Mephista

by Maurice Limat

  “Olga! At last!”

  In her distress Martine had finally found something to be happy about.

  Olga stood very straight, holding her key.

  “I knocked to warn you… Stay calm…”

  Without thinking, Martine ran to hug her friend, but instead ran up against a kind of chill from pretty Olga.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  “Nothing, sweetie,” said Olga. “Everything’s fine.”

  Olga came in, threw her hat on her bed and took off her coat.

  “Could you make me some coffee?” she inquired.

  Martine looked like a schoolgirl caught red-handed.

  “No more coffee… There’s no more gas or electricity.”

  Olga did not look troubled at all. On the contrary, a kind of flame shone on her pretty face and in her dark eyes. To Martine, it looked like defiance.

  “Sweetie, this will all be over soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll explain… later.”

  Olga flitted about, making herself at home. Martine started to get worried again.

  “Olga, I was so scared… You didn’t come home last night… I didn’t sleep...”

  “Poor baby! Forget about it.”

  “Tell me… Maybe you don’t want to tell me, but…”

  “Yes, you want to know where I was. I understand. I’ll tell you… later… when the time’s right.”

  She was in front of the dressing table, letting down her beautiful black hair. Martine watched her, having a hard time understanding her casual attitude. There was a long silence. All of a sudden, Martine sniffed the air.

  “Olga…”

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  “Do you smell something? There’s an odor…”

  “An odor? You’re imagining things.”

  “No, really, I swear. It’s like… Oh, that’s funny... It smells like sulfur… yes.”

  “You’re tired, kitten. You should go back to bed.”

  “I don’t want to sleep. Besides, you’re here now.”

  Olga smiled in the mirror. But Martine did not see the usual tenderness in this smile of her friend whom she thought of as a sister. Olga kept combing her beautiful hair. Martine approached her, feeling uncomfortable.

  “Say, Olga…”

  “What is it now, honey?”

  “Are you…”

  Olga cut off the question with an ironic look, still through the mirror.

  “Yes, sorry,” Martine bit her lip. “I’m being nosy.”

  “No, really, you’re being stupid.”

  And Olga turned around, pulled Martine to her and kissed her, putting an end to the conversation. Martine accepted the kiss, said nothing, but she still thought that a weird smell was wafting through the room… ever since Olga had come back.

  After straightening out her hair, Olga suddenly turned around again.

  “You’ve suffered, sweetie. You’re unhappy. You can’t even make a cup of hot coffee. Martine, you know how much I love you… Listen to me, the bad days are over.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re over for me. Well, that means for you too. You’d better believe it. My good fortune will be yours.”

  “Your good fortune? Oh, Olga, have you found a job?”

  Olga did not answer right away. She got up, grabbed her handbag and took out a lighter, which Martine did not recognize, along with a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Martine and started pacing the room, smoking nervously, looking suddenly exhilarated.

  “I can’t tell you. But it won’t last… Well… Just tell yourself that I did what I had to… Success, fortune, glory… I want it all. I was born for it. And you’ll be by my side, as always. You’ll see how happy you’ll be!”

  “Olga, you’re scaring me.”

  Olga’s eyes flashed fire.

  “Yes, me too, I’m scared,” she said in a weird voice. “Scared… I was wrong. I’m sure I was wrong. Now everything’s going to change. And I’m going to succeed. I’ll rise to the top. I’ll be an idolized star, loved by the public… Men will fall at my feet… I’ll marry… I don’t know who yet… But I know that I’ll be the most beautiful, the most powerful, the richest woman…”

  “Olga!”

  “You’ll marry too. Happiness has to be bought, you know.”

  “Olga, you didn’t… accept to…?” Martine shrieked.

  The would-be star laughed loudly, almost offensively.

