Original subtitles

Thank you.

Does it hurt a lot?

Yes, a lot.

The thunder is pounding in my head like my skull is hollow.

Oh, you poor thing.

Lie down for a bit, come on.

"Let's see how the roads are looking at this hour."

"...Constitution Bridge.

Pilar García Muñiz is on the road out of Madrid toward Valencia.

Pilar, what's the situation like at this hour?

Early this morning, on the roads,

you could already tell a long weekend was beginning.

Although the latest weather forecasts indicate

that conditions may improve..."

Do you want me to stay here with you?

No. I'm going to get some air.

Let's see if that painkiller helps it pass.

It's the last one I've got left to take.

Go to the living room, I can't even talk.

Call me if you need anything.

Okay, my love.

Turn off the hallway light, please.

I'm staying with you tonight, I'm not going to the club. Even if it is Friday.

I didn't dare ask you.

How could I leave you alone?

Thank you.

Get some rest.

Beau, take me to the ER.

I'm getting worse.

Huh? I'll grab my jacket and we'll go. Uh-huh.

Good evening.

Good evening. Your card. Evening. Here you go.

I have a terrible migraine, I feel really awful.

Wait in the waiting room and someone will see you shortly.

Thank you.

Thank you. Come on.

-Hi, good evening.

-Your card?

-Yes. The card. -The card, the card, right.

-You could wipe a bit of the cocaine off your card first.

-What? -Sorry, okay?

-Asshole. -What happened to you?

-Well, so... -Well...

-Shut the fuck up. -Okay.

-We went out partying.

Elsa Rosado. Yes.

Come with me, please. No, no, just the patient.

I'll wait here.

You can leave your things on the chair.

Lie down slowly.

Could you turn off the light? No, I'm afraid not.

Try to relax, the doctor will be here soon.

-Good evening.

Hello.

Tell me. What's wrong?

I have a horrible migraine.

Which part of your head hurts?

All of it.

Does this happen often?

The migraines...

Over the last year.

They're genetic. I've got loads of cousins on my father's side...

And, well... storms, like today, sometimes trigger them too.

And flights, because of the pressure, I don't know, it's horrible.

We'll give you an intravenous painkiller

and a sedative to help you relax.

Thank you, Doctor.

Coming through, coming through. Please, quickly.

How are you feeling? Any better?

No, I'm worse.

The orderly who put in the IV says my blood pressure is high.

How high?

158 over 90.

Well... we're going to admit you. It's better if you stay here tonight.

Is that room free? Yes.

Could you take me there?

I'd have to check first. Please.

If it'll make you feel calmer, I'll take you, but I have to check.

All right, thank you.

Do you really think you'll be able to sleep on that sofa?

Yes, of course.

I can sleep anywhere.

Hello, I'm Dr. García.

I think we've met before, is that possible?

Yes.

I shot my second film here, ten years ago.

In this room and the one across the hall.

Of course.

I didn't see it, but I read somewhere

that over time it had become a cult film.

Doctor, excuse me,

but I get the feeling nobody is really taking charge of what's happening to me.

Yes, you have a horrible migraine. And you'd throw yourself out the window

if you weren't here with this man.

Beau, short for Bonifacio.

Nice to meet you. Nice to meet you.

You've described it very well.

One branch of my family gets migraines.

Mine too.

We've given you a very strong painkiller...

and something else to calm you down.

Thank you. You'll see, it'll pass very soon.

What does that cult thing mean?

Cult director?

Do you belong to some sect?

To the Evangelical church? I've heard they're intense.

No.

No, no, I'm not Evangelical. Uh...

I've only directed two films, and neither of them worked.

Oh, poor thing. That's awful.

For them to be two cult films means that...

most people weren't interested in them,

that they were failures.

But there is a small group of viewers who adore them.

That's the cult, those few viewers.

Ah.

Well, look at that! Uh-huh.

I never would have thought that's what cult meant.

Mmm.

Well, thank you for the masterclass.

Now try to get some sleep. Okay.

If you need anything, call with that button.

With the rain and the long weekend, it's very lively here today.

Uh-huh.

Make a film about us.

Bonifacio... What a beautiful name.

Well...

I'm leaving her in your hands.

Yes, yes, that's what I'm here for. Don't worry.

Don't I know you too?

You look familiar.

I don't know.

I'm a firefighter.

No, no, it's not from that.

Oh...

Have you recently been to a bachelorette party?

Yes, a month ago, for a friend. I'm still hungover from it.

How do you know?

It must have been there.

Bon... Beau is a stripper on weekends.

Ah!

Ah, well...

Yes, that's where I know you from.

Good night. Good night.

She's nice, isn't she?

You're already feeling better, right? Uh-huh. This stuff works.

Give me a kiss.

And two.

Now go to sleep. Mmm.

Okay, just one question. May I?

Yes.

Why did you tell the orderly to bring you to this room

and not the other one?

The scenes I shot here for my second film

took place in these two rooms.

One was the room the orderly was taking us to,

and we also shot in this one.

The sick woman in the other room died,

and the one in this room survived.

Ah, right.

I'm not superstitious, but...

cinema has something premonitory about it.

Oh, does it? Mmm. Well, it's a theory of mine.

And why haven't you made more films if you're a cult director?

Well...

Well, because I make much more money in advertising.

I bought myself the house in Madrid,

and I bought my mother another one in the village.

And it's not like producers are chasing after me.

I'm a bit odd for the industry.

Right.

Breakfast.

Already?

But we only fell asleep a little while ago...

Well, you have to have breakfast. The doctor will come see you later.

How are you feeling?

Mmm... Groggy.

Very good. But has the pain gone?

Yes, yes, I think so.

You look much better. Mmm...

It hasn't completely gone, but I'd rather go home.

Yes? Yes.

Let's go.

Why do you want your story to take place in 2004?

Because it starts with my first panic attack, and that was that year.

And because nowadays, thanks to reality shows,

everyone knows what that kind of attack is.

Now it's not so strange, but twenty years ago it was.

And, well, Santi was a great help.

Is it going to be very confessional?

I'll try to make it as little so as possible,

but you know reality always ends up slipping in

without you noticing.

Speaking of reality, I'd like to take...

I don't know, at least three months off.

What for?

You don't even like taking time off.

I have for the past few weeks.

Are you going to say what you'll use them for?

You're not going to leave me for someone else, are you?

I told you the impasse I was in is over,

and that in a few months we'll be preparing a new film.

I'm not leaving you for someone else. And I'm not telling you anything more.

