“Isn’t it easier for you just to pick someone else?” he said.
“I don’t want to get to know someone else,” I said. “I’m sick of trying to pretend I’m happy. At least with you, I’ll be pretending to love someone I really do love.”
Harry was quiet for a moment. “I think you should know something,” he said finally.
“OK.”
“Something I’ve thought I should tell you for some time.”
“OK, tell me.”
“I’ve been seeing John Braverman.”
My heart started beating quickly. “Celia’s John Braverman?”
Harry nodded.
“For how long?”
“A few weeks.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure if I should.”
“So their marriage is . . .”
“Fake,” Harry said.
“She doesn’t love him?” I asked.
“They sleep in separate beds.”
“Have you seen her?”
Harry didn’t answer at first. He looked as if he was trying to choose his words carefully. But I had no patience for perfect words.
“Harry, have you seen her?”
“Yes.”
“How does she seem?” I asked, and then thought of a better question, one more pressing. “Did she ask about me?”
While I had not found living without Celia to be easy, I did find it easier when I could pretend she was a part of another world. But this, her existing in my orbit, made everything I had been repressing come bubbling up.
“She didn’t,” Harry said. “But I suspect it’s because she didn’t want to ask, rather than not wanting to know.”
“But she doesn’t love him?”
Harry shook his head. “No, she doesn’t love him.”
I turned my head and looked back out the window. I imagined telling Harry to drive me to her house. I imagined running to her door. I imagined dropping to my knees and telling her the truth, that life without her was lonely and empty and quickly losing all meaning.
Instead, I said, “When should we do the picture?”
“What?”
“The picture of you and me. Where we make it look like we’ve been caught in an affair.”
“We can do it tomorrow night,” Harry said. “We can park the car. Maybe up in the hills, so photogs can find us but the picture will look secluded. I’ll call Rich Rice. He needs some money.”
I shook my head. “This can’t come from us. These gossips aren’t playing ball anymore. They are out for themselves. We need someone else to call it in. Someone the rags will believe wants me to get caught.”
“Who?”
I shake my head the moment the idea comes to me. I already don’t want to do it the moment I realize I have to.
* * *
I SAT DOWN at the phone in my study. I made sure the door was closed. And I dialed her number.
“Ruby, it’s Evelyn, and I need a favor,” I said as soon as she answered.
“I’m open to it,” she said, not missing a beat.
“I need you to tip off some photographers. Say you saw me necking in a car up in the Trousdale Estates.”
“What?” Ruby said, laughing. “Evelyn, what are you up to?”
“Don’t worry about what I’m up to. You have enough on your plate.”
“Does this mean Rex is about to be single?” she asked.
“Haven’t you had enough of my leftovers?”
“Honey, Don pursued me.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“The least you could have done was warn me,” she said.
“You knew what he was doing behind my back,” I said. “What made you think he’d be any different with you?”
“Not the cheating, Ev,” she said.
And that’s when I realized he’d hit her, too.
I was temporarily stunned silent.
“You’re OK now?” I asked after a moment. “You got away?”
“Our divorce is final. I’m moving to the beach, just bought a place in Santa Monica.”
“You don’t think he’s going to try to blackball you?”
“He tried,” Ruby said. “But he won’t succeed. His last three movies barely broke even. He didn’t get nominated for The Night Hunter like everybody thought. He’s on a downward spiral. He’s about to be as harmless as a declawed cat.”
I felt for him, in some small way, as I twirled the phone cord in my hand. But I felt for her much more. “How bad was it, Ruby?”
“Nothing I couldn’t hide with pancake makeup and long sleeves.” The way she said it, the pride in her voice, as if admitting that it hurt her was a vulnerability she wasn’t willing to give in to, made my heart break. It broke for her, and it broke for the me of all those years ago who did the same thing.
“You’ll come over for dinner one of these days,” I said to her.
“Oh, let’s not do that, Evelyn,” she said. “We’ve been through too much to be so phony.”
I laughed. “Fair enough.”
“Anybody in particular you want me to call tomorrow? Or just anybody with a tip line?”
“Anybody powerful will do. Anybody eager to make money off my demise.”
“Well, that’s everybody,” Ruby said. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“You’re too successful,” she said. “Too many hits, too many handsome husbands. We all want to shoot you down from the air now.”
“I know, dear. I know. And when they’re done with me, they’ll come for you.”
“You’re not really famous if anybody still likes you,” Ruby said. “I’ll call tomorrow. Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
And as we hung up, I thought, If I’d told people what he was doing to me, he might not have had the chance to do it to her.
