CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You’re a witch?”
“No. At least… I don’t know.”
“But Jago’s a witch?”
“You don’t have to repeat it aloud.” Alex adjusted his sunglasses as a jogger went by on the Paseo del Prado. “Look, where’s Joanna? I told you to bring her.”
“And I told you, she’s not feeling great.”
Alex scratched at the edge of the fountain where they were sitting, cursing himself for not thinking of this before. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. When you guys didn’t come back to the theatre—thanks for letting us know, by the way—we went up to Miguel’s.
Someone had scored hash and there might have been some angel dust there.
I stuck to weed, but… anyway, Joanna’s sleeping it off so she’s in top shape for opening night.
And will you stop being so uptight? You’re the one half-dressed incognito. What are you? The Pink Panther?”
“Sorry. I barely slept last night.”
“Mmmhmm?”
“No, Vis, we did not, and I thought you didn’t like him.”
“Right. I am also not that guy.”
“What guy?”
“Who treats his ex like property and hates on every person they date, forever and ever amen until death do us both in. Besides, I like what he’s done for Joanna and for you. What’s he’s still doing for you. Let’s just leave it there. I’m not dating him.”
Alex gave a series of sharp, sarcastic nods. “Oh, okay. And the witch thing doesn’t bother—”
“Oh, come on, Alex. If I had ten pesetas for every weirdo I met into some freaky religion…” Vicente turned a fresh, unlit cigarette over in his fingers before snapping it in half and grinding it beneath his tapping foot.
“You know this country missed the sixties, right? People are sinking their claws into all kinds of weird shit.”
“I’m telling you Jago’s not just some weirdo.” Alex nodded to the foot. “You’re doing well.”
“Tell that to my nerves.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah, actually, like the dead. We both did. Of course, we skipped the coke, which probably helped.”
“How do you two find these parties?”
“How don’t you?” Vicente threw his head back, staring into the trees above and letting out an exhausted gasp. “You’re living in party city and in case you haven’t noticed, ding-dong, the Fascist witch, the real witch, is dead.”
“You might want to ask Joanna what difference that makes to the Basques.”
“You know we only ever hear about that from other people, right? Joanna knows who she is, no matter who thinks they’re in charge.”
“I know. Still an outsider, though. Just like I’m Andalusian. You’re Galician.”
“Are you trying to collect the set? Why’d you bring this up, anyway?”
“You brought up politics.”
“Fuck,” Vicente said, taking another cigarette from its pack and lighting it. “Okay, but so what if Jago’s a witch or warlock or wizard or wanker or whatever the fuck you think he is? Are you going to stop seeing him?”
“He’s away for a few days, in the Basque country—”
“Ignoring that slightly odd coincidence, Alex, that wasn’t my question. Are you going to stop—”
“No, Vis, I’m not. Maybe. I… I don’t know.
I’m a little scared. I mean, I’m excited too, but…
” Alex hadn’t mentioned his suspicions about what had happened to Paco or Si-Man.
That would have put Vis over the edge, sent him running from their project and maybe worse, from Alex’s life altogether.
“I need him, Vis. I don’t know if it’s for the show or what, but… ”
With a slow nod, Vicente lifted the cigarette to his lips. “So are we waiting for him to come back before rehearsal, or—”
“We’re not rehearsing, Vis.”
“Say what now?” Vicente’s face pulled back into an impish look of bemusement. “For a second, I thought you said—”
“No rehearsals, I mean it. What the audience sees will be what we create in the moment.”
“Alex, that’s fucking insane. We’ll be closed after one night.”
“Think about it, will you? What did you feel last night? How did you know what cues to hit? You’re bloody good, Vis, but you’re not psychic.
Neither is Joanna, so how did she know what I was thinking and feeling so intimately she was able to manifest it on stage in an instant?
We can’t rehearse that, but I know we can do it again. ”
“Now you’re scaring me. How, exactly?”
“Maybe through Jago? I mean, who knows what power he’s got, really?”
“Or you?” Vicente asked with a smile, which vanished when Alex didn’t smile back. He clapped his hands, sending a small tumble of ash to the ground. “Ignore me. I’m talking shit. So, you want each show to be spontaneous, hoping that whatever connected us… Man, if this fucks up…”
“It won’t. Jago wouldn’t do that to me.”
“I hope you’re right, if he’s the one doing it. You’re sure it’s magick though? Come on, Alex.”
“What do you mean ‘Come on, Alex?’”
“Think of it like flamenco. Nothing’s scripted. Nothing’s rehearsed. They just turn up, start the rhythm and away it goes. After a while, they get so good at it—”
“I know how flamenco works, Vis. My grandmother—”
“Yes, I know the story. So, isn’t that what we’re doing? Perhaps that’s how should we promote it? Psychic flamenco? Unless you’re keen on the whole memorial for Si-Man idea.”
Alex winced. “Might look a bit disingenuous, coming from us. And psychic flamenco sounds terrible.”
“That’s why you’re the creative,” Vicente answered, unoffended.
“I’ll think it over. Maybe talk to Joanna. I think a title is the least of our problems right now.”
“No kidding. If I understand you, you’re suggesting we do a new show every night. Each one, improvised? Gutsy, man.”
Alex nodded, trying to push the craziness from his mind. “Three shows a week.”
“Only three?”
“Think about what we’re asking Joanna to do. What we’re asking of ourselves. Magick or not, it’s intense, Vis. Besides, Jago’s covering the theatre rental.”
“Huh.” Vicente took a drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke go with a low whistle. “Well, I can’t accuse the guy of not being invested. Whether it’s in you or the show, I’m not sure.”
The athletic form of a hairy, shirtless young man distracted Alex as he jogged along the paths.
He tilted his head to watch the square shoulders and powerful furry legs, separated by a flimsy pair of bright red shorts, disappear down the Paseo.
Alex laughed as he caught Vis doing exactly the same thing. “I didn’t think that was your type.”
“I don’t hate beards,” Vicente said.
“As a gay man, I’m obliged to resist a possibly bi-phobic joke here.”
Vicente laughed as he nudged Alex hard in the arm. “Arsehole.”
“Thank you.” Alex grinned, getting up from the fountain’s edge, swinging his arms to stretch them and wishing he had half the jogger’s confidence to remove his shirt. Fucking heat. “It’s going to be great, Vis.”
“Please, feel free to put that out into the universe as many times as you need to.”
Alex wasn’t sure he needed the universe. But Jago? Oh boy, did they need Jago.