Red Shoe Diaries (1992–1999): Season 2, Episode 11 - Gina - full transcript
- I have a confession
to make, Red Shoes.
Like most women, I've always
been under this impression
that if I could change
certain things about myself,
then I would find happiness.
If only I was a little
prettier, richer, thinner,
taller, sweeter,
tougher, had fuller lips,
or just about anything
different than
what I have and
was, I would in fact
have and be all that I
could dream of being.
And most importantly,
I would accept myself.
Unable to reinvent myself,
I did the next best thing.
I took a leave of
absence from work,
and made arrangements
to take off for France.
When my friend, Lynn,
heard what I was doing,
she called a friend
of hers in Paris,
a photojournalist,
to see if she knew of any
great places to settle in.
As luck would have it,
it just so happened
that she was going away
for the month of April
and was desperately looking
for someone to house sit.
Or in her case, I
should say boat sit,
since she lived on a
converted barge in the Seine.
In all my life, I'd never seen
a place quite as beautiful.
The furniture, the
art on the walls,
the plates,
the silverware, everything.
The woman who lives here
must be extraordinary.
It might sound strange,
but from the moment I
walked through the door,
I wanted to be her.
Her spirit took me
over completely.
It was like walking
into her soul.
Who was she?
I've never snooped,
or invaded anyone's
privacy before.
In fact, it would never
have entered my mind.
But this was different.
I had to find out who she was.
February fifth, 1993.
Another collection.
Shot 35 rolls before noon.
All the clothes look the same.
It's cold, gray.
Decided to call Jim.
Haven't seen him since New York.
Repeated everything
we did the last time.
Like a dance.
Saying nothing.
Wouldn't let him
touch me, not yet.
Just his eyes on me
as I undressed him.
And then I took his picture.
One after the other.
He loved it.
And I loved it, too.
The more I read about Shelby,
the more I wanted
to be like her.
Her words gave me courage.
Too shy to ever allow
anyone to take my picture,
I set up a camera
I found of hers
and decided to try and
take them of myself.
I wanted to know
what it was like.
It excited me.
It made me feel bad
and daring and free.
It made me feel like Shelby.
The next day, I did something
else I'd never done before.
I borrowed one of
Shelby's short skirts
and actually had the courage
to wear it out in public.
Thank you, Shelby.
It was amazing.
I'd been in Paris for four days,
and for the first
time in my life,
everything seemed possible.
I'm totally anonymous.
Nobody knows who I am.
Nobody to judge me.
If Shelby could sit
in a short skirt
in an outdoor cafe
and pick up a waiter,
why couldn't I?
Gina's not Gina today.
She's Shelby.
Confident,
poised,
brave.
Shelby.
I do love being Shelby.
Love it.
Love it.
April fifth, 1993.
Dinner alone.
I was bored.
He was a waiter.
His name was Jean.
Wrote my room
number on the check.
Very discreet.
And so was he.
Discreet.
Quiet, thoughtful.
Accommodating.
And he wasn't even
that attractive.
But it didn't matter.
I focused on that
tattoo on his chest.
I waited for that
feeling to come.
I like to be taken from behind.
Just the sound of his breath,
the weight of his body
pressed against me,
my hands gripping
the edge of the bed.
He could be anybody.
Feeling.
The blood rushing into my face.
I could hardly breathe.
Then from out of nowhere,
it suddenly began.
Violently at first.
Then over and over again.
Like waves lapping on a shore.
If only I could keep him
inside of me forever.
I couldn't give her up.
I loved her clothes.
Loved to dress like her.
Loved to read her letters.
Loved to hear her
voice in my head.
Loved it.
Loved it.
Charles was the difference
between sex and love.
He was the only man
that could make me cum
by just a touch.
Sometimes, even a look.
I felt passion for him.
Slept.
His kiss.
He could've owned
me if he wanted to.
He was the only man I
would relinquish myself to.
I did.
I loved it when he kissed me.
Hi Shelby, you don't know me,
but I'm a friend of Sue's.
Anyway, I'm in Paris
on business and well,
I really don't know anyone
here, and she suggested
I give you a call.
Okay, anyway, you're not home.
So I'll, in case I didn't
already mention it,
my name is Antonio and
my number is 4253-3441.
Sorry about the message.
It's a bad habit.
Anyway...
- Hello?
This is Shelby.
I couldn't resist.
He had no idea who I was.
To him, I was Shelby.
Beautiful,
poised,
beguiling.
Shelby.
Just keep on repeating.
My name is Shelby.
And I'm strong and
fierce and beautiful.
Just keep on repeating
it, like a mantra.
That's right.
I said my name is Shelby.
- Let me help you.
- They say it's good luck.
