Mephista

by Maurice Limat

  “Tea’s a good idea,” the dresser said. “I’ll do that.”

  “Wait! Since Olga wants to be alone, I’ll go with you.”

  And the two of them went to the back of the studio.

  Teddy Verano took the opportunity to make some agile leaps to get from one walkway to another so that he was swiftly near Olga’s dressing room.

  The young woman was alone, sitting in front of the make-up table, almost naked in her underwear. She had let down her beautiful black hair and, with her head in her hands, seemed to be meditating.

  A little while passed. Teddy wondered who she was waiting for, and why she had kept out the faithful, charming Martine.

  From his vantage, because of the angle, he could only see part of the room. The door, in particular, was barely visible, and he was now on the opposite side of the hallway. Thus, he could not see the “visitor” arrive. Or leave.

  Is she waiting for a lover? No, it has to be something else. Otherwise, Martine would know about it. Who the Devil could it be?

  And this thought struck him. Who the Devil…?

  All of a sudden, he had a weird feeling. He leaned over as far as he could to see into the dressing room. But no, the walkway was situated so that he could not see any better. But at least, now, he was happy to see the radiant vision of Olga. Clearly she was waiting.

  Suddenly, after looking at her watch, which was resting on the table, Olga stood up, went to get a pretty negligee (paid for by Teleor), all pink and frilly, put it on a chair in reach and, thinking she was alone, started undressing. She was not wearing much, so it did not take long.

  Teddy’s throat went dry.

  Like every time he faced temptation in the course of an investigation he had this funny little thought: What would Yvonne say if she could see me now… seeing what I’m seeing?

  Olga was really very beautiful, in her uncensored beauty, all pink with delicate brown flecks.

  Teddy Verano, even though he felt little attraction to a creature who seemed so dangerous, was breath-taken.

  Olga looked at herself in the mirror. Clearly, she was satisfied with herself and, with a very feminine movement, starting from her thighs, she moved her hands up over her hips all the way to her breasts. As if she were offering herself, so beautiful that it was not even indecent in the mirror’s reflection.

  Almost out of regret, she stopped posing, smiled strangely at her image, and Teddy saw her reach out for the negligee. With her right hand. Because, with her left, she made a surprising gesture. She brought her hand, pointing with the index finger, first to her heart, then her two shoulders and finally to her forehead while her eyes stared weirdly at nothing. She froze for a few seconds.

  Teddy Verano was stunned, but his mind was hard at work.

  Following the old peasant custom, being naked she crossed herself… But, God in Heaven, Olga Mervil had crossed herself backwards!

  He shivered. The ghost detective, the enemy of witches and vampires, of pseudo-mages and false occultists, knew what this sacrilegious gesture meant.

  At that moment, someone knocked at the door.

  CHAPTER VII

  Teddy Verano desperately craned his neck, trying to see more, but, unfortunately, from his position, he could get no closer. Hanging over the walkway, holding his breath, able to do nothing else, he listened. At least, he should consider this worth the effort.

  He still saw Olga, who was standing in the same position. And this struck the detective. Because the naked woman did not even have the reflex to cover herself with her negligee. This was a strange show of immodesty, and Teddy Verano told himself that Olga Mervil was, without a doubt, like no other woman.

  All she said was “yes,” in a flat voice, like “enter.”

  Because of all the people coming and going in the studio, there were any number of different individuals who might be knocking at the young star’s door. Knocking and entering, since she had invited the person in so simply, while being so scantily dressed.

  No, Teddy told himself, this girl is not normal. Even if she knew who was knocking… and how would she know? Second sight perhaps? Hmm…

  It was so extraordinary irrational. Olga’s dazzlingly swift debut, shot up like an arrow, the publicity she got that seemed to come spontaneously, and now the technician’s death that brought in the journalists—wasn’t there something rather unnatural about it all?

  Teddy saw a man’s shape now. He saw him from the back and only above the shoulders. At an angle. It was hard to see enough to be able to identify him later.

  Olga still showed no shame. She had not blinked an eye. She watched him close the door behind him with her big, black eyes, which resumed that occasional sparkling stare that was so characteristic of her.

  There was a long moment of silence.

  Olga watched the visitor, this visitor whom Teddy could not see well, and who was standing face to face with Olga, enjoying an exclusive show, a show that thousands of men would have given their eye-teeth to see.

  And although Teddy was in a bad position to judge, he would have sworn that this man had not come with lewd intentions. Moreover, Olga’s beautiful body showed no signs of excitement, nor did her calm face, poorly lit of course, but whose strange beauty was still striking.

  At last the man talked.

  “Olga… you were expecting me?”

  “Yes.”

  The answer was curt with no sign of emotion.

  Another silence, then the conversation began. Their voices were quiet, but clear and surprisingly cold. Under the apparent iciness, however, Teddy Verano thought he felt strange currents flowing.

  “Do you know why I came?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Did you forget your promises?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “You will prove it?”

  “When I’m asked to.”

  “What have you done for the one who is helping you?”

  “Nothing yet. I haven’t had the opportunity.”

  “The opportunity will come, Olga. Very soon. Do you feel strong and ready to succeed?”