  “Accept what? The dirty, vile propositions of a man? Me, a prostitute? Ah, no, sweetie, we swore to say no to that sort of things, and I’ve kept my word, believe me. No, it’s… I can’t tell you. Just understand that I know, get it, I know for sure that success is coming… in one day, maybe two, there will be news… They’ll offer me something… and I’ll be off for a new life. Don’t worry, I won’t forget you in my bliss.”

  Martine looked at Olga, understanding less and less.

  Olga started talking, going back over all her projects, all her dreams, the same as all poor girls who surrender themselves to the dangerous occupation of being an actress. For a long time, becoming more and more excited, beguiling Martine with her crazy promises, trying to drag her along into the gilded country of happy daydreams.

  An hour passed.

  Olga smoked non-stop. Martine was floored and did not know what to say, wondering if her friend had not genuinely lost her marbles. At a certain point, she shouted:

  “You don’t realize, do you, we’ve got no more money and neither of us have any prospects for work. We owe two months’ rent. We haven’t paid the electric and the gas bills We have other bills. And the pawnbroker loaned me 30 francs. But I’ve got to pay him back in two days… Come on, Olga, please, pull yourself together… Or else, you’ve got some amazing job you don’t want to tell me about. I have to wonder why…”

  “I haven’t got anything yet. But I know it’s coming. Very soon.”

  “But how do you know?”

  Once again, Olga kept silent, only to restart, an instant later, her muddled speech about her marvelous projects.

  At 8:30 a.m., someone knocked at the door. It was a small man delivering a telegram.

  “Mademoiselle Olga Mervil?”

  Olga ransacked her purse and threw him a coin before ripping open the telegram in front of Martine’s anxious eyes. Martine, who would never forget the look of wild triumph that washed over Olga’s face, so that, for a second, she looked terrifying.

  “Look here… Read… Teleor Productions. You know them? The ones who only make movies for international television… They’re offering me to double for Edwige Hossegor… Oh, it’s not a fortune, but with what they pay, it should tide us over for a while.”

  “Olga, is it true?”

  “Look.”

  Martine took the telegram and started reading. But looking up, she saw, in the dresser mirror, Olga’s face, since her back was turned to her. Her beautiful eyes were glaring strangely and she seemed to be staring at someone, or rather talking to someone.

  Martine was scared. She thought she could read Olga’s sensual lips repeating two words feverishly, in a whisper:

  “Thank you… Thank you…”

  Who was she talking to?

  And why did Martine kept smelling the weird odor of sulfur lingering in the room?

  CHAPTER II

  “Take off your clothes, Mademoiselle.”

  Olga obeyed without a second’s hesitation in front of the cold eyes of Eva Mellion, who they had said would meet her at Baron Tragny’s house. It was there, on the Rue du Ranelagh, that Teleor Productions had sent Olga after their first interview.

  Everyone knew, Olga as much as anyone else, of the tender relationship that linked Edwige Hossegor, the star whom she was supposed to double, with Baron Tragny, an ageing playboy whose fortune could hardly be counted. They had talked a lot about him in the papers and on the radio a few weeks earlier when Edwige had been the victim o
f a very strange adventure during the filming of the television serial, The Vampires of Paris.

  In professional circles it was rumored that the beautiful actress’ health had not improved much since the sinister affair. However, they were now publicizing a movie. For the big screen this time, and, breaking with custom, Teleor was in charge of the production.

  What did all this matter to Olga Mervil?

  She had wanted to get lucky and she thought she did. She did not want to think too much about the price she would have to pay…

  For the last few hours, things had been very busy. There had been her return to the cold, miserable room where Martine was waiting for her. Then Teleor’s message. Then the meeting at the production office. Then, after a simple phone call, she’d been asked her to meet with Eva Mellion, Edwige Hossegor’s right hand woman, since a double could only get the final approval from the actress herself.

  And before all this, there had been that weird night…

  No, she must not think of it. Olga could already see big changes in her life. She had no regrets. She did not want regrets.

  Everything was going fast, very fast. At Teleor, everything had seemed positive. They had called on her based solely on the photos from her file they had held for months. Now, she was at Edwige Hossegor’s house and Eva Mellion was preparing to take her measurements.

