CHAPTER EIGHT
“You look exhausted, lovely.” Without being asked, Victoria ducked behind the counter and poured him an enormous cup of black coffee. “I know you kids like your partying, but I need you sharp, understood?”
“I’m sorry.” He accepted the cup with rueful gratitude. “I’m okay, really.”
It wasn’t as if walking home had clarified things for him.
The emerging dawn light had brought with it only more questions.
He’d called Vicente and Joanna from the first payphone he’d found.
A sleepy and annoyed Vis had informed him both of them had not only gotten home safely some hours prior but had been fast asleep.
He’d mumbled an apology, and lacking a plausible explanation for his panic, had hung up.
That assurance that Vis and Joanna were in one piece had been the only thing keeping him from marching back to Jago’s apartment and demanding answers. That is, the only thing besides the fact that his questions made no bloody sense. Had any of it been real? If not, he couldn’t even be mad at Jago.
“What did you take?” Victoria asked as he sipped.
“Huh? Nothing?”
“I know the look, dear. No bother, just asking as a mother with a son not much younger than you. I have no idea what they’re passing around these days, and do you think he’ll tell me anything?”
Alex knew a lie was the clearest way out of this. “Just a joint. There might have been some coke.”
“Might have been?”
“I don’t know. I can’t afford that stuff.”
“For the record, that’s not how you should ask me for a raise.”
The door to the café swung open, admitting a handful of young people whose brightly coloured clothes clashed with their sombre dispositions. For a moment, Alex thought he recognised them.
“Good morning,” Victoria called, offering them a smile before tilting her head to signal Alex’s cue. She opened new a bag of potatoes and started peeling.
Alex hastily put down his coffee, straightened his shirt, and went over. “What can I get you?”
The heads of the two closest to him lolled on their necks like macabre dolls, considering his request like he’d delivered it in Beat poetry. “Orange juice. Fresh,” the man said at last.
“Tostada,” said the other bobble head, a woman whose electric blue lipstick both repelled and fascinated Alex. He passed no comment on the unlit cigarette between her fingers.
“Tortilla, please,” said the bright young woman in the pink and black dress, sitting opposite the man in the red jacket, whose frizzy shock of dark hair and round, appealing face seemed the most familiar. He was gazing out the window, lost in thought.
“Sir?”
Red Jacket turned with a distracted smile. “Coffee, thank you.”
Alex returned to the counter with their orders, cutting a slice of tortilla and preparing the drinks. As he poured the coffee, he remembered where he’d seen the man who’d ordered it; the Pepi Luci Bom screening, though Alex couldn’t remember his name.
“What was he even doing up there?” asked Blue Lipstick of her friends.
“I don’t know. Peach is devastated.”
“Who’s Peach?”
“The latest. Anyway, have they fished him out yet?”
“Of course they have. Think they’re going to bloody leave him there for tourists to see?”
“Both of you, stop it.”
Alex hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But how many Peaches could there be in Madrid? Only Red Jacket, who’d ordered the coffee remained silent as he approached.
“Thanks.”
Alex couldn’t tell which one had thanked him, but he decided to be bold. “What was that about Peach?”
The Beat poetry stare returned. “What?” asked Blue Lipstick.
“Peach? We met at a show recently if it’s the person I’m thinking of. Is she okay?”
The more cheerful woman sitting opposite Red Jacket rescued him. “Not really. If you met her at a show, you must know Si-Man.”
“Yes?” Alex sensed this was not the time to weigh in as a theatre critic.
“He drowned last night. A man walking his dog found him floating in the pools around Templo de Debod.”
It took all the concentration Alex had to keep his hands from shaking as he gripped the tray containing their orders.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard, being friends with Peach and all.” The one who’d ordered the orange juice cocked his head at it, flicking his dangling earring back like it annoyed him.
Alex hurriedly put the juice down, then the frittata before reaching for the coffee. The suddenly lighter tray began to wobble in his hand, spilling dribbles of coffee over the cup’s edge.
Red Jacket took it from the tray before he could spill any more. “Thanks.”
Alex nodded, embarrassed. “Sorry. I can get you another—”
“It’s fine.” He went back to staring out the window.
He took a moment to steady his nerves. Blue Lipstick lifted the plate of tomato-smeared toast from the tray with an irritated scoff.
Alex mouthed a silent apology, lowering the tray. “I really liked your movie.”
