Je n'aime que toi (2004) - full transcript

MY ONLY LOVE

Your coffee.

Ready to order?

Tea.

I apologize.

You're crying?

Tears of laughter... I'm sorry.

Maybe with this...

You see...

It's fine, Mr. Gu?rin.

Do I know you?



I read your books.

I saw you on TV.

Not too often.

It's true.

If I may, each time
you look terribly unappy.

I'm not good at selling myself.

My editors reproach me about it too.

It's not a reproach;
it's just not your style.

- I'm not Norman Mailer.
- No.

I mean...

but on a literary plane...

- No comparison either.
- But there is.

In #Alley Cat# the spirit was the same.

The same simplicity as Mailer's.



The #Cat#! That was an eternity...
You werert even...

It was the highlight of my holidays
4 years ago.

It was the first time I ever read you.

You read the best.

Why do you say that?

Because I think so.

I rose so quickly, it left me breathless.

Are you very interested in literature?

Are you in the milieu?

So whom should I thank?

Daisy.

Your real name?

My nom de plume.

So you write?

It's an alias.

You're hiding from...

Oh, no!

I have a meeting!

Take it off.

- Ties are for politicians, not writers.
- Let me.

Thank you.

Loosen your collar.

Good.

I don't mind another biography of C?line.

If it reads well, it'll sell.

I still don't have
that written authorization from Ren?.

Oh bullshit. A verbal agreement...
I want it in writing.

I'm rebuilding the business,
I don't need troubles with Ren?.

Send it to me in writing, and...
I'll send the order to print,

but not before.

Gu?rin line one.

George! How are you?

Fine.

#Moving along#?
- Moving along.

How is it moving along,
because we had a deadline?

#Grasset called. They want
a manuscript within a month or... #

we can kiss
the Paris book fair goodbye.

That'll be a big doo-doo.

#With a capital D. #

Wait, I'll turn the music down.

I told you it was a difficult subject...
virtually impossible.

So don't bug me with the book fair.

A book fair without Gu?rin is like...

like a car show without Porsche or BMW.

Good, I'm not a car.

Then press on the gas,
I need to read something.

The first 100 pages...

#Just to get an idea. #

George?

#Are you there? #

I'm here, I'm thinking.

100 pages
might give you the wrong idea.

Send me everything.

#It's too scribbled to read. #

Guillaume...

I could talk about these things
with your dad.

With you, I don't know...

But I'll be frank...

I've been having problems.

- Not your health, I hope?
#No. #

I don't feel so...

Listen George,
everyone gets writer's cramp.

You can't keep it in.

- Virginia, the hotel in Cuba still stands?
- Yes.

#I got an idea. #

I'm offering a little R and R...

#in a quiet place.
A little warmth, a little sun. #

Where?

#You kidding? #

Cuba? A totalitarian regime... Never.

#You'll be treated like a king. #

Is this
a political exchange with Castro...

#for a shipment of Cohiba cigars? #

You're upsetting me, George.

You want the truth?

I booked the hotel for a holiday...

with my wife,
but I'm offering it to you.

You take your holiday
and I'll take my peace and quiet.

Bibiane! Bibiane!

I dropped my manuscript!

How did you do it, sweetie?
They're everywhere.

One dumb move.

Take it easy, I'll get them.

I'm going through rough times.

10 to 12 hours a day is too much.

It pours out
but it's like a river unarnessed.

Talent is a question of quantity.

It's not a question of writing
2 or 3 pages, but 300. You said it.

It was Jules Renard who said it.

Oh no!

You didn't number them.

It's the story that moves it along,
not the numbering.

Is this Renard or you?

We'll read the last line of each page
and find the continuation.

I'll give you a hand.

Oh, you and your Proustian origami.
Where does this one go?

Is that all you wrote in a year?

No, there are more chapters...

Wort you come and sit down?

I wouldn't want to...

On the contrary.

I'm sorry.

Can you call me back?

I don't know, in about an hour.

I'm with someone.

I've been thinking about you a lot.

Really?

Yes, your story
about your nom de plume, your alias...

I don't understand.

What exactly?

Do you have a profession?

I have a real profession.

But unlike yours,
my work is more mechanical.

It's my body, not my head.

Not high tech?

No, it's old technology...

the world's oldest profession.

I'm a hooker.

You?

Are you shocked?

No.

Everyone can do what they want
with their bodies.

Personally,
with my phobia for diseases and bugs...

There's a risk in every profession,
even in yours.

Mine doesn't give anyone meningitis
and it's easy.

