Kika

Claudia.

Yes?

Relax.

I'm relaxed.

Say it again and I'll snore.

Go ahead,

it's a sign of inner peace.

Is this a lingerie

or a sleeping pill ad?

Sleeping lingerie.

I wanna see your face enjoying.

Very good. That's right...

More! We're making love!

Chin down. Very well.

F***!

Once more!

Let's try again.

Mother!

Where's mother?

In the bathroom.

This time she got away with it.

My wife committed suicide.

She shot herself.

I tried to stop her,

but she shot me in the arm.

Hurry, please.

Kilometre 20 on the A2 on the right.

Casa Youkali.

My wife named it after Kurt Weill,

the German musician.

Never mind!

Come quick, please!

Here,

she left this note for you.

"Dear Ramn,

"I'm leaving.

"You won't understand.

I hope you never will.

"t would mean

you're as desperate as I am."

Would you mind helping me

stop the haemorrhage?

I'm still alive.

THREE YEARS LATER

Lower your head, open your eye.

See?

We left an eyelash

so you notice the difference.

It widens the eye,

gives depth, expression, shape.

A girl with almond-shaped eyes is better

than one with a spaniel eye.

Even the most banal woman

looks intelligent and sparkling

with lashes.

Eyelashes are great.

I'm all for them!

Hail the eyelashes!

The Marquise called,

she needs someone

to make up her mother.

The dead one?

She wants the body

to be presentable for the wake.

I'll fix the other one in a sec.

I can't, I'm meeting Ramn

to pick up his stepfather.

Always thinking of yourself.

Send one of them.

Here's the address.

It's a rush. I gave my word

and don't want to look bad.

Why'd you give your word

without consulting me?

- Bye, darling.

- Bye.

Would you make up

the poor Marquise's dead mother?

Me?

Ask her to go.

Why me? She asked you!

Gives me the creeps.

Why don't you go together?

I make artists up!

I won't make up someone dead.

I made up a dead man once

and got great results.

It was two years ago.

I worked in TV with Amparo

and was making up Nicholas Pierce,

an American writer.

There you go.

Now some powder...

Want something special?

No, thank you.

Can you please sign my book then?

- Right away.

- My name is Kika.

"I like you very much, Kika.

My number is..."

YOU HAVE TO READ MORE

Ready?

This afternoon,

our guest is Nicholas Prisse,

American journalist and writer,

who's just published

his first novel in Spanish,

"I fell in love with a fraud".

I don't know if I said it well.

Pierce.

I have trouble saying foreign names.

Have some chorizo!

No, thank you.

It's from La Mancha, like me.

It's delicious!

Have you lived in Spain long?

Four years.

I came to write a piece on hunting,

I write about it

in American magazines.

I fell in love with your country,

in particular with a woman I married,

and stayed.

There's nowhere like Spain!

In the prologue,

you warn evil-minded people

that this novel is not autobiographical.

No, but I admit some things

are inspired by my life.

I was going to say that.

For instance, your wife,

may she rest in peace,

died, like the one in the novel.

Her husband, in the book,

is a writer like you.

Yes.

Among writers there's a tradition

of killing wives.

Really? I didn't know.

William Burroughs shot his wife.

Louis Althusser strangled his.

How terrible!

I don't know them.

They're not Spanish, are they?

You wouldn't kill your wife...

No, but people suspected it.

People are bad.

In fact,

these suspicions inspired my book.

I asked myself:

if I would've killed my wife,

how could I have tricked the police?

The answer is in this book.

I don't think I'll read it.

My eyesight is bad because I've got

diabetes something chronic.

But I'll give it

to my grandchildren to read.

Many thanks.

To wrap, what are your future plans?

I'm off to Latin America,

to write about the area.

So, have a safe trip, and good luck.

Find a woman.

Marry her so you won't be alone.

You're still young.

I'll take your advice, Doa Paquita.

I'm a widow too.

You can't imagine

how ugly solitude can be.

Dark days, endless nights.

My son directs this programme

and called me to "represent" it,

so I can be with him,

since he can't visit me.

I love Doa Paquita!

f my mother lived,

I'd like her to be like her.

I like him better.

As a father, I mean.

Though Amparo was brash,

I left with Nicholas.

We hit it off

and made another date.

I remember it like today,

it was freezing.

I wore a sheep acrylic orange coat,

looked terrific.

Thanks for coming.

What's wrong?

Aren't you glad to see me?

My son died last night.

I'm sorry!

I didn't even know you had a son.

He was my wife's son.

Oh, just a stepson...

I rang you to make him up.

He'll start decomposing soon.

You should have told me!

I thought bringing

my make-up case was a pretext to...

Well, you know...

I couldn't imagine

I had to make up a corpse!

You'll do just fine.

Come on.

Is he wounded? I hate wounds.

No wounds,

he had a cardiac arrest.

During Christmas. Poor boy!

You're alone? Where's the family?

What an unusual headboard!

He was a photographer

and a collage artist.

What a beautiful corpse!

What was his name?

Ramn.

He's cold.

Of course.

I'm frozen too.

Get rid of the pallor

before we take him to the morgue.

Don't worry.

I'll try and give him his natural colour.

That's it.

Well, I'll leave you two alone.

I see you liked women a lot.

If you would've met me,

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