CHAPTER NINE
“I’d feel better if we had a run before showing Maria.”
“I know that.” Vicente’s voice was a font of patience. “I’m with you, only Maria’s not going to wait around until seven. We do this now, or we lose the space again.”
“Seriously?” Alex asked. “The guy only died last night. She can’t have replacements lined up already, surely?”
“All I know, is if we want to be at the front of that queue, Joanna’s got to knock Maria flat on her vermouth-soaked arse.”
“And us too, apparently.”
“I’ve seen it. Well, bits of it. What she’s been willing to show me, anyway. I don’t know, man. She was up before I was this morning. You said she came to the café?”
“She did.”
“Wild.”
“Why so?”
“Come on, Alex. You know she hates going out before dark.”
Alex frowned. While Joanna’s nocturnal habits were no secret, it still felt strange to have them confirmed by her boyfriend, partner, and, presumably, closest confidante. “You’re saying you’ve never seen her go out during the day?”
“I did not say that. I’m saying she hates it, and when she does go out before sundown, she usually dresses like a penitent during Holy Week. This morning? She couldn’t have been merrier.”
Alex could hardly deny the truth of this. Admittedly, Joanna would have made a very fetching nun, though an odd one in terms of behaviour. “Where’s Jago?”
“Your new assistant is with the talent, talking over her latest changes.”
Alex took a moment to breathe. “The hell he is. They said they were going to talk to Maria.”
“That they did, and Maria put them on the spot. Deliver a killer audition for her tonight or fuck off until February. So, here we are. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Pleased?”
Vicente raised a sarcastic smile with little enthusiasm.
“Oh, come on, Vis. I mean yes, I’m attracted to him, but…” The list of strange coincidences and nightmarish visions returned to Alex’s mind. He could no more recite them to Vicente than he could to Joanna. “Aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Attracted to him?”
“He’s not my type. Good taste in wine, though.”
“I haven’t forgiven you for that.”
“You haven’t forgiven me? You left me waiting like an idiot for more than an hour, and don’t get me started on that call this morning. Why were you even awake?”
Alex covered his face with his hands. “I know, I’m sorry. This isn’t...” He put his arms around Vicente and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry.”
It took only a second’s hesitation for Vicente to return the gesture. “You know, the only reason I haven’t bounced this guy into the street is what he’s bringing out in Joanna. I’ve never seen her like this before. She’s in love.”
Breaking from their hug, Alex raised an eyebrow.
“Not with him. I mean with herself and the dance. It’s been two days, man.” Vicente shrugged, scratching the back of his neck while pushing his other hand deeper into his pocket. “I can’t explain it. He’s doing something right.”
Alex gave a slow nod, weighing how much of the truth Vicente deserved against how much would confuse and terrify him. Hell, how much of it could Alex believe himself? “I think I might know what, but I’ll have to tell you later, and you can’t tell anyone. No one, Vis.”
“Okay, way to freak me out right before rehearsal.” Vicente shook his head. “Sorry, I just… had the weirdest dream last night.”
Alex’s throat tightened. “Go on.”
“Like I was a fish or something, but stuck on dry land. I don’t even know how I got there. I felt my body bleeding like hooks had gone through it. I couldn’t breathe. I don’t even remember it ending, certainly not when I woke up. It just stopped. I guess I kept sleeping. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Did you tell Joanna?”
Vicente shook his head, scratching his forearm. “And harsh her buzz? It’s probably just nicotine withdrawal, anyway.”
“Withdrawal? You’re trying to quit again, mid-rehearsals?”
“I’m your stage manager.” Vicente gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Don’t talk to me about masochism.”
“Oh hardy-ha-ha. Vis, you know I support you in everything, but right now, have one. I don’t need you agitated out of your mind while we’re trying to win Maria over. Speaking of… Shit! Lighting cues?”
Vicente shrugged, looking at the stage and shaking his head. “Joanna said to wing it.”
“To what?”
“To make it up as I go.”
“I know what it means, Vis. She’s not the director.”
“I know that, but what choice do I have? She’s reworked the choreography from scratch. Even if we had a run through before Maria arrived, you wouldn’t have time to work anything out between us. You make your notes and I’ll take them. In the meantime, try to look confident, like it was your idea.”
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Listen, I know it feels like they’re going over your head, but I’ve been here all afternoon, Alex.
