The Other Side of Midnight

‘No,’ she said. Noelle was watching him pleasantly, warmly, as though eager to accede to anything he suggested. And yet Gautier had a feeling that inside her was a core of steel. There were many ways she could have said ‘no.’ With anger, reproach, disappointment, sulking, but she had said it with softness. And absolute finality. This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. For a moment Armand Gautier was tempted to tell her, as he told dozens of girls every week, to go away, that he had no time to waste on her. But he thought of the incredible sensations he had experienced during the night and he knew he would be a fool to let her go so soon. She was surely worth a slight, a very slight, compromise.

‘Very well,’ Gautier said. ‘I will give you a play to study. When you have memorized it, you will read it to me and we will see how much talent you have. Then we can decide what to do with you.’

‘Thank you, Armand,’ she said. There was no triumph in her words, nor even any pleasure that he could detect. Just a simple acknowledgment of the inevitable. For the first time Gautier felt a small twinge of doubt. But that of course was ridiculous. He was a master at handling women.

While Noelle was getting dressed, Armand Gautier went into his book-lined study and scanned the familiar-looking worn volumes on the shelves. Finally, with a wry smile, he selected Euripides’ Andromache. It was one of the most difficult classics to act. He went back into the bedroom and handed the play to Noelle.

‘Here you are, my dear,’ he said. ‘When you have memorized the part, we shall go over it together.’

‘Thank you, Armand. You will not be sorry.’

The more he thought about it, the more pleased Gautier was with his ploy. It would take Noelle a week or two to memorize the part, or what was even more likely, she would come to him and confess that she was unable to memorize it. He would sympathize with her, explain how difficult the art of acting was, and they could assume a relationship untainted by her ambition. Gautier made a date to have dinner with Noelle that evening, and she left.

When Noelle returned to the apartment she shared with Philippe Sorel, she found him waiting for her. He was very drunk.

‘You bitch,’ he yelled. ‘Where have you been all night?’

It would not matter what she said. Sorel knew that he was going to listen to her apologies, beat her up, then take her to bed and forgive her.

But instead of apologizing Noelle merely said, ‘With another man, Philippe. I’ve come to pick up my things.’

And as Sorel watched her in stunned disbelief, Noelle walked into the bedroom and began to pack.

‘For Christ’s sake, Noelle,’ he pleaded. ‘Don’t do this! We love each other. We’re going to get married.’ He talked to her for the next half hour, arguing, threatening, cajoling, and by that time Noelle had finished packing and had left the apartment and Sorel had no idea why he had lost her, for he did not know that he had never possessed her.

Armand Gautier was in the middle of directing a new play that was to open in two weeks and he spent all day at the theatre in rehearsals. As a rule when Gautier was in production, he thought of nothing else. Part of his genius was the intense concentration he was able to bring to his work. Nothing existed for him but the four walls of the theatre and the actors he was working with. This day however was different. Gautier found his mind constantly wandering to Noelle and the incredible night they had had together. The actors would go through a scene and then stop and wait for his comments, and Gautier would suddenly realize that he had been paying no attention. Furious with himself he tried to focus his attention on what he was doing, but thoughts of Noelle’s naked body and the amazing things it had done to him would keep coming back. In the middle of one dramatic scene he found that he was walking around the stage with an erection, and he had to excuse himself.

Because Gautier had an analytical mind he tried to figure out what it was about this girl that had affected him like this. Noelle was beautiful, but he had slept with some of the most beautiful women in the world. She was consummately skilled at lovemaking but so were other women to whom he had made love. She seemed intelligent but not brilliant; her personality was pleasant but not complex. There was something else, something the director could not quite put his finger on. And then he remembered her soft ‘no’ and he felt that it was a clue. There was some force in her that was irresistible, that would obtain anything she wanted. There was something in her that was untouched. And like other men before him Armand Gautier felt that though Noelle had affected him more deeply than he cared to admit to himself, he had not touched her at all, and this was a challenge that his masculinity could not refuse.

Gautier spent the day in a confused state of mind. He looked forward to the evening with tremendous anticipation, not so much because he wanted to make love to Noelle but because he wanted to prove to himself that he had been building something out of nothing. He wanted Noelle to be a disappointment to him so that he could dismiss her from his life.

As they made love that night, Armand Gautier made himself consciously aware of the tricks and devices and artifices Noelle used so he would realize that it was all mechanical, without emotion. But he was mistaken. She gave herself to him fully and completely, caring only about bringing him pleasure such as he had never known before and revelling in his enjoyment. When morning came Gautier was more firmly bewitched by her than ever.

Noelle prepared breakfast for him again, this time delicate crêpes with bacon and jam, and hot coffee, and it was magnificent.

