Gloria is a charismatic, if eccentric, Bar Owner in Barcelona, who takes two bright young gay guys under her wing and by chance, launches them on an 'alternative' Media career ...

Breaking News

"Que Tal?" is a well kept secret, hiding in the shadow of Barcelona's magnificent Church of Santa Maria del Mar on the Passeig del Born, an area of outstanding natural eccentricity.
When her phone rang, the Bar's Proprietress, Gloria C.Kettlewood (late of Croydon) was chopping limes for her lethal mojitos and singing along -slightly out of tune, with a ropy Samba Band

"Darling" she gushed. "Wonderful to hear from you. Where the hell are you? On the airport bus? Which country, darling?  Oh, you're with the lovely Ry. And the dog!  What dog?  Oh, I see. Where are you staying?"  Gloria nodded as she listened to the hesitant response. "Nonsense. You must come and stay here. Of course. And the dog. Why not?"
When she'd hung up, she summoned the staff - both of them. There was Jordi, the handsome, gentle Spanish hunk and Mad Marco, a well meaning but hyperactive young Italian.
"You remember Ry and Sergi, don't you? They were here at Easter"
"The two gay guys, you mean?" said Marco, mindlessly tearing up mint.
"Their orientation is neither here nor there"
"We're not prejudiced, Glo"
"I know that, darlings. You wouldn't be working here if you were"
"Yeah but we're not what you'd call a gay bar, are we?" added Jordi.
Gloria bristled. "We're not what you'd call a gay bar. We're not what you'd call a straight bar. We're what you'd just call a sodding Bar, for Christ's sake"
"You mean a politically correct bar" added Marco, helpfully.
"Now listen" she said, calming down, "Sergi was calling from the airport bus, so they should be here anytime now. Ry's just flown in from London and  Sergi's come up from Salou - wherever the hell that is. Be nice to them.  They're probably exhausted"


"Who were you ringing?" asked Ry, as the bus approached the city centre.
"Gloria. You remember her? "Miss Larger than Life. Who could forget her?"
"Now come on. She's great. Outrageous, funny, generous..."
"And known to one and all as "Warm Glo" Yes. We know!"
"What's more, she's invited us to stay with her"
"All three of us?"
"Sure" said Sergi. The third party referred to was a sad eyed mongrel he'd rescued from Salou's (not altogether satisfactory) answer to the Battersea Dogs Home.
He'd emailed a picture of the animal to Ry, and asked what he thought of him.
"Rubbish" came the reply.
And so the hapless creature was known from then on.

On the Town

The bus put them down in front of the vast Corte Ingles Department Store on Placa Catalunya, in the centre of Barcelona - a city Sergi knew well, having been brought up in  nearby Girona. Ry had visited only once before, but he'd immediately fallen in love with the laid back atmosphere of the Catalan Capital.

Wheeling Ry's luggage and attempting to control the contortions of an over excited hound, they crossed the square and parked themselves at one of dozens of of tables outside the Cafe Zurich at the top of the Ramblas, where Ry confidently ordered "dos canas y un aqua sin gas" though he rather spoiled the effect by explaining to the waiter that the agua was for "El Big Dog" All the same, Sergi was impressed by his friend's grasp of the local idiom. "They say Pillow Talk is the best way to master a foreign tongue" said Ry. "So who've you been sharing a pillow with, lately? I haven't even seen you in four months.
And whose foreign tongue have you been mastering, come to that?"
Ry kissed Sergi provocatively on the lips. He reckoned this was the kind of sophisticated thing you could do in Barcelona. And in public.

Peruvian musicians serenaded them, a clown hovered over their table, miming their actions for the amusement of the crowd - until Rubbish intervened. A sullen and inept juggler argued with them about the meagre coin they'd put in his hat, so they took it back. Then they headed down La Rambla, past the flower stalls, the live animal kiosks, the dice tricksters and  the human statues, those seemingly lifeless representations of everyone from Michael Jackson to Cleopatra. The splendid old Boqueria Market was dark and deserted. An audience leaving the Liceu Opera House sauntered into nearby restaurants and bars, as the boys headed for Sergi's favourite part of town, el Born. This venerable quarter of the Old City, traditionally echoed to the sound of upmarket buskers, playing classical guitar. But tonight, the atmosphere was different. Ominous, even. Roads were closed off and searchlights scanned rooftops. It wasn't a Terrorist Alert, though.
Woody Allen was in town.