You don't need a manual
to give a blow job.

No need to tell me,
it's probably complicated.

Totally banal.

I was strolling along after school
and a car slowed down.

Thinking he needed directions,
I went up to him.

He was holding his dick and jerking off.

I can't tell what he looked like;
all I saw was his dick.

Who knows why... I got into his car
and we parked somewhere.

He shoved
his Russian doll down my throat,

and I started sucking.

Not too good, I guess,
I had never done it before.

Suddenly he came,
it sprayed everywhere.

I had some in my mouth,
my face, my hair...

He gave me some Kleenex,
and I did the best I could.

To thank me
he slipped a bill into my hand.

$20.

You werert disgusted?

On my way home, I remember...

It was hot, a beautiful sun.

As it dried,
the sperm made my hair stiff.

I'd grab a lock of hair and smell it.

I could've been disgusted,
but I wasrt.

I got a kick
thinking I smelled like a whore.

That's what inspired you to become...

Inspiration!
I don't think it was as poetic as that.

I was living
with my mother who was divorced.

I had to help out during the holidays.

The only job I could find...

was working
in the warehouse of a supermarket.

I hope I'm not boring you?

The warehouse?

No, thank you.

I opted for the great outdoors
and my own hours.
I spent a wonderful summer,

in the sunsets.

I started work as daylight fell,
and finished before dark.

The twilight sucker.

#When my guys were particularly kind, #

#or they had a hard time coming, #

#I'd pull up my blouse... #

and let them caress my breasts,

or let them masturbate
while I'd expose my vulva.

#It seems like my pussy
gets them rock hard. #

How's the writing coming along?

It's coming.

#If we see each other again#...

I'd love to see you again.

#You'll talk about yourself? #

- About myself?
#Yes. #

#I know his literature,
so I'd know the man too. #

The man... is not very interesting.

What are you mumbling, sweetie?

Me?

You don't hear yourself?

Try and go to sleep.

I thought we said 4 o'clock.

I said I'd try to stop by.

At 4 o'clock I was busy.

I've been waiting.

We'll have to book formal appointments.

No phone number.

My cell phone...

with an answering service.

Maybe it's time we talked about rates.

Rates for what?

I don't get any royalties.

I'm by the hour.

But we're not doing anything.

My time.

It's $250 an hour.

To chit chat?

It's unlimited.

For that, I can suck, you can take me
in front or from behind, up to you,

but not in here.

Thanks,
but I've never had to pay for it.

Good for you.

It's still Daisy?

Yes.

I didn't think we were on that level.

It's the only one I know.

It's not cheap.

It's mostly a matter of principle.

What is principle?

Frankly, getting anything you want
from a woman for $250

is better than at Walmarts.

Are you busy?

What do you think of him
as Honeysuckle?

- What Honeysuckle?
- George!

For my childrers book.

I fixed you a little something.

I'm really not hungry.

Are you sick?

No, it's here.

Inspiration.

I know how fragile it can be.

#Hi, it's me, but I'm exhausted.
I had a big day. #

#Leave me your number
or call me tomorrow, #

#let's say after 10:00
so I can rest a little... #

#to be in top shape... for you. #

I'm at...

I'll call back. See you soon.

It's nice.

I read it.

You read them all?

Waiting for the next one.

Not you too?

We pay first?

Usually.

A small discount...

You will be the one talking, not me.

I hope it wasrt too long.

Coffee, green tea, pastries,
it's all there.

In love?

Yes, I have been.

For a hooker, it's not so good.

It's even catastrophic.

I was crazy
about a guy who did dope.

Hard stuff?

Many are scared to screw a whore,
even more if she shoots up.

I almost lost all of my clients.

So, I left for Goa... with my lover.

Dope cost nothing over there,
we were always high.

Then I got fed up.
I wanted to come back.

So did he,
people were looking for him for work.

He was a great ad director.

He was handsome and seductive.

DiCaprio, but better.

Do you still see him?

When we wanted to come back,
we were totally broke. We had nothing.

We met a guy who hired us as mules.

Mules?

You swallow as much heroin as you can,
and you keep a 5th of what you carry.

You swallow the...

You stuff a condom up and tie it tightly.

You slip it in a 2nd one
also tightly tied.

I had swallowed almost 1 kilo.

I'd keep one fifth,
a real little fortune.

We had decided to stop doing dope.

We'd sell our share,

we'd buy a house,

we'd have children.

A mother!

It wasrt my destiny.

Destiny comes from within.

Mauriac would say: We spin it from us,

like a spider its web.

