Chapter 13
God it was hot! Kim sat straddling a deck chair on his terrace, dressed just in a pair of fire-engine red briefs—a gift from when Tony and he had first got together a few years ago.
Though now slightly past their use-by date, they were still his favorites.
His production notes were laid out before him on the sun-bleached canvas.
Across the horizon, the Mediterranean appeared as a broad flat swath of color like a David Hockney painting, its intense blue tempting him to dive into its depths.
The pitcher of iced tea on the low table beside him was blistered with condensation.
A swim? Or was it too early for a walk? He’d learned that no one ventured outdoors before five p.m. here, or the heat would simply strike you down.
As soon as he finished planning for tomorrow, Friday, he’d go out for a walk.
A few days ago, he’d never have thought they’d get here, but here they were, nearing the end of their second week of rehearsal, and he had to say the show couldn’t be going better.
He’d kept up his practice of arriving an hour early to warm up, but mostly he worked out alone until the actors arrived as a group, Dídac among them.
Amat remained thoroughly professional, giving one hundred percent during rehearsal.
But at no time were Kim and he ever alone after that early morning kiss.
Dídac arrived and left with his colleagues, constantly shielded by them, laughing and sociable in their company.
At times during work, his and Kim’s glances might cross, and there would be a delayed beat, when loaded feelings pulsed across the space like crackling laser beams, before one or the other broke their regard and turned away, to focus on the dropped line, the stumbled action, forcing their attention back onto the work.
So they had almost got through two weeks.
Only three remained, and then he’d be off to Manchester to do it all again.
They could do this. If they could keep things professional for a fortnight, they could make it till opening night.
It was just a case of continuing what they’d been doing until then, keeping a firm rein on their feelings, and staying professional.
OK, he almost had everything he needed for tomorrow.
He could leave it for now. Maybe a walk?
That often helped him rally his disorganized thoughts.
It was after four—still hot, but some of the heat had started to ease from the day.
On a whim, he got up, stuffing his rehearsal notes into his leather satchel.
He showered, dressed in a bright floral shirt, light linen suit, made sure he had his keys and wallet, and left his hotel room.
Stepping outside the elegant Modernista facade of his hotel, Kim was blasted again by the summer heat, far more intense at street level than it had been up on his seventh-floor terrace, which was washed by sea breezes.
He turned left, heading uphill away from the tourist crowds around Park Güell, and let his steps carry him up and down the winding streets.
His need to walk that obsession with his main actor out of his system made him choose the steepest climbing streets.
Soon sweat was pouring off him, soaking his shirt as he relished the pain in his calf, thigh, and buttock muscles as a result of the unaccustomed effort.
But, after wandering down into a narrow gully of densely packed houses, soon he was climbing back up a steep escarpment, on streets that wound up and then crossed back on themselves.
When he paused, panting from the climb, looking back over the valley, he could see his hotel like a pink and white wedding cake on the opposite hill.
The houses around him now were low workers’ cottages strung along a long straight street that gradually rose up the side of the escarpment.
At the top, an old defensive network of bunkers and gun emplacements crowned the ridge, left over from some war or other.
World War Two? Spain hadn’t been a part of that one, had it?
Though he wouldn’t swear to it. The truth was he knew next to nothing about Spanish history, except that not too long ago there had been a dictatorship and now they had a democracy and a king.
He walked around the defensive works and then, where a number of locals and tourists had settled down, he did so too, finding a spot on the rocky escarpment, where he could gaze out at Barcelona.
The cliffs of the escarpment fell away at his feet, and beyond stretched the dense city like a prickly white blanket all the way to the sea.
Almost directly in front poked up the grayish-brown spines of the Sagrada Familia temple, and a short way to their left down at the coast, the two fingers of the Hotel Arts and Torre Mapfre.
In the far distance to the right was the long green knoll of Montju?c, crowned by its flat-topped fort.
He couldn’t recognize many other landmarks and wished he’d taken the time to do more research before arriving here.
To his right over the hills, the sun was now dropping lower, sending out rays of reddish gold that turned the cliffs and air around him pinkish, while the distant sea was taking on an indigo hue.
