:40 PM

The androgynewearing a black shirt, white bow tie, and a kind of Indian tunic over the same tight trousers that draw attention to his scrawny legstells her that they could be arriving at either a very good moment or a very bad one.

The traffics better than I expected. Well be one of the first to enter Eden Roc.

Gabriela, who, by now, has had her hair and makeup retouched yet againthis time by a makeup artist who seemed totally bored by her workdoesnt understand what this means.

Given all the traffic holdups, isnt it best to be early? How could that be bad?

The androgyne gives a deep sigh before replying, as if he were having to explain the obvious to someone who doesnt even know the most elementary rules of the world of glamour.

It could be good because youll be alone in the corridor . . .

The androgyne looks at her, sees the blank expression on her face, utters another deep sigh, then says:

No one walks straight into this kind of party through a door. You always have to go down a corridor first. On one side are the photogra- phers and on the other is a wall bearing the logo of the partys sponsor. Havent you ever seen photos in celebrity magazines? Havent you ever noticed that the celebrities are always standing in front of a logo as they smile for the cameras?

Celebrity. The arrogant androgyne has let slip the wrong word. He has unwittingly admitted that Gabriela is also a celebrity. Gabri- ela savors this victory in silence, although shes grown-up enough to know that she still has a very long way to go.

And whats so bad about arriving on time? Another sigh. The photographers themselves might not have arrived yet, but lets hope Im mistaken, that way I can hand out a few of these flyers. About me?

You surely dont imagine that everyone knows who you are, do you? Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. No, Ill have to go on ahead of you and give this wretched bit of paper to each photographer and tell them that the big star of Gibsons next film is about to arrive and that they should have their cameras ready. Ill signal to them as soon as you appear in the corridor.

I wont be nice to them though. I mean, theyre used to being treated as what they are, creatures on the lowest rung of power. Ill say Im doing them a big favor, and they wont want to risk missing a chance and getting fired because theres no shortage of people in the world with a camera and an Internet connection, and who are mad keen to post something on the Web that everyone else has missed. I reckon that, in future, given the way circulation figures are going, newspapers will rely entirely on the services of anonymous photographers as a way of keeping down their costs.

He wants to show off his knowledge of the media, but the young woman beside him isnt interested. She picks up one of the bits of paper and starts reading.

Whos Lisa Winner?

Thats you. Weve changed your name. Or rather, the name had been chosen even before you were selected. From now on, thats what youre called. Gabriela is too Italian, whereas Lisa could be any na- tionality. Market research shows that the general public find surnames with between four and six letters easiest to remember: Taylor. Burton. Davis. Woods. Hilton. Shall I go on?

No, thanks. I can see you know your market, but now I need to find out who I amaccording to my new biography.

She makes no attempt to hide the irony in her voice. She was grow- ing in confidence and beginning to behave like a real star. She starts reading: a major discovery chosen from among more than a thousand applicants to work on the first production by famous couturier and en- trepreneur Hamid Hussein, etc. etc.

The flyers were printed over a month ago, says the androgyne, tipping the scales back in his favor. It was written by the groups marketing team, and theyre always spot-on. Listen: She worked as a model and studied drama. Thats you, isnt it?

So I was chosen more for my biography than for the quality of my audition.

No, it means that everyone there had the same biography.

Look, shall we just stop making jibes at each other and try to be a little more human and friendly?

Here? In Cannes? Forget it. Theres no such thing as friends, only self-interest. There are no human beings, just crazy machines who mow down everything in their path in order to get where they want or else end up plowing into a lamppost.

Despite this response, Gabriela feels she was right and that her companions animosity is beginning to melt.

Look at this, he goes on. For years, she refused to work in the cinema, feeling that the theater was the best way to express her talent. That gives you a lot of bonus points; it shows youre a person with integrity, who only accepted the role in the film because you really loved it, even though youd been invited to do plays by Shakespeare, Beckett, or Genet, or whoever.

Hes obviously very well-read, this androgyne. Everyones heard of Shakespeare, but fewer people know about Beckett and Genet.

Gabrielaor Lisaagrees. The car arrives, and there, once more, are the inevitable security guards in black suits, white shirts, and black ties, all clutching tiny radios as if they were real policemen (or perhaps thats the collective dream of all security guards). One of them waves the driver on because its too early.

The androgynehaving weighed up the risks and decided that early is, in fact, bestjumps out of the limousine and goes over to one of the guards, a man twice his size. Gabriela tries to distract herself and think of other things.

What sort of car is this? she asks the chauffeur.

A Maybach 57S, he replies. He has a German accent. A real work of art, the perfect machine, the ultimate in luxury. It was built . . .

But shes no longer listening. She can see the androgyne talking to the huge security guard. The man appears to ignore him and makes a gesture indicating that he should get into the car and stop holding up the traffic. The androgynea mere mosquito to the security guards elephantturns on his heel and walks back to the car.

He opens the door and tells Gabriela to get out; theyre going in anyway.