Santi will make sure you remember your doctor's appointments,

the retrospectives, and all the headaches that come your way.

You've even arranged your replacement.

You just keep writing.

And I hope that in a few months you'll have typed "The End,"

and that you'll love the script you've written.

Yes? Are you the ones who called me?

Yes. Hi.

Hi, how are you? Hi.

Tell me.

We're looking for a male strip club.

To see some...

Well, this is the stage. But they don't do strip shows here anymore.

Oh, really? No, that's old-fashioned now.

People come here to watch people fuck.

Oh... People want to watch people fuck.

If they want dancing or strip shows, they've got social media for that.

Right, right.

Everyone who comes here comes to fuck or watch people fuck.

I see. Uh-huh.

If you'd like, I'll show you a room I have

with beautiful round beds covered in red velvet,

for swingers. Come on, I'll show you.

No, thank you.

It's been a huge success. There's even a waiting list.

Really? Seriously?

Handsome!

-Woo! -Handsome!

You're so hot!

-Woo! -Take it off!

Oh my God! Take it off!

Woo! Woo! Woo!

Handsome! Handsome!

Handsome! -He's gorgeous!

You naughty boy, you naughty boy...

-Oh my God! -Handsome!

Take your shirt off! Come on!

-I'll be right back.

Take it off!

Throw it to us! Come on!

-Come on! -You dirty boy!

Throw it over here!

The bride?

-Her! Her! The bride! The bride!

-Take mine! Take mine! -Take it! Take it! Take it!

Woo!

Get rid of all the alcohol! From his feet...!

Take it all off!

Come on!

Take it off.

Off! -Take it off! Take it off!

Take it off! Take it off!

Woo!

-Go on! -More!

What an ass!

Don't go!

-No! -Come back! Come back!

-Don't go!

Hey, hey, hey! That costs another hundred euros, sweetheart.

I'll pay you later. Really?

I don't know how you will. I'd like to talk to you.

You're not allowed in the dressing rooms!

I'm here to offer you a job.

Thanks, but I already have more than one job. It won't take long.

By the way, my name's Elsa.

I'm Bonifacio. Mmm.

They introduced you as Beau.

Yeah, that's my stage name.

If you're offering me porn, you're wasting your time.

Do I look like a porn director?

No.

Well, I don't really know what...

Let me buy you a drink and I'll explain.

Tell me what it's about first.

People get us wrong all the time. At least me.

I'm not for sale or for rent.

It's for an underwear commercial.

An underwear commercial? Uh-huh.

And what do I have to do? Nothing.

Wake up in a bed, sit up...

Naked? No, in your underwear.

That's all? Uh-huh.

Although, you'll be in front of a whole crew

filming you.

Well... let's go get a drink,

but it's on me.

What did you do before becoming a stripper? Don't call me a stripper, please.

I'm a firefighter.

My calling is saving people.

Well, that's what I do.

Uh-huh...

But since we get several days off...

And I need the money. Mmm.

My father's living in a care home.

Mmm...

An extra paycheck never hurts. I understand.

So, tell me more about the commercial.

Even though you've seen me dancing, I'm actually very shy.

This is much easier.

You're sitting on a bed, you've just woken up,

staring into space...

Hard? No.

No, no, quite the opposite. Relaxed.

Think about how you wake up on a normal day.

A lot of times I wake up hard.

Oh, well... you won't need that for this.

But are you going to do close-ups of my package?

Because that's the whole point, isn't it?

No. It won't be that obvious.

I'm surprised you're so shy about your body,

you practically strip on stage.

That's different.

Mmm. I have fun doing it.

It'll be the same in the commercial.

Good morning. Hi.

Are you okay?

I'm a little groggy. I'm going to make some tea, okay?

I'll be right there.

"The headache is starting to ease,

but the anxiety keeps growing."

"I carefully describe

every physical sensation I'm experiencing.

It keeps me occupied.

I have to keep my mind distracted.

I can't concentrate.

I can only write...

about what's happening right now.

I admire how easily Beau falls asleep."

"It's a gift I don't have."

"It moves me to have such a beautiful creature asleep beside me.

My eyes travel over his body like a landscape.

And, for some reason,

I think that someday I'm going to make him suffer."

Hi. Hi. Did I wake you?

"No, I'm working."

How are you?

"I had a terrible headache.

Two Innograms got rid of it, but I still feel awful.

I don't know what's wrong with me."

Are you sweating?

Yes.

"And are you feeling nauseous, even if you're not throwing up?"

Oh, yes.

My stomach's all upset.

That's a panic attack.

Has it never happened before? "No."

"Well, now you know what it is.

It'll go away with an anti-anxiety pill under your tongue.

Do you have any 0.5 Trankizolan?"

No.

But I can buy it at any pharmacy, right?

They'll ask for a prescription.

I usually have some...

But, as it happens, I've run out.

"Can you call your psychiatrist and have her prescribe it for me?"

Elsa, do you know what time it is?

"I feel terrible."

Well, since it's a holiday weekend, maybe she hasn't gone to bed yet.

"Hello."

Hi, Patricia.

My psychiatrist is away, but she'll be back tomorrow and could see you.

Will I make it until tomorrow?

The first thing you need to do is stop worrying.

Hey, call Gabriela. I'm sure she's got some Trankizolan.

Gabriela's having a party tonight.

She invited me. I told her no, that I was tired.

She insisted. You know how pushy she is.

That's the quickest way.

Okay, I'll go to Gabriela's.

Sorry, Patricia, and thank you.

Send me your psychiatrist's number.

"I'll send it right away." Thanks.

I think it'd be best if you went in alone.

I'll call and tell her.

Me? Alone? Yes.

No.

I'm scared of her.

If you're scared of her, and she's your friend, imagine me.

If she sees me, she'll insist I stay.

She won't let me leave that easily.

I don't know, tell her you're sick.

How am I supposed to go in alone? It'll be my first time...

She knows you, and she likes you.

Shit...

Even worse!

Tell her I'm not feeling well and you're in a hurry.

I'll do whatever you say, but she's going to think it's weird.

Honestly, she won't notice.

She's always wrapped up in her own world.

All right, I'm going in. Give her a heads-up.

She's not answering.

Look at the camera. Look at the camera, please.

"What am I doing here?"

And smile as you face the future,

which looks dark, uncertain, unpredictable, and dystopian.

In the meantime, keep smiling.

Put on your best face for the future. That's important for the photo.

That's the basis of resistance, optimism in the face of bombs.