They keep talking about your vision, wanting to make this something that’s just you.
Let’s just use this run-through to get Maria onboard.
We’ll get our show back, then, you and Joanna change whatever you like, and I’ll make it look pretty. Sound good?”
Alex stared at the dim lights hitting the black surface of the stage, letting the silence of the theatre wrap itself around him. “It just feels weird.”
“How the guy died, you mean?”
“All of it, Vis. You don’t think…” He trailed off, again unsure what to say.
Vicente rescued him with another hug. “I’ve got you, man. You know I’ve always got you.”
Not ‘we,’ but ‘I.’ The distinction wasn’t lost on Alex. “Go smoke. I need you back in the box and sharp.”
Vicente grinned, reaching for his back pocket as he withdrew. “Last one today. You’ll hold me to that, mister director.”
Alex resisted the urge to bum a cigarette for himself.
* * *
On an ‘oh shit’ list that had seemed to grow longer with each passing minute, Alex had barely thought about where to sit for their command performance.
Sitting behind Maria might make her uncomfortable, even if he by some miracle managed to resist scanning her body language for any sign of a response.
Sitting alongside her, trying to steal glimpses of her face would be worse, while sitting anywhere in front, with her eyes boring into the back of his head seemed no less awful.
He’d finally settled for the back far-left corner, as close to the tech booth as possible.
Maria had been polite and kind, of course, but her tired demeanour and barely contained impatience said plenty about her expectations, and the fact that neither Joanna nor Jago had come out to greet her had only frayed Alex and Vicente’s nerves further.
Vicente began to dim the lights, pausing as Jago finally came onstage, dressed neat as an usher in top to toe black.
He offered Maria a slight bow and a smile, then took his seat next to Alex.
“Hell of a time for you to show your face,” Alex said.
“How about you trust Joanna?” Jago squeezed his hand. “And perhaps, trust yourself to let Blood Wedding go?”
This hadn’t been a command, but a request, as if Alex’s answer mattered to him.
This, in Alex’s short experience of Jago, seemed strange, and request or no, it wasn’t like he had a choice.
He allowed Jago to squeeze his hand tight, drawing a strange reassurance from it as Vicente lowered the house lights.
Harsh string notes jarred Alex’s nerves.
He didn’t know where Joanna and Jago had managed to find an entirely new score at such short notice, though it wouldn’t have surprised him to learn they’d workshopped it in a hash-soaked fugue that afternoon.
He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Jago slid his hand across Alex’s, stroking it before taking hold again.
Alex neither liked or disliked the music, but its discordant quality penetrated his body like a vine finding cracks in a decaying wall, wrapping itself around the questions that had spent the day dancing through his mind.
Blood Wedding couldn’t have been further from it.
He closed his eyes, remembering Joanna and Vicente on that watery stage, the grim pantomime they’d played and the dead faces of the audience members.
He focused on Jago’s hand and allowed his discomfort to pass, remembering instead the strange beauty Jago had seen and tried to show him.
Much like their strange floating tryst, he’d not been ready.
How could one be ready? He’d been on trips before, ingesting whatever substances were on offer in search of that special something different.
Jago was certainly that, but the sensation that filled him now was well beyond it.
When he opened his eyes again, Joanna was on stage, turning her head, stroking the back of her fingers along her neck.
Black-painted nails stood out against her skin, and Alex jumped when for a fleeting instant she appeared to puncture her neck with them.
The graceful extension of her arms guided delicate yet confident steps, like she was mapping the stage, moving from platform to platform, like a newborn exploring a world alien to her.
Possessed with sudden assurance, Joanna’s movements became bolder and swifter, each movement and breath an unspoken word, the music mere background noise. Alex felt his heart beat an irregular rhythm and his breath moved with irregular syncopation, in time with each of Joanna’s movements.
He felt Jago squeeze his hand once more before all breath left his body, and darkness erased the stage.
A single spotlight returned, revealing Joanna on her knees, looking up as if she’d just spied God.
Alex imagined her leaning back toward her heels, chest arching to the ceiling, offering herself up to the spirit that had possessed her dance. And so, she did.
He imagined her sliding her hand along the stage before her body rolled after it. She curled into a ball before abruptly lifting her head, just to see if God was still watching. Yet Joanna was in conversation with something much greater. They both were.