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"Will you excuse me? I need to go to the bathroom."
Igor politely stands up, puts on his dark glasses, and, as she walks away, tries to look as calm as possible. He drinks his tea, all the while scanning the terrace. At first sight, there appears to be no immediate threat, but it would still be wise to leave that terrace as soon as the woman comes back.
Maureen is impressed by her new friend's gentlemanly behavior. It's been years since she's seen anyone behave according to the rules of etiquette taught them by their mothers and fathers. As she leaves the terrace, she notices that some pretty young women at the next table, who have doubtless heard part of their conversation, are looking at him and smiling. She notices, too, that he's put on his dark glasses, possibly to be able to observe the young women without them knowing. Perhaps, by the time she gets back, they'll all be drinking tea together.
But then life is like that: don't complain and don't expect too much either.
She looks at her face in the mirror. Why would a man be interested in her? She really does need to get to grips with reality again, as he suggested. Her eyes look empty and tired; she's exhausted like everyone else taking part in the Festival, but she knows that she has to carry on fighting. Cannes isn't over yet, Javits might recover, or someone representing his company might turn up. She has tickets to see other people's films, an invitation to a party held by Gala--one of the most prestigious magazines in France--and she can use the time available to see how independent European producers and directors go about distributing their films. She needs to bounce back quickly.
As for the handsome stranger, she mustn't have any illusions in that regard. She returns to the table convinced that she'll find two of the young women sitting there, but he's still alone. Again he rises politely to his feet and draws back her chair so that she can sit down.
"Sorry, I haven't introduced myself. My name's Maureen."
"I'm Igor. Pleased to meet you. You were saying that you had the ideal cast."
She decides to get a dig in at the girls at the next table. She speaks slightly more loudly than usual.
"Here in Cannes, or indeed at any other festival, new actresses are discovered every year, and every year really great actresses lose out on getting a great role because the industry thinks they're too old, even if, in fact, they're still young and full of enthusiasm. Among the new discoveries" (and, she thinks: "I just hope the girls next to us are listening"), "some choose the path of pure glamour. They don't earn much on the movies they make--all directors know this and take full advantage--and so they invest in the one thing they shouldn't invest in."
"Namely..."
"Their own beauty. They become celebrities, start to charge for attending parties, they're asked to appear in advertisements, promoting various products. They end up meeting the most powerful men and the sexiest actors in the world. They earn a vast amount of money because they're young and pretty and their agents get them loads of contracts.
"In fact, they allow themselves to be entirely guided by their agents, who constantly feed their vanity. An actress of this type becomes the dream of housewives, of adolescent girls and would-be actresses who don't even have enough money to travel to the nearest town, but who consider her a friend, someone who's having the kind of experiences they would like to have. She continues making movies and earns a little more, although her press agent always puts it about that she's earning an enormous salary, which is a complete lie that not even the journalists believe, but which they publish anyway because they know the public prefers news to information."
"What's the difference?" asks Igor, who's feeling more relaxed now, while still keeping a close eye on what's going on around him.
"Let's say you were to buy a gold-plated computer in an auction in Dubai and decided to write a new book using that technological marvel. When a journalist finds out about the computer, he'll phone you up and ask: 'So how's your gold-plated computer?' That's news. The information--the nature of the new book you're writing--is of no importance whatsoever."
"Perhaps Ewa is receiving news rather than information," thinks Igor. The idea had never occurred to him before.
"Go on."
"Time passes, or, rather, seven or eight years pass. Suddenly, the film offers dry up. The revenue from parties and advertisements begins to dwindle. Her agent seems suddenly much busier than before and doesn't always call her back. The 'big star' rebels: how can they do this to her, the great sex symbol, the great icon of glamour? She blames her agent and decides to find another one; to her surprise, he doesn't appear to mind at all. On the contrary, he asks her to sign a statement saying how well they have always got on together; then he wishes her good luck, and that's the end of their relationship."
Maureen looks around the terrace to see if she can find an example of what she's describing: people who are still famous, but who have vanished from the scene and are desperately seeking some new opportunity. They still behave like divas, they still have the same distant air, but their hearts are full of bitterness, their skin full of Botox and covered with the invisible scars left by plastic surgery. She could see plenty of evidence of Botox and plastic surgery, but no celebrities from the previous decade. Perhaps they didn't even have enough money now to attend a festival like this, but were instead appearing as a special guest at dances in provincial towns or fronting the launch of some new brand of chocolate or beer, still behaving as if they were the person they once were, but knowing that they weren't.
"You mentioned two types of people."
"Yes. The second group of actresses have exactly the same problem, but there's one important difference." Again her voice grows louder because now the girls at the next table are clearly interested to hear what someone in the know has to say. "They know that beauty is a transient thing. They don't appear in ads or on magazine covers because they're busy honing their art. They keep studying and making contacts that will be useful in the future. They lend their name and appearance to certain products, not as models, but as partners. They earn less, of course, but it means a lifelong income.
"And then along comes someone like me, with a good script and enough money, plus I want them to be in my film. They accept and have enough talent to play the parts I give them and enough intelligence to know that even if the film doesn't turn out to be a huge success, at least they will still have a presence on the screen and be seen to be working as mature actresses, and who knows, that might spark the interest of another producer."
Igor is also aware that the girls are listening to their conversation.
"Perhaps we should go for a walk," he says quietly. "There's no privacy here. I know a place where we can be alone and watch the sun go down; it's beautiful."
That's precisely what she needs at this moment--an invitation to go for a walk! To see the sunset, even though it'll be quite some time before the sun goes down! He's not one of those vulgar types who says: "Let's go up to my room for a moment, I need to change my shoes" and "Nothing will happen, I promise," and who, once they're in his room, will say as he tries to make a grab for her: "I have contacts and I know just the people you need to talk to."
To be honest, she wouldn't mind being kissed by this seemingly charming man. She knows absolutely nothing about him, of course, but the elegance with which he's seducing her is something she won't forget in a long time.
They get up from the table, and he asks for the drinks to be put on his tab (so, she thinks, he's staying at the Martinez!). When they reach the Boulevard de la Croisette, he suggests they turn to the left.
"There are fewer people in that direction; besides, the view should be even better, with the sun setting behind the hills."
"Igor, who are you?"
"A good question," he says. "I'd like to know the answer to that one myself."