So I didn't weave myself
a mother's destiny.

What happened to your share?

Before we stopped over in LA,
I felt really sick.

I was terrified,
I thought one of the condoms had burst.

I was so nauseated,
I was pouring sweat.

He was sleeping like an angel.

I dragged myself to the washroom.

While I was vomiting,
it started coming out from all ends.
I hardly noticed the plane landing

and taking off again.

I cleaned up as best I could.

When I turned around to flush the toilet,

I was petrified.

I noticed that I shat 3 bags of dope.

I knew what that meant.

I took them out of the shit,
washed them as best I could...

I managed to swallow them again.

When I returned to my seat,

Jean-Luc was gone.

During the stop-over in LA,
some American agents picked him up.

Why they didn't take me?
I don't know.

What happened to him?

They used enemas
to get him to drop his cargo.

As soon as he was cleaned out,
they threw him in jail.

He wasrt the type
to stay locked up for long.

Not Jean-Luc.

He hung himself.

I'm going to be late.

I didn't know how much longer...

I could survive those shock treatments.

Every time Desiree lead me
on a new path of her life,

always mysterious paths,

where shadow and light alternated.

I stared at the beauty
of her foaming neck

and foundered

into a vaporous
and comfortable numbness.

Vaporous and snug like.

I imagine
the comfort spiders must feel

when well sated...

they gently cradle themselves
in their newly spun web.

But with Desiree,

these magic moments never lasted.

They brutally shattered...

like a fallen crystal glass.

Daisy, it's George.

Oh yes, George!

I'm writing!

Nice. Leave your number;
I'll call next time I'm fucking.

We're in a hurry?

About our relationship...

Mister Writer, if you will allow me...

we don't have a relationship.

You're right.

It implies lovemaking.
I only pay the price.

The money bothers you.

Ou chose to chit chat.

This is the last time we meet.

The bill... now please.

There's nothing more to say.

Please.

I paid for an hour.

I'm a hooker, but there's a limit.

I was hurt...

by the way you answered me last night.

Last night I was asleep, I was beat.

I wasrt nice, it's true.

I wanted to call you,
but I had no number.

In your trade
you aren't stifled by sentiment.

That's true.

We lose the habit.
We don't see sentiment.

We see only dicks.

My only connection with men: The dick.

But it never reaches the heart,

zero sentiment.

I don't know what your image is of me.

I'm a hooker
nd will always be a hooker...

even if you chose not to screw.

I guess...

- I was becoming attached.
- You can't.

When we become attached,
we want exclusivity.

You've come to the wrong address.

So many men screwed me.

Some in ways that would make you
shiver with horror.

You'd have sentiments for that?

For the filth that I am,

that I chose to be?

It's not how I think.

Please forgive me for last night.
You said: I'm writing!

You were so excited.

I didn't understand your joy
because my profession...

is not joyful.

To be a writer without inspiration,

or when what you write
sounds ridiculous,

is not joyful either.

You lock yourself away
making believe you're working.

With you, I found the inspiration.

I guess that's what I wanted
to tell you.

Well, I made something rise.

Even with you
I've managed to do my job.

You're here?

And you?

Have you got a little time?

What a joy!
I hadrt eaten since midnight.

Why were you at the hospital?

Nothing serious, I hope.

Don't worry, it's not work related.

And why were you at the hospital?

The same old things you check
in an aging man.

I was worried sick.

In a fetal position,
with a doctor's finger up my butt:

The peak of degradation.

Imagine you in my place.

I can understand
the utility of certain orifices.

To quote Baudelaire...

there're tiny orifices...

that require a certain adaptation
that I am incapable of.

I like to be taken by that hole.

That way I have no face,
and neither does he.

The peak of anonymity...

You can imagine what you want.

I could be Anna De Noailles
or an actress.

It could be Prince Charming's dick,

it could be yours.

May I have a croissant?

Are you always this formal?

At first, yes.

Since it could be me
who might be there...

In my ass?

...we could drop the formalities?

Is it all the same price?

Hourly rate.

For what we're talking about...

I'd charge at least double.

I would actually give a discount.

For a blow job or a fuck,
men are very direct.

They are never delicate about it.

But to fuck you up the ass...

they never ask you directly.

They have
a way of beating around the bush.

First they're in awe of my ass.

No one ever compliments me
on my split...

but my little hole...
inspires them, it drives them nuts.

They penetrate me with gentleness...

with a lover's tenderness,
like I was no longer a whore.

Each time, there's this warmth
that crawls up my back,

that could come from someone I love.

