The Winner Stands Alone (28 page)

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.

Smile. Pretend you dont know why so many people are interested in your name. Walk as if you were walking on a red carpet, not a catwalk. Careful, other people
are arriving, your quota of time for photos is over, its best to keep moving. However, the photographers insist on calling out her name,
and she feels embarrassed because the next persona couple, in facthave to wait until the
photographers are satisfied, which, of course, they never are, always looking for the
perfect angle, the unique shot (as if such a thing were possible), the shot of her looking
straight into the camera.

Now wave, still smiling, and walk on.

As she reaches the end
of the corridor, shes immediately surrounded by a crowd of journalists. They want to know
everything about the huge contract shes just signed with one of the best-known couturiers
in the world. Shed like to say: Its not true, but instead she says:

Were still studying the details.

They insist. A television reporter approaches, microphone in hand, and asks if shes happy
about the news. She says she thought that after- noons fashion show had gone off really well and that the designer and she makes a point of
saying her namewill be holding her next show during the Paris Fashion Week.

The journalist doesnt appear to know anything about that after- noons show, and the
questions keep coming, except now theyre being filmed.

Dont drop your guard, only give the answers you want to give and not the one theyre trying
to get out of you. Pretend you dont know the details and just say again how well the show
went, about it being a long-overdue tribute to Ann Salens, the forgotten genius who had
the misfortune not to be born in France. A young man, whos a bit of a joker, asks how shes
enjoying the party; she responds with equal irony: Well, if you give me a chance to go in,
Ill tell you. A former model, now working as a presenter on cable TV, asks how she feels
about becoming the exclusive face of the next HH collection. A better- informed colleague
wants to know if its true that her salary will be more than six digits.

They should have put seven-digit salary on the press release, dont you think? he says.
More than six digits sounds a touch absurd, dont you think? Or even better, they could
have said that its over a million euros, instead of making us count the digits, dont you
think? In fact, instead of six-digit salary, they could have said six-figure, dont you
think?

She doesnt think anything.

Were still looking into it, she says again. Now let me get a little air, will you? Ill
answer what questions I can later on.

This, of course, is a complete lie. Later on, shell get a taxi straight back to the hotel.

Someone asks her why she isnt wearing a Hamid Hussein dress.

Ive always worked for . . . and again she gives the designers name. Some of the reporters
there note it down, while others simply ignore it. What they want is a piece of
publishable news, not the truth behind the facts.

Shes saved by the pace at which things happen at parties like this. In the corridor, the
photographers are already shouting out someone elses name. In an orchestrated movement, as if under the baton of an invisible conductor,
the journalists surrounding her all turn and see that a bigger, more important celebrity
has just arrived. Jasmine takes advantage of this hiatus and heads for the lovely walled
garden that has been transformed into a salon where people are drinking, smoking, and
walking up and down.

Soon she, too, will be able to drink, smoke, look up at the sky, thump the parapet, turn
round, and leave.

However, a young woman and a very strange-looking creature like an android out of a
science-fiction movieare staring at her, blocking her path. They clearly dont know what
theyre doing there either, so she might as well strike up conversation with them. She in-
troduces herself. The strange creature takes his mobile phone out of his pocket, grimaces,
and says hell be back shortly.

The young woman is still staring at her with a look on her face that says, You ruined my
evening.

Jasmine is sorry she ever accepted tonights invitation. It was deliv- ered by two men,
just as she and her partner were getting ready to go to a small reception put on by the
BCA (the Belgian Clothing Association, the body that promotes and regulates fashion in her
country). But its not all bad news. If the photos are published, her dress will be seen,
and someone might feel interested enough to find out the designers name.

The men who delivered the invitation seemed very polite. They said that a limousine was
waiting outside and that they were sure a model of her experience would need only fifteen
minutes to get ready.