We'll see.
My name is Shelby,
and you are under my spell.
My name is Shelby,
and you will do what
I want you to do.
My name is Shelby,
and I'm strong,
fierce, and beautiful.
That's right.
I said my name is Shelby.
What did Sue tell you about me?
She said you were
wonderful, which you are.
And that you were,
how did she put it,
without fear.
You like being in control, hmm?
Is that it?
- I want you to kiss
the inside of my thighs.
- I talked to a voice on
the other end of the phone,
and now she asked me to kiss
the inside of her thighs.
- Do it.
Inside of my thighs.
Can you do that?
Will you kiss me?
- I think I've died
and gone to heaven.
- Answer me.
Show me.
We made love all night.
And somewhere during that time,
I stopped being Shelby
and became myself.
And that's when my
real problems began.
Poor Antonio.
Went to bed with one woman
and woke up with another.
- You're perfect.
- No, I'm not.
- Yes, you are.
Perfect, the perfect woman.
Believe me, I'm
far from perfect.
- The sweetest lips.
Perfect lips.
- I have a goofy smile.
- Perfect neck.
- What neck?
- Perfect breasts.
Ankles.
Feet.
The perfect woman.
Wildly beautiful,
completely unexpected.
- I'm just not used to...
- What?
You're not used to what?
Say the words.
- I'm not used to this
kind of attention.
- It's the way I feel.
Maybe we went too fast.
Maybe we should get
dressed and go out
and get a cup of
coffee, you know?
Talk a little.
Start from the beginning.
I can tell you all
about me and you can
tell me all about
you and everything.
What frightens you,
what excites you.
All your dark secrets.
And I tell you mine.
What do you say?
- I'm sorry.
I need to be alone right now.
He seemed to really like me
and I really liked him.
And I didn't want
it to be a fantasy.
I wanted it to be real.
When he called to ask if
he could see me again,
I finally worked up the
courage to tell him the truth.
I told him who I was.
How none of it was mine.
And it didn't seem
to matter to him.
And then he repeated again
how much he really liked me
just as I am.
For who I am.
- Wow, so, she wasn't
who he thought she was,
even though he liked
who he thought she was,
and even though he liked
who she was when he
found out who she really was.
And if she hadn't
pretended to be Shelby,
he would never have met her,
and she would never
have learned that
being who she really is
is probably the best thing
that she can be.
You understand that?
Well, maybe you can
explain it to me.
to make, Red Shoes.
Like most women, I've always
been under this impression
that if I could change
certain things about myself,
then I would find happiness.
If only I was a little
prettier, richer, thinner,
taller, sweeter,
tougher, had fuller lips,
or just about anything
different than
what I have and
was, I would in fact
have and be all that I
could dream of being.
And most importantly,
I would accept myself.
Unable to reinvent myself,
I did the next best thing.
I took a leave of
absence from work,
and made arrangements
to take off for France.
When my friend, Lynn,
heard what I was doing,
she called a friend
of hers in Paris,
a photojournalist,
to see if she knew of any
great places to settle in.
As luck would have it,
it just so happened
that she was going away
for the month of April
and was desperately looking
for someone to house sit.
Or in her case, I
should say boat sit,
since she lived on a
converted barge in the Seine.
In all my life, I'd never seen
a place quite as beautiful.
The furniture, the
art on the walls,
the plates,
the silverware, everything.
The woman who lives here
must be extraordinary.
It might sound strange,
but from the moment I
walked through the door,
I wanted to be her.
Her spirit took me
over completely.
It was like walking
into her soul.
Who was she?
I've never snooped,
or invaded anyone's
privacy before.
In fact, it would never
have entered my mind.
But this was different.
I had to find out who she was.
February fifth, 1993.
Another collection.
Shot 35 rolls before noon.
All the clothes look the same.
It's cold, gray.
Decided to call Jim.
Haven't seen him since New York.
Repeated everything
we did the last time.
Like a dance.
Saying nothing.
Wouldn't let him
touch me, not yet.
Just his eyes on me
as I undressed him.
And then I took his picture.
One after the other.
He loved it.
And I loved it, too.
The more I read about Shelby,
the more I wanted
to be like her.
Her words gave me courage.
Too shy to ever allow
anyone to take my picture,
I set up a camera
I found of hers
and decided to try and
take them of myself.
I wanted to know
what it was like.
It excited me.
It made me feel bad
and daring and free.
It made me feel like Shelby.
The next day, I did something
else I'd never done before.
I borrowed one of
Shelby's short skirts
and actually had the courage
to wear it out in public.
Thank you, Shelby.
It was amazing.
I'd been in Paris for four days,
and for the first
time in my life,
everything seemed possible.
