6 Touching the surface

Norway, December 2009

2008 had been difficult. The year I had learnt to stop waiting for Stéphane. Making a new life of freedom, still attached to that man I loved but couldn’t see anywhere in my future. It was unsettling to refuse other men for his sake when I knew I would never be his priority. But all in all, living in a new country, away from home, had only contributed to build more strength of character. Or reveal it altogether.

So I lived like a celibate with my heart – and my bed – off limits to anyone else. Yet, I had never felt so free than in Norway.

I almost didn’t pick up the phone when it rang; unknown numbers usually meant advertising. But this prefix was unlike anything I’d ever read on my screen, it didn’t start with the classical ‘01’ from Paris, either the standard ‘+anyfrenchspeaking country of Africa’ so often used by people who wanted your money and weren’t afraid to use illegal means.

+46.

Nordic country ? I was close to the +47 I was now used to type in when I called a Norwegian friend.

It didn’t click yet, though, and I took the call at the last second with a very wary ‘Hello ?”. A voice I’d though I’d never hear again greeted me, soft like silk, and a rush of undefined feelings washed over me.

— “Hey. Tristan Kristiansen here. I hope you remember me”

Elation and surprise hit first.

— “Sir Tristan. Like I could forget you.”

— “I’m glad to hear it”

There was pause on the line, a hesitation that I seized to blurt out the question I had in mind.

— “So how’s life treating you, mister knight ?”

I cringed; this had come out way too familiar.

— “Er… well. Yes, I’m good.”

Tristan didn’t let me elaborate, perhaps he could sense my frown from all the way to Sweden because I was sure as hell he didn’t seem that happy. But his tone became more professional, and a tad hopeful as he said:

— “I know it’s been a while, and you probably have a busy life, but I have an offer that I wanted to talk to you about.”

My eyebrows shot up, climbing so high they nearly hit my hairline. An offer, from him ? I had followed his career after our meeting, seen his incredible acting skills, and my admiration only grew. I also had realized, rather sheepishly, that he’d been co-producer of that movie I had only performed a few lines in. It was no wonder people had been looking at us funny. Him calling, and having a proposal seemed so unlikely that I wondered if I had fallen asleep.

— “All right ?”

Tristan chuckled on the line; he didn’t seem surprised by my reluctance. Neither too spooked.

— “Let me tell you the details, then you can refuse and send me on my merry way”

Ooop, perhaps I should be more precise in my words. After all, he couldn’t read my stunned expression on the phone.

— “For the record, I was incredulous, not annoyed”

— “How so ?”

His genuine surprise caused me to roll my eyes. Didn't he realise that standard people weren't use to having famous actors calling them ?

— “I’ll elaborate further down the line if you kill my curiosity now”, I told him.

— “Fair game", he answered. "There’s this movie I am about to star in, the director is a French guy who tends to make experimental work. I like what he does, and we might compete in Cannes”

Oh, my curiosity was raised now, and I settled on the sofa to hear the rest.

— “Neat. What is it about ?”

— “A reformist from the XVIth century who has settled in the Cévennes mountains”

I tried to recall where those blasted moutains where situated, and got a rough estimation soon enough.

— “South of France ? Massif central ?”

— “Yes.”

— “Ok, I see where it is. How come the guy ended there ?”

— “It was a place where they bred horses, and my they had protestant communities there”

I nodded, then forgot entirely that he couldn’t hear me. But Tristan went on, speaking about the movie he had in mind, and the things that led this hero to lead a revolution. Such passion in his voice, that I knew he was going to live his character to the end… Which was rather sour; Johan obtained justice, but was killed for his actions. A typical historical drama. And while he recounted the script, I could only realise how badly educated I was when it came to religion and the differences between catholic, reformist and all that mess. Damn, I needed to do some research.

— “All right. History, culture, religion, fighting and family. I can see why you chose it. Did you need any advice on the French communities ? Or the place ? I’m afraid I’ve never quite been there but can do some research If needed.”

Another silence on the line. I wondered if he was distracted by something else, or hesitating.

— “Ah… no. I was wondering…”

— “Yes ?”

— “I was wondering if you would accept, and be available, to play Johan’s wife.”

I nearly spluttered on the other hand of the line. Me ? Wife ? What ? In a movie, a real one ? What was he thinking ?

— “It won’t be for long, she dies early in the movie, she only gets a few scenes. A few weeks, at best, if you can spare the time”

If my eyes had been able to bulge out of my head, they might have ended on the floor. Standing, I walked to the window that overlooked the tiny fjord. The sea helped me think, it always did. What Tristan was asking meant… nearly a leading role. How could he trust me that much after such a shot acquaintance ? The silence stretched, and I was grateful he gave me some time to deal with the bomb he’d just thrown.

— “Are you sure about that ? I mean… it's just me ”

— “Positive. And to be honest, we have a limited budget, and need a woman who speaks French”

— “How about the age difference ? Won’t it be weird ?”

He chuckled on the line, making me redden.

— “I mean no offense.”

— “I know you don’t, Frances.”

My name spilling from his lips reminded me that, somehow, he knew me. The real me. I’d been so genuine with him, he knew I didn’t judge him.

— “An age gap was pretty common at the time. And we can always add a few lines with the make-up. If you saw what those artists can do now”

— “Yeah, I’ve seen a pretty Kung fu movie recently… that was some heavy make up. Do you always have to die ?"

This time, Tristan actually laughed and it warmed my heart. There was the man I’d met a few years ago.

— “Well, when I play the villain, it's a given. What did you think of it ?”

— “The movie was fun, and your performance incredible. You almost convinced me to turn to the dark side… until I saw your boss and changed my mind”

There was a slight snort on the line; I wondered if my humour still touched him.

