Andalusia Dogs (Haunted Hearts: Season of the Witch #10)

CHAPTER ONE

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Alex ignored the uneasy stares of Joanna and Vicente as he fixed Leo with a stare of his own, one he hoped would pierce the slim lump of flesh this witless, self-styled auteur called a brain. “I know that, Leo. We’re supposed to be on stage. Right now. Rehearsing. You’re supposed to be gone.”

Leo responded with the kind of exaggerated eye roll that could only preface a bald-faced lie. “Maria knows we need more rehearsal time than you do. This is an epic fantasy allegory of our country’s endurance under Franco—”

“It’s a rehash of Alice in Wonderland that has nothing to do with Franco.”

“—and we need all the time we can get. Do you think your little one-man, late-night stand-up show needs as much rehearsal time as—”

“That one woman is standing right here,” Joanna interrupted, her voice laced with cheerful menace. “And it’s a bold dance retelling of Blood Wedding with a script that would make Lorca proud.”

“It’s a script that would make Lorca glad he’s dead.”

“Who cares what you think, Leo?” Vicente growled. “Seriously, man. You’ve got six rehearsals booked this week, and that’s not enough? You’ve got to cut into our time too?”

“Exactly!” Alex scraped the bar with his fingernails. “You’ve got six rehearsals on the schedule, we’ve got two. So, we’d appreciate it if you’d pack your little epic fantasy up for the day and give us the time we’ve booked.”

Leo flicked his head toward the end of the bar. “Why don’t you take out the garbage under the bar? It’s starting to stink.”

“Go fuck a cactus, Leo.”

Before Joanna could squeeze Vicente’s hand to calm him down, a small woman in a blue, blood-stained doll’s dress stuck her head out from the theatre door to check on the commotion.

Then came two long, lopsided ears belonging to a March hare, a dusty, oversized hat sported by an equally oversized woman whose beard fell over her ample breasts like a winter shawl, and a White Rabbit mask whose incisors, Alex thought, had missed slicing Alice’s throat by inches.

Joanna folded her arms. “Congratulations, Leo. I think this is your biggest audience yet.”

Leo scoffed. “I have four scenes to rehearse today.”

“Four? Do you?” Alex asked. “Well, that’s your bad timing. It’s our turn.”

A malevolent grin crossed Leo’s face. “I’ll tell you what. Take the garbage out. Then, one more scene and the theatre’s all yours.”

“And let you lock us out?” Joanna pushed a long lock of dark hair off her face and put her hands on her hips. “No, thanks.”

“Well one of you better settle it before I cancel both your bookings and offer them to the university,” Maria, the theatre manager, said from the lobby as she closed her office door.

She was five-foot-two and looked old enough to be the Virgin’s grandmother.

She puffed her cigarette, eyeing the assembled company of two annoyed directors, Joanna, Vicente, a White Rabbit, a March Hare, a Hatter, a caterpillar, a blood-spattered doll holding a stuffed kitten, a man with a Franco moustache drowning in the royal robes of La Reina Roja, and two playing card guards who battled the flimsy construction of their costumes to keep their shoulders upright.

“We have the theatre from five until seven. That’s all there is to it.” Vicente turned to Maria. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Maria shrugged. “Do you think I keep all that business in my head? What I do know is that I can’t think a damn with you lot babbling on out here.”

“We extended our booking until six,” Leo said. “Hey, I’m sorry you weren’t told, Alex.”

“Who would have told me?” Alex snarled. “Maria?”

“Like hell.” Maria slipped behind the bar and poured herself a vermouth. “You kids think I’m your secretary, too? Holy Mother, I swear—”

“I….” Every set of eyes turned to the White Rabbit, who shuffled his feet in front of the theatre’s entrance, a script hanging from oversized paws crossed with contrition. “I might have forgotten to tell them.”

“You what?” hissed Leo. “Seriously? I asked you to do one thing!”

“On top of learning three parts in this play?”

“Isn’t that your stage manager’s job?” asked Vicente.

As if on cue, Jo?o stumbled behind the rabbit, dropping a silver tray that send a cascade of plastic tea cups and saucers clattering to the floor.

“Right,” Alex said. “You’re not only working your cast half to death, but your crew as well.”

“How about I manage my play and you manage yours?” Leo said.

“We would, but someone double-booked our rehearsal time.”

“Right.” Maria drained her vermouth in one gulp. “That settles that. Leo? Take your zoo and go. I’ll see you tomorrow—God help me.”

“It’s going to take twenty minutes to pull down.” Jo?o nervously got to his feet, cups and saucers still rattling on their tray.