Red Jacket said nothing at first, then a quiet “thanks” as he continued to stare out the window.
The others turned to Alex with expressions that landed somewhere between bemusement, disdain and pity.
Forcing a smile, Alex withdrew to the counter, his gut tight from his failed attempt to end the exchange on a high note.
Victoria was nowhere to be seen. When he lifted his head again, he saw Jago’s tanned, nervous face looking back at him across the counter.
They stared at one another in silence, ignoring the street outside and the mumbled conversation at the director’s table.
“Coffee?” Alex finally asked with the detachment he’d grant any customer at the end of an exhausting day. It was barely noon.
“Will you join me?”
“I’m working.”
“Alex, please?”
“No. Jago, please just order something or leave. I’m not doing this.”
“Doing what? Can’t we even discuss last night?”
“I wouldn’t know how to start.”
“Then let me.” They looked up as the door at the back of the kitchen swung open and Victoria returned from her cigarette break. “But not here.”
“And not now. You seriously have to bother me at work?”
“Last time, you thought it was sweet. Besides, this is not the work you’re serious about.”
Alex caught a glance from Victoria as she unwrapped a tray of pig’s ears, a dish he’d never developed a taste for. “I’m serious enough to not want to get fired.”
“You’re making excuses. You know she won’t fire you, just as you know I’m the only person who’ll believe what you saw last night. The only person who can assure you you’re not crazy.”
Alex brushed the warm wooden counter with his fingers, hoping another customer would pull him away. But none came, and the one busy table’s occupants were lost in their own private conversation. “I didn’t see anything because none of it was real.”
“Bullshit. We both know what we saw.”
“Fine. Drinking with Vis and Joanna in the park? Going back to your apartment? Yes, all of that happened. Then I left. I don’t know what you gave me to drink, but—”
“You’re saying I drugged you?” Jago began to ball his fists, shoulders near quivering. “I’m sorry, Alex, but if you must lie to yourself, I’ll not go along with it.”
“You can believe what you like. Just leave me alone.” He gathered up a half-dozen menus that didn’t need refreshing, straightening, or cleaning and stalked off to the end of the counter.
Jago followed. “Is Joanna okay?”
Alex turned an indignant glare on him. “Yes. So is Vicente, or did you forget about what happened to him?”
“Then you know what we saw to be true as well as I do. I’m pleased to hear they’re both—”
“Stop it, will you? Whatever we saw, they didn’t experience any of it. I called them this morning. Vicente was pissed off, but he’s fine, and so is Joanna. As for… what you are…”
Jago tilted his head patiently. “Go on.”
“I don’t care. That’s your business. Religious freedom, blah, blah. I appreciate what you’ve done for us, Jago but I can’t do this. I can’t.”
“I’ve not asked you to do anything. Simply accompany me last night, which you did.”
“So? There’s nothing more to discuss. Now order something or leave.”
“Coffee, please. Now, what I’m trying to tell you—”
“Coffee does not come with my conversation in this establishment.”
“Damn it, Alex. How often do you think I share an experience like that with someone else, even a man I fancy?”
Alex looked up in time to see the snootier two of the director’s friends avert their eyes.
“I can make them leave,” Jago said.
“You’ll do no such thing. Just keep your voice down, or better yet—”
“If you want me to leave you alone so badly, then of course I shall. But at least do yourself and your show the courtesy of asking your star and stage manager.”
“Vicente’s not fond of you.”
“So I’ve observed. I don’t need his fondness, just his trust.”
“You definitely don’t have that, nor mine.”
“No?” Jago folded his arms. “Vicente, I understand, but from you? That does wound me. You’ve been, forgive me, a bloody prick ever since I came in here and over what? An admittedly provocative show I didn’t create that’s made me as curious as you are?”
“You kept telling me not to interfere. Why? Damn it, my friends were being hurt.”
“You said your friends were safely in bed until you woke them in the wee hours with an unnecessary phone call. Yet they were also there, on stage. We know this because I saw the same show you did.” He leaned closer, whispering to Alex over the counter. “Only makes it more intriguing, no?”
“Look after things while I’m gone, won’t you Alex?” said Victoria, hanging up her apron and gathering her purse. “Matteo was short this morning, but he promised he’d be restocked by noon.”
“Of course,” Alex replied, trying to ignore Jago, even though Victoria refused to do the same.
She leaned close to his ear. “And your boyfriend popping in isn’t going to be a daily habit, is it?”