Chapter 3 #2
Six of the actors arrived together, trooping up the stairs in a noisy chorus.
This would be the test. Kim normally insisted, like any director, in casting the actors himself for his own production.
But time and distance had been an issue here, with the rehearsal period cut to a mere five weeks, and Kim working on another production in Melbourne right up until the last moment.
So he had used a casting company, in conjunction with Jordi Veràs, the theater director.
Now facing them around the table was the moment of truth.
The three women were all competent actresses—actors, he corrected himself—with solid résumés.
Dana Fernandez and Carme Roig were both young, in their twenties, blond and brunette respectively, while Felipa Gómez was a more mature, experienced performer of fifty-five.
Likewise, with the men: Dani Alvarez and Kiko Martín were the same age as their feminine counterparts, while Domènec Faro was an older, portly actor with a voluminous cloud of white hair surrounding the polished dome of his bald pate.
Kim had been careful to choose competent actors whose work he admired, but none with whom he felt particularly enthralled.
He had learned his lesson as a young director not to get involved or even slightly infatuated with his cast. He just hoped that the lover boy who had been forced on him for the lead wasn’t going to be a problem.
Finally, thirteen of the fourteen places around the table were occupied. It was two minutes to ten.
“Right, we should start,” Kim began.
“Excuse me,” Domènec piped up, “but aren’t we missing someone? Where’s Dídac?”
Dídac Amat. That name again. The one Kim had been dreading to hear for the last two days.
“I have no idea,” Kim replied coldly. “Does anyone have any idea where that actor might be?”
“It isn’t quite ten yet,” Felipa Gomez said in a husky voice. Perhaps we could wait a few minutes?”
It was clear that Felipa and Domènec had taken upon themselves the mantle of union representatives for the rest of the cast.
“Certainly,” Kim said in a neutral voice. “Let’s wait.”
He looked at his watch. A minute and a half until ten.
No one said anything. The seconds ticked by.
Kim wasn’t about to make this easy for anyone, and it might even serve as a useful example to show the cast the sort of commitment he expected.
After what felt like an hour or more to everyone present, the second hand on his watch finally clicked past twelve. Ten o’clock.
“Right, let’s begin,” Kim said.
This time as he launched into his introductory spiel, no one interrupted him or said a word.
About fifteen minutes later, Kim had finished outlining his main artistic premise in devising The Swan.
He had just talked through each of the characters individually, except for Anton, the character Dídac would play.
As he talked, he was weighing up in his mind how he would deal with the missing actor for this read-through.
Domènec was too old for that part and the other two male actors, too young.
Besides, they wouldn’t be able to show the much-needed contrast of age and experience in the final climactic scene if they were doubling up on parts.
He couldn’t read it as it had been translated into Catalan.
Could Laia help out for today by reading Dídac’s part?
These things were going through his head as he continued to talk about the play—he knew it so well that part of his mind operated on autopilot—when there was a commotion on the stairs.
Even as sleep-deprived and disheveled as he clearly was, Dídac Amat swept into the room with a breath of godliness.
He looked like he’d had time for a shower and little else, but the moment he entered, wearing just gray sweatpants and a faded orange tee-shirt, everybody in the room turned to him like a field of sunflowers seeking the sun’s rays.
It was an action that was as automatic as it was palpable.
Dídac was immediately firing off greetings and kisses to everyone in the room as he worked his way around the table to the one empty chair.
Kim’s carefully structured read-through meeting was in shambles, as people rose and came toward him, wanting to be blessed with the gift of Dídac’s brief attention.
Kim scowled. The man was impossible. And why had he chosen to wear such body-hugging pants?
You were almost forced to acknowledge the perfect round globes of his ass as he went in for a hug with Felipa Gomez, clock the sizable bulge in front when he turned to greet Dani and Kiko, who were slapping his back as if they were long-lost pals from kindergarten.
Dana and Carme were both simpering like teenage fans ready to wet their knickers. Was Carme actually blushing?
“OK, enough! Can we get back to this rehearsal now?” He used the voice.
And it worked. The entire room subsided and went creeping for their seats like naughty schoolchildren.
“Rehearsal started at ten. In this production you need to be here warmed up and ready to go by ten sharp. If you need to grab coffees, talk about your weekend, or anything else, you do that outside my rehearsal time. Understood?”
The cast all nodded and assented guiltily. All this time Kim had avoided meeting Dídac’s eyes. But now there was nothing for it. He looked directly into those green pools:
“And you? Do you have that clear? I run a professional production.”
He stressed the word professional like the heel he would have loved to stamp down on Dídac’s insolent smirk.
“Of course, I understand. I am a professional. But professional means more than simply clocking in on time as if we were working at a factory.”
“Professionalism starts with punctuality. That’s the first building block. Anyone who doesn’t understand that can get the hell off my ship. Understood?”
And Dídac pulled up his right hand in a slow mock salute:
“Yes. Captain.”
Kim breathed out slowly. He was close to losing it completely, but to do so here and now could jeopardize his entire production.
Luckily this was the sixth time he had done this particular gig—Melbourne, Sydney, Tokyo, London, New York, and now here.
He was damned if he’d let some upstart actor, however charismatic, force him to blow his cool.
He breathed out again and went onto autopilot again:
“OK, I’m going to recap quickly what Mr. Amat here missed, and then we go into the read-through.”
He began to speak.