  Of course, Olga was a lot younger than Edwige, but she was certainly cut from the same mold. She looked like her and seemed perfect for the modest, thankless, but very lucrative role of “double,” which meant staying in the shadows vis-à-vis the public and standing in for the star in the scenes about to be filmed. It was still not the coveted glory she sought, but Olga had good reasons to believe that all this was only a prelude to much greater success, the kind that exalted the likes of Brigitte Bardot, Sophia Loren and Marilyn Monroe.

  Eva Mellion took a tape measure and walked up to Olga, now in her bra and panties. It was obvious that Eva admired the beautiful body standing before her. Although she stood still like a statue, with her pretty blonde hair cut like a boy’s, framing her emotionless face, Olga could see the impression her natural beauty was making on Edwige Hossegor’s public relations agent.

  Olga obligingly let herself be measured around her chest, waist and thighs, the length of her legs, etc. It was clear that Eva Mellion had already had had several opportunities to measure and filter out, for some reason or other, minor actresses whose ambition was reduced to “doubling” Edwige. Eva did not say a word; she just made notes in a small notebook. It was important, in fact, to verify that Olga’s measurements matched the star’s, an indispensable detail for the rehearsals in front of the camera.

  Olga was lost in a world of thoughts. Thus, then, she had not wasted her time. She had not been mistaken. The incredible experience that she had been bold enough to venture on was already producing results. In a few hours…

  Maybe she was a little disappointed. Only a double…

  Even just a supporting role would have been a lot better for her. Just a shadow in a film would have been more profitable for her than this sorry role where she had to disappear when the filming started and give her place to the “real actress.”

  But she must not think of such things. She was already sure she would be accepted. She would get paid a great deal. She would have the satisfaction of helping Martine by pulling her out of poverty.

  Afterward… she would climb up through the ranks, she was sure of it. She was committed to this. Bitterly. One had to pay one’s dues, then, later…

  A “later” that Olga did not want to think about.

  Eva Mellion got up off her knees and stepped back, silently observing the beautiful, almost nude, statue of flesh before her. A smile crossed her face and, from now on, the businesswoman was gone, replaced by the woman, plain and simple. And Olga saw then how pretty she was with her masculine haircut.

  “I think, Mademoiselle, that you’re lucky. Your measurements are exactly what we’ve been looking for.”

  Olga found her very nice. Besides, as a woman, first of all, she was happy to see another woman admire her, having no choice but to admire her. Her beauty… she was going to use it to her full advantage. This beauty that only the night before…

  No, she must not think about the night before. She had to live through this day that was destined to be momentous, that was starting off so well.

  Olga was very comfortable with what she was wearing and was in no hurry to get dressed. She was a girl who enjoyed being nude, or almost nude, figuring that she was spreading joy through the pleasant vision she offered. But one question was burning on her lips.

  “Will I be meeting Mademoiselle Hossegor now?”

  Eva Mellion’s fresh face clouded over.

  “You should, indeed… But I don’t think it will be possible today. Mademoiselle Hossegor is not feeling well.”

  Olga expressed her disappointment. Her enthusiasm was already curbed. With Edwige sick, this visit may have been a waste of time. Even if she was hired, the film might be delayed, which was always bothersome.

  The two women exchanged some small talk before Olga, trying to hide her disappointment, thought of getting back into her clothes.

  “No, please, Mademoiselle,” said Eva, “could you stay like this for a minute?”

  She trembled with surprise as she saw Eva Mellion’s eyes turn to the door. Two men were there, standing in the doorway, very politely in spite of the impression that Olga must have made in her underwear, an impression that no one of the male sex could escape.

  Of the two men, Olga recognized at least one. All actors, well known or not, knew who he was: Marcel Trempont, Edwige’s favorite director. He stood next to a gentleman in a handsome suit, very elegant, with silver hair, whom Olga assumed must have been Baron Tragny, Edwige’s fiancé.

