Chapter 35
Aroar of applause swept the theater as the heavy velvet curtain dropped. Behind it, Felipa and Domènec, who closed the final scene, got up from the stage and walked off into the wings, where Kim was standing beside Pau, the stage manager. He hugged each of them in turn.
“Brilliant! Brilliant show, guys!”
“And curtain… up,” said Pau into his headset.
The other actors, milling behind them off stage, had come together in a long line holding hands, and now ran back on stage together even as the curtain swept up again.
The stage lights’ full glare hit the cast like a nuclear blast after the comparative dark behind the scenes, as applause washed over them like a tsunami.
For several long moments, they stood there, reveling in that glorious, indescribable feeling that only those who have felt it can truly understand—a wave of affirmation from the rest of humanity, lifting you high on a fluffy white cloud.
Then on a shared impulse, they bowed together, to more intense clapping.
Once… twice… three times. And still the applause thundered on.
From the wings, Kim looked out into the dark of the theater, picking out where Santi and Jordi were seated next to their wives.
They were clapping, but their faces remained inscrutable, pleasantly diplomatic masks concealing their true thoughts.
The conversation with Santi hadn’t been easy.
Kim and Dídac had driven down to Barcelona on Sunday morning, after calling a tow truck to return the rental car to their nearest office.
Santi had agreed to meet, and they had gathered, Kim, Santi, the theater director, Jordi Veràs, and Dídac, in a café on the Rambla de Catalunya on Sunday afternoon, to discuss the production’s future.
At first, Santi and Jordi were intractable.
Santi’s Plan B had been to parachute Jordi in to finish directing Isard in the production, cutting out both Kim and Dídac totally.
Kim had had to remind him that the theater’s rights to the play were provisional on he, Kim, being the director.
That was what the contract stated. Dídac had sat through their exchange rather cowed, unused to witnessing his beloved theatrical world being dissected in such legal terms. Eventually Jordi had poured cold water on their argument, telling Santi that he had no desire to direct the play if it could be helped. He had full faith in Kim to deliver.
That brought the conversation around to Dídac.
“I’m planning to come out publicly as gay. I’ve spoken to my publicist and we’re putting out a press release this evening to preempt the Monday-Tuesday press rush. All the major papers should be carrying it tomorrow morning.”
“I wish you well with that,” Santi responded.
“Thanks,” Dídac returned, slightly disgruntled.
But Kim wasn’t about to let it lie there:
“The thing is, a major theater letting Dídac go midway through a production in rehearsal looks very bad. It looks like they’re being homophobic.”
“That’s not the case at all,” Santi snapped.
“Of course not, but that’s the way the press may play it,” Kim smiled at him thinly.
“I don’t like the way you said that,” Jordi said, frowning.
“No, no,” Kim rushed to say. “I don’t mean that in a threatening way.
” Much, he thought to himself. “We see this as a publicity opportunity. We’ve been in touch with the two biggest LGBTQI+ organizations in Catalonia, and they are keen to provide all their support for a theater that is openly championing and supporting gay rights.
And they can put a lot of bums on seats, which would counteract any negative box-office effect from the more conservative elements among Dídac’s fans. ”
“And what about Isard?” Santi asked.
“He came on board to substitute for Dídac. He remains as his understudy.”
“He’s too big an actor to be content with that,” Santi countered.
“Don’t worry about Isard,” Jordi said. “I want to offer him the lead in the àngel Guimerà play with which we’ll be following The Swan. He’ll be perfect. I don’t think he’ll mind stepping down from this one if he has that coming up. And he clearly isn’t happy where he is.”
Looking into the auditorium, Kim spied Isard seated further back next to another, older and more muscular Asian guy, who may or may not have been his partner.
He was clapping wildly, and his enthusiasm seemed genuine.
On stage, the three puppeteers broke ranks to stride a few steps downstage, and take their own bow.
The clapping intensified. As they ran back to rejoin the line, Carme and Dani ran out from opposite sides, Dani presenting Carme with a theatrical flourish, and vice versa.
Then as they ran back, Kiko and Dana ran downstage for their curtain call, presenting each other in a similar routine.
They rejoined the line, while Domènec and Felipa, veteran professionals, strolled down to greet their public, taking their time and milking the audience as only seasoned hands like them knew how to do.
The level of clapping rose even further.
It was now quite deafening. Then, instead of stepping back, they stepped to the sides, clearing a space and joining the applause. A moment passed.
In the wings, stage right, Dídac took a huge breath, crossed himself and ran out on stage, coming down into the open space center stage.
As he appeared, the audience went wild, clapping, stamping and cheering.
A huge smile lit up his face. There is nothing quite the equal of an audience’s love and appreciation—except obviously the buzz of true love, but audience adulation can feel like it comes a close second.
However, for Dídac, this was what he lived for.
Now, he also stepped back and to the side, joining the cast clapping, first for the technical crew up in the lighting box, and then for the Xavier Pons, the set designer, Maia the costume designer, Laia, and Pau the stage manager, who all trooped out on stage.
Kiko ran off and returned with a huge bunch of flowers.
And then Dídac turned and looked towards where Kim was standing, directing his clapping there.
Finally, Kim walked out on stage. The audience went wild, standing up in their seats, clapping, shouting, and stamping.
Kiko presented Kim with the flowers, and he stood there feeling the rapturous applause wash over him in waves of energy, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years.
He turned, and gestured to Dídac, who walked forward.
Kim put his free arm around Dídac, and kissed him on the lips.
The applause became thunderous. Looking out into the audience, where the house lights had been turned up slightly, Kim was able to locate Santi, and meet his gaze.
As Santi kept up his clapping, he nodded once in wry affirmation, and winked.
The Swan was a success. Turning to the other cast and crew, Dídac waved them forward, and as a full company, they all came forward and bowed once more.
Kim turned to Dídac.
“So, ready for Manchester?”
“Do all this again, but in English? It’s a challenge, but I’m ready.”
“Don’t worry, we’re in this together, remember?”
Dídac nodded, and there before a full theater, the crème de la crème of Barcelona society, they kissed again, but this time for a long, long while.
The End.