I wasn’t much interested in keeping a log of the victims of my decisions, but it did occur to me that if I was, I’d have had to put Ruby Reilly on the list.
I PUT ON A RISQUÉ dress that showed just a little too much cleavage, and I drove up Hillcrest Road with Harry.
He pulled over to the side, and I moved toward him. I’d stuck with nude lipstick, because I knew red would be pushing it. I was careful to control the elements enough but not too much, because I didn’t want it to look perfect. I wanted to be sure the photo wouldn’t look staged. I needn’t have been worried. Pictures speak very loudly. In general, we can almost never shake what we see with our eyes.
“So how do you want to do this?” Harry said.
“Are you nervous?” I asked him. “Have you kissed a woman before?”
Harry looked at me as if I was an idiot. “Of course I have.”
“Have you ever made love to one?”
“Once.”
“Did you like it?”
Harry thought. “That one’s harder to answer.”
“Pretend I’m a man, then,” I said. “Pretend you have to have me.”
“I can kiss you unprompted, Evelyn. I don’t need you to direct me.”
“We have to be doing it long enough that when they come by, it looks like we’ve been here for a while.”
Harry messed up his hair and pulled at his collar. I laughed and messed mine up, too. I pushed one shoulder off my dress.
“Ooh,” Harry said. “It’s getting very racy in here.”
I pushed him away, laughing. We heard a car coming up behind us, the headlights shining ahead.
Panicked, Harry grabbed me by both arms and kissed me. He pressed his lips hard against mine, and just as the car passed us, he ran one hand through my hair.
“I think it was just a neighbor,” I said, watching the car’s rear lights as it made its way farther up the canyon.
Harry grabbed my hand. “We could do it, you know.”
“What?”
“We could get married. I mean, as long as we’re gonn
a pretend to do it, we could really do it. It’s not so crazy. After all, I love you. Maybe not the way a husband is supposed to love a wife but enough, I think.”
“Harry.”
“And . . . what I told you yesterday about wanting a wife. I’ve been thinking, and if this works, if people buy it . . . maybe we could raise a family together. Don’t you want to have a family?”
“Yes,” I said. “Eventually, I think I do.”
“We could be great for each other. And we won’t just give up when the bloom falls off the rose, because we already know each other better than that.”
“Harry, I can’t tell if you’re serious.”
“I’m dead serious. At least, I think I am.”
“You want to marry me?”
“I want to be with someone I love. I want to have a companion. I’d like to bring someone home to my family. I don’t want to live alone anymore. And I want a son or a daughter. We could have that together. I can’t give you everything. I know that. But I want to raise a family, and I’d love to raise one with you.”
“Harry, I’m cynical and I’m bossy, and most people would consider me vaguely immoral.”
“You’re strong and resilient and talented. You’re exceptional inside and out.”
He had really thought about this.
“And you? And your . . . proclivities? How does that work?”
“The same as it has with you and Rex. I do what I do. Discreetly, of course. You do what you do.”
“But I don’t want to continue to have affairs my entire life. I want to be with someone I’m in love with. Someone who’s in love with me.”
“Well, that I can’t help you with,” Harry said. “For that one, you have to call her.”
I looked down at my lap, stared at my fingernails.
Would she take me back?
She and John. Me and Harry.
It could actually work. It could work so beautifully.
And if I couldn’t have her, did I want anyone else? I was pretty sure that if I couldn’t have her, all I wanted was a life with Harry.
“OK,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
Another car came up behind us, and Harry grabbed me again. This time, he kissed me slowly, passionately. When a guy jumped out of his car with a camera, Harry pretended, just for a split second, that he didn’t see him and slipped his hand down the top of my dress.
The image printed in the papers the next week was tawdry, scandalous, and shocking. It showed us with swollen faces and looks of guilt, Harry’s hand clearly on my breast.
The next day, everyone was printing headlines that Joy Nathan was pregnant.
The four of us were the talk of the nation.
Unscrupulous, unfaithful, lustful sinners.
Carolina Sunset set a record for the longest stay in theaters. And to celebrate our divorce, Rex and I shared a pair of dirty martinis.
“To our successful union,” Rex said. And then we clinked our glasses and drank.
IT IS THREE IN THE morning by the time I get home. Evelyn had downed four cups of coffee and apparently felt wired enough to keep talking.