Delayed by Woody Allen

The Carrer Argenteria, which leads to the colourful Placa Santa Maria and the West Facade of the great church was blocked by trucks and generators, wardrobe and make up caravans. A jib camera crane moved around like a giant seesaw, as the crew positioned massive Klieg lights and laid down camera tracks. From a mobile catering van, the smell of grilled steak wafted over a crowd of onlookers, while an Assistant Director attempted to marshall a mob of petulant extras. But there was no sign of Mr Allen or Mr Bardem. And where might Ms Cruz and Ms Johansson be hiding? Possibly in their super deluxe Trailers, discreetly parked in a quiet square, well away from the pandemonium. In short, Ry and Sergi were about to witness the night shoot of a scene from a Major Motion Picture.  As yet untitled, the film was to achieve international acclaim as "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" winning an Oscar for Penelope Cruz, as well as several other major awards.

The boys hung around for half an hour or so, but there was no sign of Action, just the endless repositioning of lights with stand-ins and repetitive bursts of Playback.
But Ry would have stayed all night. He was becoming jealous of the A.Ds, the Grips, the DoP, the Gaffer and the Best Boy.  He would have loved being part of such a movie crew and the buzz emanating from the Set only reminded him of his own situation. A month ago, he was strutting round a film set himself. Admittedly, it was only a small commercials studio in London's Camden Town, but he'd worked his way up from Dogsbody to First Assistant - and was bloody good at the job, too.  He couldn't believe they'd made him redundant, though it was hardly surprising, as the whole Production Company went bust a couple of weeks later. Still, he had three months salary by way of compensation, so he reckoned he must have been doing a reasonable job. The question was - would he ever find another one?

Sergi picked up this vibe and dragged him away. "Come on, Fellini. Let's get over there. The old Bat's probably scoffed the tapas, already"  The crowd was now bigger than ever and it wasn't easy to get clear of it, especially with luggage and an inquisitive dog in tow. A nondescript little man in a crumpled hat bumped into them and said sorry. But Ry was miles away and didn't notice. Sergi thought it best not to
mention that he'd just been apologised to by Woody Allen.

Open House

It was a hot night and several of "Que Tal's" customers were standing in the street outside the bar, talking, laughing and drinking. Big Dog led his masters into the welcoming atmosphere. The first thing they noticed was a Broadway style travelling sign, hanging over a tiny stage. In glittering green letters it announced

"The QT welcomes Sergio and Ryan" The boys were flattered. Then the letters turned bright red and spelt out "You're LATE, you bastards" In what she like to call the back office - a space that until recently had been part of the "Gents" Gloria was having hours of fun playing with her latest toy. With a wicked smile, she pecked at a keyboard, gratified that her words of wisdom would be glamorously exhibited to the clientel out front. Her message for Ry and Sergi was pretty mild, actually. These literary gems tended to become ever more insulting or obscene as the night wore on.
Marco and Jordi greeted the boys with macho hugs and a manly kiss on each cheek. Rubbish, not wanting to be left out of things,  thrust his great paws on the bar and appeared to be ready to order.
At which point, Gloria made her Grand Entrance.  "Daarlings" she cooed as she clutched them both to her more than adequate bosom, almost squeezing the life out of them.  Rubbish again intervened, viewing this crazy broad with deep suspicion - until  she stuffed a chicken leg into his slobbering mouth.
"Now what are you having? Or should I say who?"  she quipped, noticing the boys ogling a gang of  hot guys standing by the bar.  "How about our legendary mojito - shaken to within an inch of its life by Mr Universe, here?" Jordi had learned not to be embarrassed by such banter. He began to prepare the drinks, skillfully shaking the cocktails with casual aplomb.  Ry and Sergi were impressed. Gloria had seen it all before, of course.  "Varda the forearms, darling - going like the clappers. Between you and me, I think he practices those particular hand movements in his bedroom, when he thinks nobody's looking.  Now first things first. Follow me" she instructed the boys, pushing past them.
Rubbish figured that a tentative growl might not go amiss at this point.  "Stay" commanded Gloria. "Here. have an olive"
Like everyone else, she had Big Dog eating out of her hand.