Thank you.

You have a phone call.

-Oh, Elsa. I'll be right back.

Hello?

"Hi, Gaby."

I'm so glad you decided to come.

I was just talking about you with Barenboim.

No, no, I can't come, Gaby.

But listen carefully, I'm sending Beau over

so you can give him a few Trankizolan pills.

You've got some at home, right?

Of course I do, and cocaine and a wonderful dinner too.

Barenboim was craving Argentinian milanesa,

"so I've made plenty of steaks. You love them."

I do. You're coming with your boyfriend, right?

"No, Gaby, he's coming alone."

I'm in the middle of a full-blown anxiety attack and I need Trankizolan.

I can't go to a pharmacy because I don't have a prescription.

And honestly, I feel awful...

What you need is a good party.

"Gaby, seriously. Please, I can't."

Come on, half an hour. You can talk to Barenboim,

"who's determined to have you direct a Magic Flute,

grab the Trankizolan, and then leave."

Gaby, please.

You're so stubborn.

Well then... come on, buzz us in. We're at the door.

Oh, you're here. I'll let you in right now.

Here she comes...

Hi.

You look awful. I told you, I feel terrible.

Don't worry, let's go up to my room

so we can talk in peace.

Poor thing...

I feel bad showing up and bothering you like this. You did the right thing.

I've got a whole box of Trankizolan.

I'll give you one blister pack and keep the other for myself tomorrow.

I've still got a long night ahead.

Come in, come in. The place is a total mess.

You know what my parties are like.

Lie down here, you're not well. With our coats on?

Yes, right here.

Here, take this whole blister pack. Okay?

Put one under your tongue and you'll see, it'll work like magic.

In twenty minutes you'll feel like new.

No one will bother you up here.

Can I lie down too?

Of course, unless you'd rather come down to the party.

I'd rather stay with Elsa. Would you like something to drink?

No, I'm fine, thanks.

In half an hour, if you're feeling better,

I'll bring Barenboim up so you can chat for a while.

No, please, Gaby. I can't, I can't.

All right, I won't insist.

Rest as long as you like. Thank you so much.

What a shame.

What is?

Since you're here, you could give us a striptease.

Uh...

This isn't the right time, Gaby.

I know. But you promised me you'd do a striptease at one of my parties.

The full thing.

Another time.

Next time, no excuses. I'll leave you two alone.

Damn, that took forever. She's unbelievable.

What are you doing here?

Hey, Amaia. How are you? Good.

Elsa wasn't feeling well.

Oh no! What happened? What's wrong?

Nothing.

Are you singing tonight?

Yes, I'll be singing later. Mmm.

Hey, but how did you get in? I didn't even notice.

Mmm... It's a long story, Amaia.

We came straight up here, to the bedroom.

Oh, okay.

I'd love to hear you sing,

but I'm not up to going to the party.

No, don't even think about it.

We came for Trankizolan,

because Elsa was having an anxiety attack.

Mmm. Oh, you poor thing...

Come on, I'll sing anything you want.

Really?

Would you like something by Chavela? I know you love her.

I only discovered her recently, and I love her.

Oh yes, I'd love that.

Thank you so much. Perfect.

Now then, what key was it?

♪ Little by little,

♪ we quietly say goodbye

♪ to the little things.

♪ Just like a tree,

♪ in autumn,

♪ loses all its leaves.

♪ In the end, sadness... ♪

♪ ...is the slow death

♪ of life's simple things.

♪ Those simple things...

♪ that keep aching

♪ deep in your heart. ♪

♪ We always return

♪ to the old places

♪ where we loved life.

♪ And then we realize

♪ how absent

♪ the things we loved have become.

♪ That's why, my girl,

♪ don't leave now

♪ dreaming of coming back.

♪ Because love is simple,

♪ and simple things

♪ are devoured by time.

♪ We always return

♪ to the old places

♪ where we loved...

♪ life. ♪

Hi, Monica. How are you, Santi?

I'm off. I've got a tennis game.

I sent several emails to remind Raúl.

Did you get them? Yes, I passed them all on.

Don't worry. You have to keep reminding him.

You'll always have to insist.

I'll call to see how you're doing.

All right, but don't worry.

Sort out your own life and think about yourself.

That's exactly what I'm doing, but Raúl isn't used to it.

Yeah, I know. Well, he'll have to get used to it.

Just keep at it.

I will. I know him.

See you later. See you.

I came to say goodbye, just like I told you on the phone.

So you haven't changed your mind?

Anyway, let me tell you what's just come in.

The Cervantes Institute in Los Angeles

is inviting you to give a talk and inaugurate its Spanish library.

You know my back isn't up to flying to Los Angeles.

You've been paying me to tell them that until now.

An LGBTQ+ association wants to give you its Feather of the Year award.

Why? I haven't done anything special this year.

Nor last year, but it won't kill you to go.

You show up, accept the award, and support the community.

It'll look bad if you don't.

I've got several more offers, but I know the answer.

If you want, I'll read them. No. That's not necessary. Thanks.

Santiago has everything. Oh, and Qatar invited you too.

They're holding the first edition of a film festival.

It would only be one day, and they're offering you a fortune: €200,000.

Seriously?

You know the Qataris don't hold back

when it comes to culture and sports.

And your name carries prestige. That's incredible!

What should I tell them? That not everything has a price.

And with that, I'm saying goodbye, Raúl.

I heard you, but I'd rather be the one to say goodbye.

Come with me to the kitchen.

I'm the one who's leaving.

You've put up with me for a lot of years, my dear.

You deserve compensation.

I'll speak to my accountant and have the paperwork drawn up.

Besides, you'll get two years of unemployment benefits.

Thank you so much.

It's the least I can do after twenty years of loyalty and care.

I'm really going to miss you.

I'm going to miss you too.

Would you like some chocolate?

No, thanks.

And now that I won't be around, please take care of yourself.

Enjoy life, get out of the house, live...

There's more to life than writing and making films.

Not for me.

Santi's taking care of everything.

If he runs into any problems, he knows he can call me.

And listen to him once in a while, he lives with you.

He already started nagging me.

Don't you want a coffee? No, I don't want anything, thanks.

Aren't you going to tell me why you're leaving?

Yes, of course.

I'm helping my friend Elena.

Your friend Elena? Yes.

I thought she'd disappeared from your life years ago.

She never disappeared completely, and now she needs me.

Her son has been diagnosed with a tumor, and he's going into surgery.

He only has a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the operation.

