Chapter 2
two
Alex stood in the door of his caravan, idly flexing.
It was a thing he did when he needed to think.
Going through the routine of his warm-up stretches acted like a sort of meditation, loosening his muscles while calming his mind and centering his thoughts.
From the doorway, the entire Pyrenees were on show, the range still loaded with snow, even though it was late spring verging on summer.
In the early morning sunlight, the snow-covered peaks were a dramatic frieze of brilliant whiteness, though the cliffs in shadow remained steeped in deeper purples and greens.
The air here was freezing, but refreshing.
He’d love to show his cousins this vista, jog them from their dogged belief that Catalonia was hot and sweltering all year around, as it had been when they’d visited in August. Obviously this part of the country hadn’t got the memo.
But he loved the bite this air had to it, and hoped to make the most of it, as next week they’d be filming down in Barcelona again, where the weather would be warming up to its usual searing summer intensity.
How long would he be waiting here before he got to work?
They’d driven him up yesterday and last night he’d slept in the production company’s hotel, but his driver had picked him up at five a.m. to bring him out to the set this morning.
Which meant he’d spent four hours marooned in this caravan doing nothing while the filming went on all about him, with all the coordinated frenzy of a small city preparing to resist an enemy siege.
Several trips to the catering truck had by now exhausted all the social possibilities on set, so he was pondering going into a full workout in the space in front of his caravan, even though the area was a quagmire of mud and snow slush, criss-crossed with boot prints. It might at least pass some time.
And what would his client be like? All he knew was that he was some young actor, probably full of swagger and braggadocio if Alex’s past experiences teaching young stars were anything to go by.
They’d see. He hoped it wouldn’t be a problem instructing him.
Sure, he was on board: a contract’s a contract.
But it made it easier if the client had some idea of physical movement.
Sports people were good, dancers too. Actors…
you could get any old thing. Still, the money was enough to buy his soul.
And if he was going to turn his school from a dream into a reality, he needed it.
A cute young cowboy, early twenties, crossed his line of vision.
Probably an extra. Small and slim, he moved with a sort of languid fluidity, as if fighting his way through treacle.
It didn’t help that he was weighted down by a heavy oilskin and stomping along in boots about four sizes too big for him.
As he passed Alex’s caravan, he glanced his way and gave a curt nod, without breaking his stride.
Alex returned the nod, offering him a smile, which never hurt.
The guy didn’t quite return it, but one lip did curl promisingly.
Then he was gone, into the caravan beside Alex, the door banging behind him.
So he was an actor? He must be if he had a caravan.
Well, it never hurt to be friendly, as Alex had learned while building his client base over the last few years.
He decided to forgo the workout for now, and was just turning back into his caravan to fix an umpteenth hot brew of something to pass the time, when there was a shout and the door slammed again.
He looked out. The cowboy had come back outside.
“Hey! Sorry to bother you,” the cowhand called, stomping in his direction. “Do you know if the electrician’s about?”
“They’ll all be on set.”
“Damn, the power’s gone out in my caravan. It’s freezing.”
That must have been the nasty, electrical-sounding bang Alex had heard a couple of hours ago.
“That’s a pain. Did you leave the heater on or something? These old rigs can have pretty dire electrics.”
The cowboy looked dubious.
“I might have. I was hoping it would be warm to come back to.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t come back to a pile of cinders then. Some of them are beyond dangerous where safety’s concerned.”
The actor squinted at him hopefully. “Are you an electrician?”
“No,” Alex laughed. “I’ve got an uncle who buys and sells this sort of rig second-hand. I used to work with him as a kid.”
The actor looked around him, pondering his next move: return to the set to hang around there in the cold, or sit in his freezing dark caravan. Alex took pity on him. Besides he was cute, and dressed up in that over-sized cowboy outfit, he had an almost clownish appeal.
“Do you want to come in and wait in mine? I was about to make a cup of tea, and the heater’s working.”
The cowboy looked at him for a moment. He had big soulful eyes, and a sort of vulnerable timorousness.
“Thanks, that’d be great,” he said, sounding dubious.
Alex stepped aside, holding the door open and the cowboy came inside.
As they passed close to each other, Alex noted a light dusting of unshaven stubble across the cowboy’s pale jaw, so fine that even though he was dark-haired, he hadn’t noticed it before.
He also caught a whiff of his natural odor, a subtle masculine scent that made Alex think of pine wood and damp earth.
It caught him off guard, and for a moment he felt dizzy as if someone had walked over his grave.
He realized he was just standing there, staring at the cowboy, who was also at a loss, standing in the center of the cramped space, not knowing what to do. Alex pulled the door shut and said:
“Uh, sit anywhere. I’ll put the kettle on.
