2006.08.28
The Black Queen of Prague
I have something for the Birthday Boy.
On Saturday in Bolinas with friends I told one of the many stories of Curtis Jones, who in my head I’ve always thought of as the Black Queen of Prague. I’m sure he’d scold me for such a title, but it is apt. The man was one of the most flamboyantly gay, entertaining and insightful people I’ve ever known. I tried finding more on him online but the only decent article I found was from Think Magazine.
Everyone has some crazy incident from your past that leaves a lasting impression like a fond scar you show off to friends. A surreal event that turns itself into a tall tale while still being absolutely true. Curtis Jones supplied that story for me.
It was my 25th birthday, or maybe my 24th. I met up with Paul Gerbuis and Richmond Henty at Bunkr Cafe and we started celebrating. There was a lot of drinking and I remember cigars, but that could have been almost any night. When we got hungry we decided to goto this Italian restaurant we frequented. A Czech girl named Andrea, back from school in England, tagged along.
There was a crowd at the restaurant, so we stood there waiting. We were in quite a mood from drinking already, and when we realized we’d get a table faster if we had the exact number to fit one of the open tables, we recruited some hapless Australian fellow named Pete to join us.
There was a crowd at the restaurant but we got a table quickly. It’s always good to know people. We had an extra seat at the table so we invited one of the people standing alone at the door to sit with us. The man was an Aussie named Pete, and he’d quit his job as an accountant and was touring Europe researching hops. He hoped to open a brewery in Australia with the remainder of his savings.
We started overwhelming poor Pete with questions and teasing him for leaving his accounting business to start a brewery. Of course we supported him -we all loved beer!- but as most people know if you let me start teasing you I’m not going to stop. Poor Andrea, who hadn’t been drinking, watched on helplessly as Paul, Richmond and I carried on. Poor, put-upon Pete.
Suddenly Curtis walked into the room with two young men tagging along. He saw us and sauntered over to our table. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
“It’s Doug’s birthday.”
Curtis fixed me with a drunken, intense stare and held it. Then he said, in the queeniest voice I’d ever heard, “I’ve got something for the Birthday Boy.”
To Pete’s absolute shock and our endless delight Curtis thrust his hand into his voluminous purple pants and started grabbing, scratching, digging for something tucked deep in his crotch. He made such a show the whole restaurant was looking to see what was going on.
Finally he pulled out a small brick of hash, about 2cm3, and placed it in my hand. I think I must have turned bright red. Curtis then kissed me on the cheek. “Happy birthday,” he said, and then led is two young men to a private table. Without a word, Pete put some money on the table and left. We stared after him and laughed some more.
I have no recollection what happened to the brick, but Curtis gave me one of the best -and strangest- memories I have of my time in Prague. I hope if I ever return there I find him and can tell him the story.
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