I'm totally anonymous.
Nobody knows who I am.
Nobody to judge me.
If Shelby could sit
in a short skirt
in an outdoor cafe
and pick up a waiter,
why couldn't I?
Gina's not Gina today.
She's Shelby.
Confident,
poised,
brave.
Shelby.
I do love being Shelby.
Love it.
Love it.
April fifth, 1993.
Dinner alone.
I was bored.
He was a waiter.
His name was Jean.
Wrote my room
number on the check.
Very discreet.
And so was he.
Discreet.
Quiet, thoughtful.
Accommodating.
And he wasn't even
that attractive.
But it didn't matter.
I focused on that
tattoo on his chest.
I waited for that
feeling to come.
I like to be taken from behind.
Just the sound of his breath,
the weight of his body
pressed against me,
my hands gripping
the edge of the bed.
He could be anybody.
Feeling.
The blood rushing into my face.
I could hardly breathe.
Then from out of nowhere,
it suddenly began.
Violently at first.
Then over and over again.
Like waves lapping on a shore.
If only I could keep him
inside of me forever.
I couldn't give her up.
I loved her clothes.
Loved to dress like her.
Loved to read her letters.
Loved to hear her
voice in my head.
Loved it.
Loved it.
Charles was the difference
between sex and love.
He was the only man
that could make me cum
by just a touch.
Sometimes, even a look.
I felt passion for him.
Slept.
His kiss.
He could've owned
me if he wanted to.
He was the only man I
would relinquish myself to.
I did.
I loved it when he kissed me.
Hi Shelby, you don't know me,
but I'm a friend of Sue's.
Anyway, I'm in Paris
on business and well,
I really don't know anyone
here, and she suggested
I give you a call.
Okay, anyway, you're not home.
So I'll, in case I didn't
already mention it,
my name is Antonio and
my number is 4253-3441.
Sorry about the message.
It's a bad habit.
Anyway...
- Hello?
This is Shelby.
I couldn't resist.
He had no idea who I was.
To him, I was Shelby.
Beautiful,
poised,
beguiling.
Shelby.
Just keep on repeating.
My name is Shelby.
And I'm strong and
fierce and beautiful.
Just keep on repeating
it, like a mantra.
That's right.
I said my name is Shelby.
- Let me help you.
- They say it's good luck.
We'll see.
My name is Shelby,
and you are under my spell.
My name is Shelby,
and you will do what
I want you to do.
My name is Shelby,
and I'm strong,
fierce, and beautiful.
That's right.
I said my name is Shelby.
What did Sue tell you about me?
She said you were
wonderful, which you are.
And that you were,
how did she put it,
without fear.
You like being in control, hmm?
Is that it?
- I want you to kiss
the inside of my thighs.
- I talked to a voice on
the other end of the phone,
and now she asked me to kiss
the inside of her thighs.
- Do it.
Inside of my thighs.
Can you do that?
Will you kiss me?
- I think I've died
and gone to heaven.
- Answer me.
Show me.
We made love all night.
And somewhere during that time,
I stopped being Shelby
and became myself.
And that's when my
real problems began.
Poor Antonio.
Went to bed with one woman
and woke up with another.
- You're perfect.
- No, I'm not.
- Yes, you are.
Perfect, the perfect woman.
Believe me, I'm
far from perfect.
- The sweetest lips.
Perfect lips.
- I have a goofy smile.
- Perfect neck.
- What neck?
- Perfect breasts.
Ankles.
Feet.
The perfect woman.
Wildly beautiful,
completely unexpected.
- I'm just not used to...
- What?
You're not used to what?
Say the words.
- I'm not used to this
kind of attention.
- It's the way I feel.
Maybe we went too fast.
Maybe we should get
dressed and go out
and get a cup of
coffee, you know?
Talk a little.
Start from the beginning.
I can tell you all
about me and you can
tell me all about
you and everything.
What frightens you,
what excites you.
All your dark secrets.
And I tell you mine.
What do you say?
- I'm sorry.
I need to be alone right now.
He seemed to really like me
and I really liked him.
And I didn't want
it to be a fantasy.
I wanted it to be real.
When he called to ask if
he could see me again,
I finally worked up the
courage to tell him the truth.
I told him who I was.
How none of it was mine.
And it didn't seem
to matter to him.
And then he repeated again
how much he really liked me
just as I am.
For who I am.
- Wow, so, she wasn't
who he thought she was,
even though he liked
who he thought she was,
and even though he liked
who she was when he
found out who she really was.
And if she hadn't
pretended to be Shelby,
he would never have met her,
and she would never
have learned that
being who she really is
is probably the best thing
that she can be.
You understand that?
Well, maybe you can
explain it to me.