People were sitting in small groups and drinking wine or beer they’d brought with them as they watched the sun slowly descend toward the horizon.
He wished he’d had the forethought to have done the same, but neither was it necessary.
While most of the sunset watchers were sitting in groups, there were one or two solitary souls like himself.
What brought them to seek out this romantic setting alone?
It was unlikely they’d simply chanced upon it as he had.
Maybe they were tourists traveling alone, or locals who simply came up here often to watch the sun go down.
Right at the farthest reach, where the cliff dropped off a gun emplacement to fall several yards straight down, a solitary figure was sitting, watching the sunset through a pair of sunglasses.
That seemed a little odd as the sun was no longer so strong.
Then with a jolt, Kim recognized him. What were the chances of finding his lead actor sitting up here in a place like this! It was bizarre.
Should he approach? His first impulse was to rush over.
However, they hadn’t spoken privately since that stupid kiss on Tuesday, and Kim had been very clear about it being a professional error—for both of them.
No doubt Dídac was feeling rebuffed, possibly insulted.
But Tony was right. It was foolish for them to have engaged in anything, even innocent flirting, at least for the duration of the production.
Not to mention, their ten-year age difference.
Had they been thirty-five and forty-five, maybe, but twenty-five seemed just a little too young.
He would have to be firm and keep the younger guy at arm’s length.
Yet at the thought of hurting Dídac, even for the worthiest reasons, now that he had glimpsed the intense vulnerability that the younger man carried inside, Kim’s heart seemed to turn over with a sickening lurch.
And treating him meanly, as he knew he should, would only make Dídac hate him even more than he did now.
That thought was almost too much to bear.
But what could he do? They had to do what was best for the show.
He got up to go, hoping to slip away before the actor spied him, but as he turned away there was a shout:
“Herr Director!”
He turned back. Dídac was looking at him, still wearing the sunnies. So Kim had no choice but to approach, and strangely he found himself smiling. His heart warmed as the actor returned his smile.
“Are you not staying to watch the sun go down?” Dídac asked.
“I was, but I still have tomorrow’s rehearsal to finish planning.”
“It’s only a few minutes away.”
“OK.” And Kim founding himself sitting down beside the younger man.
“You seem to be ticking off the tourist to-dos: having a paella on the Ramblas, watching the sun go down at the Carmel Bunkers. What’s next?”
“Is this a tourist spot? I just kind of found it by accident. I was taking a walk from my hotel. Why are you here if it’s such a tourist spot?”
“It’s one of the few places where not many locals come any more. I'm known in Catalonia but not abroad. I can just sit and be myself, and no one recognizes me. In quite a few public places nowadays, I get people coming up, telling me they like my work, even asking for autographs.”
Realizing he was still wearing them, Dídac removed his sunnies, stowing them in a breast pocket. Then turning his intense green eyes on Kim once more, he went on:
“Which is endearing, I admit, but it can get a bit wearisome. I’m not much known overseas, so where there are tourists, I can just blend in, go unnoticed. And I live nearby.”
“I get it. I did a year on one of Australia’s soaps a few years back, just a small part, but the public attention I got ended up being quite annoying. I was glad to return to theater after it and get forgotten again.”
“I didn’t know you had done TV.”
“It was the last job I did, just before the Pandemic. After that I focused solely on directing, and that’s what I’ve been doing since.”
The light changed subtly, becoming more red-golden. Dídac gestured at the horizon:
“There it goes.”
The bottom of the sun’s disc was just starting to scrape the forested ridge over to their right.
They were both silent as they watched the golden disc dip lower and then appear to melt, its liquid gold spreading out through the trees like butter dissolving in a hot pan.
In just a few minutes, half of the disc had dropped below the ridge, then three quarters until finally just a sliver remained, while the sky turned a range of flaming colors from golds and oranges to mauves and deep purples.
Then, as Dídac and Kim, sitting side by side, watched, that final sliver of brightest gold winked out and the two of them were left together in the dusk.