CHAPTER FOUR #3
“I’m cutting my starches. Besides, I want to play with our choreography a bit more tonight. We’re on the edge of something amazing here. I can feel it, can’t you?”
Alex wasn’t about to point out that he’d seldom seen her eat much of anything, but he still noticed the way she’d deflected his inquiry with her own question. “I did. I mean, I do.”
Vicente’s eyes moved from one of them to the other. “Don’t get me wrong, you looked amazing, amor...”
She gave him a gracious smile.
“It’s just, that guy—”
“Jago is his name,” Alex interrupted. “He’s not joining us at any more rehearsals. He asked to sit in on one and he did. What we do with it from here is up to us.”
“Yes?” asked Joanna. “And what do you plan to do with him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Darling,” She gripped Alex’s shoulder, playfully jostling him back and forth. “He’s gorgeous, and for whatever reason, interested in you. Then, there’s the play. Didn’t you feel something while he was watching?”
“Feel something?” Vicente’s question was soaked with scepticism.
Joanna nodded. “It was like… I had every character inside my head all at the same time. I knew them all intimately. It should have felt confusing, but it didn’t. It was just the opposite, like every thought and action had its own place and order, and it all just flowed into each movement.”
“You’re forgetting the blood. That’s not a problem?”
“Forget about the blood, will you? I’m fine. I just know how I felt in that moment on stage. We all saw the difference it made. Are we really going to just toss that away? I just want to….” Joanna let out a determined grunt when the words wouldn’t come.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes! Sorry. I just have a lot of energy right now. I’ve never felt like this.
Like I’m drawing in and pushing out so much all at the same time.
But it’s like… there’s something I need as well, and I’m not sure what that is.
” She reached across the table and took Vicente’s wrist. “I need to find out. Will you at least understand that?”
Vicente shook his head, taking a long, slow sip of his drink. “If this is what you want, I won’t fight you.”
“Thank you, my love.”
“Okay. What does that mean, then? Do you want me to invite Jago to the next rehearsal? Or to the one after that?” Alex made no effort to hide the hesitation in his words, remembering only as he took the last croquette that he had no way of actually contacting Jago, short of trying to find his apartment again.
Joanna waved away his suggestion. “Let me play with it first. I need….” She covered her mouth, releasing her energy again in one great, muffled roar that was followed by a broad grin. “I’m excited! Aren’t you? I want to get started right away.”
Vicente signalled the waiter to bring their bill. “All right. I was just going to walk Alex home.”
“Me?”
“Do that,” Joanna said, snatching the bill from the table before either of them could grab it. “I’m going straight home. I need this.”
“Vicente,” Alex protested. “I’m fine. No late-night stops at Black and White, I promise.”
“Why don’t you both go to Black and White?” Joanna suggested, passing the bill back to the waiter with some cash. “That way you can keep an eye on each other, and Vicente can beat the living hell out of the man who robbed you if you see him again.”
“Are you saying I couldn’t do that myself?”
“Or that I would?” Vicente winced at the suggestion.
“You two are no fun tonight.” She raised her glass, its contents now mostly melted ice water and a sad slice of orange. “To our Blood Wedding.”
The boys met her toast, drained their glasses in unison, and left the café. Joanna wrapped them each in an enormous hug, then shot off faster than either of them could have kept up.
“Will she be okay?”
“Oh yeah. Besides, she’s made her mind up. The fight is hopeless.” Vicente stepped out of the way of two drag queens whose wigs had been lacquered and stretched more than a foot in every direction. “Black and White won’t open for another hour or two.”
“I really don’t feel like it, do you?”
“Come on then.”
“What?”
“I promised you a walk home.”
Alex smiled, suddenly happier for the invitation.
They took their time, weaving through the streets of Chueca and watching the bands of two, three or more homos and other misfits darting from door to door in search of their night out.
A surly Moroccan-looking bouncer admitted a pair of muscular, leather-clad kinksters to a darkened doorway while neon-coloured t-shirts with cut-off waists made a gaggle of freshly minted twinks impossible to miss.
In Cordoba, or even Seville, they probably would have been detained, sent home, or worse.
No matter how familiar it began to seem, watching Madrid’s most colourful characters—straight, gay or otherwise—just going about their lives like the party would never end, always made Alex smile.
“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” Vicente said as they turned into his street. The words hadn’t been accusatory or even cynical. Just concerned.
“I’ve been telling myself that since we started this. It’ll be great. Trust me.”
“I mean this guy.”
“Come on, Vis. Really?”