One of them opened a briefcase, took out a laptop and a portable printer, and announced
that they were there to close the contract. It was simply a matter of fine-tuning the
details. They would fill in the conditions, and her agentthey knew that the woman with her
was also her agentwould sign.

They promised her partner every help with her next collection. And yes, of course she
could keep her name on the label and even use their PR service. More than that, HH would
like to buy the brand and thus inject the necessary money into it to ensure that she got
good coverage in the Italian, French, and British press. There were two conditions. First, the matter had to be decided right there and then, so
that they could send a note to the press before the newspapers were put to bed for the
night.

Second, she would have to transfer her contract with Jasmine Tiger to Hamid Hussein, for
whom Jasmine would then work exclusively. There was, after all, no shortage of models, and
the Belgian designer would soon find someone to replace her. Besides, as Jasmines agent,
she would earn a lot of money.

I agree to the transfer of contract, her partner said, but well have to talk about the
rest.

How could she agree so quickly, the woman who was responsible for everything that had
happened in her life, and who now seemed per- fectly happy to lose her? She was being
stabbed in the back by the person she loved most in the world.

One of the men took out his BlackBerry.

Well send a press release now, in fact, weve written it already: Im thrilled to have this
opportunity . . .

Just a minute. Im not thrilled at all. I dont even know what youre talking about.

Her partner, however, started editing the text, changing thrilled to happy and opportunity
to invitation. She studied each word and phrase. She demanded that they mention some
absurdly high salary. The men disagreed, saying that this might inflate the market. No
deal then, came the reply. The two men left the room to make a phone call and returned
almost at once. They would put something vague about a six-digit salary, without
mentioning an exact sum. They all shook hands; the two men complimented both the
collection and the model, put laptop and printer back in the bag, and asked the designer
to record a formal agreement on one of their mobile phones as proof that their
negotiations regarding Jasmine had been successful. They left as quickly as they came,
both talking on their mobile phones and, at the same time, urging Jasmine to take no
longer than fifteen minutes to get ready; her presence at tonights party was part of the
contract.

Youd better get ready, then, said her companion. You dont have the power to decide what I
do with my life. You know I dont agree, but I wasnt even asked my opinion. Im not inter- ested in working for
anyone else.

The woman went over to the dresses scattered round the room and chose the most beautiful
onea white dress embroidered with but- terflies. She spent a moment considering which
shoes and handbag Jas- mine should wear; there was no time to lose.

They didnt say anything about you wearing a dress by HH to- night, which means we have a
chance to show off something from my collection.

Jasmine couldnt believe what she was hearing. Is that why you did it? Yes, it is. They
were standing facing each and neither of them looked away. Youre lying.

Yes, Im lying. And they fell into each others arms. Ever since that weekend on the beach,
when we took those first photographs, I knew this day would come. It took a while, but youre nineteen now and old
enough to accept a challenge. Other people have approached me before, but Ive always said
no, and I never knew whether it was just that I didnt want to lose you or because you
werent quite ready. Today, though, when I saw Hamid Hussein in the audi- ence, I knew he
wasnt there simply to pay tribute to Ann Salens and that he must have something else in
mind, and that could only be you. Sure enough, I got a message saying he wanted to talk to
us. I didnt know quite what to do, but I gave him the name of our hotel. It was no
surprise when those two men arrived with the contract.

But why did you accept?

If you love someone, you must be prepared to set them free. He can offer you far more than
I can, and you have my blessing. I want you to have everything you deserve. Well still be
together because you have my heart, my body, and my soul. And Ill keep my indepen- dence,
although I know how important sponsors can be in this world. If Hamid Hussein had come to
me with a proposal to buy my label, I would have had no problem in selling it and going to
work for him. However, the deal wasnt about me, it was about you. And if I accepted the part of the
proposal involving me, that would mean being untrue to myself.

She kissed Jasmine.

Well, I cant accept either, declared Jasmine. I was just a fright- ened child when I met
you, terrified because Id perjured myself in court, wretched because Id been responsible
for letting criminals go free, and so depressed that I was seriously considering suicide.
Youre responsible for everything thats happened in my life.

