NINA
You preferred jazz.
BLAS
I’m surprised you still remember.
NINA
What was that trumpeter called? The one who used
to sing as well.
BLAS
Chet Baker.
NINA
You liked Chet Baker. María didn’t really like it.
BLAS
No. I don’t put it on at home. I take myself off over
here. I come here at night a lot, to work. At home, with the boy there, I can’t
keep the lights on, and here you can work in peace. When you’re doing the
accounts the worst thing is being interrupted. So I come to the atrium, put on
a Chet Baker CD and get stuck into the calculator.
NINA
And María doesn’t mind?
(Blas
is unsure if Nina knows the María of today. The María who prefers spending her
time sniffing around Gabi like a dog. The María who cannot bear Blas’s very
existence.)
BLAS
No.
NINA
I liked the trumpeter. When he sang, it was like
he hadn’t slept for weeks.
BLAS
That’s probably how it was. Apart from the fact that
before he’d turned forty he’d been beaten up and had all his teeth broken. He
wore dentures. Hang on.
(Blas
goes over to the small stereo and turns it on. Chet Baker sounds. Baker’s
trumpet seems to bring back a private joy to Blas. It is obvious it is his
refuge. They listen to the music. It could be ‘Let’s Get Lost’, or ‘ The Best Thing
for You’. Nina’s feet remain, like the
call of the sea.)
NINA
You’ve done well for yourself. You’ve got things
set up really well here. First‑rate.
(Blas
feels these words like a blow. Like a dog that is reminded right in the middle
of the game that it is just a dog. Silence between them. Chet Baker’s trumpet
sounds and Nina’s bare feet rest on the
arm of the settee, within reach of Blas’s hands. He decides not
to be the dog for a minute and picks up the sandals which Nina had abandoned as
she danced. Before he replaces them on her feet, he cleans the bare soles with
the palm of his hand.)
Tell me I’m
still the queen of the beach.
BLAS
You’re still the queen of the beach.