“Don’t ‘come on, Vis’ me. I do trust you.” Vicente shook his head, turning toward a mixed group who’d burst into song at the end of the street. “Okay, I’ll drop it. You’re a big boy, and if you think he can help the play…”
Alex put a hand on Vicente’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
As they neared Alex’s block, flashing red lights reflected off the walls overlooking a small side street—the same one where Alex had been robbed the night before.
Behind an ambulance and two police bikes, they saw a small white car, crumpled at the front where it had hit the wall at obvious speed.
Between the pulsing lights, Alex made out the thick shape of a man pinned against the wall by what remained of the hood.
“Jesus,” Vicente said. “Hey, what are you doing?”
Alex felt Vicente tugging him back as he tried to get closer. “I just want to see.”
“You’re macabre, you know that?”
Macabre? It wasn’t every day he saw fatal car accidents in the back streets of Chueca. He could just now make out the face. The bright colours of a rooster tattooed on the forearm… “Holy shit.”
“You there, get back,” one of the officers barked at them.
Alex tried to catch his breath as he allowed Vicente to drag him away.
“Man, why did you do that? What is wrong with you right now?”
“Vis, that was him.”
“What? Who?”
“Paco… I mean, he said his name was… That was the guy who robbed me.”
Vicente stared at him, lost for words. “I don’t understand. The dead guy?”
“Yes, the dead guy, look.”
“Look? How would I recognise—”
“Right. Forget it. I just—”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“That’s… Let’s just go home.”
Nothing else was said until they reached the front door of Alex’s building, where Jago sat on the step, waiting with a full bottle of red wine.
“Hi,” Alex said quietly. Vicente said nothing.
“Hey.” Jago’s smile quickly darkened. “Are you guys okay? You look like you’ve seen—”
“There was an accident,” said Vicente. “It looked nasty.”
“An accident?”
“Yeah, it’s… it was bad.” Questions turned in Alex’s head like a wheel until he at last grabbed the most obvious one. “How did you find my house?”
“I’m sorry. Of course, this looks so rude of me. When I took you back to my place, I checked your wallet for your identity card. I swear, it was just in case I had to call a doctor.”
“Ah. Okay, I guess.”
“I’m sorry. I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
“It’s a surprise,” Vicente said. “If you don’t mind, man, we’re kind of shaken up. Maybe another time?”
“Of course, of course. Here.” Jago handed Vicente the bottle of wine. “A peace offering? I’ll leave you be.”
“Wait,” said Alex, quickly. “It’s okay.”
“Seriously?” Vicente asked, his mask of civility slipping for just a second.
“Vis, I’m fine. You go up. I’ll be there in a bit.” Alex handed him the keys. Vicente paused, giving Jago one last sceptical look before making good on his promise to trust that Alex knew what he was doing.
“He really doesn’t like me, does he?”
“He doesn’t know you,” insisted Alex. “Honestly, neither do I.”
“Perhaps we should do something about that.”
The two of them watched an ambulance drive by the end of the street, presumably carrying the body of the deceased Paco. Alex didn’t see any reason to share the victim’s identity with Jago. The air seemed fresher, somehow, for its departure.
Alex felt a shiver go through him. “I think Vicente would have kittens if I invited you up.”
“You know, I didn’t really bring the wine for him. Perhaps he can spare you for ten minutes? Perhaps fifteen?”
“Twenty?” Alex teased.
“You’re the one with somewhere to be. Or someone to be with.”
“Vicente? No, that ended a while ago.”
“But he’s still loyal to you.” Jago took Alex by the hand. “I promise not to keep you out too late.”
They weaved swiftly through the crowds on either side of the Gran Via before Jago led Alex into the now quiet streets of the theatre district, pulling him along like a child excited to share some hidden secret.
As they reached Plaza Santa Ana, Jago at last turned to face him, his face a stupid, lopsided grin.
“Look!” Jago pointed at the posters on the edifice of the Teatro Espanol.
“Blood Wedding?” Alex read. “Yes, I know. It just closed.”
“And it will open again, with your show.”
“Okay, first of all, not here, and secondly, our show’s a dance show, not a straight play.”
“Like Saura’s film? Dance, yes, but it’s the same story.”
Alex tensed his fists. “What is your point?”
“I just want you to tell me why. Why this story? Why this same play that everyone is doing?”
“Because it’s one of the great—”
“Stop! I beg you to stop, please. Yes, ‘one of the great landmarks of the Spanish theatre blah, blah, blah. What about the great works of Goya or Velazquez? Where are they?”
Alex shrugged. “In museums?”