All Through the Night

WELL DONE, CARMEN!

"Have you ever been up here?" asked Gloria, shepherding them into the first floor Salon. This is - well, I don't really know what it is; a sort of Green Room, I suppose. Or "Refuge" You'd be surprised how many people have taken refuge here, over the years.
"We're very grateful to you, Glo "  "Oh God, I didn't mean that, darling. What are friends for?"
"Now there are two sofa beds, though I guess you'll manage with just the one. Oh and we're fresh out of kennels, so His Nibs will have to kip on the floor, if he doesn't mind.  I'm afraid there's no "En Suite" either
but you can use the public loos. They're right next door. After we close, at three o'clock, they'll be for your exclusive delight. Before then, who knows?

"Everyone comes to Glo's, huh?" said Ry.  "Damned right. Now look, I'm sorry but I can't be responsible for the state of los Servicios before the sainted Carmen comes in the morning, with her weapons of mass disinfection. I should avoid the Ladies, if I were you. They're always the worst. Actually, in the mornings, you should nip over to Jean Luc's Caff, just across the road, His loos are brilliant. You could eat your breakfast off them. He does great breakfasts, by the way.  Oh and tomorrow I'll take you somewhere interesting for lunch, so we can talk properly.  We've a lot to catch up on.  Come and collect me about twelve, if that's OK."
"Well, you're only upstairs, aren't you?" said Sergi.

ANOTHER BLOODY OLIVE !

"God, we do have a lot to catch up on. No darling, I "upsized" months ago It's the frocks, y'know. They take up far more space than I do. The new place is amazing and it's only a couple of doors away.  I'll give you a Guided Tour tomorrow"

"So - have you let the apartment upstairs, then?" asked Ry.
"Yes.  Marco and Jordi have it now, though of course, they're not an Item - more's the pity. Separate bedrooms, would you believe"
"Not everyone's gay, you know, Gloria"
"Wanna bet?" she retorted
"The trouble with you Glo, is you're a Fag Hag" added Sergi. "And who really knows which way you swing?"
"Listen, honey, a lot of people think I'm a dyke, others reckon I'm a transvestite - or even a transsexual.
"So what are you, then?" the boys enquired simultaneously.
"I'm just an old fashioned girl"
"Like Hell, you are"
"Listen darling. I was married for ten unbelievable years"
"And your husband was ..."
"Hung like a fucking horse, dear"

Cabaret Time

Gloria led them downstairs to the bar, where she started handing round a huge platter of her very own tapas."Just an old fashioned girl" Sergi laughed. The room was becoming really crowded now. "I think you'd better take Rin Tin Tin upstairs, darling. His tail's knocked over two G&Ts already. "I'm not sure he wants to leave the party, Glo" said Ry noticing all the fuss the customers were making of Big Dog. "He will, if you give him this" She handed him a hot, spicy sausage. "Come on, Rubbish. Let's me take you away from all this"

Sergi meanwhile, made his way to the open door for a breath of fresh air. At half past one in the morning, the neighbourhood was livelier than ever. Under a baroque street lamp, a black guy with a guitar case hanging from his shoulder, was smoking.  He looked about forty. Six foot two, at least (thought Sergi) with the kind of mature, effortless sensuality that George Clooney could only dream of.

