Chapter 23
Coming into rehearsal on Monday morning had felt weird.
Why it should, Dídac didn’t know, but Dana had been looking at him strangely.
And then by morning coffee break, all three actresses seemed to be in on whatever it was.
They remained polite and friendly, but seemed to keep themselves at a chilly, professional remove, even while they were working.
However, the truth was, he’d barely noticed, except peripherally.
All his attention had been focused on his director.
The rest of the company had tacitly noted and accepted that he and Kim had moved from a relationship of antagonism to one of tight emotional complicity, even as Kim and Dídac tried to camouflage the passion that was rushing through their veins.
Actors aren’t stupid—most of them, a proportion of them, anyway.
But the company had realized and accepted that some unique magic was occurring, the phenomenon every production hoped for, that all the long hours and hard work would trigger a kind of organic alchemy, like the one brewing within their ranks, a vein of molten gold that would somehow suffuse the entire show, touching any and everyone like some sort of theatrical Midas, so that the production would be a success.
The alchemy would happen and the magic would blaze up like fireworks.
It didn’t always. Despite the budget, the best actors, the most brilliant director and competent technical support.
Sometimes even when all those success factors were there, the show would flop, and barely crawl along on its belly as far as the initial early date for its closing.
But despite all the odds against putting on a successful theater show, even with a minimal budget, tight rehearsal schedule, or actors who didn’t get along, sometimes the magic would happen despite themselves.
The alchemy would create a hit that would keep rolling along much to everyone’s surprise, keeping everyone safe from the nightmare of the dole queue.
The feeling in the company of The Swan, communicated via pre-rehearsal coffees, and post-show drinks, was that a powerful, organic bond was developing between its director and star actor, which promised to put bums on seats, as they say in the trade.
So, it wasn’t until they broke for lunch that the dam burst. By that time all the office above was aware, but working isolated in the rehearsal room as they were, the news hadn’t reached the men.
Of course Dana must have told Carme and Felipa at some point, but the veteran actress would have ensured that the news stopped there, at least until they broke for lunch.
By then several copies of ?Hola! were circulating through the theater.
It was Laia who grabbed Dídac’s wrist, steering him out of the rehearsal room as soon as they broke for lunch.
“Let’s eat at my place today,” she said. “I bought some fresh mussels last night, and I’ve got all the ingredients to make that Japanese seaweed salad you like. Plus, I have a bottle of your favorite verdejo, chilling in the fridge.”
Dídac felt confused. His eyes sought out Kim.
He had been hoping they might go for a repeat of their liaison in Magarida’s room, as he now thought of it.
But Kim was in intense conversation with Domènec.
Their final half-hour of rehearsal had been spent in working—or sparring—over Domènec’s monologue, which closed Act One.
Actor and director/writer had quite contrasting ideas on what that monologue meant for the act, and for the play itself.
Domènec—an actor from a prestigious Catalan family, who had been treading the boards for over forty years—was not accustomed to his ideas on the interpretation of his role being, as he seemed to feel, undervalued.
Kim’s and Dídac’s eyes met over the mature actor’s head, and Kim raised his eyebrows in a subtle lift, suggesting he might be held in conversation for quite some time.
Meanwhile Laia was pulling Dídac toward the door with some urgency, so eventually he let himself be dragged.
Perhaps after lunch he could text Kim and they might get together for an afternoon siesta, and…
whatever games occurred to them after taking off their clothes.
In the car heading uptown, Laia was lively.
In no uncertain terms she told the driver to turn off the popular Barcelona talk show he was listening to, which Dídac was actually quite a fan of—a duo of narcissists who spent a good deal of their airtime dissecting scandals in the cultural sphere.
Then she spent the entire trip regaling Dídac with all manner of—to be brutally honest, what he considered—inconsequential banality.
This was so unlike his friend, he wondered if she was coming down with something.
But eventually they reached Laia’s apartment in Sant Gervasi, a well-to-do but not disgustingly posh Barcelona neighborhood.
