from the crushing realities of everyday life in the movie houses and on the stages.
Overnight, Noelle Page had become a star. Jealous associates in the theater said that
it was due solely to the power and talent of Armand Gautier, and while it was true that
Gautier had launched her career, it is axiomatic among those who work in the theater that
no one can make a star except the public, that faceless, fickle, adoring, mercurial arbiter of
a performer’s destiny. The public adored Noelle.
As for Armand Gautier, he bitterly regretted the part he had played in starting
Noelle’s career. Her need of him was now gone; all that held her to him was a whim, and
he lived in constant dread of the day she would leave him. Gautier had worked in the
theater most of his life, but he had never met anyone like Noelle. She was an insatiable
sponge, learning everything he had to teach her and demanding more. It had been fantastic
to watch the metamorphosis in her as she went from the halting, external beginnings of
grasping a part to the self-assured inner mastery of the character. Gautier had known from
the very beginning that Noelle was going to be a star—there was never any question about
it—but what astonished him as he learned to know her better was that stardom was not her
goal. The truth was that Noelle was not even interested in acting.
At first, Gautier simply could not believe it. Being a star was the top of the ladder, the
sine qua non. But to Noelle acting was simply a stepping stone, and Gautier had not the
faintest clue as to what her real goal was. She was a mystery, an enigma, and the deeper
Gautier probed, the more the riddle grew, like the Chinese boxes that opened and revealed
further boxes inside. Gautier prided himself on understanding people, particularly women,
and the fact that he knew absolutely nothing about the woman he lived with and loved
drove him frantic. He asked Noelle to marry him, and she said, “Yes, Armand,” and he
knew that she meant nothing by it, that it meant no more to her than her engagement to
Philippe Sorel or God alone knew how many other men in her past life. He realized that
the marriage would never take place. When Noelle was ready, she would move on.
Gautier was sure that every man who met her tried to persuade her to go to bed with
him. He also knew from his envious friends that none of them had succeeded.
“You lucky son of a bitch,” one of his friends had said, “You must be hung like un
taureau. I offered her a yacht, her own chateau and a staff of servants in Cap d’Antibes,
and she laughed at me.”
Another friend, a banker, told him, “I have finally found the first thing money cannot
buy.”
“Noelle?”
The banker nodded. “That’s right. I told her to name her price. She was not
interested. What is it you have for her, my friend?”
Armand Gautier wished he knew.
Gautier remembered when he had found the first play for her. He had read no more
than a dozen pages when he knew it was exactly what he was looking for. It was a tour de