by Lena Manta
Naturally, she didn’t appear at Leonidas’s funeral, but Stathis attended it, even though he felt like an accomplice in the young man’s death. For a week Polyxeni didn’t stick her nose outside her apartment door. The gossip magazines all wrote about her nervous breakdown, and the director informed her that the production offices had been overwhelmed by letters of sympathy and support for her. Dressed in black, she finally emerged from her home to go to the shoot, where everyone greeted her with words of understanding and the director praised her for her professionalism in coming to work despite her situation.
The film was a sensation. Even though she didn’t play the lead, everyone ran to see the girl who had lost her man in such a tragic way. Her photograph ran on the covers of magazines, and everyone begged her for an interview. Following Stathis’s orders, she always spoke very tactfully and cautiously to the press. As was expected, she played the lead in her next film and also took a leading role in the theater. The theater director had tapped into a vein of gold and he knew it. Polyxeni was like a magnet, drawing an audience that filled the theater every night. The show was sold out for a month in advance.
Xenia Olympiou was a star.
Martha glanced at her daughter, who was playing with her dolls on the carpet, then turned back toward the woman she was talking to. Several years had passed since the tragedy of Leonidas’s suicide and Polyxeni, sitting opposite her, seemed to remember nothing about it. On the contrary, more beautiful than ever, she was basking in the glory of the films she’d made one after another, as well as her success in the theater, where she’d been playing leading roles for some time. Polyxeni was on top of the world.
“So,” Martha said as she returned to their conversation. “What are you doing with your life?”
“Haven’t you been reading the papers?” Polyxeni asked, smiling with self-satisfaction.
“I was asking about your life, not your career.”
“But my life is my career.”
“From what I read, you’re not seeing anyone these days.”
“No—I have no desire to get mixed up with anyone. I’m just fine.”
“Everyone says that you can’t forget Leonidas.”
“Yes, isn’t that funny?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that. Someone else in your place might have been psychologically wounded by such a great love.”
“Yes, I dare say, but in this case we’re talking about me, and I was never in love with Leonidas. You know that.”
“Still, it’s been a long time. Has no one turned up who interests you?”
“No one. We covered all this back then.”
“And nothing’s changed since that time?”
“Martha, I know you worry about me—I can see it in your eyes.”
“Shouldn’t I worry? You’re young, beautiful, successful, rich . . . and completely isolated.”
“If I wanted love, I’d be looking for it.”
“But doesn’t every living being want intimacy and love?”
“OK, fine. Go ahead and say what you like. Say what my worst enemies say, that I’m a cold, heartless mannequin, that I’m not even alive. Maybe they’re right. I feel as though I died when I was born. And if my body didn’t, my soul certainly did.”
“Were you always like this, Xenia?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I can’t imagine you as a little girl in the village with your mother. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Four sisters, but I don’t know where they are.”
“And your mother? Do you know how she is?”
“No. From time to time I send her a card so she knows I’m all right.”
“Why, Xenia? What happened to make you leave home and abandon everyone you left behind?”
“Don’t get it into your head that there was some tragedy, because there wasn’t. The village always stifled me and at the first opportunity, I left to save myself from the boredom and routine there. That’s all there is to it.”
“And all these years you never wanted to find out if your family was all right? You didn’t want to see them?”
“The very idea of going back makes me shudder. I’m fine here, especially now. Do you know they’re talking about casting me in an Italian coproduction? Do you realize that I may have an international career ahead of me?”
“It’s quite probable. I was asking about something else, though.”
“Why are you so interested in my past?”
“I want to find out if you were always so . . .” Martha tried to find a word that wouldn’t offend her.
“So cold? Is that what you mean?”
“Yes, why not? Before you joined the troupe, for example. What were you like?”
“I don’t remember, Martha, and I’m telling you the truth. It’s as if a sponge passed over all the years I lived below Olympus and wiped them out.”
“Is Xenia Olympiou your real name?”
Polyxeni was silent for a moment. “No,” she answered.
“I thought not. Don’t worry, I’m discreet. I won’t ask you anything else because it’s clear you don’t want to tell me.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to because I don’t trust you. You’re the only person who knows what I’m like and still accepts me. But I truly don’t remember the past. It’s as if it was someone else who sat on the banks of the river by my house, looking at the water and wishing for a boat so she could sail to wherever the river ended. And now that it’s happened, thanks to you, you’re asking me to go against the current and turn back, if only in my memories. I can’t do it.”
“All right. I won’t go on anymore. But you should know that I’m really worried about you. I’m afraid that at some point the actress will finally get a taste of what real life can be like, and she won’t be able to bear it.”
“Fine, if that happens, I’ll run and hide in my house again,” Polyxeni said. “My mother said the same thing to my sisters who got married. She told them that if they ever felt like life was dragging them away, they should come back. That only there, in our home, they would be cleansed again.”
“I hope you won’t need to do that.”
Just then Stathis returned, interrupting their conversation. The smile on his face froze as soon as he saw Polyxeni.
