And with that she bustled off to a couple at the next table.
“Wow!” Kim breathed. “That was intense! Is she always like that?”
“Yep,” Dídac apologized. As you’ll have twigged, I’ve known her all my life. Marta’s also the village mayoress—or is that sexist? Should I just say ‘mayor’?”
Kim shrugged. To tell you the truth, I have no idea. Was I such a total asshole when we met?”
“Short answer: yes. But don’t take it personally. You were jet-lagged, and landed in the middle of our Sant Joan fireworks fest. Let’s eat. I’m starving and I want more sex when we get back home, so we need to stoke your energy levels.”
They ended up sharing the goat cheese salad, but Dídac chose a vegetarian cannelloni, while Kim went for the kid. At the end of the meal, as they sat gazing out over the valley, so full their stomachs felt fit to burst, Kim broached the question again:
“So, you’ve seen what your public thinks of that silly scandal. Will you come back to the production?”
“Is it up to you and me? Won’t Santi and Jordi have a say?”
“You and I decide first. Then we sell it to the theater—and to the world if need be.”
“I never wanted to leave that show. I love that part.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“OK.”
They smiled at each other.
“Is it as easy as that?” Dídac asked, reaching for Kim’s hand.
“Of course not, but that’s the first step. And from now on we walk this path together.” He picked up his wine glass. “To the most beautiful swan in my life.”
“To that ugly duckling, who grew up, and really isn’t that ugly at all.”
They clinked glasses.
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.”
