The Winner Stands Alone (27 page)

A sense of gratitude is important; no one gets very far if he forgets those who were with
him in his hour of need. Not that you have to be constantly thinking about who helped or
was helped. God has his eyes fixed on his sons and daughters and rewards only those who
behave in accordance with the blessings that were bestowed on them.

And so when he wanted to buy some curare, he knew where to go, although he had to pay an
absurd price for a substance that is relatively commonplace in the jungles of South
America.

He reaches the hotel lobby.
The party is more than half an hour away by car, and it would be very hard to find a taxi
if he just stood out in the street. He long ago learned that the first thing you do when
you arrive at a hotel is give a large tip to the concierge without asking anything in
exchange; all successful businessmen do this, and they never have any trouble getting
reservations at the best restaurants, or tickets for shows, or information about certain
areas of the city that dont appear in the guidebooks, and which prefer not to shock the
middle classes.

With a smile, he asks for and gets a taxi right there and then, while another guest beside
him is complaining about the problems hes having finding transport. Gratitude, necessity,
and the right contacts. You can get anything you want with those three things, even a
silver envelope with the seductive words For you written in fine calligraphy. He had held
off using it until the very end because if Ewa had failed to under- stand the other messages, thisthe most sophisticated of allwould leave no room for doubt.

His old friends had come up trumps. They had offered to let him have it for nothing, but
he had preferred to pay. He had enough money and didnt like to be in anyones debt.

He hadnt asked too many questions about how it was made; he only knew that it was a very
complicated process and that the person who created the hermetically sealed envelope had
to wear gloves and a gas mask. The high price he had paid for the envelope was quite
justi- fied since it had to be handled very carefully indeed, even though the product
itself wasnt that hard to get hold of: its commonly used in steel tempering and in the
production of paper, clothes, and plastic. It has a rather frightening name, hydrogen
cyanide, but smells of almonds and looks perfectly harmless.

He stops thinking about who sealed the envelope and begins to imagine the person who will
open itholding it quite close to the face, as is normal. On the white card inside is a
printed message in French:

Katyusha, je taime.

Katyusha? Whos that? the person will ask, noticing that the card is covered in a kind of
dust. Once in contact with the air, the dust will become a gas, and a strong smell of
almonds will fill the room.

The person will be surprised and think: Whoever sent it might have chosen a nicer smell.
It must be an advertisement for perfume. He or she will remove the card and turn it this
way and that, and the gas given off by the dust will start to spread ever more quickly.

It must be some kind of joke.

That will be their last conscious thought. Leaving the card on the table at the door,
theyll go into the bathroom to take a shower or to finish applying makeup or to adjust
their tie.

Theyll notice then that their heart is racing. They wont imme- diately connect this with
the perfume filling the room; after all, they have no enemies, only competitors and
adversaries. Before they even reach the bathroom, they will notice that they can no longer
stand and theyll sit down on the edge of the bed. The next symptoms will be an unbearable
headache and difficulty in breathing, followed by a desire to vomit. However, there will be no time for that; they will rapidly lose consciousness,
still without making any connection between their physical state and the contents of the
envelope.

In a matter of minuteshe had asked for the product to be as con- centrated a possiblethe
lungs will stop working, the body will go into convulsions, the heart will stop pumping
blood, and death will follow.

Painless. Merciful. Humane.

Igor gets into the taxi and gives the address: Hotel du Cap, Eden Roc, Cap dAntibes.

Tonights gala supper.

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.