Gabriela fears the worst, that therell be an almighty row. She walks with the mosquito past the elephant, who says: Hey, you cant go in there!, but they both keep straight on. Other voices shout: Have a little respect for the rules! We havent opened the door yet! She doesnt have the courage to look back and imagines that the herd must be hot on their heels ready to trample them at any moment.

But nothing happens, even though the androgyne isnt walking any faster, perhaps out of respect for her long dress. Theyre passing through an immaculate garden now; the horizon is tinged with pink and blue; the sun is sinking.

The androgyne is enjoying this new victory.

Theyre all very macho until you face up to them, but you just have to raise your voice, look them straight in the eye, and keep walk- ing, and they wont come after you. I have the invitations and thats all I need. They may be big those guys, but theyre not stupid, and they know that only someone important would speak to them as I did.

He concludes with surprising humility: Ive got used to pretending to be important. They reach the hotel, which is totally removed from the hustle and bustle of Cannes and suitable only for those guests who dont need to keep going back and forth along the Boulevard. The androgyne asks Gabriela/Lisa to go to the bar and order two glasses of champagne; this will indicate that shes not alone. No talking to strangers. Nothing vulgar, please. Hell go and see how the land lies and distribute the flyers.

Im only doing this for forms sake really. No one will publish your photo, but this is what Im paid to do. Ill be back in a minute.

But didnt you just say that the photographers . . .

He has reverted to his former arrogant self. Before Gabriela can hit back, though, he has vanished.

There are no empty tables; theplaceispackedwithmenin dinner jackets and women in long dresses. Theyre all talking in low voices, those who are talking, for most have their eyes fixed on the sea that can be seen through the large windows. Even though this is their first time in such a place, a palpable, unmistakable feeling hovers over all these celebrated heads: a profound sense of tedium.

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 con- tacts; but now that they have reached the top of their careers, there are no more challenges; all thats left to do is to compare one yacht with another, one jewel with your neighbors jewel, the people who are sit- ting at the tables nearest the window with those who are farther offa sure sign of the formers 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?

Theyre 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 suddenlyperhaps because of all the emotions of a day that is ending so very differently from the way it beganshe can feel those negative thoughts returning.

Again theres that feeling of terror mingled with joy. Again the feel- ing that, despite the long struggle, she doesnt deserve whats happen- ing to her; shes just a girl whos worked hard at her job, but whos still ill-prepared for life. She doesnt know the rules; shes going further than good sense dictates; this world doesnt belong to her and shell never be a part of it. She feels helpless and cant remember now why she came to Europe; after all, its 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 shes not entirely sure shes on the right path.

Stop it! Stop thinking like that!

She cant 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 op- portunity; 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 mustnt 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 to- morrow with the same force. I need to be reborn now. The fact that Ive dreamed of this moment so many times ought to have prepared me, made me more confident. I believe in miracles and Im 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 youre 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 immedi- ately 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 andro- gyne 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 shes afraid that she might not be able to get into the party and fulfill her commitments.

No, shes 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 op- portunity, and dreamed for days and weeks about the possibility that her life might change forever, only to find, in the end, that the phone didnt ring, or that her CV was mislaid, or that the director would call and offer his apologies, and tell her that theyd found someone more suitable for the part, which isnt to say you dont have real talent, so dont be discouraged. Life has many ways of testing a persons 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 hasnt had a chance to talk to anyone about whats been happen- ing. Shed 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 shed like to go with them to some second-rate event where such-and-such a celebrity is going to make an appearance.

She cant share anything with anyone. She has taken a big step in her life, shes 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 shes taking, she doesnt 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.

Lets 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. Shes the little girl in the dark room with no one to guide her. Hu- mility. She must do what she promised herself she would do a few min- utes earlier.

Yes, I was just going to ask what youre doing here in Cannes, how you ended up in this world of which I understand almost nothing. Its 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.

Some angelwho clearly likes champagneis putting the right words in her mouth.

The androgyne looks at her in surprise. Is she trying to make friends with him? Why is she asking questions no one normally dares to ask, when shes only known him a few hours?

No one trusts him because hes not like anyone elsehes unique. Contrary to what most people think, he isnt homosexual, he has simply lost all interest in other human beings. He bleaches his hair, wears the clothes hes always dreamed of wearing, weighs exactly what he wants to weigh, and though he knows he makes a strange impression on people, hes not obliged to be nice to anyone as long as he does his job.

And now heres this woman asking him what he thinks, how he feels. He picks up the glass of champagne that has been waiting for him and drinks it down in one.

She must imagine that he works for Hamid Hussein and has some influence, and wants his cooperation and help so as to know what her next step should be. He knows all the steps, but he was only taken on for the duration of the Festival and to perform certain tasks, and hell only do what hes been asked to do. When these days of luxury and glamour are over, hell go back to his apartment in a Paris suburb, where he gets abuse from the neighbors simply because he doesnt fit the conventional model established by whatever madman once de- clared: All human beings are equal. Its not true. All human beings are different and should take their right to be different to its ultimate consequences.

