:50 PM

Cinderella! If people believed more in fairy tales instead of just listening to their husbands and parentswho think everything is impossible they would be experiencing what shes experiencing now, being driven along in one of the innumerable limousines that are slowly but surely heading for the steps and the red carpetthe biggest catwalk in the world.

The Star is by her side, smiling and wearing the obligatory beauti- fully cut suit. He asks if shes nervous. Of course not: tension, nerves, anxiety, and fear dont exist in dreams. Everything is perfect; its just like in a moviethe heroine suffers, struggles, and finally achieves everything she has always wanted.

If Hamid Hussein decides to go ahead with the project and the film is the success he hopes it will be, then prepare yourself for more such moments.

If Hamid Hussein decides to go ahead with the project? Isnt it all signed and sealed?

But I signed a contract when I went to collect my outfit in the Gift Room.

Look, forget what I said. I dont want to spoil your special moment.

No, please, go on.

The Star was expecting the silly girl to say exactly that, and he takes enormous pleasure in doing as she asks.

Ive been involved in loads of projects that begin and never come to anything. Its all part of the game, but, like I say, dont worry about that now.

But the contract . . .

Contracts are there for lawyers to argue over while they earn their money. Please, forget what I said. Enjoy the moment.

The moment is approaching. Because of the slow traffic, people can see who is inside the cars, despite the smoked-glass windows sepa- rating mere mortals from the chosen. The Star waves; hands bang on the window asking him to open it just for a moment, to give them an autograph, to have a photo taken.

The Star keeps waving, as if he didnt understand what they wanted and a smile from him was enough to flood the world with light.

Theres a real air of hysteria out there. Women with their little por- table stools on which they must have been sitting and knitting since the morning; men with beer bellies, bored to death, but obliged to accom- pany their middle-aged spouses, who are dressed to the nines as if they were the ones about to go up the steps and onto the red carpet; children who have no idea whats going on, but can sense that its something important. Crammed behind the steel barriers that separate them from the line of limousines, stand people of all ages and colors, every one of them wanting to believe that theyre only two yards away from the great legends, when, in fact, theyre separated by thousands of miles; for it isnt just the steel barrier and the car window keeping them apart, its chance, opportunity, and talent.

Talent? Yes, she wants to believe that talent counts too, but knows that really its all the result of a game of dice played by the gods, who choose certain people and place others on the far side of an impassable abyss from where they can only applaud, worship, and, when the tide turns against their gods, condemn.

The Star pretends to be talking to her, but hes not actually saying anything, just looking at her and moving his lips, like the great actor he is. He doesnt do this out of desire or pleasure. Gabriela realizes that he simply doesnt want to appear unfriendly to his fans outside, but, at the same time, cant be bothered now to wave and smile and blow kisses.

You must think me an arrogant, cynical person with a heart of stone, he says at last. If you ever get where you want to get, then youll understand what Im feeling: that theres no way out. Success is both an addiction and an enslavement, and at the end of the day, when youre lying in bed with some new man or woman, youll ask yourself: was it really worth it? Why did I ever want this?

He pauses. Go on. I dont know why Im telling you this. Because you want to protect me. Because youre a good man.

Please, go on. Gabriela may be ingenuous about many things, but shes still a woman and knows how to get almost anything she wants out of a man. In this case, the button to press is vanity.

I dont know why I always wanted this. The Star has fallen into the trap and is now revealing his more vulnerable side, while, outside, the fans continue to wave. Often, when I go back to the hotel after an exhausting days work, I stand under the shower for ages, just listening to the sound of water falling on my body. Two opposing forces are bat- tling it out inside me: one telling me I should be thanking God and the other telling me I should abandon it all while theres still time.

