2:53 PM

Good morning. You mean Good afternoon, dont you? one of the other girls replies. Its midday. Everything is exactly as shed imagined. The five other young women waiting all rather resemble her, at least physically. They, how- ever, are heavily made up, wear short skirts and low-cut tops, and are busy with their mobile phones and their texts.

No one speaks because they know theyre soul mates who have all been through the same difficulties and have uncomplainingly faced the same challenges and accepted each knockout blow. Theyre all trying hard to believe that dreams have no sell-by date, that life can change from one second to the next, that somewhere the right moment is wait- ing for them, and that this is just a test of their willpower.

Theyve all perhaps quarreled with their families, who are con- vinced their daughters will end up working as prostitutes.

Theyve all been on stage and experienced the agony and the ec- stasy of seeing the audience and knowing that every eye is fixed on them; theyve felt the electricity in the air and heard the applause at the end. Theyve imagined a hundred times over that there will come a night when a member of the Superclass will be in the audience and visit them in their dressing room after the performance with some- thing more substantial to offer than an invitation to supper, a request for their phone number, or compliments on a job well done.

To begin with, they accepted a few of those invitations, but the only place they led to was the bed of some powerful, older manusually married, as all the interesting men areconcerned only with notch- ing up another conquest.

They all had a boyfriend their own age, but when anyone asked if they were married or single, they always answered: Free and unat- tached. They thought they were in control of the situation. Theyve all been toldhundreds of times nowthat they have real talent and just need the right opportunity, and that the person there before them is the one who can transform their lives. Theyve occasionally believed this too. Theyve fallen into the trap of being overconfident and think- ing they were in charge, until the next day came and the phone number theyd been given put them through to the extension of a very grumpy secretary who had no intention of letting them speak to her boss.

Theyve threatened to sell their story to the tabloids, saying that they had been deceived, although none of them has ever actually done so because theyre still at the stage of thinking: I mustnt spoil my chances in the acting world.

One or two may even have shared Gabrielas Alice in Wonderland experience, and now want to prove to their families that theyre far more capable than they thought. Their families, of course, have all by now seen their daughters in commercials, on posters and billboards scattered round the city, and, after a few initial arguments, are con- vinced that those same daughters are on the verge of entering a world of bright lights and glamour.

All the girls there believed that their dream was possible, that one day their talent would be recognized, until the penny dropped: there is only one magic wordcontacts. They had all distributed their books as soon as they arrived in Cannes, and now keep a constant eye on their mobile phone, getting invited to whatever launches and events they can and trying their best to get into those they cant, always dreaming that someone will ask them to one of the evening parties or, dream of dreams, award them that greatest of prizes, an invitation to walk down the red carpet at the Palais des Congres. That, however, was probably the most difficult dream to realize, so difficult that they didnt really allow themselves to think about it, in case the feelings of rejection and frustration destroyed their ability to wear the happy face they must wear at all times, even when theyre not happy at all.

Contacts.

After many cases of mistaken identity, they did find the occasional useful contact, which is why theyre here. One such contact had led to a New Zealand producer calling them. None had asked what it was about; they knew only that they had to be punctual because no one has any time to lose, certainly not people in the film industry. The only ones who do are the five young women in the waiting room, busy with their mobile phones and their magazines, compulsively sending texts to see if theyve been invited to something later in the day, trying to talk to their friends, and always making a point of saying that theyre not free to speak right now because they have an important meeting with a film producer.

Gabriela is the fourth person tobecalled.Shehadtriedto interpret the look in the eyes of the first three candidates who emerged from the room without saying a word, but then, of course, theyre all actresses, capable of hiding any emotion, be it joy or sadness. All three strode determinedly to the door and wished the others a confident Good luck, as if to say: No need to be nervous, girls, youve got nothing to lose. The parts mine.