Laia kept her barrage going all the way up in the elevator, and even while preparing lunch, leaving Dídac to commiserate with Pedro (named after Almodóvar), Laia’s scruffy, white-haired terrier, who was prone to leap up and start humping your leg as a conversational opener.
The apartment was spacious and light-filled, a loft-like space renovated in natural timbers, whose double French doors opened onto a narrow balcony and a view over a small, triangular square.
It was only after they had finished lunch and Laia had cleared their plates that she took a deep breath. The sudden silence rippling out from her felt ominous.
“What is it, Laia?”
Without speaking, she got up and went to her bag. From it she took a magazine and, returning to the table, placed it before Dídac.
“I’ll make coffee.”
And then she was gone, off fussing with the coffee machine, while Dídac stared down at his own face on the cover of ?Hola!
. Something like an iron bar hit the base of his stomach, the pain of it feeling as if it weighed a tonne, but he forced himself to read, to begin turning pages, and glancing at the blurred, night-time images.
The “article” such as it was, rested on the evidence of half a dozen grainy photos.
The top half of the page showed a blurred photo taken at night, while the lower part of the page contained a sequence of six similar photos, all clearly taken at the same time.
They were all quite obviously of Dídac, even with his dark glasses, showing him leaving what looked like the doorway of an unnamed nightclub in the company of another man, taller, older, with blond hair running to gray.
“Is that—?” Laia asked, looking over his shoulder.
“No. Looks quite like him, I know.”
In the first photo they were kissing passionately. The headline in Spanish read: “Rising Star Gets Down and Dirty at Gay Sex Club”.
“So…” Laia breathed, placing sugar and cream on the table. “Dídac, why?”
“It was well before this production,” Dídac justified. “Before I’d even met Kim—”
He stopped talking.
“Kim?” Her mouth dropped open, and she let a silence develop as the pieces suddenly fell into place for her.
But that was another conversation, for another time—if they ever got over this one.
“But why did you?” she asked. “Dídac, you know you’re visible.
Memorable. How could you think that this would not happen? ”
“I know, Laia, but… I get… lonely. Sometimes I just have to get out and… fuck! I need some human contact!”
“Call me,” she said, going back to the coffee machine.
“I mean… physical human contact.”
“Right.” Laia sighed. “So… get a call boy? At least it’s private, he comes to your house…”
“Yeah, and then sells the exclusive to ?Hola!, which could actually be worse.”
“I mean why can’t you guys ever keep it in your pants!” she growled. “It’s always sex! And a scandal like this could sink this production. It could put all of us on the dole. Oh,” she stopped, realizing what she’d just said. “Sorry.”
Dídac was silent, just waved his hand to say it didn’t matter.
He remained staring down at the glossy page.
For a couple of minutes the only sound was the chugging coffee machine as Laia prepared them two espressos.
But her mind was whirring, thinking about all the ramifications.
In contrast, Dídac was thinking about Kim.
He wanted to call him. But what would he say?
Hi, this wonderful guy you’ve just met is actually a slut.
His misadventures are smeared all over the cover of a daily tabloid.
Laia put two short strong espressos on the coffee table before them.
“What do I do, Lai?”
“Are you ashamed of what you did?”
“I… no, I… It’s what I needed to do at the time. I wasn’t in a relationship. I just needed to let off a bit of steam… No, I’m worried about everything that’s going to come now. But ashamed? No. Maybe I’ve been more discreet than out and proud. But I’m not ashamed of having sex with another man.”
Laia took a sip of coffee, put down her cup, and looked at him.
“Then you put your head up, and you go on. All sorts of flak is going to hit you now, so you just need to be strong and carry on. There is….” She looked down at her coffee for a moment as if deciding whether to take another sip or not.
“There’s… I mean your TV fans… and the theater. What do you think they’ll say?”
“I don’t care about them. I mean I do, but…
I’m more… I just don’t know what I’m going to say to Kim.
Not about the sex—I was single, and totally within my rights to do what I did.
I’m sure he’s done the same at times in his life.
But The Swan is his baby. I just hope the scandal doesn’t affect…
I don’t think he’d forgive me for that.”