Page 65 of Andalusia Dogs
Kindness, relief, laughter, irritation, the bitter words of an argument… Joanna had a move for all of them, each onetransforming as it reached the audience in a form they saw so clearly within themselves and those they loved; notions of family, born and created, notions of loyalty and betrayal that only poetry—or in this case, dance—could articulate.
A hush fell over the audience as anxiety returned, along with the military men who were this time, doubtless its cause. But there would be no hiding. No chance of escape. Thoughts of friends fled to France, Britain, or across the Atlantic fleeted through an audience now shifting in their seats. There were no images of Lorca as Joanna darted from shadow to shadow, stealing every opportunity to speak and to read in a dance that required no translation. By the time Lorca’s face returned, it was staring down the barrel of a dozen guns, including one wielded by the man who had brought him such sensual satisfaction.
Screams pierced the darkness as the men fired, and Joanna and Lorca fell to the ground as one. Alex didn’t know if it was shared knowledge, but as the lights faded, he knew who’d fired the bullet that had stricken Lorca’s heart.
Gentle clapping broke the silence, growing rapidly into rapturous applause. By the time Vicente brought the lights back up on Joanna, the entire audience was on its feet, cheering. Joanna took her bow with steady grace, before beckoning Alex and Jago to join her. Jago held back, releasing Alex’s hand and allowing him to own the surreal moment. He took the stage, acknowledging the audience with a deep bow before yielding the spotlight back to his star. Only now did Jago join him. Then, they threw the audience’s love to the tech box, where Vicente accepted it with his customary stiff shyness. Yet terror gripped Alex as the applause died down and all eyes returned to him. He hadn’t prepared a speech.
A panicked glance was all it took for Jago to jump to Alex’s rescue. “Ladies, gentlemen, and persons of immaculate ambiguity…” A light chuckle and several cheers went through the crowd. “Thank you so much for coming. It has been a delight to see and feel hearts and minds that are so open.” Jago shot Alex a sly wink. “And I’m pleased to say, so is the bar.”
They escaped under the sound of more applause.
Jago grinned at Alex before stepping away. “Go own your night.”
Before Alex could ask why Jago needed to go backstage or speak to Joanna again, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Darling!” Maria’s voice was undeniable.
For the next twenty or thirty minutes—Alex couldn’t be sure—the introductions flowed as free as the cava. He stopped trying to remember them after ten minutes or so, instead letting Maria, who, now sure of a hit, made certain to introduce him to every guest with semi-flexible purse strings.
“Alex?”
“Vis, thank God.” Alex wondered if he’d said this aloud as he excused himself from a conversation to which he’d felt little more than an accessory and fell into Vicente’s arms. “We did it, I suppose?”
“We absolutely did. And I’m fucking dying for a piss.”
“Umm… so go? I think you’ve earned one.”
Vicente shook his head. “It’s a disco dispensary in that bathroom right now. If Maria wasn’t so busy running you like a race horse, she’d be furious.”
“Hey, if it gets us money—”
“I hear you. So, are we going to talk about what that was in there?”
“What what was?”
Vicente’s brow darkened.
“Alex! Come, have you met—”
With that, he was back on patron’s row. He’d expected his opening night to be full of Chueca bohos, queers and weirdos, not bored Los Geronimos widows looking to drop some liquid assets on the latest nonbankable discovery. At least it had kept Leo out of his hair.
The shrill blast of a police whistle silenced the evening’s revelry for only a second before the murmurings of panic began. Whoever had brought the drugs didn’t seem to matter now. They’d since dispersed through at least half the audience, who in various stages of inebriation or high, were now sobering up just enough to realise the implications of the black boots and uniforms now weaving through the crowd. The sound snapped Alex out of his fugue all the same, at least enough to follow when Vicente grabbed has arm and pulled him back into the darkened theatre and backstage.
“Come on, man! We need to go!”
“What? Vis? What’s going on? Why are the police here?”
“Never mind that.”
“Never mind—”
“They’re gone, Alex!” Vicente propped him up against the dark wall, shaking him just hard enough to stir his attention. “Forty minutes, now, I haven’t been able to find them and now I know why. He took her.”
“What? Vis, you’re not making any sense.”
“Joanna!” Vicente barked again. “Your boyfriend? He’s taken Joanna!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
