Café Hungaria-5
Before he could speculate further, Gustáv was distracted by Giorgio’s arrival. Gustáv was curious to see how the maître-d’ treated him. If he stayed in character by continuing the Middle European charade, then it would be clear that Giorgio’s success was not yet common knowledge around town. On the other hand, if the maître-d’ treated Giorgio like an old pal, his friend’s success was total. Since the maître-d’ seemed to remain in his part and treated Giorgio as just one more customer, Gustáv concluded that no, Giorgio’s success was still inside information.
Giorgio commented as much after he joined Gustáv at his table. “Yeah. That’s why I wanted to meet here. It’s not part of the circuit,” Giorgio said, draping his jacket on the back of his chair, then signaling the waiter from a distance that he wanted a cup of coffee. The waiter acknowledged his signal with a slight bow of the head. “Not bad,” Giorgio couldn’t resist observing. “He’d make call backs,” he said.
“Look at his shoes,” Gustáv couldn’t resist noting.
Giorgio looked again at the waiter. “His feet are out of frame,” he said, turning back to Gustáv.
“If word gets out you’re here, this place will be refusing customers,” Gustáv said.
Giorgio shrugged. “I have a feeling fame isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Gustáv replied, carefully.
“So what have you been up to besides pissing on my movie?” Giorgio asked disarmingly.
Gustáv hesitated as he tried to decide what to say. Giorgio waved a hand as if brushing aside the topic and smiled.
“It’s OK, it’s OK,” he said good-naturedly. “You’re right, it’s a piece of shit.”
Gustáv realized he really didn’t know what to say.
Giorgio continued for both of them. “Believe it or not,” he said, “That’s why I wanted to get together. I just wanted to be around somebody who loves film more than fame. Somebody’s who’s honest.” He then looked around the room. “Not that this over-dressed set is exactly the epitome of ruthless truth,” he said. “God, can you believe this place?”
“I kind of like it,” Gustáv said.
“Are you kidding?” Giorgio asked, surprised. “You’re the last person I would expect to go for this kind of kitsch.”
Gustáv smiled. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I like it because it is so Los Angeles.”
Giorgio laughed. “Isn’t it, though?” he said. “Damn, I should’ve gone back in ’92.”
“Oh?” Gustáv asked.
“Yeah, I got an offer from Mágfilm back then,” he said. “They wanted to make Hollywood-style movies on the Danube.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
Giorgio shrugged. “I was in pre-production on something, which fell through, of course.” He laughed, then continued. “But I guess the real reason was too much pixie dust from the lights of Sunset Boulevard. What keeps you here?”
For a moment, Gustáv was at a loss. It was a very good question, but one he had never asked himself. “I really don’t know,” he finally stuttered. Then, after thinking a bit more he said, “I guess it’s because, for all its ups and downs, it’s the place where film still matters.”
Giorgio guffawed. “Thus the Film Arts Review.”
“Not much longer,” Gustáv said.
“What do you mean?” Giorgio asked.
“I’m being eased out,” he said. “Nobody’s said anything yet, but I can read the signs.”
“Who by?” Giorgio asked.
“By a no-doubt po-faced PhD measuring the length of Howard Hawks’s penis.”
Giorgio did a double-take.
Gustáv smiled. “Never mind,” he said. It was his turn to wave his hand to change the subject. He looked out the window at the passing traffic, then back inside as the waiters bustled about their business. “Where’s my Dobos torte?” he asked without thinking.
“Lost somewhere between Vienna and Budapest, no doubt,” Giorgio said lightly.
“We’re relics,” Gustáv finally said. “A filmmaker who can only work by betraying what is best in him and a critic who isn’t allowed to criticize.”
They both laughed slightly. “Where does that leave us?” Giorgio asked philosophically.
Gustáv laughed quietly. “We both love film,” he said. “So I guess that leaves us searching for happy endings.”
“And what would those be?” Giorgio asked.
Gustáv looked at him, then around the room, then back to him. “Your cell phone rings, your agent is on the line, and he tells you you’ve been given carte blanche to film War and Peace. Or maybe Saint-Simon’s Memoirs.”
Giorgio laughed so loudly that others in the room looked at him briefly. “That’s certainly fantasy land. Why not both? Next?”
“The waiter brings you the cup of coffee you ordered twenty minutes ago,” Gustáv said.
“Has it really been that long?” Giorgio looked at his watch. “This place is not in for a repeat performance.” Then looking up, he said, “One more try."
“After three false starts, you find your muse,” Gustáv said simply.
The memory of Susan flashed through Giorgio’s mind, and he laughed. “Hah!” he said, “I’ve already met her.” He paused, then said, “And you? What’s your happy ending?”
Gustáv thought for a moment, then said, “I finish one of those stories that have picked away at me like harpies for years.”
Giorgio smiled. “Anything is possible,” he said.
“Yes, anything is possible’” Gustáv said as he looked away from the screen and smiled in contentment. “That’s enough of Giorgio for today. “Time for some bull’s blood.”
