Kim looked down at the photos of Dídac passionately kissing another man outside some seedy club or other. Echoes ofdéjà vuwashed over him. Was he dating another Tony?—but he pushed those doubts aside. Now was not the time. Instead he said:
“Is Dídac’s influence really that strong on our audience? You think it will affect the show’s success?”
“Will?” Santi shrugged. “Could… definitely. You were pushing to cut him a week ago. How do you feel about that now?”
“What?” No! But he was screaming inside himself. The protest didn’t make it to his lips. To be honest, he didn’t know how he felt. “Ah… What are you suggesting?”
“If we act fast, we can switch him with Isard Muntaner. Muntaner’scaixet, his box-office value, isn’t as strong as Dídac’s… but that’s for better and for worse. Not so bad in a scandal. Not so good in takings. But in fact, since that film last year, it’s rising. He may have become quite a bankable option.”
“I need to think. This is all… a bit of a shock… Sudden.”
“I’m sorry, Kim. I’ve had the feeling you were getting on better with Dídac over the last week. So this is, ah… upsetting the cart all over you again.”
“Upsetting the apple cart?”
“That one.”
It sure as hell was.
“Ring me tonight with your decision. Then we can make an announcement tomorrow morning. We need to act fast with this, so it doesn’t come back to bite us. If he’s gone before the scandal fully blows up, we can play it that he was always unreliable—this is just more evidence of that. If we leave it, it’ll look like we’re pushing him out because of the scandal, which would look bad for the theater.”
Kim took a physical step back, shocked at Santi’s callousness, all hint of his former joviality gone. He understood that as a producer the man had to be practical, but this surgical cutting loose of the theater’s strongest asset at the slightest whiff of a scandal gutted him to his core. Was it all just business? Where was the humanity?
“I… I’ll let you know.”
Then he was out, bashing down the stairs, needing to be gone from this theater, wanting to be on his own, to think.
Kim strode up the street toward the Rambla. How could Dídac have done this! The one time Kim breaks his own rule, and lets down his guard, the first person in walks all over him! How was it happening all over again! Another Tony. His feet pulled him towards the Rambla and across it, to lose himself in the labyrinth of small streets of the Gothic Quarter. He was hungry but he wasn’t. He wanted to stuff food into himself to try and fill the huge gaping hole that seemed to have opened up in his diaphragm, dampen the unholy scream that was rising inside him at the unfairness of it all.
Without quite knowing how it happened, he found himself outside the restaurant where he’d had lunch after that first day of rehearsal,the day of the read-through, to which Dídac had arrived late. Kim entered. The same smiling, dark-haired woman came forward, greeting him effusively. She seemed to recognize him, which ignited a tiny warm glow in his heart—the feeling of belonging somewhere in this strange city, even a little bit. And as she seated him at the same table-for-one overlooking the kitchen, even the surly chef, who had reminded him so much of Tony, raised his head and nodded gruffly at him, before continuing to hack into a massive slab of meat with a very business-looking cleaver.
Tony. This was Tony all over again. Why couldn’t he fall in love with a man who wanted him just for himself, instead of one who needed to put out like a whore and screw anything that came his way? He had been so in love with Tony, so patient at first. Kim hadn’t known about the early infidelities, never knew when or how many there were. But at about the six-month mark, he started to become suspicious. When he finally confronted Tony, they had the most almighty row, Tony swearing first that nothing had happened, and when Kim shot that one down in flames with hard evidence, telling him that he thought they’d always been in an open relationship. True, they’d never sat down and talked about it—Kim had just assumed… like an idiot. Perhaps Tony had also assumed… the opposite. But in the rush of lust and the honeymoon of their romance, Kim hadn’t even thought about or wanted to look at another man, and he’d thought the feeling was mutual. So it was like being punched in the stomach to learn that his boyfriend was being unfaithful, not just once but serially. Their relationship continued, but it was clear the honeymoon period was over. That row turned out to be just the first of many, happening on a regular basis, generally each time Kim caught Tony out with another infidelity—either consummated or attempted.
His thoughts were interrupted by the same waiter as before: late twenties, cute bum and chestnut eyes. To that description, Kim now added a brown complexion, smiling elfin face, and a mop of shining dark hair he was constantly flicking out of those come-hither eyes.
“Hello, welcome back! It’s lovely to see you again! Are you ready to order?” he asked in perfect English.
Kim didn’t even attempt to use his faltering Catalan. What was the point?
“Ah, I’ll have the same as last time I think: the sautéed spinach, and the oven-baked fish. They were delicious. And a glass of white wine.”
“Thanks, that’ll be right up.”
He watched the waiter spin away toward the kitchen serving counter beside them, appreciating the play of those athletic legs and cute ass, before his thoughts returned to Tony.
He had ended up becoming paranoid and irritable, alternating between exploding in anger at any and every little thing, far beyond Tony’s playing around, and sinking into depression for days at a time. Even he could see that he wasn’t any fun to be with. The result was that Tony began to spend more and more time away, seeking fun and friendship outside their relationship. Kim couldn’t really blame him, but he hated himself for who he’d become. The agreement to break up after they’d officially been together less than two years—Tony was by then spending so much time away from home they rarely saw each other, while Kim compensated by putting all his energies into the theater—was more of a formality than anything else.
The waiter returned, placing a small carafe of white wine on his table.
“This is an Albariño, slightly better than our house white, but it pairs spectacularly with the fish.”
“Thank you, I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”
The waiter winked at him before leaving.
Both Kim and Tony knew their relationship was doomed well before the final split. Now, looking back, he saw that while their basic incompatibility couldn’t be denied, neither of them had put the sort of work into saving the relationship that it deserved. But Kim blamed that on their mutual ignorance. The knowledge helped him to forgive Tony, and seek out his friendship, a year or so after their split-up. But he remained emotionally scorched. If he wanted to triumph in the theater industry, he needed to devote all his energies to it. Romance was a distraction. Tony at least had taught him that, and until this point he had been successful in keeping personal relationships at bay. Dídac was clearly another Tony, professing his passion to whomever he had in his sights at that particular moment. A kind of serial monogamist. And Kim wasn’t about to get embroiled in some tacky sexual scandal here in Catalonia. His career and his aspirations demanded more of him.
The waiter returned with his spinach, placing it before him on the table. He seemed to move exceptionally close to Kim as he placed the dish before him, his dark cotton trousers almost grazing Kim’s shoulder. Was that a come-on? He thought so. Kim’s eyes slid to what promised to be a full basket, just inches below eye level. Well, why not? Why shouldn’t he? If Dídac was doing it… It wasn’t as if they had any formal hold over each other, no marriage vows or anything. Kim was learning the hard way that this was what men did. So why shouldn’t he?
