Page 8 of His Cruelest Moves

“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.

They had now left the curvy mountain roads and were on the freeway. That meant that they were closer to the end of this journey, even though a few hours still remained. And Isard didn’t want it to end. It was nice sitting here in their back-seat time capsule together, safe from the passing of time in the real world. The driver had made no attempt to talk to them, nor they to him, and he was thankful for that. He didn’t want to dilute this short time that remained. Though nothing had yet happened and obviously nothing would, not with the driver sitting there up front. But this journey still felt special.

“Tell me about your family,” he said.

Alex looked sharply at him. “I’ve told you loads already. I know nothing about you. Tell me about yours.”

“OK.” He liked the fact that Alex was so direct, even confrontational. “There’s not much to tell.”

Alex laughed once, loud and sharp like a hyena.

What?”

“That’s just such a bullshit line. It means you’re packing secrets like a Russian mobster packs death gadgets.”

“Well, we’re just normal.”

“What part of Barcelona?”

“Pedralbes.”

Alex barked another laugh. “So, a rich bitch. That’s not normal.”

“Well, we’re… comfortable.”

Alex smiled. “A rich bitch. How many people in your family?”

“Just me and my sister. And my parents.”

“Swimming pool?”

“What? No! … Well, we have a small pool, more of a spa really, at our summer place.”

But by this time, Alex was rolling over the back of the seat in hysterics. Isard didn’t quite get the joke. He felt a bit put out, and stared out of the window for a while, letting Alex get himself under control. Maybe it was going to be a long car journey after all.