Chapter 5
five
Alex and the taxi driver had been waiting for ten minutes outside the hotel that evening when Isard finally appeared, dragging the huge suitcase Alex had seen in his caravan on set.
“Sorry, guys,” he huffed. “I couldn’t seem to fit everything in and get my case closed. It’s like all my stuff has multiplied since we’ve been here.”
“But why do you need so much? Weren’t you just coming for three days of filming?” Alex asked.
“This is my first film,” Isard shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what I should bring. So I brought pretty much everything.”
Alex just raised an eyebrow, swinging his own small backpack off his shoulders to give to the driver. He’d only brought a change of underwear, his toilet bag, and his workout gear. He didn’t understand people who insisted on carting everything plus the kitchen sink with them wherever they went.
“OK, are we ready?” the taxi driver asked, swinging Isard’s heavy suitcase into the trunk, and settling Alex’s backpack in beside it. “Hop in.”
It was strange seeing a black-and-yellow Barcelona taxi up here in the mountains.
Perhaps hiring a city taxi had been the production company’s cheapest option for transporting the actors to and from the Pyrenees.
Alex opened the back door and waved Isard in.
As the slim actor passed him, he got a déjà vu of the time he’d welcomed him into his caravan: Isard’s pine and earthy scent, whether it was a cologne or his natural odor, washed over him, rendering him momentarily helpless.
He scrambled into the back seat after Isard.
As he shut the door, he felt the other’s gaze on him and turned to meet those large bovine eyes.
“What?”
Isard shrugged. “Nothing, I…”
Alex looked out the window, a lump in his throat too.
It was… how long would they be sat here together on the trip down to Barcelona?
Three, four hours? Isard’s presence on the seat next to him seemed to be calling to him in a way he didn’t understand…
and certainly hadn’t expected when he took on this gig. He wondered how they’d fill that time.
As the taxi rolled down out of the small alpine village they’d been staying at, and started negotiating larger roads in its quest for the freeway, Isard felt wistful.
It had been fun being cocooned in this tiny cinematic world up here in the mountains for a few days.
Film worked to its own schedule. There were no set days of the week, or office hours.
You might find yourself working a Monday, a Thursday or a Sunday and have no idea which day it was.
The working day started at four a.m. and finished at eleven p.m., sometimes later.
Actors and crew slotted in and out of that schedule according to when they were needed, not dependent on any fixed hours.
About the only time the whole production came together was lunchtime, which could be served at any hour from midday till five o’clock.
Then director, actors, and crew all sat down to eat and talk together in a communal activity where rank and status became blurred.
The filming was continuing in Barcelona, but he’d be sleeping in his own apartment for that, just turning up on the set every morning at the required time.
It felt like he’d been away on summer camp, and was now returning to the real world, where responsibilities and trials awaited him.
His mind turned to the tasks he had lined up.
Dolors had him booked for an audition later that week.
An Australian production, The Swan, was coming to Barcelona later that year, and its director, Kim Delatour, was an up-and-coming international bigshot.
From what Dolors had told him of the production, he didn’t quite see it as a good fit for him, but hey, he’d said the same about Relentless, and here he was shooting it.
He also had to find some time for Cap Goss Sense Llar (No Dog Without a Home), the animal rescue organization he was volunteering with.
Since he was an actor but not really famous, they had tasked him with finding celebrity ambassadors who might be interested in collaborating with the NGO.
They reasoned, since he was in the mundillo, the community, he must have contacts he could ask.
Perhaps he could approach Valentí, or the star, Daniel Crespo?
The thought of it put his stomach in knots.
He’d have to get better at public relations if he was going to be any sort of actor.
He looked over at Alex, who was gazing out the window, watching the scenery.
The guy was absolutely stunning, his vigorous black hair framing a straight nose and gently curving jaw, peppered sparsely with fine stubble.
His eyes were delicate, almond-shaped, and quite heavily lidded, giving the sense that he was often shielding his thoughts or hiding smoldering passions.
At that moment, perhaps feeling himself observed, Alex glanced over, and their eyes met.