Hell watch TV, shop at the supermarket next door, buy magazines, and sometimes go to the cinema; and because hes considered to be a responsible person, hell get the occasional call from agents who need experienced assistants in the world of fashion, people who know how to dress models and choose accessories, to help those new to the fashion world avoid making social blunders, and to explain what they should and absolutely shouldnt do.

Oh, he has his dreams. Hes unique, he tells himself. Hes happy be- cause he expects nothing more from life, and although he looks much younger, hes actually forty years old. He did try to get a career as a designer, but couldnt get a decent job and fell out with the people who could have helped him. He no longer has any great expectations, even though hes cultured and has good taste and a will of iron. He no longer believes that someone will look at him, see the way he dresses, and say: Great, wed like to talk to you. Hes had a few invitations to work as a model, but that was a long time ago, and he doesnt regret having turned them down because being a model wasnt part of his life plan.

He makes his own clothes from offcuts discarded by haute-couture studios. In Cannes, hes staying with two other people up on the hill, probably not very far from where the young woman is lodging. She, however, is getting her big chance, and however unfair he may feel life to be, he mustnt allow himself to be overwhelmed by frustration and envy. Hell do his very best because if he doesnt, he wont be invited back as production assistant.

Of course hes happy; anyone who desires nothing is happy. He looks at his watch; it might be a good moment for them to go in.

Come on. Well talk another time.

He pays for the drinks and asks for a receipt, so that he can claim back every penny once the glitz and glamour are over and done with. Some other people are getting up and doing the same thing; he and Gabriela/Lisa need to hurry if she isnt to get lost in the crowd that is now beginning to arrive. They walk across the hotel lobby toward the corridor; he hands her two invitations, which he has kept safe in his pocket. After all, important people dont have to bother with such details, they always have an assistant to do that.

He is the assistant and she is the important person, and shes already beginning to show signs that greatness is going to her head. Shell find out soon enough just what this world is capable of: draining every ounce of her energy, filling her mind with dreams, manipulating her vanity, then discarding her just when she thinks shes ready for any- thing. Thats what happened with him and it happens with everyone.

They go down the stairs. Theystopinthesmallhalljustbefore the corridor. Theres no hurry; this is different from the red carpet. If anyone calls her name, she must turn and smile. If that happens, then the chances are that all the other photographers will start taking photos too, because if one of them knows her name, she must be important. She shouldnt spend more than two minutes posing because this is just the entrance to a party, even though it seems like something from another world. If she wants to be a star, then she must start behaving like one.

Why am I going in alone?

Apparently theres been some hitch. He should be hereafter all, hes a professionalbut hes obviously been held up.

He is the Star. The androgyne could have told her what he thought had really happened: He didnt leave his room when he should have done, which means hes probably met some girl whos got the hots for him. This, however, would hurt the feelings of the novice by his side, whos probably nursing entirely baseless dreams of some lovely love story.

He doesnt need to be cruel, just as he doesnt need to be her friend; he simply has to do his job and then leave. Besides, if the silly girl cant control her emotions, the photos taken of her in the corridor might turn out badly.

He stands in front of her in the queue and asks her to follow him, but to leave a yard or two between them. As soon as they enter the cor- ridor, hell go over to the photographers and see if he can get any of them interested.

Gabriela waits for a few seconds, puts on her best smile, holds her handbag as she has been taught, straightens her back, and starts to walk confidently ahead, ready to face the flashbulbs. The cor- ridor opens out into a brightly lit area, with a white wall plastered with the sponsors logo. On the other side is a small gallery where various lenses are pointing in her direction.

She keeps walking, this time trying to be aware of each step; she doesnt want to repeat the frustrating experience of earlier that day, when her walk along the red carpet was over before she knew it. She must live the present moment as if a film of her life were being shown in slow motion. At some point, the cameras will start to whir.

Jasmine! someone shouts out. Jasmine? But her name is Gabriela! She stops for a fraction of a second, a smile frozen on her face. No, her name isnt Gabriela anymore. What is it? Jasmine? Suddenly, she hears the sound of camera buttons being pressed, lenses opening and closing, except that all the lenses are pointing at the person behind her. Move! says one photographer. Your moment of glory is over.

Get out of the way! She cant believe it. She keeps smiling, but starts to walk more rap-

idly now in the direction of the dark tunnel that seems to follow on from that corridor of light.

Jasmine! Over here! Here! The photographers seem to be in the grip of a collective hysteria. She reaches the end of the corridor without having heard anyone call out her name, a name she herself has forgotten anyway. The an- drogyne is waiting for her.

Dont worry, he says, for the first time showing a little humanity. The same thing will happen to others. Or worse. Youll see people who used to get their name shouted out, but wholl walk along the cor- ridor tonight, a smile on their face, waiting for someone to take their photo, only to find that no one bothers.

She has to stay cool and in control. It wasnt the end of the world; no demons will appear just yet.

Oh, Im not worried. After all, I only started today. Whos Jas- mine, though? She started today too. It was announced this evening that shes just signed a huge contract with Hamid Hussein, but not to appear in his films, so dont worry.

Shes not worried. She just wishes the Earth would open up and swallow her.