“Bah! You’re here too,” he said with annoyance.
“And I was so pleased to see you!” Polyxeni replied sarcastically and stood up. “Don’t try to insist that I stay, I must go—I have work.”
Martha looked at her friend apologetically, but Polyxeni just smiled. She absentmindedly stroked the little girl’s hair and then left, winking at Stathis instead of saying good-bye.
“Really, can’t you even go through the motions when she’s here?” Martha scolded as soon as they were alone.
“After what she did, I can’t even pretend to bear her presence. I wonder why she even comes, Martha.”
“Because however much it annoys you, I’m the only friend she has.”
“Friend! Does a creature like that even know what friendship is?”
“Not all people are the same, Stathis. I accept her as she is.”
“But she isn’t even a human being, she’s so cold and heartless. She’s like a mannequin!”
“Strange. That’s just what she said about herself. Still, one day she’ll fall in love.”
“She, fall in love? You’re dreaming, my love.”
“Maybe. But if it does happen, Hell itself will open its doors and say to her: ‘Come in!’ Women like Xenia can fall in love, even if they don’t know it. But they love only once and sometimes it’s in a catastrophic way. I almost hope it doesn’t happen to her.”
“If she does fall in love, I hope she pays with the same price that poor Leonidas did.”
When Polyxeni left Martha’s house, she headed toward the theater. She liked going there early, before the others arrived. Sometimes she went on stage and looked out at the dark auditorium with its empty seats, list
ening in her imagination to the applause that would soon flood the place. At other times she would sit in the front row and imagine seeing herself act. Mentally she would correct any shortcomings or mistakes, then she would do the same thing from the back row. Her acting, which grew more perfect each day, must move even the farthest-away spectator.
Her fellow actors, even the ones who didn’t like her, knew it was admirable, the way she controlled her acting. They recognized that she was completely professional. Often, they had stood back to watch how easily she acted a feeling that they knew she had never experienced in life. She was always cold, always distant. They had never seen her be moved by anything. In fact, it was rumored that this poisonous woman had driven a man to suicide several years earlier. After that, the press had tried to dig up details on her personal life, and some of them followed her very closely, but they only saw her coming and going from her house alone.
The coproduction Polyxeni had told Martha about finally got the green light, sending the young star happily to Italy. It was a story about two friends who loved the same man, and it ended with one tearing the other to pieces until they both lost their great love. Her colead was very beautiful and already famous in her own country, which Polyxeni didn’t like. Her envy was tempered, however, by the fact that she had aroused the admiration of the male lead, a charming Italian with black hair and dark eyes. For the first time since Leonidas, she considered going to bed with someone just to see how it felt. Besides, she would be staying in Rome for three weeks, and it wasn’t fun to be shut up alone in a hotel room, even the most luxurious one. There was of course the problem of language, although the Italian knew a little English, just as she did. But in the end she didn’t want him for conversation.
The shoot was a new experience for Polyxeni, who saw that Italy was more advanced in the field of moviemaking than her home country. The studio was much better equipped, the cameras more sophisticated, and the organization was perfect. When the director ordered the man in charge of the temperature inside the studio to match it to the climate depicted on screen so that the actors wouldn’t perspire, Polyxeni was amused. In her last film in Greece, she’d had to wear a low-cut dress despite the very chilly temperature inside the studio, causing her to shiver so much that her voice trembled when she said her lines. Fortunately, this had worked, as her character was supposed to be in distress.
Polyxeni impressed everyone on the set. She was always on time and always prepared, in contrast to the Italian actress, who wore everyone out with her whims. As a result, Polyxeni charmed the director and the producer and stole some extra scenes from her fellow actress. This infuriated the Italian, but she couldn’t do anything about it.
On the third day of the shoot, Polyxeni wasn’t surprised when she found a large bouquet of flowers in her dressing room. Before she even looked at the card, she knew it was from Giovanni, her leading man. She smiled with satisfaction, then got into her bath, which the maid had scented with bath salts. That evening, the production company was hosting a dinner, and she wanted to be dazzling. Naturally, this wasn’t difficult for her to achieve. She had just the right dress in her suitcase.
At exactly seven o’clock she came down the grand staircase wearing a gold dress, and everyone turned to admire her. She soon found herself surrounded by every guest in the room, and the satisfaction she felt made her eyes shine more brightly than the outfit she wore. Giovanni managed to separate her from the throng and lead her to the dance floor. The photographers’ cameras flashed as the two danced together. Both their smiles were dazzling, but as soon as the cameras withdrew, their eyes met and the heat between them was almost palpable. They whirled around for hours, and Polyxeni caught herself feeling impatient for what was certain to follow. Perhaps this handsome Italian would finally teach her the pleasure of love.