A few seconds passed before either of them spoke. Finally Isard croaked out:
“Tell me more about Wing Chun. How did you get involved?”
For once he seemed to have said the right thing because Alex didn’t snap or sneer at him.
“It was at high school in Barcelona. My friends and I, a few of us joined a local club. We’d been playing other stuff, basketball, football, as you do.
And then, I’m not sure what sparked it… Maybe we’d seen a Bruce Lee movie or something, but it was Dani, Albert, and me—my mates—we joined a local club.
From the first day, I totally loved it. It just felt like that was what I was meant to do, I can’t explain it.
Albert went along for a few sessions and then dropped out, but Dani and I went all the way: club competitions, regional, national…
. He’s still competing at regional level.
I made it international! The World Wing Chun Competition in Hong Kong. ”
He laughed like he still couldn’t quite believe his luck, as if everything that had happened had been some massive fluke.
“Wow, that’s phenomenal!”
“Yeah, I have a bronze medal to show for it. That was in 2018, when I was eighteen. Wing Chun isn’t an Olympic sport yet, but when it is, I’ll be there.”
“It must feel amazing to have been successful so young.”
“It’s left me wanting more. Always more mountains to climb… I guess that’s both the good and the bad of early success.” Then Alex looked at Isard, aware he’d maybe been talking about himself too long. “But you aren’t doing too badly, starring in a film already. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four. Yeah, I don’t really understand it. It’s just kind of happened.”
“Have you always wanted to be an actor?”
“Always. The classic playing dress-ups with my sister when we were in parvulari, day care. Then at school, always in the drama club. I did some TV when I was in my teens, mainly adverts, but also a small part in a series for a year. That helped me get into Barcelona’s Institut de Teatre.
It’s the best actor training you can get in Catalonia.
Since graduating, it’s been a slog, going to audition after audition endlessly.
To be honest, before I got this part I was on the verge of giving up. ”
“Never give up. Decide what you want to do and do it, as best you can, with the tools and opportunities you have. But never give up.”
“Is that Wing Chun?”
“No, that’s me, Alex.”
Isard laughed. “I like that, Alex.”
Then Isard found he was blushing again. What the…
? Had he ever blushed so much with anyone before?
But he’d swear Alex was blushing a little too.
Though the guy had looked away, out the window, a small smile playing on his lips that he couldn’t quite wipe off.
Isard was smiling too, stupidly. They’d only just started this car trip, and another three and a half hours lay before them maybe.
What would they talk about from now on? But Isard found he didn’t care.
They’d find something to discuss… or do.
It was nice just being here, sitting on the back seat of this taxi, being driven down to Barcelona.
He was really actually enjoying this, and didn’t want this journey to end.
“So,” he cast around, looking for a topic. “Are there things about the philosophy of Wing Chun that would help me, like stuff I should know for the part?”
Alex looked over at him, observing him coolly. But he sensed the guy saw something there that he didn’t quite expect. Maybe he’d wanted to write Isard off as another pretentious actor, but he hadn’t yet.
“OK,” he said. “What we did today, siu nim tau, you probably just saw it as one long and complex routine. But there’re three distinct parts to it.
The first part is the goat-clamping stance, yee gee kim yeung ma, along with getting your elbow position right, which is gung lik.
Then there’s fajing, like a kind of explosive release of the hands, and finally defensive movements and striking with both hands, tan sao, pak sao, and so on. But we’ll work on them.”
“But what about the mindset? That’s where I need to crack it. For everything else we can use doubles if we can find a kung-fu expert who looks like a bit like me.”
“Don’t look at me,” Alex chuckled.
Isard laughed. They couldn’t be more different: Alex was buff, brown, and burnished, while he was a wilting lily.
Would a guy like Alex go for a guy like him?
What would he see in him? You looked at Alex and it was obvious—he was muscular and fit, the typical definition of a sports-jock sex god.
But Isard was slim and languid, not at all energetic.
He couldn’t imagine someone liking what they saw in him.
Maybe that’s why he’d become an actor, to try and escape out of himself by any means possible.
Even so, in the hours they’d spent together, he felt more relaxed and comfortable than he had for years with anyone.