"Hi" he said  "You must be one of the boys who'll be staying at Gloria's place"
"News travels fast"
"Yeah. You can't keep a secret long around here. Smoke?"
He handed Sergi his spliff.  "I'm Jean Luc, by the way"
"Yes, we've heard about you. You're the guy with the "to die for" lavs, right?"
"Like I said, news travels fast" he said as Sergi took a long drag on the joint.
"I'm Sergi. Ry, my ... "I know, I know" smiled the Frenchman.
"He'll be down in a minute. He's just taken our dog upstairs away from the crowd"  "You brought your dog as well? Guess you really are moving in"

Gloria pushed her way through the door, feigning outrage. "Ahah! There you are. Caught in the act.
Who's seducing who? Come along JL" she said, dragging the musician towards the dinky stage.
"You're ON"  "I am? How am I doing?"
Marco turned off the music and faded up the blue and amber spots. Gloria addressed the audience in fluent French, Spanish and English, inviting them to welcome QT's resident Troubador. The travelling sign burst vividly into life with more of  the Hostess's bon mots moving slowly from right to left, proclaiming:
"Jean Luc Sex God ...Jean Luc Sex God...Jean Luc Sex God..."

Through a Glass, darkly.

He began predictably, with some crowd pleasers including "La Mer" and "Ne me quitte pas" Then came the Beatles' "Norwegian Wood" followed by "Let's Do It" with a salacious new lyric by Gloria, that would have made even Cole Porter blush. Sondheim's wistful "Not while I´m around" followed, and the set ended an hour or so later with Jean Luc's signature song "What are you doing the rest of your life"
This was the cue for Marco to flick on the merciless house lights "That always gets rid of the buggers" said Gloria as JL packed away his guitar and made for the exit. "See you guys for breakfast, then? We open at ten" "Thanks. Adios - au revoir" said Ry as Jean Luc headed home.
Gloria emerged from behind the bar, clutching a bag containing the night's takings. "Got to fly,
darlings.The loot's  in here and I must get it home pronto, before I'm tempted to blow it on some passing rent boy."

" Now you know where I am, don't you. It's the big grey stone building. Number fifty four. The bell's marked Atico, which means Penthouse, over here. Right then, I'll expect you at crack of noon - and not a moment earlier, mind you" She embraced them effusively and was gone.
Jordi and Julia, his latest conquest, said Buenas Noches and kissed their way upstairs.
Marco scraped the remains of tapas into a plastic bin.
"Have you got all this lot to clean up?" asked Ry "Can we give you a hand?"
"No - gracias. Carmen clears everything away and does the glasses and stuff first thing in the morning - before she slips into something Radiation Proof and tackles the loos!"
In the upstairs Salon, the slumbering Guard Dog failed to acknowledge intruders.
Minds clouded by mojitos, Ry and Sergi struggled noisily with the intricacies of their Ikea sofa bed.
Rubbish finally emitted an irritated groan.  The next thing they heard was the sonorous bell of Santa Maria del Mar, chiming eleven o'clock.

No place like Home

FOR WHAT SHE IS ABOUT TO RECEIVE, MAY THE LORD ...

The boys jumped out of bed and greeted their bemused dog, presenting him with a "desayuno" of stale crisps and  flat Coke, which he declined and darted off across the road to Jean-Luc's cafe, where he felt the menu would be more to his taste. After the briefest wash and brush up in Carmen's miraculously restored loos, Ry checked the time on his brand new iPhone - one of a number of high tech gizmos he'd treated himself to, out of some of his redundancy money. "It's not quite twelve, yet, Better give her a couple of minutes to put her face on. "Couple of hours, you mean" said Sergi, buzzing the Atico of Number Fifty Four, an extremely classy old edifice, recently refurbished regardless of cost, by the look of things (not unlike Ms Kettlewood herself).

Eventually, a wheezy voice croaked "Not today, thank you"
"It's only us, Glo. Are you decent?"  "Come up and see for yourselves, darling" She pressed a switch to open the downstairs door.  A sleek, noiseless elevator beamed them up to the sixth floor.
Sergi was impressed and not just with the building.
"Wow, Glo. You look fantastic"  "Well don't sound so bloody surprised"
Gloria was wearing a chic, pale blue two-piece, Statement High Heels  and what might - just possibly, have been a wig; definitely a Big Ticket Wig, though. A Designer Wig, likely as not.
"Love the barnet" said Ry.
"Well darling, I do let my hair down occasionally. It's let me down often enough"
'We expected to see you in an old robe, at this time of day" laughed Sergi.
"And a bottle of gin in me hand, no doubt!  So - would you like the Grand Tour - or just the X rated highlights?  Step this way ...

