The Impresario of Vienna

‘Café Museum’, with its red velvet seats and dangling chandeliers, was a cozy little corner for a meeting place on an autumn evening. I entered the cafe, Hans took me to my table and greeted me, “Welcome home sir.” I smiled at my seasonal friend as we exchanged simple pleasantries in my broken German. I am quite fortunate that nearly everyone in this country speaks English. As I hung from my jacket on a slightly taller than normal coat rack, a server appeared with my regular order; a soda citron, double espresso, and glass of Vienna’s famed white wine - Grüner Veltliner, down on the marble table.

It was at Café Museum that I acquired my most influential contacts throughout the city of Vienna. Unbeknownst to me, I resurrected the old days of the little cafe before it became a tourist attraction. Amazing stories I’ve been told about artists, philosophers, and the like, used to flood to this gem in the city center in the early parts of the 20th century. It was a hub for creatives and innovators. For me, it was the recommendation of a dear friend who suggested that it be a convenient space to meet the powerful intendants of the city. She was correct.

My assistant, Alexandra, a former ballerina arrived promptly an hour later. As she sat down, Hans was prompt in sending her a white wine spritzer.

“I have your earnings for tonight’s concert, but first tell me, how was your flight?” she asked in a tender German accent as she lit a skinny cigarette. It didn’t bother me that she was holding my money hostage in exchange for a delightful conversation. As her eyes looked to the tip of her cigarette, the evening proceeded as usual, four or five drinks and two packs of cigarettes between the two of us. Several laughs and a humorous exchange, my American style of conversation always a little too loud for this quaint café.

After some time, I inquired, “Did you count the earnings?”

“Yes,” she replied, one elbow on the table holding her fourth spritzer and her other hand just below the tables edge, “twenty thousand more than expected.”

My chin swept the air slightly, “Twenty thousand more than expected you said. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I counted it three times.” A fire sparked between her eyes as she lit her next cigarette, “I already pocketed my twelve. Danke dir.” She said as the smoke rose slowly above her head.

“You were to only pocket ten,” I said with both eyebrows raised.

“Very funny,” she replied sarcastically.

“No, the earnings were not to exceed one hundred thousand,” I said earnestly, “Who did you count it with?”

“Frau Weber,” Alexandra could sense the concern within my tone, “Matthew, should I concern myself with your distress or is this something you are already aware of?”

I always enjoyed the sound of my name flying from her lips, “Was Maestro there as well?” I replied.

“No, he was preparing for the concert,” she answered.

I lowered my brow and spoke softly “Please, call Frau Weber now and ask her and the Maestro to meet us at the Sacher Hotel.”

“She is in concert with the Maestro,” Alexandra replied. A brief moment of quietness ensured the fact that she could see the concern in my demeanor, “I will call her anyway and leave a message. The concert should be done soon.”

Hans, always with a keen eye on my table appeared placed the bill down on the table. He was always eager to receive my American style of tipping, and he deserved it just as well. We left Café Museum, earnings in my left hand and Alexandra in my right.

We walked briskly to the Sacher Hotel. As we past the Vienna State Opera, the outside video wall was performing Madama Butterfly. Ironically, it the scene was depicting Butterfly at the end of show waiting for Pinkerton. I could share a similar sentiment as the anxiety of wondering the overpayment was lingering in my left hand. This was not something that Frau Weber or Maestro Schmidt would miss accidentally.

Alexandra and I took a seat in the cafe at the Sachar Hotel. We ordered another round of drinks as we waited for nearly thirty-five minutes before Frau Weber and the Maestro Schmidt to arrive. We greeted each other as they joined our table and after exchanging pleasantries of the evening I began to inquire.

“Maestro, it appears I was over-payed twenty thousand Euros,” I addressed in a quiet manner.

The Maestro sat up straight, “I am aware,” he replied as the trajectory of his eyes ventured to the table, “There is a gentleman who would like to meet you this evening.”

Slightly perplexed I answered, “Which gentlemen?”

At that exact moment, a server approached our table and addressed me, “Excuse me Mr. Romano, the gentlemen in the booth over there would like you to join their table.” She pointed in a direction behind me. Located in that direction were three gentlemen, well dressed and a bit weathered. I could tell immediately their native origin due to the construction of their facial features. I looked back at the Maestro, he kept his eyes fixated on his wine as the same for Frau Weber. I turned to Alexandra who looked equally confused. I rose from the table, wine in hand, and started to my walk over to towards the gentlemen.

