William Boyd: The Destiny of Nathalie X

“Yes,” Lanier said. “I’m not ready to work with another writer just yet.”

“I think Bob Berger has another writer — Matt Friedrich.”

“What’s he done?” Kit said.

“We have to let Matt go, Aurélien,” Lanier said. “You shouldn’t drink beer this early in the morning.”

“Why not?”

“I’m an alcoholic,” Kit said. “It’s the thin edge of the wedge, believe me.”

“Could you guys leave me alone with Aurélien?” Lanier said.

They left.

LANIER CROSS. I have a theory about this town: the money doesn’t matter. THE MONEY DOESN’T MATTER. Everybody thinks it’s about the money but they’re wrong. They think it’s only because of the money that people put up with the godawful shit that’s dumped on them. That there can be only one possible reason why people are prepared to be so desperately unhappy. Money. Not so. Consider this: everybody who matters in this town has more than enough money. They don’t need any more money. And I’m not talking about the studio heads, the top directors, the big stars, the people with obscene amounts. There are thousands of people in this town, possibly tens of thousands, who are involved in movies who have more money than is reasonably acceptable. So it’s not about money, it can’t be, it’s about something else. It’s about being at the center of the world.

“She loved you,” Kaiser Prevost said. “She’s all over you like a rash.”

“Any news of Delphine?”

“Who? Ah, no. What did you say to her, to Lanier? Bob called, she’ll do it for nothing. Well, half her normal fee. Sensational idea about Kit Vermeer. Excellent. Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe that’s what swung it.”

“No, it was her idea. How are we going to finish the film without Delphine?”

“Aurélien. Please. Forget Delphine Drelle. We have Lanier Cross. We fired Friedrich, we got Tashourian writing the flashback. We’re in business, my son, in business.”

NAOMI TASHOURIAN. I have a theory about this town, this place. Don’t be a woman.

Aurélien sat in the cutting room with Barker Lear, an editor, as they ran what existed of Seeing Through Nathalie on the Moviola.

Barker, a heavy man with a grizzled ginger goatee, watched Delphine sit down at the pizzeria and order a beer. She drank it down and ordered another, then the sound boom, which had been bobbing erratically in and out of frame for the last few minutes, fell fully into view and the screen went black.

Barker turned and looked at Aurélien, who was frowning and tapping his teeth with the end of a pencil.

“That’s some film,” Barker said. “Who’s the girl, she’s extraordinary.”

“Delphine Drelle.”

“She a big star in France?”

“No.”

“Sorta hypnotic effect, she has …” He shrugged. “Shame about the boom.”

“Oh, I don’t worry about that sort of thing,” Aurélien said. “It adds to the verisimilitude.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You’re meant to know it’s a film. That’s why the end works so well.”

“So what happens in the end? You’ve still got to shoot it, right?”

“Yes. I don’t know what happens. Neither does Delphine.”

“You don’t say?”

“She gets drunk, you see. We watch her getting drunk. We don’t cut away. We don’t know what she might do. That’s what makes it so exciting — that’s ‘the destiny of Nathalie X.’ ”

“I see … So, ah, what happened at the end of the first film?”

“She goes to the café, she drinks six or seven beers very quickly, and I can see she’s quite drunk. She orders another drink and when the waiter brings it she throws it in his face.”

“You don’t say? Then what?”

“They have a fight. Delphine and the waiter. They really hit each other. It’s fantastic. Delphine, she’s had this training, self-defense. She knees this guy in the couilles . Boff!”

“Fascinating.”

“He falls over. She collapses, crying, she turns to me, swears at me. Runs off into the night. The end. It’s amazing.”

Barker rubbed his beard, thinking. He glanced at Aurélien covertly.

“Going to do the same thing here?”

“No, no. It’s got to be different for the USA, for Hollywood. That’s why I gave her the gun.”

“Is it a real gun?”

“Oh yes. Otherwise what would be the point?”

BARKER LEAR. I definitely had him for a wacko at first, but after I spent an afternoon with him, talking to him, it seemed to me he really knew what he was doing. He was a real calm guy, Aurélien. He had his own vision, didn’t worry about other people, what other people might think of him. And it was the easiest editing job I ever did. Long long takes. Lot of handheld stuff. The walk had a few reverses, a few mid shots, dolly shots. And the film was kind of exciting, I have to admit, and I was really quite disappointed that he still hadn’t shot the end. This girl Delphine, with this crazy blond fringe over her eyes, there was definitely something wild about her. I mean, who knows, once she got loaded, what she might have done. Maybe Aurélien wasn’t a wacko, but she definitely was.

You know, I have a theory about this town, this place. I’ve been working here for twenty-five years and I’ve seen them all. In this town you have very, very clever people and very, very wacko people, and the problem is, and that’s what makes this place different, our special problem is the very clever people have to work with the very wacko people. They have to, they can’t help it, it’s the nature of the job. That doesn’t happen other places for one simple reason — clever and wacko don’t mix.

Aurélien stood by the pool with Nancy enjoying the subdued play of morning light on the water. Today Nancy’s hair was white blond and she wore a tutu over her leotard and cowboy boots with spurs. She handed him a pair of car keys and an envelope with a thousand dollars in it.

“That’s the new rental car. Celica OK? And there’s your per diem. And you’ve got dinner with Lanier Cross at 6:30.”

“6:30 p.m.?”

“Ah, yeah … She can make it 6:00 if you prefer. She asked me to tell you it will be vegetarian.”

“What are all those men doing? Is it some kind of military exercise?”

“Those are the gardeners. Shall I make them go away?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“And Tim Pascal called.”

“Who’s he?”

“He’s an English film director. He has several projects in development at Alcazar. He wanted to know if you wanted to lunch or drink or whatever.”

The doorbell rang. Aurélien strode across the several levels of his cool white living room to answer it, and as he did so the bell rang twice again. It was Delphine.

KAISER PREVOST. I have a theory about this town; it doesn’t represent the fulfillment of the American dream, it represents the fulfillment of an American reality. It rewards relentless persistence, massive stamina, ruthlessness and the ability to live with grotesque failure. Look at me: I am a smallish guy, 138 pounds, with pretty severe myopia, and near average academic qualifications. But I have a personable manner and an excellent memory and a good head of hair. I will work hard and I will take hard decisions and I have developed the thickest of thick skins. With these attributes in this town nothing can stop me. Or those like me. We are legion. We know what they call us but we don’t care. We don’t need contacts, we don’t need influence, we don’t need talent, we don’t need cosmetic surgery. That’s why I love this place. It allows us to thrive. That’s why when I heard Aurélien had never showed for dinner with Lanier Cross, I didn’t panic. People like me take that kind of awful crisis in their stride.