IT'S TIME THE PERFORMANCE CONTINUED

(based in my own short story “¡Qué siga la función!)

A sunny Sunday afternoon, in front of a cinema, a couple are talking to the girl who sell the tickets. They turn towards the streets. He seems furious;  she looks with calmly tranquility, it seems she make a face which we tought to consider an ironic smile. They cross the zebra crossing to the pedestrian area and  start talking…

—I told you —the man in a grey suit, nearly 45 years old, his hair turning white—, I wish we’d bought the tickets before. It’s not posible at the last minute…

—If only you had been in a hurry —she answers, ten years younger, just opening lightly her mouth, as if  her pink lipstick talk automatically.

—I was all the time telling you to be faster, and you… one hour making up, another choosing the dress. It was for nothing, it didn’t help you to hide the wrinkles, and this dress is horrible.

—Sure, Mr. fashion —she continues, while she feigns to text a message on the mobile—, If only you had bought them, according that today its the last show…

—How? With servi-caixa service? With any of the credits cards you did have all the time?

—Not my fault if this month we are plenty of events: business dinners, my cousin’s wedding… In the wardrobe there were only out-of-season clothes, honey, I needed to borrow all the cards.

—I haven’t know that every month clothes-season is changing!

—I’d rather you didn’t groan on public, dear. By the way, I don’t know how this nerves to watch the last Woody Allen film, I guess it’s for sleep, as all he did. My sister told me it’s slow and extremely boring. Completely before this time, as his glasses and trousers.

Three red-skin north-European tourists, with sandals and white socks, are just crossing the street to the couple. For a second, they look their 6 square-meters map, and consider if asking the couple or not. They decide not to interrupt the scene.

—You perfectlly know that I love his movies —he gets annoyed, and starts speaking a bit louder—. And your sister’s opinions about cinema are same as nothing, if Letal Weapon is her favourite film…

—Bah, dont talk nonsense. Woody Allen is overrated, all the people who live their lifes as intellectuals, as you with the pasta glasses, admiring him as If he were the cultural God in the world… —she answers, looking her looooong fingernails, looking also the dozen people who are watching them.

—You don’t have any idea. If only you had watched some interesting movies in your life…

—What I know is I’d rather not see his movies, always with threesomes, infidelities, he all the time flirting with a beatiful woman. All the films are the same. What happens is that you wish you were him, my dear cathouse —for the first time she looks directly at his eyes—, your desire is to fuck with an oriental girl 20 years younger than you.

—Don’t think I am as you with the plumber.

—What we had to do?, if It depends on you, I have had my pipes more than blocked. I’d rather be more satisfied…

A couple of teenagers are sitting in a Modernist bench in the nearest corner. He’s sweating, trying to know the best moment to kiss her. At the same time, she’s looking the couple’s show, sighing and thinking “is this what future will give me?”

—Are you so interested in reparing your low-body, that you forget to pick our son up from the school?

—Precisely, that day I wasn’t cheating at you with another man, honey —she makes a long pause while she listens some coins falling into the box—, I was in the aesthetician since 12 in the morning.

—They phoned me from the school, you should be ashamed about that.

— Don’t you rememeber you were at home, not working that day? Im sure you were flirting with our latin housekeeper in that moment. And also, you didn’t want to let our son make extra-school activities…

—I did not want him to learn dancing sevillanas!

Just before the man shout, an enormous black doberman is barking and stretching the leash, pushing his owner close to a tree.  The dog lift its leg, trying to piss off, without success. As waiting for a best moment, it gets completely stopped, with his long tongue swinging and moving its tale.

—And you don’t want mummy pick him up.

—I’d rather your mum didn’t meet my son anymore. Good example would give… I don’t know how your saint father still live with such an harpy.

—You have always not thought in the future, my cherry, have you stopped to think any moment, how expensive the divorce will cost him?

—So many times… —he says, nearly shouting desperetaly— like mother, like daughter…

—How sweet you are, dear. All romanticism…

A bearded man, dressing as 60’s hippies arrive to the crowd, and near of them, opens his black box, throwing a golden saxophone. He cleans it while a pair of mature women are whispering about his clothes. They use to be indignant because they spend all the afternoon watching clothes in shops where they never would be able to buy any.

—If only I hadn’t marry you in that moment, but I fell in love as a dumb —showing negative answer with his head movement.

—You have to admit , darling, you are still with me because you always enjoy the way your belly-beer friends look at me with desire eyes.

—Sure, you look great with your plastic surgeries.

— Thanks, dearest, you are also handsome with your age. I wish you could last more in the bed, so…

All the crowd around them still don’t move, as the brightness of the street lights start to act.

—…by the bay, my love —she continues— I think it’s time we finished.

—Sure…you are right! —he looks at the saxophonist and takes his “wife” hand.

—Thank you for all the attention, ladies and gentlemen —she looks all the people that have circled them.

—As usual, we are very happy to be with you. An absolute pleasure.

With a big smile, they bow in front of the spectators which celebrate the performance with long applauses. The couple take the guitar box where the coins have fallen, and say the people goodbye, letting the hippie start his saxophone show.

The two mature women start to walk to Las Ramblas to drink an Horchata, just before coninuing his boring lives. The teenage girl says goodbye to the boy with a kiss in his cheek. The three norh-european tourists turn round the map again looking for the seaport, and the big black doberman lifts its leg, pointing to the tree and being success. As it finishes, it pulls its owner, as always.