaming turds awaits my satin covered right foot. I look at Kelly.
    “Horses,” she explains.
    “There are horses up here?’
    She nods, “Dozens at least. For authenticity. For atmosphere.”
    “Atmosphere?”
    “Just watch your step.”
    We reach the Café Sacher. A host in shocking pink satin livery looks down his very pointed nose at us and asks, “You have reservations?”
    Kelly nods. “We’re to meet Mozart.”
    His face dissolves into a wide smile. His