  “I won’t fail.”

  Again silence. What was strange was that neither of them had moved. They stayed in the same position face to face. Olga, still naked and showing no embarrassment, had not asked him to sit down. Teddy Verano, understandably, was starting to feel dizzy.

  The visitor continued:

  “Olga… are you satisfied?”

  “How could I not be? Ever since… since I said yes, luck has smiled on me.”

  “You’ve recognized the fortunate chain of events?”

  “How could I doubt it? I’ve got it all… All of a sudden, I’ve got everything I wanted with all my heart…”

  “You can say ‘with all my soul,’ Olga.”

  Here, she looked slightly troubled for the first time since the conversation began. The little gloom did not escape the perceptive eye of the hidden spy but undoubtedly not of the mysterious visitor either.

  “Say it, Olga… with all my soul.”

  Olga was clearly nervous. But she pulled herself together and in voice that broke a little she said:

  “With all my soul.”

  “Why the hesitation, Olga? It’s your soul that’s at stake. And thanks to it, you are becoming, day after day, in ways unknown since the invention of the cinema, a superstar, which even the most famous achieve only after years of struggle.”

  Olga nodded but said nothing.

  “Thus,” the man continued, “the One who must not be named has given you proof of the power. You know it and that’s good. Furthermore, today, just now, right here, you got further proof, Olga.”

  This time, the naked woman shivered.

  “In what way?”

  “Let’s see, Olga… On your clothes, on you, is there not blood? The blood of that boy who was gnawed away by his love for you?”

  Olga got uncomfortable and reached for her negligee.

  The man stopped her.


  “Oh, Olga! Modesty… What a foolish sentiment! It’s unworthy of you.”

  After a pause, the words that the man spoke hammered into Teddy Verano’s ears:

  “...Unworthy of the servant of the One who must not be named.”

  So, Olga stayed naked, motionless, icier than ever, after a brief show of emotion.

  “Olga,” the voice went on a little more passionately, “the fate of that boy is a guarantee for what awaits you. Hundreds, nay, thousands of men will be at your feet. You will be worshipped as a goddess. They will kill themselves, they will die for you. Women will be in agony and tear themselves apart out of desperation because your beauty, multiplied on all the screens across the world, will bring discord, debauchery, desire and jealousy… all the passions. Oh, Olga, our master will be so proud of you!”

  Olga listened to this crazy speech that wrapped around her like a demented, magnificent and intoxicating aura.

  “Henri’s blood, my beautiful Olga, is the gruesome baptism that you have accepted, that you have to receive… Don’t tremble. It had to be like this. Isn’t this what you desired?”

  “I still desire it,” Olga said forcefully.

  “Excellent! That will please our master. We’ll be asking you for proof of your loyalty very soon.”

  Olga did not say anything, once again, but Teddy, who had good eyes, saw that she accepted by blinking her eyes.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what is asked of you?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know the name of the… the victim…”

  “Hush! The name cannot be revealed to you yet.”

  “But I’ll need to know it so I can act.”

  “You will be notified in good time. Today, I’m only here to see how you are doing.”

  A brief silence. Then Olga asked:

  “Can you just tell me… when I’ll know?”

  “Soon, Olga. When? Even I don’t know. I or someone else will come to tell you. All you have to do is obey.”

  “I will.”

  “Whoever is the person?”

  “Whoever it is,” answered Olga, stiffening up.

  Teddy Verano never knew how it happened, but he suddenly had the feeling that Olga was now alone again in the dressing room. The man had disappeared, secretly, closing the door behind him without a sound.

  You’d swear he had vanished into thin air.

  Olga did not budge. She stood there, absorbed in thoughts that the detective imagined were terrifying, but that remained hidden to him.

  At last, the young woman came out of her trance, slipped on her negligee and cracked open the door of her dressing room. She called out:

  “Martine… Martine… Come here!”

  Teddy Verano, who was about to leave his perch, decided to stay a minute longer.

  The blonde Martine did not take long to run up.

  “You called me, darling?”

  “Yes, kitten. After all, you’re my ‘public relations’ girl now. Have you seen Tragny? Or Trempont?”

  “Yes, just now. Say, Berthe was wondering if you want some tea.”

  “Yes, I’d love some. So what’s new?”

  “The investigation is going to stop. It was an accident. Oh, the poor kid. I feel horrible.”

  “Don’t think about it too much, sugar.”

  “You know he had a photo of you on him?”

  “Yes, I know. Soon there will be many others with my photo.”

  “Oh, Olga,” Martine was shocked, “how can you say such a thing?”

  “Martine, sweetie, I’m becoming a star. This isn’t the time to get sentimental… What’s wrong?”

  Martine was sniffing the air.

  “What is it? Do you smell something?”

  Martine’s face suddenly dropped.

  “No, nothing.” And right away, she followed up with, “Tonight at 11 p.m. at the Blue Parrot. With Trempont. It seems they have to see you there… There are a bunch of stars coming.”

  “Well, that’s where I belong now. Along with my public relations girl, right?”

