Read Online The Winner Stands Alone by Paulo Coelho - Free Book Online
Authors: Paulo Coelho
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of the cabin. It can
comfortably carry eighteen passengers, but I reduced the number of seats to six and kept
the cabin separate for the four crew members. Someones always sure to ask: May I come with
you? And now I have the perfect excuse: Sorry, theres no room.
Javits had equipped his new toy, which cost around forty million dollars, with two beds, a
conference table, a shower, a Miranda sound system (Bang & Olufsen had an excellent design
and a good PR cam- paign, but they were now a thing of the past), two coffee machines, a
microwave oven for the crew and an electric oven for him (because he hates reheated food).
Javits only drinks champagne, and whoever wishes to is more than welcome to share a bottle
of Mo‘t & Chandon 1961 with him. However, the cellar on the plane had every drink any
guest might conceivably want. And then there were the two twenty- one-inch LCD screens
ready to show the most recent films, even those that hadnt yet made it into the cinemas.
The jet was one of the most advanced in the world (although the French insisted that the
Dassault Falcon was even better), but regard- less of how much money he had, he couldnt
change the clocks in Europe. It was now 3:43
a.m.
in Los Angeles, and he was just begin- ning to feel really tired. He had been awake all
night, going from one party to the next, answering the same two idiotic questions that
began every conversation:
How was your flight? To which Javits always responded with a question: Why? People didnt
know quite what to say and so they smiled awkwardly and moved on to the next question on the list: Are you staying here long? And Javits would
again ask: Why? Then he would pretend he had to answer his mobile phone, make his excuses, and move on with his two inseparable
besuited friends in tow. He met no one interesting. But then who would a man who has almost everything money can
buy find interesting? He had tried to change his friends and meet people who had nothing
to do with the world of cinema: philosophers, writers, jugglers, executives of food-
manufacturing companies. At first, it all went swimmingly, until the inevitable question:
Would you like to read a script Ive written? Or the second most inevitable question: I
have a friend who has always wanted to be an actor/actress. Would you mind meeting him/her?
Yes, he would. He had other things to do in life apart from work. He used to fly once a
month to Alaska, go into the first bar, get drunk, eat pizza, wander about in the wild,
and talk to the people who lived in the small towns up there. He worked out for two hours
a day at his private gym, but the doctors had warned him he could still end up with heart
problems. He didnt care that much about being physically fit, what he really wanted was to
off-load a little of the constant tension that seemed to weigh on him every second of the
day, to do some medi- tation and heal the wounds to his soul. When he was in the country,
he always asked the people he chanced to meet what normal life was like, because he had
forgotten. The answers varied, and he gradually came to realize that, even when he was
surrounded by other people, he was absolutely alone in the world.
He decided to draw up a list of what constituted normal attitudes and behavior, based on
what people did rather than on what they said. Javits glances around. Theres a man in dark
glasses drinking a fruit juice. He seems oblivious to his surroundings and is staring out to sea as if he
were somewhere far from there. Hes smartly dressed and good-looking, with graying hair. He
was one of the first to arrive and must know who Javits is, and yet hes made no effort to
come and introduce himself. It was brave of him to sit there alone like that. Being alone
in Cannes is anathema; it means that no one is interested in you, that youre unimportant
or dont know anyone.
He
comfortably carry eighteen passengers, but I reduced the number of seats to six and kept
the cabin separate for the four crew members. Someones always sure to ask: May I come with
you? And now I have the perfect excuse: Sorry, theres no room.
Javits had equipped his new toy, which cost around forty million dollars, with two beds, a
conference table, a shower, a Miranda sound system (Bang & Olufsen had an excellent design
and a good PR cam- paign, but they were now a thing of the past), two coffee machines, a
microwave oven for the crew and an electric oven for him (because he hates reheated food).
Javits only drinks champagne, and whoever wishes to is more than welcome to share a bottle
of Mo‘t & Chandon 1961 with him. However, the cellar on the plane had every drink any
guest might conceivably want. And then there were the two twenty- one-inch LCD screens
ready to show the most recent films, even those that hadnt yet made it into the cinemas.
The jet was one of the most advanced in the world (although the French insisted that the
Dassault Falcon was even better), but regard- less of how much money he had, he couldnt
change the clocks in Europe. It was now 3:43
a.m.
in Los Angeles, and he was just begin- ning to feel really tired. He had been awake all
night, going from one party to the next, answering the same two idiotic questions that
began every conversation:
How was your flight? To which Javits always responded with a question: Why? People didnt
know quite what to say and so they smiled awkwardly and moved on to the next question on the list: Are you staying here long? And Javits would
again ask: Why? Then he would pretend he had to answer his mobile phone, make his excuses, and move on with his two inseparable
besuited friends in tow. He met no one interesting. But then who would a man who has almost everything money can
buy find interesting? He had tried to change his friends and meet people who had nothing
to do with the world of cinema: philosophers, writers, jugglers, executives of food-
manufacturing companies. At first, it all went swimmingly, until the inevitable question:
Would you like to read a script Ive written? Or the second most inevitable question: I
have a friend who has always wanted to be an actor/actress. Would you mind meeting him/her?
Yes, he would. He had other things to do in life apart from work. He used to fly once a
month to Alaska, go into the first bar, get drunk, eat pizza, wander about in the wild,
and talk to the people who lived in the small towns up there. He worked out for two hours
a day at his private gym, but the doctors had warned him he could still end up with heart
problems. He didnt care that much about being physically fit, what he really wanted was to
off-load a little of the constant tension that seemed to weigh on him every second of the
day, to do some medi- tation and heal the wounds to his soul. When he was in the country,
he always asked the people he chanced to meet what normal life was like, because he had
forgotten. The answers varied, and he gradually came to realize that, even when he was
surrounded by other people, he was absolutely alone in the world.
He decided to draw up a list of what constituted normal attitudes and behavior, based on
what people did rather than on what they said. Javits glances around. Theres a man in dark
glasses drinking a fruit juice. He seems oblivious to his surroundings and is staring out to sea as if he
were somewhere far from there. Hes smartly dressed and good-looking, with graying hair. He
was one of the first to arrive and must know who Javits is, and yet hes made no effort to
come and introduce himself. It was brave of him to sit there alone like that. Being alone
in Cannes is anathema; it means that no one is interested in you, that youre unimportant
or dont know anyone.
He
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