That's the good side.

And when you're not working?

I read... I go to the movies.

I love old films.

The Lepoard is playing today.

The Lampedusa book? They made a...

George Gu?rin!
It's Visconti's finest film.

Lancaster, Delon, Claudia Cardinale...

You're ignorant, but not an imbecile...

I'm inviting you.

Waiting for what... spring,
to find his decomposed body?

I have reasons to worry,
my husband's never late, he...

Wait...

I hear him.
Thank you God, thank you Captain.

Where have you been?

I was worried;
I called the hospitals, the police.

Calm down!

I will when you tell me
where you were.

Bibiane,
I went to the hospital for my tests.

I had a bite...

and felt like a movie.

A movie!

It's not a crime!

What about your son who drove in
for lunch with his new girlfriend?

Damn! It completely slipped my mind!

I'm worried.

You even asked what I was preparing.

I know, but what can I do...

my mind went blank.

Calling the police... people know me.

I had reason to worry.
Call him right now.

He went back already?

Yes, but unlike you
he believes in cell phones.

Instead of worrying, we can call.

Yves!

I found your dad.
He'll explain what happened.

Yves, it's dad.

My fault. I dragged you along.

The film explained
some father-son relationships.

They aren't always obvious.

You two don't get along?

It's a relationship...

that's not easy.

Your father...

how was he?

Everything I hate about myself...

comes from him...

my dull, boring self.

How can a writer's life be dull?

That's the way I am.

My heroes bravely face
all sorts of perils, me zilch.

My one risk was quitting
being a record librarian.

It wasrt much,

since I only took a sabbatical,
in case my book didn't sell.

Suddenly you were up for a Goncourt.

Finalist, but not winner.

And what else?

He was stingy... and I am a bit too.

That's why my fees bother you!

I also inerited his fidelity.

He never cheated on my mother...
I never cheated on my wife.

Maybe because you love your wife.
It happens.

It happens.

Our time is up?

There's still 15 minutes left.

Would you read something?

You write well.
Nice handwriting.

When I take my time.

It's a funny feeling...

seeing in a literary style
what I said using crude words.

Are you upset?

By what?

You inspired me?

Not at all.

But...

I never imagined my ass this way.

Beautifully scrolled,

so finely chiseled,

almost unreal...

not at all sexy anymore.

You think so?

It's no big turn-on, it's too perfect.

Like the Mona Lisa with her tight smile,
I can't imagine her giving blow jobs.

It's scary being only an image
in someone's head.

Look.

Take a good look at my vulva.

It's dark, purplish,

not at all the scarlet red you describe.

Yes, when I open it, it becomes pink.

This is my butt.

My asshole.

I'm always told
it's a tiny hole.

That nothing will go
through that eye of the needle.

Still, that's where I prefer them,

anonymous.

There is no breath,

no beating,

so we can't describe it like a heart.

It's warm...

like the belly of a bird.

The scent of Mock orange.

What's a Mock orange?

A small tree with white flowers,

that have a sweet smell.

What would you be if...

I don't know,

a writer, like you.

But I'll never be one.

It's the front desk, our hour's up.

Yes, we're leaving.

What are you doing?

What's gotten into you?

I see why you didn't ask me
to read it.

It's my prerogative.

This description is disgusting.

Get out, please.

I don't understand.

What's going on?
That garbage isn't you!

Are you completely mad?

I'm sorry.

Sweetie...

I was so happy to see
you write night and day.

That's why I couldn't resist.

It was indiscreet of me, I'm sorry.

I must tell you, I'm overwhelmed.

What devils did you stir up?

You were never lewd,

I can't believe
you're writing such vulgarities.

You're admired by so many!

So?

It's Miller and Stendhal together.
It's neo-Gu?rin.

Mr. Gu?rin is here.

Ah, George! It's Miller, it's Stendhal.
It's neo-Gu?rin!

You like it?

Enormously!

I have to admit, it was about time.

I don't know where it came from,
but it'll be a smash.

You won't let us languish over 100 pages.

I've written more.

You didn't bring them?

I never brought
more than 100 pages to your dad.

If it's not in the first 100,
it's nowhere.

I'm not talking as your editor,
but as a reader.

I'm starving for more.

When will your wife start typing it?

Couldrt Virginia...

Virginia!

Yes.

Can you make a copy?

Of course.

That Desiree is quite a character!
Some of the descriptions

in there are...

People are going to talk.

It's going to sell too.

You think Paris...

I can see you
in the thick of the Goncourt.

They like them young.

Marguerite Duras got hers at 70.