  Olga hugged Martine just when Teddy Verano decided to climb down from the walkway. The studio was clearing out and he could leave without anybody asking anything. They took him for another journalist.

  He went back home with a troubled mind, thinking about everything that had just happened, not only the technician’s death, but also the weird things said by the stranger paying Olga a rather secretive visit.

  If I’d seen him leave, I could have followed him…

  He laughed a little to himself.

  Another time… I’ll see him again. In the meantime there’s the rendezvous at the Blue Parrot tonight.

  He had dinner with Yvonne and his stepson Gerard. But his mind was elsewhere, and they let him know it by ribbing him kindly. Gerard asked him if had fallen in love with the new superstar everyone was talking about.

  Teddy Verano snapped out of his reverie and replied:

  “Instead of saying stupid things, why don’t you get the news on the radio? I’d like know if they’re talking about the tragedy at Teleor.”

  They did indeed talk about it after sports and politics.

  “Olga Mervil’s glory is getting bigger every day. We’ve just learned that the French discovery of the year has received a very special offer from Hollywood… A 7-year contract for two films a year… We congratulate her, especially since those watching consider her success absolutely unique in the annals of film and…”

  Teddy Verano was not listening any more. He was starting to think that such luck, such unnatural luck, must have come with a high price to pay.

  And something that rarely happened to him occurred: he got scared.

  CHAPTER VIII

  The ambiance, with its false glitter, was like in all the nightclubs.

  At first, one saw nothing, but a jumble of humans, a mass of intertwined couples, clustered together, gliding slowly to the sound of the music, which drifted in waves through the smoke-stuffed, perfumed-plagued, sweaty atmosphere that gusts of air-conditioning tried in vain to purify, creating nothing but cold, unpleasant drafts for those in its path. The lights were placed so strangely that they only cast vague puddles when they fell upon a face or a shoulder.

  At one of the tables near the stage, a young man sat alone in front of a glass of whiskey, leaning on one elbow, smoking and scrutinizing the darkness with a deeply interested gaze. He had spotted her a little while ago.

  She was not dancing. She sat at a table with several very lively people. A table, moreover, at which the eyes of the customers in the Blue Parrot were almost constantly staring. A beautiful woman sat in the middle and they had masterfully positioned the parrot-shaped lamps (after the name of the establishment) to flatter her. It was Olga Mervil, surrounded by Marcel Trempont and several actors, including Jean-Pierre Max.

  But Michel Roz, sipping his Cutty Sark, lost in thought, only had eyes for the young blonde girl at the table of celebrities, who looked a little embarrassed, a little out of place in this ambiance that ill-suited her. She sat apart, rarely laughing at the jokes of witty Bob Andair, the TV actor. She spoke even less.

  Since everyone was looking at Olga Mervil, Roz was probably the only one interested in Martine. He, too, was not dancing. He did not feel like it tonight.

  At 30 years-old, well built and slim, he was one of those young men not lacking distinction who wander into this kind of nightclub sometimes, seldom participating in the general fun, but looking abstracted, always in search of that special girl or of his own dream. Michel Roz, however, thought he was seeing his dreams come true.

  This young, discreet, blond girl who looked so charming and intelligent…

  He saw that she was out of tune with her circle of actors who are always a little superficial. Like everyone, he knew about the hype around Olga Mervil and was fully aware of Marcel Trempont’s talent and r
eputation, the discoverer of stars, and he wondered what the delightful girl was doing there.

  Nearby two women were chatting, giving him inviting looks as often as possible. In spite of the darkness (the girls were lost in shadow much more than the stars), he could only see that they were young, pretty and carefully preened. But Michel Roz was not interested and ignored their advances. He was watching Martine.

  The melancholy in her eyes and her sober outfit clashed violently with the joy being flaunted by Olga, whether a true or false joy, this and many other things made him create a novel, make up a whole story around the stranger, build up a screenplay where he only wanted to play the romantic hero.

  The crowd suddenly heaved. The music stopped and while all the parrots turned on at the same time, a group entered the room carrying small cameras, tape recorders and portable spotlights.

  “Television…”

  Michel Roz lit another cigarette, listening to the girls next to him in spite of himself.

  “It’s for Olga Mervil.”

  “The luck of that girl… it’s like she gets all the breaks…”

  The trivial comments of the dolled up girls brought a smile to his face. But the two chatterboxes babbled on, expressing all the envy, all the jealousy of all pretty girls faced with one whom they judged “not bad, but no better than the rest,” and on whom fortune had smiled lavishly.

  Olga was very relaxed, as if she had had ten years of stardom, welcoming the reporters and posing for a ¾ shot with Marcel Trempont.

  Then the dance struck up again and, this time, they filmed Olga waltzing in the arms of the handsome Jean-Pierre Max. They set up the tape recorders for the interview to follow.

  One of girls next to Michel had just been asked to dance and left with her new partner. The second girl, seeing him stand up, thought it was for her, but she was disappointed when she saw him walk away. She started powdering her nose fiercely.

  Michel Roz had made up his mind. While the TV people were setting up or taking pictures, he had noticed that the blonde girl was left alone at the table. She, too, was freshening up.