I'm so sorry.

I want to go through this ordeal with her, wherever the future takes us.

What about her husband?

He disappeared a long time ago. We don't need him.

I never would've imagined...

I didn't want to tell you over the phone. I understand...

If anything important comes up, I'll send it to you,

but my mind will be elsewhere.

Of course. Santi will love keeping me on track.

Let him take care of you. I've been letting him for a while now.

Your endocrinologist appointment and colonoscopy are at the end of the month.

Don't skip them.

And about Qatar, if you're tempted, you should answer them soon.

It's a lot of money. Think about it.

Who can think about Qatar right now?

Call me anytime.

If you need to vent or anything else.

Thank you.

Natalia?

Hi, Elsa.

"Hi."

Hey, I wasn't sure

whether you were coming this holiday weekend.

Oh.

Well...

I just got home... from the hospital,

where I spent the whole night with gastroenteritis.

Sweetheart, I think it's best if I stay home and rest these next few days.

"But are you okay?"

Yeah, same as always.

Right... Take care, sweetheart. I'll call you when I've got my head straight, okay?

Okay. Love you.

"Love you."

That was Natalia.

I'd told her I might go visit her this weekend.

And she's calling at this hour?

She probably doesn't even know what time it is.

You should get some rest.

Yeah, that's what I told her.

But... I'd completely forgotten.

Honey, I should go to the park today. Mmm.

I could call in sick, but I really should go.

No, no, you go. Go do what you have to do.

I'm fine, honestly.

Now I've got the pills if the anxiety comes back.

How am I feeling today?

Dr. Potau, please?

"Speaking."

Patricia Otero gave me your number.

"Yes, she called me last night."

Could I see you this afternoon?

"Would eight o'clock work for you?" Yes.

Patricia will give me your address. Thank you very much.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" Good.

I've packed my afternoon with appointments.

I'm on my way to the movies, but I don't know when I'll get there.

I'm stuck in traffic.

After that I'm meeting Patricia at her place,

and then her psychiatrist. But you're okay, right?

Yeah, yeah. Just a little overwhelmed by the crowds.

I'd forgotten it's Christmas as well as a holiday weekend.

"So I don't need to worry?"

No, no. How's your day going?

Good, sweetheart. It's been a pretty quiet day.

"You're not too tired?"

No, I managed to get a little rest.

Damn, I spoke too soon... Can you hear the alarm? Love you.

"...a person trapped inside."

-Let's go! Move!

"One from Quintero. Two from Bonifacio.

Three from Óscar. Four from Gonzalo."

-That's how it goes. -Come on! Move!

Come on! Let's go, José!

Excuse me.

Hi. Hi. How are you?

Natalia called me this morning from her village.

I told her I might stop by, but after my scare...

She isn't working much these days, is she? Mmm.

I haven't seen her in any commercials lately.

She's still back in the village with her parents until she gets back on her feet,

but that'll take a while. Lorenzo, look who's here.

Hi. -Did you bring me a present?

Yes. But first you have to give me a kiss. No.

-Hey! Lorenzo, don't be rude. What do you say?

Nothing.

You can have it anyway. He's a little brute. Sorry.

Are you watching the movie?

I've got it on. Mmm.

-♪ Like the green chili, Llorona... ♪

By then she was already losing her voice, but she knew exactly how to use it.

Mmm. I've probably heard Chavela sing "La Llorona" over fifty times.

Every performance was different, and every one made me cry.

I've got several versions.

I think I have the last one. Would you like to hear it?

-♪ Llorona... ♪

"Oh...

my Llorona.

Llorona, Llorona.

Take me to the river."

During her last concerts... "Cover me."

...as she kept losing her voice... "With your shawl, Llorona."

...she barely sang the song anymore. "Because I'm freezing."

She spoke it.

"Come, cover me."

She whispered it.

"With your shawl, Llorona.

Because...

I'm freezing.

♪ If, because I love you,

♪ you want,

♪ for me to love you even more.

♪ If...

♪ because I love you, Llorona,

♪ you want me to love you even more.

♪ When I've already given you my life,

♪ Llorona, what more do you want? You want more. ♪

-It's chilling.

Mmm, yes.

I'll make the tea.

♪ End it once and for all,

♪ with one single blow.

♪ Why do you want to kill me little by little?

♪ If the day will come when you leave me,

♪ then I'd rather, my love, it be tonight.

♪ I liked December for you to leave me,

♪ let it be... ♪

♪ ...your cruel goodbye, my Christmas.

♪ I don't want to start the new year... ♪

-Please turn off the song!

* ♪ ...with this same love that hurts me so much. ♪

"Bitter Christmas." What a fitting title.

Look.

A friend went to Paris for the long weekend

and sent me this photo asking if that isn't my husband.

Ricardo is also in Paris,

on a business trip, according to him.

What do you mean?

It's him!

You can't even see anyone's face, Patricia.

Look.

It might not be him. It's a very unclear image, look.

I recognize his jacket,

his trousers,

the way he hugs...

It's him, Elsa.

Should I answer?

Give it here.

Oh...

Trankizolan, under the tongue.

There.

Easy.

How are you feeling now?

Good. I haven't had any symptoms for the last two hours.

They flew by.

What do you think suddenly brought on this panic attack?

Patricia told me it's your first.

Yes, this strong, yes.

Ah... I don't know.

Exhaustion.

In advertising, we work ourselves to death.

Can't you switch off from work now and then?

I don't know how.

I've spent a long time going from one job to the next.

Besides...

my mother died exactly one year ago.

Around these dates, during this same long weekend.

These days she's very present for me, as if it happened today.

Were you able to say goodbye to her?

No.

Uh... I had gone to visit her that morning, and...

I spent the rest of the day working.

Should I take off the robe? Whenever you're ready.

Everything's almost ready. Okay.

And what do I have to do? Nothing.

You're sitting on the bed and looking out the window.

Think about whatever you want. Actually, better something sad.

Something sad? Uh-huh.

I'll think about my father.

All right... Think about your father.

Apart from that, are you okay?

Are you cold? Do you want something to drink?

No.

Well, I feel naked.

You're not.

It'll be quick, you'll see.

Hey, turn off your cell phones, please!

It's yours, Elsa.

Then put it on silent.

It's the hospital.

Hello? "Elsa Rosado?"

Yes, speaking.

"I'm sorry to tell you that your mother has just passed away.

Elsa?" Yes, yes.

"You need to collect your mother's belongings

and sign some papers."

