Until You

"Ah, even after so many years, your French needs work." Jean-Phillipe grinned. "I called him an asshole. It is not a polite term, in your language or mine. And then, we shall drink to my current film, which wraps by the week's end."

"That's wonderful!"

"What is wonderful is that everyone predicts it will be a great success."

"Why is it I can almost hear the word but at the end of that sentence?"

"Because you know me well, cherie. Yes, there is a but. The studio has asked me to make another movie."

"And that's a but? Jean-Phillipe, that's terrific!"

He sighed as they paused on the corner and waited for a break in the traffic.

"It would be better news if I had been asked to make a film in the States."

"Why? You've got a wonderful career building here."

"I know that." The flow of cars eased. Jean-Phillipe clasped Miranda's hand and they hurried across the road. "But I want more. I want to be an international star. Or perhaps a director, with an Oscar on the mantel. Who knows? Merde, Miranda, don't look at me as if I were crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy." She hesitated. "I just think you should, you know, consider the ramifications."

"What ramifications? I am a good actor. You know that."

"Yes, but Hollywood is different. The press is relentless. They'll want to know everything about you."

"So?" His voice swelled with defiance. "Let them. People should judge me on my talent. Is that too much to ask?"

"No, of course it isn't. Jean-Phillipe, what are you doing?"

It was a silly question because she could see what he was doing. He'd swung out in the path of a woman hurrying towards them, her head and shoulders bent against the wind-driven snow.

"How do you do, madame?" he said, dancing along backwards in front of her. "Do you know me?"

"Jean-Phillipe!"

Miranda tugged at his sleeve but he ignored her. "Do you?" he demanded.

The woman came to a dead stop. Her eyes widened.

"You're that actor," she said. "Oh my goodness! You are, aren't you?"

He grinned, doffed an imaginary hat and made a deep, courtly bow.

"Indeed I am. And I must ask you, madame, would it change your opinion of me if you learned that—"

"Don't," Miranda hissed.

His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

"My charming friend," he said, "fears that I am about to be indiscreet. She is afraid that if I tell you the truth—"

"Jean-Phillipe, please—"

"—the truth, madame, which is that I am longing to go to America and become a big star, you will no longer go to my films." He smiled. "You do go to see my films, do you not?"

"Yes," the woman said, staring from one of them to the other, "oh yes, all the time."

"Ah. And would you continue to do so, even if you knew that I..." He shrugged off Miranda's hand. "...that I was not the same old Jean-Phillipe Moreau you've come to know?"