They were embarrassed
for waiting so long.

Guillaume has other plans for you.

The Renaudot, sir!

Alley Cat was snubbed
by the Goncourt.

We know how the Renaudot likes
to correct the Goncourt's errors.

Let me finish first.

How can I put this,
the story is so hard, almost unbearable.

I hope it has a happy ending,
it would sell better.

A cigar?

#Hi, it's me, but I can't take your call. #

#Leave your name and number, #

#and I'll call you
as soon as I'm available. #

I've been calling for 3 days now.

If you pick up your messages,
today's Thursday.

I'll be at the Caf?
tomorrow at 4 o'clock.

If not, I'll give you a number.

This may sound childish,

but I can't stop thinking about you,

and I'm worried.

- Anything else, Mr. Gu?rin?
- The bill.

Tell me...

Did you see the lady
I usually meet here, lately?

Not for a while.

Portable?
You mean cell.

There's also wireless.

Portable!

To do what?

Call.

Hold on. How will you use it?

I don't get it.
We usually use a phone to call.

In the old days.
Today you can call,

surf the net, email,
send pictures, watch TV...

Just call, I lack ambition.

- Overseas calls?
- Not even.

- Quebec, Ontario?
- Quebec.

Ideal for the Solo Prepaid.
You have $10, $25 or $50 cards.

For $50 you get
142 minutes of talk time.

After that?

Like that?

Right in the middle...

You get a 2 minute warning.

Someone says: You got 2 minutes left.
And then it cuts right off.

It's annoying.

Then I'd go for a basic plan.

200 free minutes for only $25 a month.

No cut off?

You talk all you want.

Your detailed monthly bill
is sent to your home.

To my home?

Discretion is the key, right?

The card leaves no trace;
totally anonymous.

Fine.

You have a choice
of 3 beautiful numbers.

- What numbers?
- Telephone!

Chose the most mnemonic.

Good choice. Bravo!

I'll explain
how this little gem works.

I program it, activate it,
and off you go.

#Hi, it's me, but I can't take your call. #

#Leave your name and number, #

#and I'll call you
as soon as I'm available. #

#We are sorry
but the voice message is full. #

#Please hang up. #

#Have a nice day. #

It's been a week
since we got anything from Mr. Gu?rin.

Not another cramp.
I'll call him.

What do you think?

The book?

Makes you blush.

Sweetie, it's Lanct?t Junior.

Yes.

- I don't mean to bother...
#You are... #

I was writing.

I was hoping you were.
Going well?

Another 100 pages, maybe more.

Careful, I planned on 350.

Yes, 350, no more.
I wasrt born yesterday.

The title? No title, I'm like a rooster
without a comb. I'm naked.

You'll be naked for a while yet.

I need it for the cover.

I know. Let me get back to work.
Good night.

Bibiane!

Can you bring me a whisky,
a Dalwhinnie?

On ice?

No with olives.

The 15-year-old one.

I can't live like this.

If you want to,
we could make peace.

I honestly ask you to forgive me.

I have no right to judge your writing.

Even if I think it isn't like you.

Can I ask you something?

Give me the same attention
you give your 15-year-old,

and your 50-year-old will be in heaven.

Is that possible?

If that's him again...

Good evening.

Yes, one moment,
may I tell him who's calling?

It's a woman who says
she's your researcher.

Oh, yes, my researcher.

No, not at all,
it's quite urgent that we talk.

Can I call you back in 15 minutes?
I need to find my notes.

I gathered
quite a few questions that need...

to be answered.

Thank you for calling.

You have a researcher?

Yes, all writers have one.

Finally, you're like everybody else.

Finally.

My researcher.

I was so excited after you called,
I couldn't eat.

I wrote all night.

You decided to go modern?

No, to stop worrying.

Here.

Black coffee.

Thank you.

I'll be back with your toast.

I imagined the worst.

I had to work out of town.

Don't you want to talk
about the character?

What's wrong?

Nothing.

I'm a little nauseated.
I'm fine.

Mr. Gu?rin.

Toast. Enjoy your meal.

Are we close to a d?nouement?

Actually,

my editor would like... a happy ending.

I don't see how.

You remember...

the Greeks sought purification
by throwing their sins into the sea.

But a hooker
would have to be thrown in also.

Not a very happy ending.

Desiree into the sea, why not.

I care more for the original.

Care for the characters you create,
not for me.

I don't deserve it.

You think you're nothing?

Even less than that.

An emptiness.

As if I had been ground down
by all the dicks that dug inside me.