I'm in the middle of work. Can I come in a couple of hours?

"Yes, no problem.

Come whenever you can."

Thank you.

Is something wrong?

My mother died.

I have to go to the hospital.

I'm sorry.

I can take you if you want.

It hurts to think she died alone.

Have you had time to mourn her?

No.

I haven't stopped working since she died.

Sometimes it takes years before we face a loss.

I still haven't faced it.

I've been running away.

Besides what I'm going to prescribe,

you should take a break, go on a trip.

It would be better if you went with someone.

Yes, of course.

Thelma Powell is Scorsese's editor.

-Oh, really? Hi, Monica.

"Hi, Raúl." -About ninety now.

"Can you talk?" Yes. I left you a message last night.

"I heard it, but..."

I figured you'd be busy. "Yes..."

Elena's little boy has died.

That's awful, Monica.

"Can I come and see you?"

We're on a train now. Someone's lending us a house in the Empordà.

When I know what we're doing with our lives, I'll call you.

I'm so sorry, Monica. Tell Elena. Or put her on.

She's not beside me right now.

I came to the bathroom to talk so she wouldn't hear me.

Santi sends you his love too. If there's anything we can do...

Thank you.

Where are we going, Mom?

-I don't know.

Tonight we'll sleep at Aunt Elsa's house, okay?

-What's wrong, Mom?

-Nothing, sweetheart.

-Woo!

Do you want to get in?

I'd rather keep drinking, sweetheart.

-And me? -You can't drink, you'd drown.

-And Aunt Elsa?

-Leave her. She doesn't care about us.

I'll be right back.

Be careful in the water, okay?

I do care about you. I love this family scene.

Right...

Come on, Lorenzo, get out now, you've been in there too long.

-No, I don't want to. -Sweetheart, you're going to get sunburned.

Come on, let's go.

I'll put cartoons on for you now.

Come on.

Let's go.

There.

Sit here.

There, nice and quiet.

You've been writing for hours, haven't you?

I'd like to make a third film.

All of a sudden, I really feel like it...

It must be this island.

That's great. Mmm.

What's it about?

Everything.

Two women on a volcanic island and what goes on inside their heads.

They're both grieving.

Am I one of them?

Well, one of them would be inspired by you, yes, I suppose.

And what goes on inside my head? Because even I don't know that.

It's just a figure of speech, Patricia.

I began it inspired by our stay on the island,

and you're the only ones here, you, the boy, and me.

Is Ricardo in it, my husband?

He's not here.

But he's the reason you came.

And do you talk about that reason?

Not yet, I'm just starting.

Right now I'm writing down everything that comes to me.

But since you ask, yes,

I'd like to talk about him and about your liberation.

My liberation?

Yes.

So I've freed myself from Ricardo without even realizing it.

That's what you told me. Is this trip the proof?

I've told you so many times...

But you never believed me.

And this time I should believe you, or is it like always?

This is only an impasse.

I've still got a long Calvary ahead of me before I get rid of him.

Even I don't know what will happen.

I thought you had no doubts. I do.

All of them.

And I don't like you writing about us.

It'll all be mixed with fiction, Patricia. No one will recognize you.

He'll recognize himself!

Are you going to give details about our life?

About all the shitty things you say I've freed myself from?

Look, sweetheart, I heard about those shitty things from you.

But since you mention it, I suppose I will.

I'd like to be able to talk

about how that man erased you for years,

and your inability to react.

But that, in the end, you do react, Patricia,

and get him out of your life.

I always meant to give you a happy ending.

Otherwise, I wouldn't base it on you.

If there is an ending,

it doesn't look like it'll be a happy one.

You're forgetting it's fiction, and I'm the one who chooses the ending.

I always heard you say

that the ending imposes itself as a story develops.

And that the author has to accept it,

even if it isn't the ending they had planned.

That sometimes the ending is a surprise,

even for the author and for the character.

I didn't think you remembered my interviews.

I liked listening to you.

when you talked about your experience as a director.

You shouldn't have stopped.

But I don't like you writing about me and Ricardo.

Anyway, I was planning to let you read it once I finished.

You haven't eaten anything.

Neither have you.

I'm completely drunk on white wine.

Let's clear up.

You should have asked me beforehand.

I'm sorry, I got carried away with excitement.

Is writing this so important to you?

Yes.

But don't worry, you won't be in the story anymore.

That sounds awful.

As if you could decide over people's lives.

I'm saying it to reassure you.

Neither you nor Ricardo will appear as inspiration.

Anyway, it was never going to be you.

I'm surprised you don't understand. I'm writing fiction.

Don't take it so literally.

Sorry to kill the mood. It's fine.

The problem is that your husband knows he can do

whatever he wants with you.

You'll leave him, sooner or later.

More likely later.

But you still need to keep swallowing shit until you can't take it anymore.

That's your character.

You have no right to speak to me like that.

I'm sorry.

It's me. "Where are you?"

-In Lanzarote, in a villa. "And the boy?"

-He's here with me. He's sleeping. We're fine.

"Are you coming back?"

-Yes.

Please come and get me.

"I'll take the first flight tomorrow, but where should I call you?"

-I'll call you.

"All right."

-See you tomorrow.

I love you.

Give me twenty-five minutes.

Wait for us at the airport, okay?

See you soon.

Sweetheart, put the bucket in here, come on. Help Mom. Here.

I'm leaving.

I'm sorry about last night. I drank too much.

In vino veritas.

You said what you thought.

Mmm.

But I was cruel.

Yes. Very.

I admit your situation drives me crazy, Patricia,

but I know I have no right to interfere.

No, you don't.

You don't speak to a friend like that. You're more than that.

I was more than that. Don't get confused.

We're leaving, sweetheart. Say goodbye.

-We're going to Madrid with Dad.

Oh, are you?

He's waiting for us at the airport.

Oh! That's nice.

Did you enjoy the trip?

I liked the black beach and the cactuses.

And the cactuses? Because they're super pretty.

I'm really glad.

I'm going to miss you, Lorenzo.

Me too. Oh!

Have a very good trip back.

-Goodbye. Goodbye.

Come on, sweetheart. Take the bag.

Come on, Loren.

I've found three villas,

but there's one I really like.

It isn't this one, but it's similar.

It has a cactus garden at the entrance.

Dry, with black sand, but it's really beautiful.

Uh-huh.

And then in front of the porch you have this huge sky.

And the pool.

Is it heated?

I don't know. I imagine so.

Let me check, though.

It's Monica.