Her partner asked her to sit down in front of the mirror and, before doing anything else,
she tenderly stroked her hair.

When I met you, Id lost all my zest for life as well. My husband had left me for someone
younger, better-looking, and richer, and I was forced to become a photographer to make a
living, spending my week- ends at home reading, surfing the Internet, or watching old
films on TV. My great dream of becoming a designer seemed to be moving ever farther off. I
couldnt get the necessary financial backing, and Id had enough of knocking on doors that
never opened or talking to people who didnt listen to what I was saying.

Thats when you appeared. And that weekend, I have to confess, I was only thinking about
myself. I knew I had a rare jewel in my hands, and could make a fortune if I could get you
to sign an exclusive contract with me. I seem to remember that I even suggested I should
become your agent. I didnt do that out of a desire to protect you from the world. My
thoughts at the time were as selfish as Hamid Husseins. I would know how to exploit my
treasure. I would get rich on those photos.

She gave a few final touches to Jasmines hair.

And you, even though you were only sixteen then, showed me how love can change a person.
It was through you that I discovered who I am. In order to show off your talent to the
world, I started de- signing clothes for you to wear, clothes that had been in my head all
the time, waiting to be transformed into fabrics, embroidery, accessories. We lived
together and, even though I was more than twice your age, we learned together as well.
Thanks to all these things, people started noticing what I was doing and decided to invest in it, and, for the first time, I began to
realize my dreams. We traveled here to Cannes to- gether, and no contract is going to part
us.

She went to the bathroom to fetch the makeup case. Her tone grew more businesslike.

You need to look really stunning tonight. Models rarely rise to stardom out of nowhere, so
therell be a lot of media interest. Just say you dont know the details yet; thats enough,
but theyll keep asking and trying to get you to say things like: Ive always dreamed of
work- ing with Hamid Hussein or This is a very important step in my career, etc.

She went with Jasmine down to the hotel lobby, where the waiting chauffeur opened the car
door.

Remember: you dont know the details of the contract yet; your agent is taking care of all
that. Enjoy the party.

At the party, or rather,
supperalthough she can see nei- ther tables nor food, only waiters walking about,
proffering every pos- sible kind of drink, including mineral waterpeople form into small
groups, and anyone arriving alone looks somewhat lost. The event is taking place in a vast
garden furnished with armchairs and sofas; there are also several pillars about three feet
high on which half-clothed models with perfect bodies are dancing to the sound of music
that emerges out of strategically positioned loudspeakers.

Celebrities continue to arrive. The guests seem happy; they smile and greet each other as
if theyd known each other for years, although Jasmine knows this isnt so. They probably
meet now and again on oc- casions like this and always forget each others names, but they
need to show how very influential, famous, admired, and well-connected they are.

The young woman, who initially looked so angry, reveals that she, too, is feeling
completely lost. She asks for a cigarette and introduces herself. Within a matter of
minutes, they know each others life story. Jasmine leads her over to the balustrade
overlooking the Mediterra- nean, and while the party fills up with strangers and acquaintances, they stand there
gazing out to sea. They discover that theyre now working for the same man, although on
different projects. Neither of them has ever met him, and for both of them, everything has
happened during this one day.

Men occasionally try to engage them in conversation, but Gabriela and Jasmine ignore them.
Gabriela is the person Jasmine needed to meet, someone with whom to share her sense of
having been aban- doned, despite her partners loving words. If she had to choose between
her career and the love of her life, she would choose love over career every time, and she
didnt care if such behavior seemed adolescent. Now it turns out that the love of her life
wants her to put her career first and seems to have accepted HHs proposal simply so that
she can feel proud of everything shes done for her, of the care with which shes guided her
steps and corrected her mistakes, and the enthusiasm shes put into every word spoken and
decision taken, however difficult.