One of the walls in theapartmentiscoveredwithablackcloth. The floor there is cluttered with all kinds of electric cables and lights covered with a metal mesh, and theres a kind of umbrella with a white cloth spread before it, as well as sound equipment, screens, and a video camera. In the corners stand bottles of mineral water, metal briefcases, tripods, bits of paper, and a computer. Sitting on the floor, a bespec- tacled, thirty-something woman is leafing through Gabrielas book. Awful, she says, not looking up at her. Awful.

Gabriela doesnt know quite what to do. Perhaps she should pretend she isnt listening and go over to the group of chain-smoking techni- cians chatting brightly in one corner or perhaps she should simply stay where she is.

This ones awful, said the woman again. Thats me. She cant help herself. She has run through half of Cannes to get there, waited nearly two hours, imagined yet again that her life is about to change forever (although shes less and less prone to such fantasies now and wont allow herself to get as excited as she used to), and she certainly doesnt need more reasons to be depressed.

I know, says the woman, her eyes fixed on the photos. They must have cost you a fortune. People make a career out of making books, writing CVs, running acting courses, and generally making money out of the vanity of people like you.

If you think Im so awful, why did you call me? Because we need someone awful. Gabriela laughs. The woman finally raises her head and looks her up and down. I liked your clothes. I hate vulgar people. Gabrielas dream is returning. Her heart beats faster. The woman hands her a sheet of paper. Go over there to the mark. Then she turns to the crew. Put those cigarettes out and close the window. I dont want the sound messed up. The mark is a cross made with yellow tape on the floor. This means that the actor is automatically in the right position for the light- ing and the camera.

Its so hot in here, Im sweating. Could I at least go to the bath- room and put a little foundation on, some makeup?

Of course you can, but when you get back, there wont be time to do the recording. We have to hand this stuff over by this afternoon.

All the other girls who went in must have asked the same question and been given the same answer. Best not to waste time. She takes a paper handkerchief out of her pocket and dabs at her face as she makes her way over to the mark.

An assistant positions himself by the camera, while Gabriela battles against time, trying to read through what is written on that half sheet of paper.

Test number twenty-five, Gabriela Sherry, Thompson Agency. Twenty-five?! thinks Gabriela. And action, says the woman with the glasses. Silence falls.

No, I cant believe what youresaying.Noonecancommit a murder for no reason.

Start again. Youre talking to your boyfriend.

No, I cant believe what youre saying. No one can commit a murder like that for no reason.

The words like that arent in the script. Do you really think that the scriptwriter, who worked on this for months, didnt consider put- ting those words in, but decided against it because theyre useless, su- perficial, unnecessary?

Gabriela takes a deep breath. She has nothing to lose but her pa- tience. Shes going to do her best now, then leave, go to the beach, or go back to bed for a while. She needs to rest in order to be in good shape for the evening round of cocktail parties.

A strange, delicious calm comes over her. Suddenly, she feels pro- tected, loved, grateful to be alive. No ones forcing her to be there, en- during yet another humiliation. For the first time in years, shes aware of her power, a power she had never thought existed.

No, I dont believe what youre saying. No one can commit a murder for no reason.

Next line.

There was no need for her to say that. Gabriela was going to con- tinue anyway.

Wed better go and see a doctor. I think you need help. No, said the woman in glasses, who was playing the part of the boyfriend.

OK, no doctor, then. How about a little walk, and you can tell me exactly whats going on. I love you, you know, and even if no one else in the world cares about you, I do.

There are no more lines. Another silence. A strange energy fills the room.

Tell the other girl out there she can go, says the woman in the glasses to one of the other people present.

Does this mean what Gabriela thinks it means?

Go to the marina at the end of Boulevard de la Croisette, opposite AllŽe des Palmiers. A boat will be waiting there at 1:55 prompt to take you to meet Mr. Gibson. Were going to send him the video now, but he always likes to meet the people he might be working with.

A smile appears on Gabrielas face. I said might, I didnt say will be working with. The smile remains. Mr. Gibson!