Ry looked around in amazement. "Is this your kitchen? It enormous. You could cater for an Army in here "  "Now don't put ideas into my head. Anyway, I've always been a size queen, as you  know.
She led them through to a rustic dining room, crammed with antiques.  "God - just took at that table" said Ry. Gloria nodded. "Yes it's from the refectory of an ancient monastery in the Pyrenees. I was on a Retreat, at the time. Or maybe it was a Pilgrimage. Whatever. But I really coveted it. At first, the Head Monk wouldn't sell. He said "My child"
how about that - "My child?" "There are some things money can't buy"
"So how did you manage to change his mind" Sergi wondered.
"Well dear, I OFFERED him something money can't buy"
"And did he take it?"
"You bet. Right here on this very table, actually - well, they don't get out much, poor souls"
But he drove a hard bargain. Told me it had been blessed by Mother Teresa. I said I don't care if it's been blessed by Mother Goose, I want that table.  Seats twelve.
"Apostles?" said Ry."Hey - you could have your very own Last Supper on that"
Gloria frowned. "Let's see how yours goes first, shall we darling? Oh, by the way, how are you
on gardening?"
"Gardening?"
"Yes - come and see mine. It's on the roof"  She led them to an ornate spiral staircase.
"You go up first, darlings. I've got no drawers on"
In the hot afternoon sun, Barcelona shimmered beneath them.
"Look - there's the Sagrada Over Familiar, Icon of the city, god help us. Disney on Acid.

Sagrada Disneya

And if you come over here, see - there's your actual Mediterranean"

But it was the surprisingly "English" green of the sixth floor lawn that captivated Ry. Surrounding it were several small palm trees in big tubs and
bourganvilla in colours ranging from deep purple to bright orange. There were hanging baskets of petunias cascading over borders of geraniums and to complete the picture, white parasols shaded a couple of tempting sun loungers, to one of which, Sergi succumbed.

"No time for that. You should have got your shut eye last night, instead of allowing yourself to be ravished by an Englishman abroad"

"Bloody cheek" muttered Ry, as Gloria led them back down the spiral staircase and into a whole new world ...



It was an eventful Autumn at "Que Tal" Mario upped sticks, joining his foxy lady at her home in Manchester, where he now worked in a Canal Street pub. His place was seamlessly taken by Sergi
who not only proved popular behind the bar but gradually established himself as Barcelona's answer to Jamie Cullum, mixing classic jazz and pop on a funky Baby Grand which "Mine Hostess" bought specially for him to "kick the shit out of" as she so eloquently put it. Jean-Luc offered his sophisticated chansons, while Gloria's risque intros developed into a fully fledged stand up routine of a decidedly adult nature. Meanwhile, Ry (the frustrated movie director) expertly shot and edited these riotous nightly recitals and 
posted them on YouTube. And while they didn't exactly go viral, they spread an infectious rash among their flock of camp followers.

Que Tal's customers and its bar takings were increasing week by week - as were the venue's outgoings.
Never one to scrimp on what she regarded as Essentials, Gloria had invested not only in the grand piano
but also in the latest high tech sound and light systems, extravagant furniture and fittings for the Bar and had a couple of walls demolished to "open the place up" She paid her staff more than handsomely and 
never appeared in the same stunningly chic outfits more than once.
Then slowly and painfully, she came to realise that the figures were't exactly adding up.
But what the Hell ...



..

Out of the Woodwork

Gloria went to have a facial. She had her hair and her nails done, too. To round things off, she bought a ludicrous dress by Vivienne Westwood, at a ludicrous price and felt much better as she entered her beloved sanctuary a couple of hours before opening time. She mixed herself a Manhattan and contemplated the immediate - somewhat uncertain, future.

A creepy looking individual slunk into the bar and offered her a clammy hand.

"The name's Mudd. James Mudd"

"We're not open yet".

"I come not to imbibe, madam. I come to implore.

