Page 47 of Andalusia Dogs
Alex hastily put down his coffee, straightened his shirt, and went over. “What can I get you?”
The heads of the two closest to him lolled on their necks like macabre dolls, considering his request like he’d delivered it in Beat poetry. “Orange juice. Fresh,” the man said at last.
“Tostada,” said the other bobble head, a woman whose electric blue lipstick both repelled and fascinated Alex. He passed no comment on the unlit cigarette between her fingers.
“Tortilla, please,” said the bright young woman in the pink and black dress, sitting opposite the man in the red jacket, whose frizzy shock of dark hair and round, appealing face seemed the most familiar. He was gazing out the window, lost in thought.
“Sir?”
Red Jacket turned with a distracted smile. “Coffee, thank you.”
Alex returned to the counter with their orders, cutting a slice of tortilla and preparing the drinks. As he poured the coffee, he remembered where he’d seen the man who’d ordered it; thePepi Luci Bomscreening, though Alex couldn’t remember his name.
“What was he even doing up there?” asked Blue Lipstick of her friends.
“I don’t know. Peach is devastated.”
“Who’s Peach?”
“The latest. Anyway, have they fished him out yet?”
“Of course they have. Think they’re going to bloody leave him there for tourists to see?”
“Both of you, stop it.”
Alex hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But how many Peaches could there be in Madrid? Only Red Jacket, who’d ordered the coffee remained silent as he approached.
“Thanks.”
Alex couldn’t tell which one had thanked him, but he decided to be bold. “What was that about Peach?”
The Beat poetry stare returned. “What?” asked Blue Lipstick.
“Peach? We met at a show recently if it’s the person I’m thinking of. Is she okay?”
The more cheerful woman sitting opposite Red Jacket rescued him. “Not really. If you met her at a show, you must know Si-Man.”
“Yes?” Alex sensed this was not the time to weigh in as a theatre critic.
“He drowned last night. A man walking his dog found him floating in the pools around Templo de Debod.”
It took all the concentration Alex had to keep his hands from shaking as he gripped the tray containing their orders.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard, being friends with Peach and all.” The one who’d ordered the orange juice cocked his head at it, flicking his dangling earring back like it annoyed him.
Alex hurriedly put the juice down, then the frittata before reaching for the coffee. The suddenly lighter tray began to wobble in his hand, spilling dribbles of coffee over the cup’s edge.
Red Jacket took it from the tray before he could spill any more. “Thanks.”
Alex nodded, embarrassed. “Sorry. I can get you another—”
“It’s fine.” He went back to staring out the window.
He took a moment to steady his nerves. Blue Lipstick lifted the plate of tomato-smeared toast from the tray with an irritated scoff.
Alex mouthed a silent apology, lowering the tray. “I really liked your movie.”
Red Jacket said nothing at first, then a quiet “thanks” as he continued to stare out the window. The others turned to Alex with expressions that landed somewhere between bemusement, disdain and pity. Forcing a smile, Alex withdrew to the counter, his gut tight from his failed attempt to end the exchange on a high note. Victoria was nowhere to be seen. When he lifted hishead again, he saw Jago’s tanned, nervous face looking back at him across the counter. They stared at one another in silence, ignoring the street outside and the mumbled conversation at the director’s table.