Three hours later, with great discretion, they disappeared into her room. They didn’t want anyone to see them, although everybody knew that the arms of the Greek actress wouldn’t be empty that night. As soon as the door closed behind them, Giovanni went to the bar and poured a glass of champagne. When Polyxeni put out her hand to take it, he shook his head and smiled. He circled around her and when he was behind her he unzipped her dress so that it fell like a mountain of gold at her feet.
“The champagne is for me,” he said to her in English, speaking slowly so that she would understand. “But I don’t like drinking it out of the glass.”
His next move took her by surprise. Very slowly he let the golden liquid run down her body and Polyxeni let out a little cry, partly because of the temperature of the chilled wine. Immediately Giovanni began to busy himself licking the rivulets that had formed on her and for the first time Polyxeni felt her heart race. She turned and embraced him but he was not in a hurry. He wanted to taste all of the drink, wherever it had flowed. Then the Italian indicated that he wanted her to take off his clothes. Polyxeni obeyed. She hurried, her hands trembling as she relieved him of his last items of clothing, but he continued to be slow, to the point where she wanted to howl. With indolent gestures he laid her on the bed, where his hands traveled all over her, followed by his lips. Polyxeni was surprised when she heard herself groan. Her body felt like a musical instrument that gave out soft notes when played by a virtuoso.
In the end, nothing was the same as it had been with Leonidas, and yet—something was missing. She had experienced sexual pleasure for the first time in her life, but her instincts told her there was something else, something strong that was hidden inside her and hadn’t yet come to the surface. She finally knew what it was to enjoy making love, but . . . This but was still going around in her head when Giovanni, not fully satisfied or tired, laid his body on hers again and she experienced the same pleasure once more.
Polyxeni didn’t know that news of her affair with Giovanni had reached Greece thanks to her own producer, who’d tipped off the press. Having purchased the rights to the film, he wanted publicity. Had she known it, it wouldn’t have mattered. Giovanni had swept her off her feet, and she asked for nothing more than the hours they spent in her room. They both knew that it would end when she finished her work and went back to her country, and neither of them had a problem with that, something that made Polyxeni feel completely free. She had become even better in her role and the love scenes with Giovanni caught fire on the screen. The director nearly cried out for joy. He knew that this sort of chemistry always brought people to the box office.
When Polyxeni returned to Greece, she finally learned of the media frenzy her relationship with the Italian had caused. With an inscrutable expression, she said that the rumors were unfounded. She and her leading man were and would remain good friends, and she was grateful to him for showing her the beauties of Rome. Also, she added, she would enjoy seeing him at the premiere of the film in Italy that winter.
“I want you to tell me the truth,” Martha commanded two days later when Polyxeni visited her. “This story about friendship is for the reporters!”
“OK, OK. I wouldn’t lie to you anyway. What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“It might shock you.”
“Coming from you, nothing would shock me. So, did you have a good time?”
Polyxeni told her friend everything, without hiding the feelings that Giovanni had aroused in her. She also confessed her suspicion that something was missing, something hidden that she hadn’t yet discovered. When she stopped she saw Martha looking at her and smiling.
“Why are you smiling so condescendingly?” she asked, ready to be angry.
“Because you finally understand the difference between sex and love. It’s one thing for the body to be satisfied; it’s another thing entirely when the soul is involved too. Young and inexperienced as you are, you’ve only satisfied your body so far.”
“But with Leonidas . . .”
“Leave the boy alone, wherever he is. The poor lad didn’t even manage to satisfy your body. But the Italian, from what you’ve
described, was unbelievably experienced. Love, for him, was a science and he shook something up in you.”
“And real love? What’s it like?” Polyxeni looked at her curiously, like a child who wants to learn a secret from a grown-up.
“Ah, love! Love is a mysterious rite, my dear. It brings you Hell and at the same time you realize that Paradise must be something like it. It burns you alive and yet you find yourself refreshed by its fire.”
“Martha, I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying.”
“That’s because you’ve reached this age without your heart breaking for someone.”
“But is it good, then? The way you put it, love sounds like a complete disaster. It destroys you.”
“Yes, but through it you’re reborn again. Without the object of your desire, you don’t live. You have no air to breathe. To have the man you love embrace you is like a journey that you hope will never end.”
“You sound like a romantic.”
“My dear, at your age, you should be the one who is a romantic, not me. At my age, love is like a precious thing on display in a store window. You look at it, and before you decide to go inside and see it up close, you think of the pros and cons. Because when it comes to love there’s no room for second thoughts. But you . . . now that I think about it, I’m asking a lot of you. You don’t manage to feel other things—simpler things, more everyday things.”
“What do you mean?”
“Xenia, you promised to always tell me the truth; I’m doing the same for you now. Leave love aside for the moment. Because it’s like asking you to walk before you’ve managed to even stand up.”
“Is it riddle day today? You’re confusing me again.”
“My dear girl, look around you a little. Experience simple feelings first—joy, sorrow. Let yourself approach people; listen when they talk, just as you listen to your director. Soften your unbending soul a little and then everything will come to you. Move your eyes away from the distorting mirror so you can see the world as it really is.”