I have no more soul,

- no more heart.
- Nonsense!

Let's talk about the character...

Where are we?

The 2 girls go
to her father's office.

To borrow money for dope.

He doesn't want to hear about it.

The friend pulls a gun
and aims it at Desiree's father's head.

There were no bullets.

I put... I mean Mylene...
put one in. A single one.

- Like Russian roulette?
- Exactly.

The father refuses.

Desiree yells to Mylene to fire!

She pulls the trigger: Click.

The father's paralyzed.
The girls take the elevator.

Desiree takes the gun

from Mylene,
aims it at Mylene's head.

Mylene bursts out laughing.

Desiree pulls the trigger,
Mylene drops.

Oh shit!

Better than an overdose.

Do you ever spend a whole weekend
with a client?

How much?

Do you really want to blow $1,000?

- This it?
- Not quite.

It's wonderful.

Quiet like the end of the world.

Keep your money.

Is it yours?

My share of my grandparents' farm.

This was the old grain shed.

My grandparents
had started fixing it up...

to keep my great-grandfather.

A stone cutter
with the ear of a great musician.

You knew your great-grandfather?

I was 5 years old.

When I arrived at my grandparents',

I heard strange sounds
coming from the back yard.

I saw an old man hammering wedges
embedded in a block of granite.

Wedges?

Metal chisels used to split stone.

He goes sh!

And hits in cadence
the high-pitched wedges...

the Mi of a violin, he hits, hits,

the sound lowers, it gets deeper,

one more hit and without a sound,

a slice of granite splits
from the enormous block,

as easily as if my great-grandfather
was slicing bread.

I was dumbfounded.

Tell me,

can one be a writer without having
a head full of childhood images?

Where is my inspiration coming from?

From a whore,

with a head full of disgusting images,

ready to kill her own father for dope.

You didn't even load the revolver.

Maybe I should have.

Daddy...

After that... I didn't...

see him for 2 years.

The worst years of my life.

I hit rock bottom.

During rush hour,

with my hair all tousled
and my blouse open,

I'd offer to suck the men
while they sat in traffic.

One afternoon, by coincidence,

I went over
to offer a guy a blow job.

My father.

I got into his car.

The other cars started moving,
but he sat there... paralyzed.

I started yelling:

Don't stay here, move!
Just drive!

I took him to this seedy room,

the most disgusting one I knew.

It felt like I was dragging in a zombie.

He kept staring at the window.

The blind was pulled down,
but he kept staring.

I felt like screaming,
but nothing would come out.

I stood stark naked in front of him,

like I would have done for a client.

I said:

Daddy,

we don't see each other anymore,

we don't hug anymore.

We're more estranged than strangers.

You could at least take me in your arms.

Or do I disgust you too much?

You made love with him?

Yes.

I think he was my father.

It was his scent,

his face,

his name I kept whispering.

But I couldn't recognize his arms.

Especially...

I didn't recognize that dick...

that didn't hesitate,

that quickly found my split...

and was burning my belly.

I was riveted to this man
that was half my father,

half a stranger.

He came, then...

I fell asleep.

It's the only memory I have...

of ever falling asleep
in my father's arms.

You still see him?

From time to time.

And now,

there's this secret bond between us.

Is it horrible?

Is it reassuring?

I don't know.

I don't think he knows either.

It aerates the trout in the pond.

There's trout,

over there, under the ice?

Maude...

You're up.

What time is it?

It's after 6 o'clock.

You haven't slept?

I wrote.

I found a title.

What is it?

Do you like it?

You've done your work,
let me do mine.

For you.

- It's old?
- It has memories!

Why give them to me?

Because I'm taking yours.

The last pages!
Always a great moment.

I think we got something.

- Happy?
- Yes.

Not you?

Yes, for once... quite satisfied.

It's splendid Gu?rin,

different too.

The reader won't be thrown off?

No, not at all.

Desiree will become
as famous as one of Degas' dancers.

Those who felt
you were a bit... bland,

will see you still have it in you.

I'll get this typed and set.

We'll get the first proofs
in a few days.

Wonderful!

We'll look at it together, over a meal,
like you used to with dad.

We'll be different there too.

Send it by courier,
I'll read it at home.

As you wish.

I tested the title... Dynamite!

#MY ONLY LOVE#

#To Maude, to Desiree#

My name on a real book!

You know my name?

According to Lanct?t,
it'll be a runaway.

I hope so.

You're as graceful as his bronze
of the 14-year-old dancer.

A happy ending?

In between...
neither happy, nor tragic.