Hi, Monica. Are you still in the Empordà?

No, we're back in Madrid.

I think Elena is better cared for here.

"Do you want to meet up?"

No, I can't leave her right now.

Two weeks ago, she tried to kill herself

"with the pills she takes for depression."

Oh no...

But I don't want to burden you with our problems.

No, you're not burdening me. Just tell me if we can help in any way.

Thank you.

We've found a therapist Elena seems to like.

We'll get through this.

"I'm sure you will."

I have to go.

A big hug.

Love from Santi.

"One back to you both."

Bye.

What happened?

The girlfriend tried to kill herself.

What?

Did the storm catch you on the way here?

No. I got here all right.

What a huge storm.

How are you?

Fine.

Aren't you working today?

Yes. I'm shooting a commercial.

For what? Underwear.

The things you have to do.

They pay me very well, and there's nothing indecent about it, Mom.

It looks like the storm is letting up.

You have no idea how loud the thunder was.

-Here's your food, Mrs. Antonia.

-It won't do much good inside this body.

I'll feed you today, okay, Mom?

Thank you very much, my daughter.

Everything okay?

Yes, I think I've finished the script.

Congratulations.

Are you happy?

It's a little short. Something's missing...

You always say that when you finish writing. Can I read it?

It's the first draft. I know.

There's a character who resembles you at the beginning.

Oh! But it isn't you.

Oh, no? No. I was only inspired at first.

I wouldn't mind if it were completely me.

Actually, quite the opposite. I like inspiring you.

So I'm in it at the beginning?

But don't read it in front of me. Go to the bedroom or the garden.

You obsessive thing...

It makes me nervous watching you read it.

I'd be watching to see how you react.

Well, look, I'm going to react well.

Even if I don't like what I'm reading at all.

Hello?

Hi, Angelita, it's Elsa. "How are you, Elsa, sweetheart?"

Good. And your daughter?

Well, she's here, a little worked up.

Girl!

Look, here she is. I'll put her on.

Thanks. Kisses.

It's Elsa...

-Hello, Elsa.

Hi, Natalia. How are you?

Well... I'm getting by.

But I'm really glad to hear from you. And...

don't worry about not coming, okay?

"I couldn't."

Over the Constitution Day weekend, I had a horrible panic attack.

Poor thing... I know what that's like.

So I listened to the psychiatrist and came to Lanzarote.

Oh, well... that's very good.

You need to rest. You never stop, do you?

The island has done me so much good...

I have a villa with two bedrooms,

and it suddenly occurred to me, why don't you come?

We can keep each other company.

"This island has a very special energy."

Uh...

Are you inviting me to come to Lanzarote?

"I'm sure it would do you good to get out of the house."

Uh...

If you're up for it, of course, everything's on me.

I'll send you a ticket for tomorrow, okay?

I'll sort it out now. Sending you a kiss. Bye, sweetheart.

She says I should go to Lanzarote.

-I'd already be on the plane. I'm telling you.

"Passengers on flight ES237 must board

through gate C.

Please, passengers on flight ES237 must board through gate C."

I'm so happy to see you! Oh! Mmm!

How was the trip? Oh, I'm all dazed.

So many people!

That's all the people you're going to see.

Really? Yes. Let's go to the car.

This is incredible. Uh-huh.

Are they tombs?

No, they're called zocos.

They're used to protect the vines.

To protect them? From the wind.

They're wonderful.

Sorry, I live like a wild woman in the village.

I should have dyed my hair, shouldn't I?

You look very beautiful.

I'm glad I came, Elsa.

What have you been doing all this time I haven't seen you?

Nothing much. At home, quietly, with my mother.

With your mother? Don't you have friends? Don't you go out?

The village has 53 inhabitants,

and my mother is the youngest, and she's sixty.

The rest are eighty and up.

Look, this is my room. And the one on the left is yours.

Come.

Patricia stayed here for a few days, but she went back to her husband.

I didn't know they'd broken up.

Well, no. They're the same as always.

I'm really glad you came.

Me too. Can I help you?

No, I've got it.

If you feel like doing anything, there are lots of places to see.

Look. No, I'm fine here.

Are you sure?

Okay.

Do you want to talk?

Or...

do you mind if I write for a bit?

Oh, no, no, you write.

I'm perfectly fine here getting some fresh air.

Okay.

What are you writing?

A script. Well, I hope so.

I've felt like making another film.

But interrupt me whenever you want, okay?

What's it about?

Oh...

My childhood.

And my arrival in Madrid.

For the first time, I'm talking about my mother's death, exactly one year ago.

It's done me a lot of good.

Since then, I haven't stopped working, running away from grief.

But... after the scare I had last week, it frightened me.

And I've decided to stop.

How long does grief last?

I feel the same as when the accident happened.

And it's been almost two years.

I don't know.

It depends on the person.

But you have to do your part, Natalia.

And you are doing that, aren't you?

I don't know. Some days I have no strength.

Don't say that.

You're depressed, but that passes. Have you seen a doctor?

Are you doing any treatment?

Yes, but... sometimes I forget.

If you want, tell me what you have to take and I'll handle it.

No, don't worry. I brought all my medicines.

Do you have any idea what you'll do in the future?

Well, Jean-Paul heard what happened to me

and offered me two commercials.

Oh, that's great.

I told him I looked awful.

And I sent him a photo so he could see how I look,

but he says I look ideal.

You look beautiful, as always.

It's just two photos. Mmm.

The truth is, he's made it very easy for me.

Still, I'd dye the gray hairs.

Really? Mmm. And I'd eat a little more.

Look, that cheese.

Mmm.

Tomorrow we can go to the hairdresser. Or did he tell you to keep them?

No. No?

No, no. Then tomorrow, the hairdresser.

You look better. The trip is doing you good.

Well, I put on a little makeup.

Sorry.

It's Beau. I have to answer.

I've been putting him a bit on the back burner, and he's not taking it well.

Yes, of course.

How are you, my love?

Don't be mad.

No. You know I've been very busy writing.

Oh, no.

Move forward.

Look.

-Camel...

No. Listen. Uh... I have to go.

I'll call you tomorrow and explain, okay? Love you.

The seconds.

Are you okay?

How's Beau?

Fine.

Angry because I don't call him enough.

But right now, you're the one I'm worried about.

I respect your silence, but...

I look at you and...

I wish you'd tell me how you feel.

No, you wouldn't.

You'd get it off your chest.

You have to talk.

Elsa, I appreciate it.

But I'd rather not talk about this.

