Investment

When Stéphane left on Sunday, I was rather torn. First, because he had accepted to drive four hours to get to see me, when he usually refused to come to Norway even if I paid for the plane ticket. Secondly, because Tristan had left us to our ‘lovers’ week end without any contact, and I was surprised to miss him… a lot. Even if Stéphane and I stayed in a really beautiful hotel down the valley. Even if we spent some time making love, and going to a fancy restaurant. The prefect romantic setting… expect that my thoughts kept going back to Tristan. That man had become such a part of my life that 48hours without communication left me a little sour.

But first and foremost, I was torn about the gesture Tristan had made towards Stéphane. As the car disappeared under the little trees that remained on this forsaken plateau, I turned to the actor who hoovered by my side. He had always towered over me, but with his new bulk, I felt like a midget beside him. His hazel eyes seemed to question me, and I answered the unasked question.

— “I can’t help but feel you shouldn’t have done that”

Tristan cocked his head aside, curious rather than insulted, and I was grateful for his open mind. Was it a Nordic trait, or just something plainly Tristan ? To never assume that I meant to criticize. Any other person would have yelled at me that I was eternally unsatisfied. After all, he’s just signed a 15 000€ check to my boyfriend as an investment for his company.

— “You didn’t want me to help?”

— “Yes. No. I… You might never see that money again. Stéphane is not exactly good with finances.”

— “I know.”

I turned to him fully, searching his face, and finding only genuine concern.

— “You are… incredibly selfless, Tristan”

His lips quirked up and something danced in his eyes, a gleam I didn’t recognize.

— “Not entirely”

I bit my lip; should I even ask ?

— “I’m not sure I understand”

The intensity of his gaze mesmerized me, and I had trouble looking away. Tristan broke the contact by sliding a hand over my shoulder and squeezing once.

— “Honestly, I don’t want to play the richard but since I can do it, I’ll do it.”

— “Thanks, really. Your gesture means a lot to me.”

— “Yeah, well. I almost lost my hand in the process…”

I laughed then, remembering how Stéphane had crushed his hand in glee. Tristan’s thoughtful silence, though, told me something upsetting was rolling in his mind.

— “What is it ?”, I asked.

— “I have trouble understanding how a company can be more important than…”

He paused, looking for the right words. Something I should do more often, I mused. Tristan was of those men that always thoughts things over unless we entered a battle of wits.

— “More important than everything else”

Something was left unsaid, I could feel it. But I bit the line he was offering, walking back to his trailer. 48h without him, I needed to at least share a drink. As for Stéphane, psychology was to blame.

— “Ah, it has to do with his father. Something about the pressure, and wanting to do good in his eyes”

— “My father wanted me to have ambition. He hated that I was dancer. And my brother a juggler. Yet here we are.”

His statement hit me like a brick wall and I sat, mulling over his words as he fished orange juice from the mini-fridge. Then a little bottle of rum. My eyebrows knitted for a while, and I eventually found the answer I was looking for.

— “Yeah. I guess it takes courage, and Stéphane doesn’t realise he is following daddy’s footsteps to impress him.”

Tristan poured two glasses, and sat beside me, offering one of the delicious smelling cocktail.

— “It will bite him in the ass.”

— “Yeah, I know.”

My head fell backward on the sofa with a grunt. I wasn’t looking forward to the imminent crisis, and wondered how much further I could go. Being a supportive girlfriend was taking its toll, and I was starting to dream about freedom. I could feel it, the thread of patience growing thinner and thinner as I wondered what I wanted to do with my life. But I couldn’t let go of Stéphane, because I loved him. Right ?

On a whim, my hand shot out to grab Tristan’s sleeve. The actor paused, watching me, waiting.

— “You will be here, to support me when it all comes crashing down ?”

— “Always”, was his steady reply.

Monday, 22nd of February 2010

Frances’ fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, trailing across my shirt. Pierre-Jean left us rather free, he only said he wanted a tender moment. A good director always knew when to give more leash, especially when his main actors got along well. There, then, with just the minimal crew and subdued light, our bond could express itself. And Frances’ hand trailing my shoulder was distracting enough to make my pauses more pregnant, more significant. A man undone by the love of his wife. I didn’t let my mind wander, though, struggling to keep in character. However distracting Frances’ touch was, the scene took precedence.

We were both watching Elise as she ‘slept’. A set of proud parents – in theory – sharing thoughts as they considered the only child of their household who had survived. Frances’ head landed upon my other shoulder – from behind – a small pressure that I welcomed as my eyes considered the blond child wistfully. No difficulty there, I’d watched my children sleep a thousand times, and marvelled that they had chosen me as a father. When Frances’ little fingers touched my nape, her warm skin against mine, my head turned aside to meet her eyes.

Her whispered words – a declaration of love – were so intense that I shuddered. She called me beautiful, asked for tenderness, and buried her little fingers in my hair, caressing my nape with such sensuality that I felt at loss of words. Fortunately, my text only consisted in blushing. Which I did without a fault. The tiny smile I gave her, though, conveyed the extend of my fondness.

— “Et coupez !” (and cut)

Pierre-Jean’s shout shook me out of my musings, and Frances blinked, flustered. Yet, her hand gave me one last caress before she pulled way. Elise sprang from the bed, addressing Frances a dark look that caused me concern. Was the child jealous ?

— “C’était super ! Bravo!” (It was great, congrats !)

Frances smiled at the director, beaming from the praise. We had another scene to shoot, one which much more tension. There was no tenderness there, only frustration, anger and denied feelings. My character was as unyielding and cool as a master could be in the 17th century, and it took me a while to find the right frame of mind after the moment we had just shared. Once I had, Pierre-Jean found that Frances wasn’t nearly angry enough. He grumbled, and pushed us around, and we had to make at least fifteen takes. In the end, Frances was so frustrated with him that she gritted her teeth through the scene. Which was perfect for the mood. There was no yelling, only cold words, and irritated stares between us. But it was enough.

I could see how it affected Frances, how the anguish became her own and her body vibrated from it. She didn’t crack under pressure, though, calling forth her anger to resist my harsh words. The annoyance oozed from her in waves, her jaw set, her eyes turning cold… cold, cold fury than gnawed at her insides, ever repressed. It was impressive to see how such a tender-hearted woman had accumulated such wrath – never expressed. Too many years spent shutting her mouth when hurt. Had I not shoot this scene beside her, I might have never known. But today, I had no doubt that Frances could bite anyone’s head off if needed. Underneath the shyness slumbered a lioness.

When Pierre-Jean called the last ‘cut’, I saw her exhale slowly to try to shake it off. Her shoulders refused to relent; there was so much pent up energy trapped in there. I would have to teach her some meditation technique to push the frustration away. For now, though, the animals were ready for a ride in the countryside. The day wasn’t over for me. Standing up, I pulled on the coat from my costume and brushed her arm.

— “I’ve got one more scene this evening. I’ll see you at dinner ?”

She nodded absently, keeping an ear out for a lightening engineer who wanted to adjust it to emphasize her hair color. I smirked, spotting the gleam in the man’s eyes. I would bet my costume the guy was interested, and just tried to find an excuse to talk to her. Poor lad didn’t stand a chance.