She could see her future with Jerome.

It was simple.

In a pretty flat
in a quiet suburban neighborhood.

Newly planted trees,

childrers laughter in the yard.

But her past was like a cumbersome
piece of furniture you can't get rid of,

or fit anywhere...

A diabolic chest of drawers
she dares not open,

filled with sordid pieces of her life.

What choice?

She could've done like Anne Sexton:

Get into her car, put the music up,
and let the engine run in her garage.

A gentle death.

I just couldn't do it.

Why was she under water?

Had she walked on the quay?

Had she jumped, desperately trying
to separate from herself?

The mere thought of having succeeded
woke her up.

She was lying
in a miserable motel in the Carolinas.

The air conditioner was broken,

she was dying of heat
wrapped in sheets soaked with sweat.

She was on her way to Florida,

where her past could not hurt anyone.

In Florida, where the climate
might even warm her dry...

and empty heart.

The past...

is simpler in a book.

You may believe
with all your heart that I'm Maude.

But I am no longer her.

I am not Degas' magnificent bronze.

I am more like her model,

Mary Van Goethem, the whore.

My Honeysuckle,

he was right under my nose.

Inspiration comes
to us in odd ways.

I seriously have to put myself
in a marketing mode.

I have 2 days of interviews
between the launch and my trip to Paris.

What would you like me to wear?

Sweetie, I want to please you.

The title... it's beautiful.

When did I mention the title?

But George,
the proofs were sitting on your desk.

Don't worry;
all I looked at was the title.

It's so romantic.

And one might think it's for oneself.

It's not for you.

It was for someone else?

Yes.

And when I come back, Bibiane,
things are going to change.

Change in what way?

I'll take an apartment.

I don't want to stay here anymore.

You'll take me with you?

No.

I won't stay here alone.

Stay wherever you want.

Is it your wish to separate?

It isn't a wish, Bibiane,
it's a decision.

What's happening, Sweetie?

You need me, we both know it.

Your clothes, your meals,
your appointments, your finances...

being pampered.

People can be hired to do that.

I hear something ringing.

George... it's a telephone.

#It's me. #

#I have to go away for a few days.
I don't want you to worry. #

#Maude, what is it?
Where are you going? #

The launch for our book!

I'll be there for sure.

Forgive me, but I must go.
You understand?

#Tell me you understand. #
- Yes, yes.

Take care.

Should I call a cab?

No, Lanct?t is sending a limousine.

You like it?

It's perfect.

No tie?

It's old-fashioned.

It would be more becoming,
especially with that suit.

Maybe you're right.

By publishing the latest book...

by George Gu?rin,

Lanct?t Publishers...

stays true to the slogan
of its founder, my father:

The little house of great literature.

Tonight, the presence
of George's celebrated colleagues,

Danny Lafferri?re,
also from the house,

Yves Beauchemin,

Arlette Cousture,

whom the house would gladly welcome,

is testimony to the great respect...

they all have for George Gu?rin.

I give you,
without further ado: Gu?rin,

a totally renewed writer.
George...

Like my editor, whom I salute,
has already mentioned,

I tried to renew myself.

A writer's lot, his destiny...

is self-renewal.

I feel confident,

I think I've succeeded.

But the readers

will let me know better than anyone.
Thank you.

- Quick, it's Julie Snyder.
- It's important.

- She's in a hurry.
- Who does she think she is?

Good day, Mr. Gu?rin, please sit down.

Are we ready?

Did you deliberately try
to shock your readers?

It's a new universe.

Not so much that as the crude tone.

It's full of very bold,
detailed descriptions,

it's almost indecent!

This an interview or a trial?

I'm not shocked, it's just that...

I think of your fans who keep you...

at their bedside.

It would be terrible to lose them all,

only to end up at your bedside.

I'm sorry, Julie.
I don't know what's with him.

I know your show is important.

It's OK, thanks.

Good evening. You certainly are
a very privileged reader.

If you like.

This is Mrs. Gu?rin... the writer's wife.

I figured that much.
Evening.

- We can't do that to Julie.
- She's big time. He better cool it!

Let me talk to him.

I wanted my story to have an intimate,

yet realistic feeling.

So, I distanced myself
from my usual style.

Is it short because of your editor,

or by personal choice?

Maybe because of age, one hurries.

Is any of this your own experience?

It's all from here.

No. Please.

It's $30.

We all remember the film based
on Alley Cat', your great success.

Another of your books

was adapted for TV.

Did you get any offers yet
for My Only Love?

It's just out, I...

