“Honestly? I don’t even remember,” she said.
“Because our whole is greater than the sum of our parts.”
“And so what?”
“And so when it comes to what acting roles to take and how to play them, who’s in charge?”
“I am.”
“And now, when it’s the opening of our movie? Who’s in charge then?”
“I suppose you are.”
“You suppose right.”
“I really hate him, Evelyn,” Celia said. She was messing with her makeup.
“Put the rouge down,” I said. “Gwen made you look gorgeous. Don’t mess with perfect.”
“Did you listen to me? I said I hate him.”
“Of course you hate him. He’s a weasel.”
“There’s no one else?”
“Not at this hour.”
“And I can’t go alone?”
“To your own premiere?”
“Why can’t you and I just go together?”
“I’m going with Don. You’re going with Robert.”
Celia frowned and turned back to the mirror. I saw her eyes narrow and her lips purse, as if she was thinking of how mad she was.
I grabbed her bag and handed it to her. It was time to go.
“Celia, would you cut it out? If you’re not willing to do what it takes to get your name in the paper, then why the hell are you here?”
She stood up, ripped the bag out my hand, and walked out the door. I watched her go down my stairs, into my living room with a grand smile, and then run into Robert’s arms as if she thought he was the savior of all mankind.
I walked up to Don. He always cleaned up nicely in his tux. There was no denying that he was going to be the most handsome man there. But I was tiring of him. What’s that saying? Behind every gorgeous woman, there’s a man sick of screwing her? Well, it works both ways. No one mentions that part.
“Shall we go?” Celia said, as if she couldn’t possibly wait to show up to the movie on Robert’s arm. She was a great actress. No one has ever denied that.
“I don’t want to waste a minute more,” I said, looping my arm into Don’s and holding on for dear life. He looked down at my arm and then at me, as if pleasantly surprised by my warmth.
“Let’s see our little women in Little Women, shall we?” Don said. I nearly smacked him across the face. He was owed a smack or two. Or fifteen.
Our cars picked us up and drove us to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre.
Parts of Hollywood Boulevard had been blocked off for our arrival. The driver pulled up just behind Celia and Robert outside the theater. We were the last in a line of four cars.
When you are one of an ensemble of female stars in a movie and the studio wants to make a big show, they make sure you all show up at the same time, in four separate cars, with four eligible bachelors for dates—except, in my case, the eligible bachelor was my husband.
Our dates stepped out first, each standing by and offering a hand. I waited as I watched Ruby step out, then Joy, then Celia. I waited just a beat longer than the rest of them. And then I stepped out, leg first, onto the red carpet.