‘All right,’ Gautier told himself. ‘You have found a young girl who is beautiful to look at, who can make love and cook. Bravo! But is that enough for an intelligent man? When you are through making love and eating, you must talk. What can she talk to you about?’ The answer was that it didn’t really matter.

There had been no more mention of the play and Gautier was hoping that Noelle had either forgotten about it or had been unable to cope with memorizing the lines. When she left in the morning, she promised to have dinner with him that evening.

‘Can you get away from Philippe?’ Gautier asked.

‘I’ve left him,’ Noelle said simply. She gave Gautier her new address.

He stared at her for a moment. ‘I see.’

But he did not. Not in the least.

They spent the night together again. When they were not making love, they talked. Or rather Gautier talked. Noelle seemed so interested in him that he found himself talking about things he had not discussed in years, personal things that he had never revealed to anyone before. No mention was made of the play he had given her to read, and Gautier congratulated himself on having solved his problem so neatly.

The following night when they had had dinner and were ready to retire, Gautier started towards the bedroom.

‘Not yet,’ Noelle said.

He turned in surprise.

‘You said you would listen to me do the play.’

‘Well, of – of course,’ Gautier stammered, ‘whenever you’re ready.’

‘I am ready.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to read it, cherie,’ he said. ‘I want to hear it when you have memorized it so that I can really judge you as an actress.’

‘I have memorized it,’ Noelle replied.

He stared at her in disbelief. It was impossible that she could have learned the entire part in only three days.

‘Are you ready to hear me?’ she asked.

Armand Gautier had no choice. ‘Of course,’ he said. He gestured towards the centre of the room. ‘That will be your stage. The audience will be here.’ He sat down on a large comfortable settee.

Noelle began to do the play. Gautier could feel the goose-flesh begin to crawl, his own personal stigmata, the thing that happened to him when he encountered real talent. Not that Noelle was expert. Far from it. Her inexperience shone through every move and gesture. But she had something much more than mere skill: She had a rare honesty, a natural talent that gave every line a fresh meaning and colour.

When Noelle finished the soliloquy, Gautier said warmly, ‘I think that one day you will become an important actress, Noelle. I really mean that. I am going to send you to Georges Faber, who is the best dramatic coach in all of France. Working with him, you will —’

‘No.’

He looked at her in surprise. It was that same soft ‘no’ again. Positive and final.

‘“No” what?’ Gautier asked in some confusion. ‘Faber does not take on anyone but the biggest actors. He will only take you because I tell him to.’

‘I am going to work with you,’ Noelle said.

Gautier could feel the anger mounting in him. ‘I don’t coach anyone,’ he snapped. ‘I am not a teacher. I direct professional actors. When you are a professional actor, then I will direct you.’ He was fighting to check the anger in his voice. ‘Do you understand?’

Noelle nodded. ‘Yes, I understand, Armand.’

‘Very well then.’

Mollified, he took Noelle in his arms and received a warm kiss from her. He knew now that he had worried unnecessarily. She was like any other woman, she needed to be dominated. He would have no further problem with her.

Their lovemaking that night surpassed anything that had gone before, possibly, Gautier thought, because of the added excitement of the slight quarrel they had had.

During the night he said to her, ‘You really can be a wonderful actress, Noelle. I’m going to be very proud of you.’

‘Thank you, Armand,’ she whispered.

Noelle fixed breakfast in the morning, and Gautier left for the theatre. When he telephoned Noelle during the day, she did not answer, and when he arrived home that night she was not there. Gautier waited for her to return, and when she did not appear he lay awake all night wondering if she could have been in an accident. He tried to phone Noelle at her apartment, but there was no answer. He sent a telegram that went undelivered, and when he stopped at her apartment after rehearsal, no one answered his ring.

During the week that followed, Gautier was frantic. Rehearsals were turning into a shambles. He was screaming at all the actors and upsetting them so badly that his stage manager suggested they stop for the day and Gautier agreed. After the actors had left, he sat on the stage alone, trying to understand what had happened to him. He told himself that Noelle was just another woman, a cheap ambitious blonde with the heart of a shopgirl who wanted to be a star. He denigrated her in every way he could think of, but in the end he knew it was no use. He had to have her. That night he wandered the streets of Paris, getting drunk in small bars where he was unknown. He tried to think of ways to reach Noelle but to no avail. There was no one he could even talk to about her, except Philippe Sorel, and that, of course, was out of the question.

A week after Noelle had disappeared, Armand Gautier arrived home at four o’clock in the morning, drunk, opened the door and walked into the living room. All the lights were on. Noelle was curled up in an easy chair dressed in one of his robes, reading a book. She looked up as he entered, and smiled.

‘Hello, Armand.’

Gautier stared at her, his heart lifting, a feeling of infinite relief and happiness flooding through him. He said, ‘We’ll begin working tomorrow.’