Do you think it'll make a good film?

I don't know, we'll have to see...

Ah, we'll have to see...

Arlette, I'm happy to see you.

- Thank you. Good luck.
- Thank you.

It's for my friend.

I was here first!

For my mother.

It's for the interview
with Julie Snyder.

We're calmed down. Feeling better?

With My Only Love,

did you try to further the exploration
of a very delicate subject?

No.

Could you expound on the dramatic turn
in your literary approach?

Bravo!
I wanted to congratulate you.

You promised you'd be here.

I couldn't, George.

I'm far away.

I'm much farther than I expected.

I'm sorry,
but I couldn't keep my promise.

#What are you doing?
Where are you? #

Please, don't ask.

Can I call you back in an hour?

It's true, people are waiting.
Hurry.

#Maude, I'll call you back. #

You can't.
My phone doesn't work here.

Daisy, this losing you
at every moment is intolerable.

You'll stay with me.

#I'll pay whatever you want. #

#We'll never leave each other. #

In that case, go sell your book.

I'm very expensive.

I don't mind.

#When are you coming back? #

Very soon.

I can't wait to see your book.

But, you know,

I already have it here in my mind,

and in my heart.

#Hold me in your arms... #

You crazy? You're canceling the tour,
2 hours before your plane leaves?

You sent everybody packing
at the launch?

In every interview,
you sound like you're on death row!

Is it selling or not?

It is, it's a great Gu?rin!

We want to hit over 200,000 copies,

and make it big in France.
Move your ass!

At Grasset they can taste our Renaudot.

But not if you stay here!

I don't feel well.

Your agenda in France: TV wall to wall;

we even have TF-1 news;

Annick Cojean for Le Monde;
a picture in Paris Match

with Lara Fabian...

who says you're her favorite writer;

Ardisson promised to be human;

and Pivot will confirm the date.

There's even talk
of the Premier decorating you in person.

Do you realize the hype?

I understand, but...

Low end: 300,000 copies.
High end: Sky's the limit.

Neither one of us
is going to spit on it.

I'll put you on an ambulance plane,
if I have to.

Can I talk to Virginia?

Sure, she'll escort you to the airport,
with the cops if need be.

Virginia, I'm dying of worry.

It's the plane?

No, it's because of someone.

No more child play.

Have a good trip.
My phone is on.

Fine!

You'll be very discreet about this.

Count on me.

Please, while I'm in France,

do everything you can
to find a person I must hear from.

Maude...

Breton.

All I have is her cell phone number.

Call me in Paris,

at any time,
as soon as you've found her.

Promise.

Thank you.

#Mister Gu?rin... #

I have good news.

You found her!

#Not her, but the address... #

where her phone bills went.

I can't tell you
what I went through to get it,

since her phone was cancelled.

I can leave in the morning.

I did the interview with Pivot today.

Please, get me a seat
on the next flight out.

Excuse me sir, but where's 7203?

Ground floor.

I hope this is the right place,
I'm looking for Maude Breton.

Come in, it's cold.

You're Mr. Gu?rin?
I thought I recognized you.

- Is this a bad time?
- No.

Charles-Henry,
Mr. Gu?rin has come about Maude.

She often spoke about you.

She admired you so much.

Sometimes she'd skip classes... Kids!
But not since you started teaching her.

Teach?

Literature.

Are we talking about the same Maude?

Just a minute.

This is her in front of the University.

Yes... She's the one I'm looking for.

She isn't here any more.

Where is she?

You don't understand.

Maude has left us.

She died a week ago.

How come?

Did she have an accident?
What happened?

She hadrt been feeling too well.
2 months ago,

she had some tests.

They found cancer.

Cancer of the pancreas.
It was too far gone.

There was no hope.

Her courage...

She went on as if there was nothing.

But we could see her weakening.

Two weeks ago,
we took her to the hospital.

Five days later, it was over.

At least she didn't suffer.

You know today, with morphine and all,

they don't let people suffer.

I was bringing her my book.

I've heard some good.

And some bad.

We have to read it first.

Do you mind
if I make a copy of the picture?

To Maude...

Our Maude?

She was a brilliant student.

I wanted to pay tribute to her.

You realize it was her dream...
to become a writer.

She could easily have become one...
with her imagination.

#Who is stronger than hope? Death. #

#Who is stronger than the will? Death. #

#Stronger than love? Death. #

#Stronger than life? Death. #

#Me, evidently. #

#Mister Gu?rin? #
- Yes.

#It's the furniture you ordered.
Can we bring it up? #

Number 528.