The Immortal Jellyfish

The Immortal Jellyfish

"Cut!" shouted the film director. He then left his chair and crossed the set. Staring critically at the main actress—who frowned at him in an obviously annoyed manner—he took her chin in his right hand and studied it under the strong white light. "Definitely, it is better not to have the close-up scene. Instead, we should opt for an indirect shot and move back the camera."

"What? But this is a very dramatic scene! A close-up must be used!" Kitty Oberon's green eyes flashed in a dangerously feline fashion.

"I know, Kitty, but if you'll pardon me—" proceeded the director, tactfully.

"Yes, go ahead, say what is on your mind!" Kitty's voice rang in a high shrill through the set.

"Well, a close-up reveals your real age—this is all," said the director, moving back to his chair.

Kitty's pale cheeks immediately colored. To her, the director's words rang like an insult. "Listen, Carl," she said, crossing the set with stately strides and stopping, menacing and majestic in front of him, "I am a star and stars don't age. Aging is for ordinary people. Kitty Oberon will always be a star!"

She turned her statuesquely figure and left to her dressing room, her long raven hair waving behind her.

"What a drama queen she is," sighed the director. "Well, we will resume the take shortly. Half an hour break," announced he, collecting the pages of the script that lay pell-mell on top of a table.

"Kitty is wrong. Even stars age. They can take some billions of light years to age, but they eventually lose their sparkle," commented the chief cameraman.

"And that is one fading star, no doubt," joked the cameraman who had held the camera for the close-up scene.

***

After smashing a porcelaine vase against the mirror and throwing pots of creams and make-up on the floor, Kitty sat down and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Although she was over forty, Kitty was still gorgeous and many men sighed for her when they watched her films or happened to see her photos in magazines. She felt suddenly proud that she could be considered a sex-symbol, even at forty-five. However, she was crossing a dangerous threshold. Her skin was not as smooth as it used to be and she would have grey hair if she didn't die her hair with religious frequency.

Kitty scrutinized her face in front of the mirror. Small lines surrounded her eyes and she could see other lines going down her cheeks and on her high brow. No doubt her plastic surgeon was very competent and did a great deal to minimize the effects of aging. Still, she was not happy. Her skin lacked the freshness of youth and this—she knew—no plastic surgeon or cosmetics could bring back.

She conformed herself with her appearance and decided to accept the director's order. No close-ups in the final scene. "Never mind, I'm the main star," she thought, going back to the set.

When the scene was over, Carl kissed her with the usual devotion and gave her the usual rose bouquet. Kitty greeted the cameramen and felt she was undoubtedly a great star.

After the dinner with the members of the set, she left for her imposing house in one of the fanciest districts in the city. While her driver drove the Porsche to the destination required, she thought that, after all, she had been extremely successful in life. "I can't even remember I was born in Kansas, from a poor household of Pole immigrants and worked as a waitress as soon as I left school. And here I am, a diva, an adored star, rich, successful and beautiful. If only my beauty could last forever. How sad it is to get old, God, how sad!" And Kitty cried softly all the way to her home.