Before he could speculate further, Gustáv was distracted by Giorgio’s arrival. Gustáv was curious to see how the maître-d’ treated him. If he stayed in character by continuing the Middle European charade, then it would be clear that Giorgio’s success was not yet common knowledge around town. On the other hand, if the maître-d’ treated Giorgio like an old pal, his friend’s success was total. Since the maître-d’ seemed to remain in his part and treated Giorgio as just one more customer, Gustáv concluded that no, Giorgio’s success was still inside information.
Giorgio commented as much after he joined Gustáv at his table. “Yeah. That’s why I wanted to meet here. It’s not part of the circuit,” Giorgio said, draping his jacket on the back of his chair, then signaling the waiter from a distance that he wanted a cup of coffee. The waiter acknowledged his signal with a slight bow of the head. “Not bad,” Giorgio couldn’t resist observing. “He’d make call backs,” he said.
“Look at his shoes,” Gustáv couldn’t resist noting.
Giorgio looked again at the waiter. “His feet are out of frame,” he said, turning back to Gustáv.
“If word gets out you’re here, this place will be refusing customers,” Gustáv said.
Giorgio shrugged. “I have a feeling fame isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Gustáv replied, carefully.
“So what have you been up to besides pissing on my movie?” Giorgio asked disarmingly.
Gustáv hesitated as he tried to decide what to say. Giorgio waved a hand as if brushing aside the topic and smiled.
“It’s OK, it’s OK,” he said good-naturedly. “You’re right, it’s a piece of shit.”
Gustáv realized he really didn’t know what to say.
Giorgio continued for both of them. “Believe it or not,” he said, “That’s why I wanted to get together. I just wanted to be around somebody who loves film more than fame. Somebody’s who’s honest.” He then looked around the room. “Not that this over-dressed set is exactly the epitome of ruthless truth,” he said. “God, can you believe this place?”
“I kind of like it,” Gustáv said.
“Are you kidding?” Giorgio asked, surprised. “You’re the last person I would expect to go for this kind of kitsch.”
Gustáv smiled. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I like it because it is so Los Angeles.”
Giorgio laughed. “Isn’t it, though?” he said. “Damn, I should’ve gone back in ’92.”
“Oh?” Gustáv asked.
“Yeah, I got an offer from Mágfilm back then,” he said. “They wanted to make Hollywood-style movies on the Danube.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
Giorgio shrugged. “I was in pre-production on something, which fell through, of course.” He laughed, then continued. “But I guess the real reason was too much pixie dust from the lights of Sunset Boulevard. What keeps you here?”
For a moment, Gustáv was at a loss. It was a very good question, but one he had never asked himself. “I really don’t know,” he finally stuttered. Then, after thinking a bit more he said, “I guess it’s because, for all its ups and downs, it’s the place where film still matters.”
Giorgio guffawed. “Thus the Film Arts Review.”
“Not much longer,” Gustáv said.
“What do you mean?” Giorgio asked.
“I’m being eased out,” he said. “Nobody’s said anything yet, but I can read the signs.”
“Who by?” Giorgio asked.
“By a no-doubt po-faced PhD measuring the length of Howard Hawks’s penis.”
Giorgio did a double-take.
Gustáv smiled. “Never mind,” he said. It was his turn to wave his hand to change the subject. He looked out the window at the passing traffic, then back inside as the waiters bustled about their business. “Where’s my Dobos torte?” he asked without thinking.
“Lost somewhere between Vienna and Budapest, no doubt,” Giorgio said lightly.
“We’re relics,” Gustáv finally said. “A filmmaker who can only work by betraying what is best in him and a critic who isn’t allowed to criticize.”
They both laughed slightly. “Where does that leave us?” Giorgio asked philosophically.
Gustáv laughed quietly. “We both love film,” he said. “So I guess that leaves us searching for happy endings.”
“And what would those be?” Giorgio asked.
Gustáv looked at him, then around the room, then back to him. “Your cell phone rings, your agent is on the line, and he tells you you’ve been given carte blanche to film War and Peace. Or maybe Saint-Simon’s Memoirs.”
Giorgio laughed so loudly that others in the room looked at him briefly. “That’s certainly fantasy land. Why not both? Next?”
“The waiter brings you the cup of coffee you ordered twenty minutes ago,” Gustáv said.
“Has it really been that long?” Giorgio looked at his watch. “This place is not in for a repeat performance.” Then looking up, he said, “One more try."
“After three false starts, you find your muse,” Gustáv said simply.
The memory of Susan flashed through Giorgio’s mind, and he laughed. “Hah!” he said, “I’ve already met her.” He paused, then said, “And you? What’s your happy ending?”
Gustáv thought for a moment, then said, “I finish one of those stories that have picked away at me like harpies for years.”
Giorgio smiled. “Anything is possible,” he said.
“Yes, anything is possible’” Gustáv said as he looked away from the screen and smiled in contentment. “That’s enough of Giorgio for today. “Time for some bull’s blood.”