William Boyd: The Destiny of Nathalie X

The gun idea persisted, it nagged at Aurélien. He talked about it with Bertrand, who thought it was an amusing notion.

“A gun, why not? Pam-pam-pam-pam.”

“Could you get me one? A handgun?” Aurélien asked. “Maybe one of those guys you know …”

“A prop gun? Or a real one?”

“Oh, I think it should be real. Don’t tell Delphine, though.”

The next day Bertrand showed Aurélien a small scarred automatic. It cost five hundred dollars. Aurélien did not question him about its provenance.

He reshot the end of Nathalie’s levée . Nathalie, dressed, is about to leave her room, her hand is on the doorknob. She pauses, turns and goes to a dresser, from whose top drawer she removes the gun. She checks the clip and places it in her fringed suede shoulder bag. She leaves.

He and Delphine had a prolonged debate about whether they should reshoot the entire walk to the restaurant. Delphine thought it was pointless. How, she argued, would the audience know if the gun was in her shoulder bag or not? But you would know, Aurélien countered, and everything might change. Delphine maintained that she would walk the same way whether she had a gun in her bag or not; also they had been in Los Angeles for three weeks and she was growing bored; Le Destin had been filmed in five days. A compromise was agreed: they would only reshoot the pizzeria sequence. Aurélien went off to negotiate another night’s filming.

BOB BERGER. I hate to admit it but I was grateful to Kaiser Prevost when he brought the Nathalie X project to me. As I told him, I had admired Aurélien No’s work for some years and was excited and honored at the possibility of setting up his first English-language film. More to the point, the last two films I exec’d at Alcazar had done me no favors: Disintegrator had only grossed 13 before they stopped tracking and Sophomore Nite II had gone straight to video. I liked the idea of doing something with more art quality and with a European kind of angle. I asked Kaiser to get a script to me soonest and I raised the project at our Monday morning staff meeting. I said I thought it would be a perfect vehicle for Lanier Cross. Boy, did that make Vincent sit up. Dirty old toad (he’s my uncle).

KAISER PREVOST. I’ll tell you one fact about Vincent Bandine. He has the cleanest teeth and the healthiest gums in Hollywood. Every morning a dental nurse comes to his house and flosses and cleans his teeth for him. Every morning, 365 days a year. That’s what I call class. Have you any idea how much that must cost?

Kaiser Prevost thought he detected an unsettled quality about Aurélien as he drove him to the meeting at Alcazar. Aurélien was frowning as he looked about him. The day was perfect, the air clear, the colors ideally bright; more than that, he was going to a deal meeting at a major minor studio, or minor major depending on who you were talking to. Usually in these cases the anticipation in the car would be heady, palpable. Aurélien just made clicking noises in his mouth and fiddled with the beads on the end of his dreadlocks. Prevost told him about Alcazar Films, their money base, their ten-picture slate, their deals or potential deals with Goldie, Franklin Dean, Joel, Demi, Carlo Sancarlo and ItalFilm. The names seemed to make no impact.

As they turned up Coldwater to go over into the valley Prevost finally had to ask if everything was all right.

“There’s a slight problem,” Aurélien admitted. “Delphine has left.”

“That’s too bad,” Prevost said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Gone back to France?”

“I don’t know. She’s left with Bertrand.”

“Bitch, man.”

“We still have the whole last scene to reshoot.”

“Listen, Aurélien, relax. One thing you learn about working in this town. Everything can be fixed. Everything.”

“How can I finish without Delphine?”

“Have you ever heard of Lanier Cross?”

VINCENT BANDINE. My nephew has two sterling qualities: he’s dumb and he’s eager to please. He’s a good-looking kid too and that helps, no doubt about it. Sometimes, sometimes, he gets it right. Sometimes he has a sense for the popular mood. When he started talking about this “Destiny of Nathalie” film I thought he was way out of his depth until he mentioned the fact that Lanier Cross would be buck naked for the first thirty minutes. I said get the French guy in, tie him up, get him together with Lanier. She’ll go for that. She’ll go for the French part. If the No fellow won’t play, get the Englishman in, what’s his name, Tim Pascal, he’ll do it. He’ll do anything I tell him.

I have a theory about this town: there’s too much respect for art. That’s where we make all our mistakes, all of them. But if that’s a given, then I’m prepared to work with it once in a while. Especially if it’ll get me Lanier Cross nekkid.

MICHAEL SCOTT GEHN. When I heard that Aurélien No was doing a deal with Vincent Bandine at Alcazar, I was both suicidal and oddly proud. If you’d asked me where was the worst home possible for a remake of Nathalie X , I’d have said Alcazar straight off. But that’s what heartens me about this burg, this place we fret and fight in. I have a theory about this town: they all talk about the “business,” the “industry,” how hard-nosed and bottom-line-obsessed they are, but it’s not true. Or rather not the whole truth. Films of worth are made and I respect the place for it. God, I even respected Vincent Bandine for it and I never thought those words would ever issue from my mouth. We shouldn’t say: look at all the crap that gets churned out, instead we should be amazed at the good films that do emerge from time to time. There is a heart here and it’s still beating even though the pulse is kind of thready.

Aurélien was impressed with the brutal economy of Bob Berger’s office. A black ebony desk sat in the middle of a charcoal gray carpet. Two large black leather sofas were separated by a thick sheet of glass resting on three sharp cones. On one wall were two black and white photographs of lily trumpets and on another was an African mask. There was no evidence of work or the tools of work apart from the long, flattened telephone on his desk. Berger himself was wearing crushed banana linen, he was in his mid-twenties, tall and deeply tanned.

Berger shook Aurélien’s hand warmly, his left hand gripping Aurélien’s forearm firmly as if he were a drowning man about to be hauled from a watery grave. He drew Aurélien to one of the leather sofas and sat him upon it. Prevost slid down beside him. A great variety of drinks were offered though Aurélien’s choice of beer caused some consternation. Berger’s assistant was dispatched in search of one. Prevost and Berger’s decaf espressos arrived promptly.

Prevost gestured at the mask. “Home sweet home, eh, Aurélien?”

“Excuse me?”

“I love African art,” Berger said. “What part of Africa are you from?”

“Kiq.”

“Right,” Berger said.

There was a short silence.

“Oh. Congratulations,” Berger said.

“Excuse me?”

“On the prize. Prix d’Or. Well deserved. Kaiser, have we got a print of Nathalie X ?”

“We’re shipping it over from Paris. It’ll be here tomorrow.”

“It will?” Aurélien said, a little bemused.

“Everything can be fixed, Aurélien.”

“I want Lanier to see it. And Vincent.”

“Bob, I don’t know if it’s really Vincent’s scene.”

“He has to see it. OK, after we sign Lanier.”

“I think that would be wise, Bob.”

“I want to see it again, I must say. Extraordinary piece.”

“You’ve seen it?” Aurélien said.