He eased past the cowboy toward the tiny kitchenette, as the latter turned, trying to decide whether to try and squeeze onto the bench beside the minuscule table, or sit on the bed, which occupied one end of the caravan—the only two seating options.
They came face to face. Though they were about the same height, Alex was muscled and fit from a lifetime of martial arts, plus a couple of years older, whereas the cowboy was slim, lithe, pale-skinned, and dark-haired.
Alex inhaled his scent again, and again felt that unexpected rush of…
whatever it was, a… feeling of overwhelm…
wash over him. Unable to meet his eyes, he focused on his lips.
Framed in that slight, almost invisible dusting of beard and mustache on the pale oval of his face, his lips were full and red.
They looked tantalizingly soft and kissable.
My God! No wonder the guy was a film star!
“Ah, sit on the bed,” Alex gasped.
Thankfully the guy took a step back and sat on the caravan’s high bunk bed, breaking the moment. Alex turned, jabbing the button on the kettle, and tried to settle his thoughts. Nothing like this had happened to him since… forever? What was going on?
“Black tea? Chamomile? Mint? I, ah… think those are all the options.” His voice was unsteady. Get it under control.
“Black.”
The cowboy’s voice also sounded gruff, somehow changed from a moment ago. Alex found two plastic cups and dropped teabags into them. He needed to get it together.
“So, how’s the shoot going?”
“Good. Cold. I hate the cold.”
“I love it. I love the mountains.”
He didn’t recognize the actor from any movies he’d seen, so it might be rude to ask his name. What if he was mega-famous and expected everyone to know it? If he had a caravan, he must be. What to talk about? Then the actor asked him a question:
“Where are you from?”
“Barcelona. Sagrada Familia neighborhood,” he said, handing the guy a tea. “Careful, it’s hot. Sugar?”
“Cool, your Catalan is amazing. But where are you really from?”
Alex chuckled, everywhere except his eyes. That question! He resisted the urge to throw his tea in the guy’s face.
“I’m really from Sagrada Família. What actual part of ‘I was born and grew up in Catalonia’ did you miss?”
“Sorry, yeah, I didn’t mean…”
“What you meant was, ‘You look… foreign. How could you be Catalan?’ Right?”
“No, I—”
“For your information, not that it’s any of your business, my mum gave birth to me in Vall d’Hebron Hospital, in Barcelona, and she was born in Figueres.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No, no offense, I just want to set you right. All four of my grandparents come from China. Is that the information you’re looking for? Try rubbing me up the right way and I might tell you which province.”
“No, you don’t…”
“Yeah, that was a joke. I’m not about to give you my family history.”
Damn, why did his stupid anger always have to lead his mouth! And he suddenly had a sinking suspicion of who this guy might be, even as the other guy’s eyes widened.
“Oh, are you…?” the cowboy asked.
“You mean because I’m Asian, I must be your martial arts teacher?
That’s two strikes, one more and you’re out.
” He turned back to the bench, not wanting to reveal his feelings.
Possessed of a poker face, he was not. He turned back around.
“OK, yeah, I teach martial arts, but that has nothing to do with my ethnicity.”
“I’m so sorry!” the guy stammered. “I really did not mean to—”
How to repair this situation. Be diplomatic, Alex warned himself, but the tail end of his anger had other ideas.
“It’s OK, I really don’t know who the fuck you are either. Famous? Not famous? Good actor? Shit actor?”
To his surprise, the guy just laughed.
“Not famous. Shit actor. Since you ask.”
“OK.” And Alex found himself smiling. His anger had evaporated. “So it’s OK to ask your name then? I have it in the file they gave me, but I’m honestly terrible with names.”
“Isard Muntaner. This is my first film, so you won’t have heard of me. But it’s a good part. I’m just trying not to mess up.”
“I can see you’re making a great job of that,” said Alex, smiling thinly.
Isard was about to reply when someone started calling his name outside. He stood up quickly, and promptly dropped his tea. The scalding liquid missed Alex by inches as it splashed all over the caravan.
“Oh no! I’m really sorry!” Isard gushed. “Does that count as strike three? I am so, so sorry. I will honestly make it up to you, but I have to go. They’re doing my close-ups.”
And Joanet was banging on the caravan door:
“Has anyone seen Isard? He’s wanted on set!”
“Coming!” Isard called, and, walking through the puddle of tea in his boots, he pushed out of the caravan. Then he was gone.
Alex sat looking at the caravan’s wet floor. He sipped his tea, wondering what the holy filigree had just actually happened.