“Jago’s into taxid…” Alex bit his lip. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Taxidermy, yes.” Jago smiled at Joanna. “I don’t usually advertise the fact, but I have a feeling you’re my kind of people, if that’s not too bold of me.”
“You do have that sexy, young Anthony Perkins thing happening,” she teased. “But taxidermy? How interesting.”
“Please, don’t let me interrupt. I’m here to watch.”
“There’s not much to watch until Vicente arrives. Damn it!”
“Sweetheart,” cautioned Joanna. “He’ll be here. Did he give you the cues?”
“He did,” Jago reminded him. “Perhaps if you give them to me, I could help? I’m no Vicente, but I can at least make sure we see you.”
Joanna laughed while Alex shook his head. It beat the hell out of waiting.
“From the top then?” he asked. “I was hoping for a full run tonight.”
“I’m ready if you boys are.”
Jago nodded. “Just tell me where to go.”
Alex directed him to the tech booth, resettling in his seat as Joanna took her mark. Here went bloody nothing, then.
***
“What do you mean, it’s not embarrassing?” asked Alex, quoting Jago’s rave of the century.
“I mean, it’s a functional, sometimes beautiful telling of a story I know very well. It might be a little unclear to someone who doesn’t, but there is only so much you can do without dialogue in the space of an hour.”
“There’s only so muchIcan do in an hour, you mean,” Joanna pouted with a touch of ire.
“Exactly,” said Alex. “And she’s on stage the whole time without a break.”
“Your star isn’t the problem.” Jago shot a glance at Joanna that Alex supposed was a peace offering. “There are no problems as such. It’s just… safe?”
“Safe?”
“Great,” Joanna said. “So, I’m supposed to dress like a nun and slay it out on the bongos?”
Jago covered his face with his hands. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”
“Well, you did, and if you said it, at least some of the audience will think it. We haven’t put all this work in just to be safe.” Alex turned to Joanna. “Right?”
She shrugged, sipping more of her water. “Let’s have it, then.”
Jago offered them a tiny bow of contrition before continuing. “I just mean you’re telling a story about a cycle of violence and revenge.”
“Would you prefer a nun with a sword or a rifle?”
“Joanna…”
“The props don’t matter, though the nun’s habit is up to you. The way I see it, you can take it in one of two directions. Either you take on the energy and representation of both families in the story, manifesting a kind of self-destruction in the search for love—most likely of one’s self, since you’re a one-woman show—or, you go the meta route.”
Alex winced. How he hated that word, meta.
“A beautiful dance, rising from the broken, bloodied grounds of this feud. The battle isn’t one between warring families. But between beauty and ruin, as one feeds the other.”
Alex studied Jago’s face, as if some line or twitch in his expression might reveal him taking the piss out of them, or reaching for platitudes that would numb Joanna’s dance into mediocrity. But itwasmediocre. That was Jago’s point, and both Joanna and Alex knew it.