As you wish.

But remember that you've got me.

I'm better now.

I'm okay now.

No.

You're not okay, Natalia.

But...

if the only way I can help you is by staying with you,

I'm here.

I'm going to sleep. I'm very tired.

Sleep well. You too.

And... thank you so much for everything.

Listen, if you can't sleep or anything, let me know, okay?

I'll be in my room for a while, rereading.

Oh no, God, not again.

No...

We're going to remove the roof of the car to get you out, okay?

Fold it down. Bring the protection pads.

I'm right here, okay?

-Board. -Board.

Natalia?

Natalia, are you asleep?

Natalia! Natalia?

Natalia, wake up! Wake up! Natalia.

Natalia...

Oh!

Hello?

Did I wake you?

"No."

You called me, right? I was out on a call.

Yes, I figured.

Uh... It wasn't anything important.

I'm glad you called.

Listen, I was thinking I could also use

two or three days off.

And tomorrow afternoon there's a flight with seats available.

Tell me you're happy I'm coming.

Beau. Uh...

Mmm...

I'm in an ambulance right now with Natalia.

There was an accident and...

I have to stay with her.

I'll explain later.

But no, it's not a good time for you to come, or to talk.

All right.

"Please understand." Yes, yes, yes.

I understand.

This isn't the time to talk about me.

And it doesn't seem like you care much anyway.

Sorry for calling.

Did you hear the thunder?

Yes.

Yes, I heard it.

A terrible storm.

It seems like the storm is letting up.

It's passed.

Would you come with me to Paris, for the photos?

I broke with my agent months ago.

I'll go wherever you want.

Thank you.

But promise me you won't try it again.

I promise, Elsa.

I had a dream.

Oh, really?

I dreamed I was in my bedroom

with my suitcase open.

And, for some reason,

I couldn't fill it.

For some reason, I didn't know how to pack my suitcase.

I realized it, and it distressed me.

I don't remember holding any clothes.

I only remember the open suitcase and...

and that I couldn't put anything in it.

Were you alone?

No.

Well, at first, yes.

And then, suddenly, I was with another woman, older than me.

The other woman finished packing her suitcase.

While I... couldn't pack mine.

If I'm that woman,

I'd finish packing my suitcase and then pack yours.

Do you mind staying alone for an hour? I have to go out.

I'll do the shopping while I'm out. Do you want anything, Elena?

No. Thank you.

Is something wrong, Monica?

I read your script.

And you didn't like it? I still have to polish it.

How dare you? What?

You think that with the compensation

you bought my life and hers.

Hey, don't speak to me like that.

If you want us to keep talking, change your tone.

What the fuck are you talking about?

How dare you use Elena's suicide attempt?

Is there nothing that stops you when you write?

For fuck's sake, it's not like this is the first script you've ever read.

Spare me the reality-versus-fiction speech!

Calm down, okay?

The character of Natalia is very different from Elena.

Natalia is a young woman who lost her son

in an accident while she was driving the car.

Natalia is not Elena.

You can't do this to me!

Do what to you?

Please, control yourself. I don't recognize you, Monica.

Don't you want a coffee or a whisky?

When have I ever had whisky at this hour?

I don't know, I do sometimes.

You're an alcoholic, among other things.

Elena will never forgive me for telling you.

I haven't told anyone.

You wrote it in a script! Isn't that enough?

You know how fiction works. This isn't fiction!

Autofiction!

Bullshit!

I'm not going to tell Elena.

She doesn't even realize I'm reading beside her.

If you don't take that part out of the script,

I'll try to find a legal or illegal way, I don't know,

to stop you from going ahead. I'll make your life impossible!

Monica, you're losing it.

I don't care! I'll think of something.

I've got twenty years of your life here!

And enough money to have your legs broken!

You've gone mad. I don't recognize you, Monica.

I know you don't know me, but I know you.

How did it go with Monica?

I saw you arguing.

Uh... In "Bitter Christmas" I've included a character at the end,

a mother who has lost her son,

and Monica thinks I based her on her friend Elena.

And is that true?

The pain is true. And the guilt.

But every mother I know feels both those things.

Monica went completely wild.

That's normal. She's very sensitive right now.

Imagine everything she's going through.

Yes! And I'm terribly sorry! But she actually threatened me.

In your script, does the character also try to kill herself like Elena?

I haven't read the script yet.

Yes, but honestly, it's very different.

And is it essential to the rest of the story?

Yes, it's fundamental.

In fact, I think it's the solution. The script was missing something.

So you can't take it out?

Of course I can. And I can also never shoot again.

But I don't want to do it because Monica or anyone else forces me.

But keep in mind that their situation is extremely delicate.

Have you told Monica anything she can use to threaten me?

Me?

No.

Do you have something to hide?

No.

Well, the warehouse where we store the props,

I paid for half of it off the books ages ago.

I don't think she'll blackmail me with that.

No.

Monica isn't that kind of person.

She was furious and exploded.

But you have to fix this. Yes.

I have to get her to see reason.

But always remember

that she loves a woman who has lost her son

and tried to kill herself.

Think about their pain, not just your script.

Anyone would think you're on her side.

Do I really have to explain to you, at this point,

that I can only write from absolute freedom?

No matter who gets hurt?

That's enough, Santi. Don't you start now.

Hi, it's Raúl.

What do you want?

I don't think yesterday's conversation can end the way it ended.

Tell me where and when, but we need to keep talking.

I'll check.

I haven't made a film in five years.

Not because I haven't tried to write,

but nothing has come to me that really sweeps me away.

You know better than anyone

that my life has no meaning if I'm not shooting.

These five years have been real agony.

But you've directed your first play,

published two books about your filmography, a documentary,

and traveled halfway around the world collecting career awards.

That's not what I dreamed of when I started making films.

I did it because Santi likes to travel.

You're getting older, Raúl. Give yourself a break.

I need to shoot.

Do you like this script that much?

You know how hard it is to write a story and make everything fit.

With "Bitter Christmas," I'm closer than ever to doing that.

I've always been interested in the origin of creation

and the relationship between fiction and life,

and I've finally managed to make it an organic part of the plot.

If you like it that much, make the film.

But without that epilogue with the Elena character.

Her name is Natalia, she's a model, and she's twenty years younger than your girlfriend!

Is this why you called me? Give a little, Monica.

You've always been my first and best reader.

You know how fragile I am at this stage of the process.

Your fragility? What about Elena's? What about mine?

I'm not trying to compare myself to you.