— “Good, it means I’ve done my job properly”

— “Don’t you always ?”

My little jab caused a pause in the conversation, and I bit my lip. It might have been easier in a conf call where I could read his expression – although he was a pretty unreadable fellow. Instead, my eyes settled on a pair of seagulls whose feathers were ruffled by the wind. But the humility in those next words nearly floored me.

— “It means a lot that you would think that.”

What, from me ? What exactly was my importance in his life that my good opinion would mean a lot. Me, a mere stranger ?

— “Well. The way I see it, your roles are different from the standard hottie, it gives perspective to your fans, I guess.”

— “Are you one of those now ?”

There was a slight edge there, a question that I felt so important that I had to mull on it. A strange, unwelcome feeling bloomed in the pit of my stomach, one that warned me that I must not fail this test. So I settled for the truth.

— “No. I like to keep my head to myself. I have trouble with the concept of being a fan; people think they know you though movies, but they forget that acting is well, putting yourself in someone else’s shoes. So I got some favourite actors, the talented ones, but I don't fangirl”

— “A sound analysis”

My curiosity peeked there, and I wondered if he had time for idle chat. Well, I could always ask.

— “Are you much bothered by fans ?”

— “Ah. Sweden is a small country, and I’m being recognized a lot, but people are nice. They don’t gush over me so it’s allright”

If Swedish people were akin to Norwegian ones, they probably respected people’s privacy.

— “Good. I’ve followed your career here and there, and I have to admit that I was impressed by the humanity you always leak into your characters. That is skillful.”

— “I… thank you. I's good to hear it from people outside the business.”

There was some hidden weight behind those words, as if he regretted the time people talked to him because they wanted to know him, the unknown random guy in the street. The smoking man you met in a back alley, and dragged in a chocolate shop. It was weird, this parenthesis in both of our lives where, it seemed, two souls had communicated outside the constraints of the world. Before I could ask for more, his soothing voice caressed my ear once more.

— “Anyway. I called you because… you would fit very nicely in this role and I’m sure you can pull it off. And it won’t be a full-time job, shouldn’t take too much of your time. I can send you the script, and let you think about it.”

Astounded by the trust he placed in me, I asked the first question that popped in my brain. Me, acting as wife to Tristan meant…

— “So… Er. Wife. Should I expect some sex scenes ?”

— “No. Not really.”

— “Not really ?” I teased.

I wondered if he was blushing on the other side of the line, just like I was. An awkward chuckle was my response; he wasn’t too comfortable with the subject either, and had probably hoped to speak about the script rather than address those issues first. But I was me… and couldn’t keep away from delving deep into any kind of job proposal.

— “Nothing you are not comfortable with. Remember, we have much more freedom with experimental movies than with block busters. There might be some kissing involved, though. If you’re up to it”

Ok. Kissing a man that wasn’t my boyfriend. No matter how yummy and trustworthy the man, this was going to be awkward. But a kiss was a kiss, right ? Even if I was very old fashioned, I think I could manage. I huffed, shaking my head at my own silliness. Of course I could do it, and I trusted Tristan not to take advantage of it. He was very professional after all.

— “That’s all right, I guess. My boyfriend is not the jealous type.”

— “Well, I am, but work is work, you know.”

The strangely detached words sent a pang through my heart. Right. A possessive man. I hope his wife wouldn’t mind, but she was probably more used to it than Stéphane would be. That I would be. Usually, when I got to the kissing with a man, it meant my heart was seriously engaged.

— “Ok. I’ll read the script, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to call you back in a conf call. Skype, maybe ? I will find it easier to speak face to face.”

— “I’d like that. Maybe we can catch up a bit. It's been… "

— "Years", I finished for him.

— "Yeah. And what years ! Anyway, next Sunday morning all right for you?”

It was Tuesday. Despite my very busy life, I was an avid reader and pretty sure I would be done by Thursday.

— “Fine for me. I’ll send you my Skype pseudo, then we can talk details, ideas and you can deliver your vision”

— “Good. Not jetlag, right ? You are still working in Paris ?”

Of course he would think of jetlag, being an international star probably meant lots of people calling from all over the world.

— “Nope, and nope. No jet lag, because I moved to Norway, so GMT+1.”

I swore I could see his faint eyebrows rising in surprise.

— “Norway ? How come ?”

— “Job opportunity ? I’m in Bergen, and I do appreciate the landscape and culture much better than in Paris”

I was sure I could detect awe in his voice when he responded.

— “Wow. This is great. I mean, Bergen is so beautiful. It’s been ages since I’ve been there, but I remember seeing it as a child”

A strange longing spread in my chest, and I wondered if, by some kind of miracle, we could have created the time-still bubble again in this place. Norway was such a soothing environment for me, with friendly and happy people. Sea and mountains met there, snow touching the shoreline on days where oranges and reds from the low sun mingled into an eerie landscape. There were endless paths in the mountains where I could walk for hours in a row without anyone bothering me. Yes. Scandinavia was a great place.

— “Yeah. It beats my oak tree”

— “It is grandiose, and different. Even if I have a fond recollection of that oak tree”

I smiled, memories of sun dancing through the leaves quite vivid in my mind. My own little meditation.

— “True, so do I.”

— “So I’ll see you Sunday morning, 10 am on Skype”, he said, his voice regaining this businesslike tone.

— “Yes. Have a nice week, sir Tristan. And thank you for the offer”

— “Likewise, lady Frances. Thank you for considering it”

When I hung up, my brain had trouble reconciling reality with the conversation. Five minutes later, a script landed in my mailbox. 'The Revolt'. By 11pm this very evening, I had finished it already, and was struggling to keep from texting Tristan about any silly detail. The man had a family, for God’s sake! A life, a wife, children and probably other things to do that text back and forth. So I slept on it.