At that moment, I feel like the most ungrateful person in the world. I have my fans, but I cant be bothered with them. Im invited to parties that are the envy of the world, and all I want is to leave at once and go back to my room and sit quietly reading a good book. Well-meaning men and women give me prizes, organize events, and do everything to make me happy, and I feel nothing but exhaustion and embarrassment because I dont believe I deserve all this, I dont feel worthy of my suc- cess. Do you understand?

For a fraction of a second, Gabriela feels sorry for the man beside her. She imagines the number of parties he must have to attend in a year, and how there must always be someone asking him for a photo or an autograph, someone telling him some tedious story to which he pretends to be listening, someone trying to sell him some new project or embarrassing him with the classic question: Dont you remember me?, someone getting out his mobile phone and asking him to say a few words to his son, wife, or sister. And he must always be the con- summate professional, happy, attentive, good-humored, and polite.

Do you understand?

Yes, I do, but I wouldnt mind having those problems one day, although I know Ive a long way to go before I do.

Only another four limousines and theyll be there. The chauffeur tells them to get ready. The Star folds down a small mirror from the roof of the car and adjusts his tie; Gabriela does the same and smooths her hair. She can see a bit of the red carpet now, although the steps are still out of sight. The hysteria has vanished as if by magic, and the crowd is now composed of people wearing identity tags round their necks, talking to each other and taking no notice at all of who is in the cars because theyre tired of seeing the same scene repeated over and over.

Two more cars. Some steps appear to her left. Men in dinner jacket and tie are opening the doors, and the aggressive metal barriers have been replaced by velvet cords looped along bronze and wooden pillars.

Damn! cries the Star, making Gabriela jump. Damn! Look whos over there, just getting out of her car! Gabriela sees a female Superstar, also wearing a Hamid Hussein dress, who has just stepped onto the red carpet. The Superstar turns her back on the Palais des Congres, and when Gabriela follows her gaze, she sees the most extraordinary sight. A human wall, almost nine feet high, filled with endlessly flashing lights.

Good! says the Star, relieved. Shes looking in the wrong direc- tion.

Hes no longer polite and charming and has forgotten all his exis- tential angst. Theyre not the accredited photographers. Theyre not important.

Why did you say Damn?

The Star cannot conceal his irritation. There is one car to go before its their turn. Cant you see? What planet are you from, child? When we step onto the red carpet, all the accredited photographers, who are posi- tioned halfway along, will have their cameras aimed at her!

He turns to the chauffeur and says: Slow down! The chauffeur points to a man in plainclothes, also wearing an iden-

tity tag, and who is signaling to them to keep moving and not hold up the traffic.

The Star sighs deeply; this really isnt his lucky day. Why did he say all those things to this mere beginner at his side? Its true that hes tired of the life he leads, and yet he cant imagine anything else.

Dont rush, he says. Well try and stay down here for as long as possible. Lets leave a good space between her and us.

Her was the Superstar.

The couple in the car ahead of them dont appear to attract as much attention, although they must be important because no one gets as far as those steps without having scaled many mountains in life.

Her companion appears to relax a little, and now its Gabrielas turn to feel tense, not knowing quite how to behave. Her hands are sweat- ing. She grabs the handbag stuffed with paper, breathes deeply, and says a prayer.

Walk slowly, says the Star, and dont stand too close to me.

Their limousine draws up alongside the steps. Both doors are opened from outside.

Suddenly, an immense roar seems to fill the universe, shouts coming from all sidesshe hadnt realized until then that she was in a sound- proof car and could hear nothing. The Star gets out, smiling, as if his tantrum of two minutes ago had never happened and as if he were still the center of the universe, despite his apparently true confessions to her in the car. He is a man in conflict with himself, his world, and his past, and who cannot now turn back.

What am I thinking about? Gabriela tells herself. I should be concentrating on the moment, on going up the steps!

They both wave to the unimportant photographers and spend some time there. People hold out scraps of paper to him, and he signs autographs and thanks his fans. Gabriela isnt sure whether she should remain by his side or continue up toward the red carpet and the en- trance to the Palais des Congres; fortunately, shes saved by someone holding out pen and paper and asking for her autograph.