I'm just a writer who's getting older, as you said.

What can I do?

Take Natalia out of the script and leave Elsa mourning her mother.

And while you're at it, close the grief over your own mother.

Without Natalia's epilogue, the film will be an hour long.

Then you can sell it to a platform.

With your name, that's enough to place an original without any trouble.

Remember, Netflix has been waiting for something from you for a while.

You could dump this on them. Don't mock me!

I asked you for constructive advice, not to reduce me to a TV movie.

It's the sign of the times.

And you've already made your best films.

Now you can live off your prestige.

It'll be a minor film, but your followers will appreciate it.

Just as we appreciate

the minor films by Bergman or Fellini.

They're dead.

The prestige of a living director lasts five minutes.

As long as you're alive, you're competing.

Especially in a profession like this, already dying as it is.

Hello, good evening. What can I get you?

Still water, please. A mezcal.

No, actually, a mezcal for me too.

Two shots of mezcal. Very good.

You asked me for advice.

Forget it. I've changed my mind. You're no use to me as an adviser anymore.

Am I no longer your first and best reader?

No! Right now, you're not impartial.

Let me tell you something, even if it's biased, about my first reading.

There's no need, thanks. I'll tell you anyway.

A character as important as Natalia

can't appear so late, practically at the end.

I'll write other scenes for her at the beginning,

where Elsa calls her and worries about her.

They're close friends, they've worked together.

I want Elsa to save her.

She couldn't save her mother,

she couldn't save Patricia from her husband.

She wants to save her young friend Natalia.

Who do you think you are, saving anyone?

Fiction doesn't have that power.

Until Natalia appears, the script isn't bad.

I like the extravagance of holding up two essential scenes

only with Chavela's voice singing.

It's bold, even if it sounds like something you've done before.

Never to that extent.

True, you'd never made a character decide

to leave her husband and change her life

just because she heard a song.

It's certainly risky, and I like it.

Well, thank you.

And you should stop talking about your mother's death.

This is the second time.

I'll talk about her whenever the fuck I want!

And that is a low blow! Raúl, I'm furious with you,

but I'm not taking revenge on you.

Since the moment you opened your mouth, that's all you've been doing.

I'm echoing your own complaints.

According to you, it's been a long time

since you've had an original idea, or one that satisfied you enough.

That's why, in this script, I talk about myself and what surrounds me.

I'm exposing myself too. Not enough!

You're not even fair to Santi! There's a story there!

Your relationship with Santi from the moment you met him!

Oh... Give me the bottle. Don't drag Santi into this!

Where does Santi fit in the script?

Where does Bonifacio fit? Thanks.

A character who promises to be the lead

and then suddenly you let him fade away.

Elsa doesn't even tell him they have nothing in common

and that their relationship is running out of time.

That's not our case! You're confusing fiction with reality.

You don't dare say what you feel for Santi now.

The passion of the Constitution Day weekend

has long since passed, and it shows in the script.

You know how to lie in life, but not when you write.

In your scripts, you're more honest than in your life.

I'm closed off and modest, but that isn't lying.

Beau is a puppet, he doesn't exist as a character.

Santi exists. And he's not Beau.

Of course he is. Whatever you say.

You're not fair to him, not in life and not in fiction.

What do you mean?

Santi is fifteen years younger than you.

He could fuck half of Madrid if he wanted to.

Instead, he lives with you, taking care of you, like a celibate.

You're going too far as a clairvoyant, Monica. You don't know that much about us.

I've witnessed everything. You're wrong.

Santi comes and goes, and I don't ask him where.

Where do you get this idea that he's celibate? I can't imagine him telling you.

That's your problem,

but we're talking about his role in the script.

The worst thing isn't that you vampirize us,

but that the result isn't a good script.

I think, Monica, we should leave it there.

Thank you very much for the advice.

I know you need to shoot, but not everything should serve you.

I've heard you say many times that you were afraid of repeating yourself.

That, if the moment came,

you didn't want to be complacent with yourself.

And that if that moment came,

you hoped at least to be aware of it.

Well then, that moment has come,

and you're being complacent with yourself.

The worst part is you don't realize it.

I never thought you were capable of so much cruelty.

Who have I been working with all these twenty years?

Ours is a story of losers, Raúl.

Elena has lost something vital, and I with her.

Santi lost you a long time ago.

But you've lost too.

Your grace.

I remember you practically in a trance

when you'd grabbed a story by the horns.

That's not the expression I'm seeing now.

You're defending your script out of pride, because you don't want to admit I'm right.

No one knows better than you that it isn't good enough for you.

And I can imagine what that loss means.

Stay a moment, please.

What for?

I knew you'd end up like this.

Like what?

I don't mean your cruelty.

All this is new, but...

How have I ended up, Raúl? I'm curious.

I admit I was wrong about you, Monica.

About Santiago too.

But he senses me even when we don't speak,

and for now he wants to be where he is.

He loves you. I don't anymore.

If we weren't talking about a tragedy,

Elena's dead child

and Natalia's in an accident while his mother was driving...

Remember, that's a very different detail from Elena's case.

A dead child is the same for any mother.

I agree, but I'm talking about you.

I was wrong about you.

I didn't need to draw inspiration

from the Constitution Day weekend of 2004.

I should have drawn inspiration from you.

From the twenty years we worked together.

What are you talking about?

How could I have been so blind?

I didn't exist, I never existed. I only existed in relation to you!

You exist now, and how.

Now I exist because of Elena! I imagine so.

But I regret not having seen you before

the way I'm seeing you now.

Leave me alone!

You're the story, Monica.

The way you've watched over me,

your ability to make yourself invisible,

and the ability you've just shown to destroy me.

You were the one I should have written about.

There's still time.

Let go of me! Elsa will be inspired by you.

I'll disappear.

From now on, Elsa is you.

Look me in the face.

Tell me you don't recognize the expression you mentioned earlier,

when I'd found the key to the story.

I shouldn't have come. I don't know why I did.

Because you're my best reader.

And you had to give me one last lesson.

Excuse me, sir. We're closing.

One moment.

We're closing, sir.

How much is it?

43.50.

Keep the change.

Thank you.

But I'm afraid you have to leave.

I'd like to read the new ending, the one with the conflict with Monica.

Even I don't know it yet.

And Beau?

How does that character end?

I don't know, Santi, but right now I have to keep writing.

Do you mind if we talk another time?

No, of course not.

I was curious.

Unless there's something urgent you need to tell me.

No.

I can wait.

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