Two of the men slowly started to stand from their seats, while the other sat their comfortably, clearly in control. “Greetings, Mr. Romano, please take a seat,” the one gentleman expressed in an accent clearly from the Balkans.

“I’d rather not,” I replied quite sternly, “Please tell me, what this is about?”

The seated man in charge, while running his index finger around the rim of his brandy said, “My associate is not asking you to sit down, he is telling you.” I turned back to Alexandra who had a look of concern on her face, their table had grown quiet.

I placed my wine on the table, the cafe pianist started to play Chopin Mazurka in C# minor Op. 63, I fitting tune for such an engagement. I slowly sat down.

“Mr. Romano, I trust you received our gift of twenty thousand Euros?” I remained quiet. The gentleman continued, “This is the first of twelve installments you will receive over the next year, to be paid monthly.” Still, I remained quiet. Clearly, the Maestro knew of this engagement. “Mr. Romano, I can sense your caution but let me explain, I only seek your talents as a producer of concerts,” I had a suspicion that this is not the only thing he was seeking. “My daughter is a very talented singer and I would like you take her as one of your talents.”

He then nodded at another table as I turned a young lady in her mid-20s emerged from a table wearing a blue gown, accented with darker blues across the seams. She was remarkably beautiful, dark skin and hair, and her cheek bones were as sharp as nails. She had diamond earnings, and bright sapphire necklace which laid softly across her chest. As she approached, the gentlemen immediately rose from the table as the young lady moved in next to her father. “This is Leida, my daughter,” the man in charge spoke in his raspy voice.

I replied, “Pleasure to meet you, Leida,” I continued, “Thank you for interest in my services, however, I surely must hear your daughter sing if I am to take her as a client.”

“Of course, Mr. Romano,” the gentleman then signaled to a server and spoke German. Though my German was a bit weak I was able to discern that he requested a performance with his daughter and the café pianist. The server was overly excited and clearly aware of the gentleman’s influence. Leida left table after giving her father a kiss. As she departed, her eyes crossed mine, dark as night and with an energy I will surely not forget.

She approached the pianist and whispered to him, then turned to the members of the café. The piano began, it was one of my favorite arias by George Fredric Handel from his opera Giulio Cesare, “V’adoro, pupille,” an aria about the power of seduction through one’s eyes. The young lady was beyond talented and her beauty would make for an easy prospect to put on any stage across the continent. As she concluded, my spine inflamed with a sharp chill. The café began to clap as she took an eloquent bow. Leida rejoined her original table.

Her father inquired of her talents, “So Mr. Romano, what are your thoughts?”

“She has a natural gift and I would be happy to program her on several concerts,” I replied, figuring that I was about to be hustled for a fee.

At that moment, one of the other gentleman seated at the table took out a mole skinned little black book and slid it across the table, he gestured that I open it.

Upon opening it, I saw a series of names, addresses, and IBAN numbers in locations around the world that I am unfortunately already familiar with. I looked up at the man in charge as he said, “The proceeds from the concerts will go to these bank accounts,” he then gestured for me to continue turning the pages. I could tell immediately I was being baited for money laundering.

As I flipped through the book, I stopped on the last page and it read, ‘Matthew Romano,’ along with my address in the U.S.A and my bank account information.

I closed the book swiftly and sensing my concern the main in charge raised his hand and stopped me before I could speak. “Mr. Romano, it has come to my attention that you are becoming quite an influence here in my city. Additionally, I have become aware of your activities in Milan, Munich, and Prague to say the least. I suggest you take my offer.”

“And should I refuse?” I replied immediately.

“Then your activities in this city will cease to exist,” he said with his nose high in the air.

Puzzled, I replied, “How would my activities cease to exist?”

“Because you will cease to exist,” he replied as he lowered his chin, “we will see you here tomorrow evening at the same time. I trust you will make the right decision.” At that moment all three men rose from the table. Leida joined them as well, she looked back at me and blew a kiss.

My heart began to pound, completely taken aback by the situation I had just found myself in. My hand quivering, grabbed my wine and went back to rejoin my colleagues.

Alexandra looked at me with concern, “Matthew, what was that about?” she asked.

I looked at the Maestro and said, “Who the hell was that?”

Maestro Schmidt slowly rose his head, looked me and said, “That was the Impresario of Vienna.”