“Twenty minutes?” asked Alex. “Where’d you set this? The fucking Alhambra?”

Vicente shook his head. “There’s no point, man. Our run time’s an hour.”

“That’s not my problem,” Leo said, shooting his cast the look of a man on the verge of a burst blood vessel. “Well? What are you waiting for? Twenty minutes, let’s go.”

Leo ushered the denizens of Wonderland back inside the theatre, except for the White Rabbit, who removed his mask and ears to reveal a contrite expression on a face Alex, in truth, now wanted to see in a very different setting.

“I’m really sorry about that,” the rabbit said, holding his mask by the incisors.

He reached into the pockets of his clownish pantaloons.

After pulling out a prop pocket watch, a wad of used gum, and a half-eaten cookie, he grinned with triumph, retrieving a wrinkled flyer.

“Here. When you’re done with rehearsal, come see the movie I’m in. I’ll put you on the list.”

“Movie?” Joanna asked, peering over Alex’s shoulder.

“Pepi, Luci, Bom and Other Girls from the Heap?” Alex said. “Which one are you playing?”

“Hah, you’re funny. I show my cock in it.”

“That’s pertinent information,” said Alex, his nascent attraction growing. “Thanks.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there? Sorry again for the mix-up.” The White Rabbit grinned, catching his rabbit ears in the doorway as he rejoined his cast.

“What do you want to do?” Vicente asked.

Alex spied the bottle Maria had left on the counter. “Drink?”

Without a better idea, the three of them left the theatre with a half-finished bottle of vermouth and a creased invitation to see the White Rabbit’s cock.

* * *

‘List’ was a generous term for the loosely enforced sheet of names held at the Alphaville cinema’s entrance.

The squat, bearded man running the door barely glanced at it when they arrived, preferring instead to flirt with a robust-looking fellow whose jawline was so sharp, Alex half expected it to slice a chunk off the doorman’s Brigitte Bardot wig should the two ever have the misfortune to collide.

“I don’t see anyone checking tickets,” said Vicente, stepping aside to let two women chase one another through the lobby. One pelted the other with wrapped candies before catching up to her and taking her in a big, sloppy kiss.

“Friends and family night?” Joanna made a face as the chaser popped an unwrapped bonbon into her mouth. She forced a smile, spat the questionable candy into her hand and tossed it in the trash.

“I guess so?” Alex looked back at Bardot, who, having lost his object of flirtation, was now in decidedly grumpier conversation with a different man, tanned, slender and modest of stature, wearing a plaid shirt.

“I’m getting popcorn,” Vicente said at last. “Do you want anything?”

“Do you smell popcorn?” asked Joanna. “The Alphaville doesn’t serve it.”

“What?” Vicente poked his head through the doors to the cinema, wincing at the cacophony of drums, cymbals, and other noises that rose from the rowdy crowd inside. “You’re joking.”

Alex watched as Bardot got more and more frustrated with Plaid Shirt, who, if Alex could read body language, insisted he was on the list Bardot had been happy to ignore when he’d been making eyes at Jawline, trying to sow the seeds for a good dicking.

Alex was about to turn away when Plaid Shirt turned and caught his eye, the edge of his mouth curling with a shy smile.

Without thinking, Alex doubled back to the ornate doors. “He’s with us.”

“Huh?” Bardot grunted, moustache twitching as he looked at the list. “I thought you were three.”

“Must be a mistake,” said Alex. “The guy who put us on the list isn’t good with these things.”

This part was true at least. Bardot rolled her eyes, pushed several blonde tresses behind his ear with a plump, hairy hand, and admitted Plaid Shirt.

“Thanks.” Plaid Shirt squeezed Alex’s arm, then vanished into the cinema.

“You’re welcome?” He felt Joanna’s hand where the stranger’s had just been.

“That,” she said, “may be the briefest love affair I’ve seen.”

Alex snorted, trying to clear his head with a shake. “What are you talking about?”

She purred at him while tickling his chin. “Your cluelessness is far too endearing.”

“Are you two coming?”

By the time they walked into the theatre, an excited audience had filled most every available seat.

At last, Vicente spied three vacant spots on the edge of the fifth row.

It wasn’t an ideal angle for the screen, but the people-watching more than made up for it.

Three or four colourful wigs stood out over the assembled crowd.

Their wearers strutted up and down the aisle on oversized heels and masculine legs, tossing grapes into the crowd.

Their cries of “Feliz queer nuevo!” made little sense to Alex or those few paying enough attention to catch the grapes. It was high summer, after all.

Spying his frown, Joanna explained. “It’s an English pun. Like Feliz ano nuevo, but in English, ‘year’ rhymes with—”