The Winner Stands Alone

There's a real air of hysteria out there. Women with their little portable stools on which they must have been sitting and knitting since the morning; men with beer bellies, bored to death, but obliged to accompany their middle-aged spouses, who are dressed to the nines as if they were the ones about to go up the steps and onto the red carpet; children who have no idea what's going on, but can sense that it's something important. Crammed behind the steel barriers that separate them from the line of limousines, stand people of all ages and colors, every one of them wanting to believe that they're only two yards away from the great legends, when, in fact, they're separated by thousands of miles; for it isn't just the steel barrier and the car window keeping them apart, it's chance, opportunity, and talent.

Talent? Yes, she wants to believe that talent counts too, but knows that really it's all the result of a game of dice played by the gods, who choose certain people and place others on the far side of an impassable abyss from where they can only applaud, worship, and, when the tide turns against their gods, condemn.

The Star pretends to be talking to her, but he's not actually saying anything, just looking at her and moving his lips, like the great actor he is. He doesn't do this out of desire or pleasure. Gabriela realizes that he simply doesn't want to appear unfriendly to his fans outside, but, at the same time, can't be bothered now to wave and smile and blow kisses.

"You must think me an arrogant, cynical person with a heart of stone," he says at last. "If you ever get where you want to get, then you'll understand what I'm feeling: that there's no way out. Success is both an addiction and an enslavement, and at the end of the day, when you're lying in bed with some new man or woman, you'll ask yourself: was it really worth it? Why did I ever want this?"

He pauses.

"Go on."

"I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Because you want to protect me. Because you're a good man. Please, go on."

Gabriela may be ingenuous about many things, but she's still a woman and knows how to get almost anything she wants out of a man. In this case, the button to press is vanity.

"I don't know why I always wanted this." The Star has fallen into the trap and is now revealing his more vulnerable side, while, outside, the fans continue to wave. "Often, when I go back to the hotel after an exhausting day's work, I stand under the shower for ages, just listening to the sound of water falling on my body. Two opposing forces are battling it out inside me: one telling me I should be thanking God and the other telling me I should abandon it all while there's still time.

"At that moment, I feel like the most ungrateful person in the world. I have my fans, but I can't be bothered with them. I'm invited to parties that are the envy of the world, and all I want is to leave at once and go back to my room and sit quietly reading a good book. Well-meaning men and women give me prizes, organize events, and do everything to make me happy, and I feel nothing but exhaustion and embarrassment because I don't believe I deserve all this, I don't feel worthy of my success. Do you understand?"

For a fraction of a second, Gabriela feels sorry for the man beside her. She imagines the number of parties he must have to attend in a year, and how there must always be someone asking him for a photo or an autograph, someone telling him some tedious story to which he pretends to be listening, someone trying to sell him some new project or embarrassing him with the classic question: "Don't you remember me?," someone getting out his mobile phone and asking him to say a few words to his son, wife, or sister. And he must always be the consummate professional, happy, attentive, good-humored, and polite.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do, but I wouldn't mind having those

problems one day, although I know I've a long way to go before I do."

Only another four limousines and they'll be there. The chauffeur tells them to get ready. The Star folds down a small mirror from the roof of the car and adjusts his tie; Gabriela does the same and smooths her hair. She can see a bit of the red carpet now, although the steps are still out of sight. The hysteria has vanished as if by magic, and the crowd is now composed of people wearing identity tags round their necks, talking to each other and taking no notice at all of who is in the cars because they're tired of seeing the same scene repeated over and over.

Two more cars. Some steps appear to her left. Men in dinner jacket and tie are opening the doors, and the aggressive metal barriers have been replaced by velvet cords looped along bronze and wooden pillars.

"Damn!" cries the Star, making Gabriela jump.

"Damn! Look who's over there, just getting out of her car!"

Gabriela sees a female Superstar, also wearing a Hamid Hussein dress, who has just stepped onto the red carpet. The Superstar turns her back on the Palais des Congres, and when Gabriela follows her gaze, she sees the most extraordinary sight. A human wall, almost nine feet high, filled with endlessly flashing lights.

"Good!" says the Star, relieved. "She's looking in the wrong direction."

He's no longer polite and charming and has forgotten all his existential angst. "They're not the accredited photographers. They're not important."

"Why did you say 'Damn'?"

The Star cannot conceal his irritation. There is one car to go before it's their turn.

"Can't you see? What planet are you from, child? When we step onto the red carpet, all the accredited photographers, who are positioned halfway along, will have their cameras aimed at her!"

He turns to the chauffeur and says:

"Slow down!"

The chauffeur points to a man in plainclothes, also wearing an identity tag, and who is signaling to them to keep moving and not hold up the traffic.

The Star sighs deeply; this really isn't his lucky day. Why did he say all those things to this mere beginner at his side? It's true that he's tired of the life he leads, and yet he can't imagine anything else.

"Don't rush," he says. "We'll try and stay down here for as long as possible. Let's leave a good space between her and us."