Original subtitles

- 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.