  It seemed to her, all of a sudden, that this impromptu entrance was going to prove invaluable.

  “Could you walk a little, Mademoiselle? Forward, yes… now turn around… that’s it… a smile… Thank you.” The director walked up to her. “I’m Marcel Trempont.”

  Olga was not flustered at all. It seemed to her that everything was now going to happen it had been foretold, and no bad surprises were going to pop up. At least for the moment. Because she knew perfectly well that she was on borrowed time after last night, that terrifying night she had dared to live through…

  Very casually, she revealed her beautiful teeth.

  “I recognized you right away, Monsieur Trempont.”

  “But I didn’t know you. I’m very glad to meet you.”

  Another smile from Olga. But Trempont was no longer smiling. He turned to his companion.

  “What do you think, my friend?” he asked.

  Tragny—it was him, for sure—made a sweeping gesture.

  “There’s nothing to discuss. She’s Edwige. Exactly like she was a few years ago. Another Edwige… but younger.”

  “I think you’re right… Still, you know what we need… She must be perfect...”

  A wave of thoughts flooded Olga’s mind. What does this mean? What was she going to hear? What was happening?

  “Mademoiselle,” Trempont said, glancing at the notes that Eva Mellion gave to him, “I’m not in the habit of making snap decisions lightly, but in your case, I believe… I say: I believe… that you fit the bill.”

  “You mean, to double for Mademoiselle Hossegor?”

  “No.”

  The statement amazed Olga, but her surprise did not last long. Marcel Trempont continued:

  “What we need is more than just a double. We must replace Edwige Hossegor.”

  Astonishment. Dizziness. The room was spinning. The vases and wall hangings, all of Baron Tragny’s furniture, was dancing around. Replacing Edwige Hossegor… But then…

  “Yes. Let’s not drag out the torture. It happens that, because of her pressing health problems Mademoiselle Hossegor had to quit my next film, Horror at Midnight. Everything was rea
dy and we had to stop. This is costing the producers a lot of money. So we’ve started looking for the right double to replace our star. And we’ve just found her. I mean, found you. Looking at Mademoiselle Mellion’s notes, you look suitable for this difficult and, er, amazing role. Obviously, Fate will ultimately decide, Mademoiselle. I don’t want to make any formal promises right now, but I’m pretty sure I’m not mistaken—you can fill the role previously assigned to Mademoiselle Hossegor perfectly.”

  Olga hid her excitement behind a smile, but a weird flame lit up her eyes.

  The director saw it and immediately turned round.

  “Did you see that?” he asked Tragny and Eva Mellion. “Did you see that flame in her eyes just now? Bravo, Mademoiselle! But I’m babbling... We’ll let you get dressed and wait for you in the salon—if Baron Tragny doesn’t mind. (Tragny nodded courteously). Then I’ll give you some instructions for your screen test. Afterward, if it goes well, as I believe it will, there won’t be any problem The part will be yours.”

  They left.

  Olga stood motionless, thunderstruck. So, it was true. Everything was true. Everything. Everything the night before had promised.

  The chain of events was incredible. Called up just to be a double, and now she was about to be hired in a starring role with the unspoken approval of Baron Tragny, whom everyone knew was the money behind his fiancée’s films.

  So Edwige Hossegor was sick. The famous actress, specialized in horror roles, would not be filming Horror at Midnight. It would be Olga, little Olga, unknown Olga, the extra, who would take her place and play the leading role in this new production. One of those impressive roles in which Edwige had excelled.

  Wasn’t she the one who had personified it all with her tragically famous character of Mephista?

  “Great!” Eva smiled. “I understand if you’re a little overwhelmed now, but you must get dressed.”

  Olga snapped out of her reverie and apologized.

  “I assure you that I’m with you 100%,” said Eva. “Such an opportunity… it’s extraordinary. But then, that’s life and I’m happy for you…”

  In the salon, the producer and director were talking. Marcel Trempont repeated: