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They have all attended hundreds, possibly thousands of parties like this. Once, they would have felt the excitement of the unknown, of possibly meeting a new love, of making important professional contacts; but now that they have reached the top of their careers, there are no more challenges; all that's left to do is to compare one yacht with another, one jewel with your neighbor's jewel, the people who are sitting at the tables nearest the window with those who are farther off--a sure sign of the former's superiority. Yes, this is the end of the line: tedium and endless comparisons. After decades of struggling to get where they are, there seems to be nothing left, not even the pleasure of having watched one more sunset in one more beautiful place.
What are they thinking, those rich, silent women, so distant from their husbands?
They're thinking about age.
They need to go back to see their plastic surgeon and redo what time is relentlessly undoing. Gabriela knows that one day this will happen to her as well, and suddenly--perhaps because of all the emotions of a day that is ending so very differently from the way it began--she can feel those negative thoughts returning.
Again there's that feeling of terror mingled with joy. Again the feeling that, despite the long struggle, she doesn't deserve what's happening to her; she's just a girl who's worked hard at her job, but who's still ill-prepared for life. She doesn't know the rules; she's going further than good sense dictates; this world doesn't belong to her and she'll never be a part of it. She feels helpless and can't remember now why she came to Europe; after all, it's not so dreadful being an actress in small-town America, doing exactly what she likes and not what other people make her do. She wants to be happy, and she's not entirely sure she's on the right path.
"Stop it! Stop thinking like that!"
She can't do any yoga exercises here, so she tries to concentrate on the sea and on the blue and pink sky. She has been given a golden opportunity; she needs to overcome her feelings of revulsion and to talk more to the androgyne in the few free moments they have before the "corridor." She mustn't make any mistakes; she has been lucky and she must make the most of it. She opens her handbag to take out her lipstick and touch up her lips, but all she sees inside is a lot of crumpled paper. She had been back to the Gift Room with the bored makeup artist, and had again forgotten to collect her things, but even if she had remembered, where would she have put them?
That handbag is an excellent metaphor for her current experience: lovely outside and completely empty inside.
She must control herself.
"The sun has just sunk below the horizon and will be reborn tomorrow with the same force. I need to be reborn now. The fact that I've dreamed of this moment so many times ought to have prepared me, made me more confident. I believe in miracles and I'm being blessed by God, who listened to my prayers. I must remember what the director used to say to me before each rehearsal: 'Even if you're doing the same thing over and over, you need to discover something new, fantastic, and unbelievable that went unnoticed the time before.'"
ENTER A HANDSOME MAN OF about forty, with graying hair and dressed in an impeccable dinner jacket handmade by some master tailor. He looks as if he were about to come over to her, but immediately notices the second glass of champagne and heads off to the other end of the bar. She would have liked to talk to him; the androgyne is taking such a long time. But she remembers his stern words:
"Nothing vulgar."
And it would indeed be reprehensible, inappropriate, embarrassing to see a young woman, all alone in the bar of a five-star hotel, go over to an older customer. What would people think?
She drinks her champagne and orders another glass. If the androgyne has disappeared for good, she has no way of paying the bill, but who cares? Her doubts and insecurities are disappearing as she drinks, and now she's afraid that she might not be able to get into the party and fulfill her commitments.
No, she's no longer the small-town girl who has struggled to get on in life, and she will never be that person again. The road rises before her; another glass of champagne, and the fear of the unknown becomes a dread that she might never have the chance to discover what it really means to be here. What terrifies her now is the sense that everything could change from one moment to the next; how can she make sure that the miracle of today continues tomorrow? What guarantee does she have that all the promises made earlier will ever be met? She has often before stood outside some magnificent door, some fantastic opportunity, and dreamed for days and weeks about the possibility that her life might change forever, only to find, in the end, that the phone didn't ring, or that her CV was mislaid, or that the director would call and offer his apologies, and tell her that they'd found someone more suitable for the part, "which isn't to say you don't have real talent, so don't be discouraged." Life has many ways of testing a person's will, either by having nothing happen at all or by having everything happen all at once.
The man who arrived alone has his eyes fixed on her and on the second glass of champagne. She so wishes he would come over to her! She hasn't had a chance to talk to anyone about what's been happening. She'd thought several times of phoning her family, but her phone was in her real bag and probably full of messages from her roommates, wanting to know where she is, if she has any spare invitations, if she'd like to go with them to some second-rate event where such-and-such a celebrity is going to make an appearance.
She can't share anything with anyone. She has taken a big step in her life, she's alone in a hotel bar, terrified that the dream might end, and at the same time knowing that she can never go back to being the person she was. She has nearly reached the top of the mountain: she must either hang on tight or be blown over by the wind.
The forty-something man with the graying hair, drinking an orange juice, is still there. At one point, their eyes meet, and he smiles. She pretends not to have seen him.
Why is she so afraid? Because with each new step she's taking, she doesn't know quite how to behave. No one helps her; all they do is give orders and expect them to be rigorously obeyed. She feels like a child locked in a dark room, trying to find her way to the door because some very powerful person is calling her and demanding to be obeyed.
Her thoughts are interrupted by the androgyne, who has just come back.
"Let's wait awhile longer. People are only just starting to arrive."
The handsome man gets up, pays his bill, and heads for the exit. He seems disappointed. Perhaps he was waiting for the right moment to come over, tell her his name, and...
"...talk a little."
"What?"
She had let her guard drop. Two glasses of champagne and her tongue was looser than it should be.
"Nothing."
"No, you said you needed to talk a little."
She's the little girl in th
e dark room with no one to guide her. Humility. She must do what she promised herself she would do a few minutes earlier.
"Yes, I was just going to ask what you're doing here in Cannes, how you ended up in this world of which I understand almost nothing. It's not at all as I imagined it would be; believe it or not, when you went off to talk to the photographers, I felt really alone and frightened, but I know I can count on you for help, and I wondered whether or not you enjoy your work."