Implore that you heed my entreaty, which (no promises, mind) could bestow on you riches beyond the dreams of Ava ...Av ... Avis...

"Car Rental?" suggested Gloria,
She scowled at him. "Hey, what are you on"?
"On? I'm on a Mission; a Mission to conjoin our two illustrious enterprises for what can only be described as mutual ....mutual ... dam, what is 

the word?
"Do you want me to tell you"?
"Forgive me dear lady, a nervous habit of mine - alas,
when apprehensive, I am apt to succumb to florid verbosity.
"Who the Hell are you"?
"Mudd, James ..."
"Yes. You've done that bit. Hang on. You're not the infamous impresario?
One and the same, madam. One and the same.
"And you own the biggest sauna in town, right"?
"The MuddBath" indeed so. I cannot deny it. Nor can I repudiate the rumour that I am expanding. And that - I sincerely trust, is where (God willing)
you come in. Yes. I'm trebling my floorspace to accommodate a Nightclub"

"A nightclub in a sauna, well that's a novelty"
"Charming of you to say so but several years ago - when you were a mere child - if that, a young chanteuse
clearly destined for stardam - as surely as you yourself are, made her debut at a gay New York bath house.
"You mean the divine Miss M? Bette Midler"
"Not to mention her piano player, one Barry Manilow"
"Quite. One Barry Manilow is enough for anybody"
"Well, I think Barcelona is pining for that kind of sophistication and - if I may make so bold, you
Madam, are the Lady to herald it"
"But I can't sing"
"Your modesty is touching. Bless you. But what you have in abundance is that most elusive attribute
Style, dear Lady. Style. There's no other word for it. Miss Hepburn had it, so had Tallulah. It's not a gift randomly bestowed by the Almighty. I have been riveted - I repeat, riveted, by your performances on the internet, introducing those horny young musicians - whom I venture to suggest, are clad in more raiment than is strictly necessary - under the circumstances. Incidentally, I myself would be only too thrilled to get stuck in,  in a - how shall I say, "hands on" capacity.  No trouble, I assure you. Changing the subject completely, may I ask you a personal question?
"Depends"
"Tell me. What's your capacity"?
"Oh. Half a dozen large G&Ts usually sees me right"
"No no no. You misunderstand. I refer to the capacity of your magnificent watering hole. How many can you accommodate in that snug nest of yours?"  "That is a rather personal question" said
Gloria, choking on her cherry.  "Quite so. Forgive me but you
charge no entrance fee? Tut Tut, I say unto you. And again, Tut. The new Muddbath  complex
will have a capacity of five hundred virile - that word again, young studs. Each and every one of them paying  twenty Euros to enter my realm of Erotic Bliss.  Not to mention copious additional income from the restaurants and bars."
"Well, Good Luck with it, Mr. Mudd"
He smirked, coyly. "My friends call me -Jimjams"
"Really?" said Gloria. "That's almost camp, Mr. Mudd. Anyway, I'm a simple girl at heart and  quite 
 happy with what we have here."
"And what you have here, is precisely what I want there. In a word, I want your show"
"You can forget that. I wouldn't dream of pulling out of here"
"You wouldn't have to - except for one - exceedingly well remunerated night per week, when we would record our cutting edge TV extravaganza for my new channel Mudd Media. You'd be the star  "naturellement" along with those two charming boys of yours. What a team! And I, of course would be only too willing to offer a hand - at climactic moments"
"That I can believe"  Gloria conceded.
The impressario's imagination took flight. "I can see it all -
Yourself, your delectable musicians - accompanied by a eager troup of young Pros - in full support" "Jock straps?"
"No no." He hesitated. "Well, I suppose - at a pinch ...
"Chorus boys never did it for me" said Gloria.
" Tish. Mudd's Macho MEN more like it. They'll do it for anybody, so I do beg of you, dear Lady, to look on my proposal with a generous heart. Think it over. Put out Feelers"?
"Oh I will. I'll consider the ramifications with my virile young acolytes - Naturellement"

Taken for a Ride

                                TO BE  CONTINUED ...

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