How she wishes this ceremony were being broadcast live to the whole world and that her mother could see her arriving in that daz- zling dress, accompanied by a really famous actor (about whom shes beginning to have her doubts, but, no, she must drive away such nega- tive thoughts), and see her giving the most important autograph of her twenty-five years of life! She cant understand the womans name, so she smiles and writes something like with love.

The Star comes over to her. Come on. The way ahead is clear now. The woman to whom she has just addressed an affectionate mes-

sage reads what shes written and says angrily: I dont want your autograph! I just need your name so that I can identify you in the photo. Gabriela pretends not to hear; nothing in the world can destroy this magic moment. They start going up the steps, with policemen forming a kind of security cordon, even though the public are a long way off now. On either side, on the buildings faeade, gigantic plasma screens reveal to the poor mortals outside what is going on in that open-air sanctuary. Hysterical screams and clapping can be heard in the distance. When they reach a broader step, as if they had reached the first floor, she no- tices another crowd of photographers, except this time, they are prop- erly dressed and are shouting out the Stars name, asking him to turn this way, no, this way, just one more shot, please, a little closer, look up, look down! Other people pass them and continue up the steps, but the photographers arent interested in them. The Star has lost none of his glamour; he looks as if he doesnt care and jokes around to show how relaxed and at ease he is with all this.

Gabriela notices that the photographers are interested in her too, al- though, of course, they dont shout out her name (theyve no idea who she is), imagining that she must be his new girlfriend. They ask them to stand together so that they can get a photo of the two of them. The Star obliges for a few seconds, but keeps a prudent distance and avoids any physical contact.

Yes, theyve successfully managed to avoid the Superstar, who will, by now, have reached the door of the Palais des Congres to be greeted by the president of the Film Festival and the mayor of Cannes.

The Star gestures to her to continue up the stairs, and she obeys.

She looks ahead and sees another gigantic screen strategically placed so that people can see themselves. A loudspeaker announces:

Andnowwehave...

And the voice gives the name of the Star and of his most famous film. Later, someone tells her that everyone inside the room is watch- ing the same scene being shown on the plasma screen outside.

They go up the remaining steps, reach the door, greet the presi- dent of the Festival and the mayor, and go inside. The whole thing has lasted less than three minutes.

Now the Star is surrounded by people who want to talk to him and flatter him and take photos (yes, even the chosen take photos of them- selves with famous people). Its suffocatingly hot inside, and Gabriela starts to worry that her makeup will run . . .

Her makeup!

She had completely forgotten. Shes supposed to go through a door on the left where someone will be waiting for her outside. She walks mechanically down some steps and past a couple of security guards. One of them asks if shes going outside for a smoke and intends coming back in for the film. She says no and carries on.

She crosses another series of metal barriers and no one asks her anything because shes leaving, not trying to get in. She can see the backs of the crowd who are still waving and shouting at the limousines that continue to arrive. A man comes toward her, asks her name, and tells her to follow him.

Can you just wait a minute?

The man seems surprised, but nods his assent. Gabriela has her eyes fixed on an old carousel, which has possibly been there since the beginning of the last century and which continues to turn, while the children riding it rise up and down.

Can we go now? asks the man politely. Just one more minute. Well be late. Gabriela can no longer hold back the tears, the tension, the fear, and the terror of the three minutes she has just lived through. She sobs convulsively, not caring about her makeup now, which someone will fix for her anyway. The man offers her his arm to lean on, so that she wont stumble in her high heels, and they start walking across the square toward the Boulevard de la Croisette. The noise of the crowd grows ever more distant, and her sobs grow ever louder. Shes crying out all the tears of the day, the week, and the years she had spent dreaming of that moment, and which was over before she could even take in what had happened.

Im sorry, she says to the man accompanying her.

He strokes her hair. His smile reveals affection, understanding, and pity.