Frédéric meets Jonathan just as casting for the series gets underway. They meet in a boutique. Opening the door of a fitting room, Frédéric stumbles on Jonathan trying on a pair of jeans. An hour later they’re making love.
Some months after that, Jonathan sets foot on a film set for the first time.
Vincent leaves Philippe’s room around midnight. It’s Friday night. Usually he would be with a group of friends at a tavern called Let’s Talk Business, close to his downtown apartment. An odd name for a place that’s smoky and noisy, full of students, venerable alcoholics, aging hippies, where no businessman has ever been seen. But Vincent has better things to do. Back home, he rolls himself one last joint and, comfortably ensconced in the armchair picked up on the sidewalk one day, abandoned by its owner, he opens the metal box that Philippe, despite his reluctance, has finally entrusted to him.
From the very first letters he gets an idea of the woman who forms rounded characters in violet ink carefully lined up on delicate, nearly transparent paper that gives off the ghost of a scent. Vincent pictures a girl with long blond hair, unassertive, not beautiful but pretty, with big, startled eyes. A moment later he has a sense that he can hear her voice. She whispers. She recites simple sentences that glide effortlessly across the paper. Laure describes the sunsets that she likes to gaze at, the happy barking of her little dog when she was a child, her eagerness to become an adult and take charge of her life, the emotion that will fill her when she discovers the vastness of the world. She addresses Philippe with infinite tenderness and unites her destiny with his through the good they will do together. Yes, together they will do as much good as possible because the world is suffering so. They must help the destitute, the disinherited. Laure imagines herself crossing distant lands at Philippe’s side and asks him about his knowledge of geography. She shares with him her moments of grace, which occur daily. She describes an apple, its perfect form, its cheerful colour, the happiness she feels when she bites into it, slowly savours it. She is ecstatic about the yellow eyes of a cat she sees along her way. She copies out sentences that she finds in novels in which heroines question themselves on the meaning of life. She underlines the words she regards as important: future, beauty, love, light. She goes over what makes her happy: thinking about Philippe; sniffing the odour of books; of her pencil case; of the earth after a heavy rain; praying to God. Laure loves so many things and there are so many things to love in this world. She has only to open her eyes when she wakes up to marvel at the light of day that seeps in, like a faithful treasure, between her bedroom curtains. She is alive, and the mystery of life fills her with constant joy.
Vincent puts the letters back in their little metal coffin. Laure’s murmur continues nonetheless. It sleeps in the eddy of her voice.
Antoine takes a quick tour of his son’s condo, makes a few enthusiastic remarks about the new windows, the hardwood floor in the living room. Jonathan urges him to admire the view of Mount Royal. Antoine exclaims and congratulates him on his choice. He has good taste, and it’s an excellent investment.
Then, silence.
Antoine wishes that he hadn’t come. He is relieved to see his son in great shape, radiant even. He should be delighted, but he can’t be. Jonathan has him sit in the living room, offers a beer. Antoine becomes nervous. Jonathan brings the beers, takes a drink, and immediately starts to talk about the phenomenal success of the series Terre profanée. He can’t get over it. People stop him on the street to ask for autographs.
“I’m happy for you. On the phone you said that you had some big news for me.”
Suddenly Jonathan’s expression is serious. He holds tight to his glass of beer. Antoine smiles at him foolishly.
“I’m in love with someone. A man. And … he’s exactly your age. There. I think I’ve told you the most important parts.”
Antoine doesn’t say a word. Jonathan downs his beer in one gulp.
“I didn’t want you to find out from someone else. Or the papers.”
“Because you’re famous now, I understand.”
“He’s a lot more famous than I am. He’s the director of Terre profanée.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“It’s your life. Do with it what you want. You haven’t shown me the bathroom.”
“Just to the right of the bedroom.”
Antoine makes his way there and hastily shuts the door behind him. He is physically in pain. He wets his face, pulls himself together. When he turns around to go out, he discovers that he is facing a huge poster for Terre profanée pinned to the door. Jonathan is embracing the female star of the series, in a halo of light. A promotional poster counting on the youthful beauty of the two actors. With his fingertips Antoine brushes Jonathan’s face on the glossy paper. He chokes slightly. Goes back to the living room, trying to think of what he can say to his son, but no words come. Jonathan regards him, waits.
“I’ll be going now.”
Father and son don’t say another word. Jonathan makes a move toward Antoine to embrace him, but his father acts as if he hasn’t seen. Once the door is closed, Jonathan feels miserable. He expected so much more from his father. He would have preferred anger, indignation, rejection – anything but that