I could have bowed out at any point, but on some level, I think I welcomed the excuse not to go back to my own life for a little while. Being wrapped up in digesting Evelyn’s story means I don’t have to exist in my own.
And anyway, it’s not my place to go making the rules. I picked my battle. I won. The rest is up to her.
So when I get home, I crawl into bed and will myself to fall asleep quickly. My last thought as I go to sleep is that I am relieved I have a valid excuse for why I haven’t responded to David’s text yet.
I’m woken up by my cell phone ringing, and I look at the time. It’s almost nine. It’s Saturday. I was hoping to sleep in.
My phone shows my mother’s face smiling at me. It’s not quite six her time. “Mom? Is everything OK?”
“Of course it is,” she says, as if she’s calling at noon. “I just wanted to try to catch you and say hi before you headed out for the day.”
“It’s not even six A.M. where you are,” I say. “And it’s the weekend. I’m mostly planning on sleeping in and transcribing some of my hours of Evelyn recordings.”
“We had a small earthquake about a half hour ago, and now I can’t go back to sleep. How is it going with Evelyn? I feel weird calling her Evelyn. Like I know her or something.”
I tell her about getting Frankie to agree to a promotion. I tell her that I got Evelyn to agree to a cover story.
“You’re telling me you went up against the editor in chief of Vivant and Evelyn Hugo both within twenty-four hours? And you came out getting what you want from everyone?”
I laugh, surprised at how impressive it sounds. “Yeah,” I say. “I guess I did.”
My mom lets out what can only be described as a cackle. “That’s my girl!” she says. “Oof, let me tell you, your father would be beaming right now if he were here. Would just be glowing with pride. He always knew you were going to be a force to be reckoned with.”
I wonder if this is true, not because my mom has ever really lied to me but because it’s just so hard for me to imagine. I can see my dad thinking I’d grow up to be kind or smart; that makes sense. But I’ve never thought of myself as a force to be reckoned with. Maybe I should start thinking of myself that way; maybe I deserve to.
“I kind of am, aren’t I? Don’t mess with me, world. I’m out to get mine.”
“That’s right, honey. That you are.”
As I tell my mom I love her and hang up the phone, I feel proud of myself, smug even.
I have no idea that in less than a week, Evelyn Hugo will finish her story, and I’ll find out what this has all been about, and I will hate her so much that I’ll be truly afraid I might kill her.
Brilliant, Kindhearted, Tortured Harry Cameron
I WAS NOMINATED FOR BEST Actress for Carolina Sunset.
The only problem was that Celia was nominated that year, too.
I showed up on the red carpet with Harry. We were engaged. He’d given me a diamond and emerald ring. It stood out against the black beaded dress I wore that night. Two slits on either side of the skirt went up to my mid-thigh. I loved that dress.
And so did everyone else. I’ve noticed that when people do retrospectives of my career, photos of me in that dress always make it in somehow. I made sure it would be included in the auction. I think it could raise a lot of money.
It makes me happy that people love that dress as much as I do. I lost an Oscar, but it ended up being one of the greatest nights of my life.
Celia arrived just before the show began. She was wearing a pale blue strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline. The color of her hair against the dress was striking. When my eyes set on her, for the first time in nearly five years, I found myself breathless.
I’d gone to see every single one of Celia’s movies, even though I was loath to admit it. So I had seen her.
But no medium can capture what it is to be in someone’s presence, certainly not someone like her. Someone who makes you feel important simply because she’s choosing to look at you.
There was something stately about her, at the age of twenty-eight. She was mature and dignified. She looked like the kind of person who knew exactly who she was.
She stepped forward and took John Braverman’s arm. In a tux that seemed to strain at his broad shoulders, John looked as all-American as a husk of corn. They were a gorgeous couple. No matter how false it all was.
“Ev, you’re staring,” Harry said as he pushed me into the theater.
“Sorry,” I said. “Thank you.”
As we took our seats, we smiled and waved to everyone seated around us. Joy and Rex were a few rows behind us, and I waved politely, knowing people were watching, knowing that if I ran up and hugged them, people might be confused.
When we sat down, Harry said, “If you win, will you talk to her?”
I laughed. “And gloat?”
> “No, but you’d have the upper hand that you seem to so desperately want.”
“She left me.”
“You slept with someone.”
“For her.”
Harry frowned at me as if I was missing the point.
“Fine, if I win, I’ll talk to her.”
“Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
“Because I want you to be happy, and it appears I have to reward you for doing things in your own favor.”
“Well, if she wins, I’m not saying a single word to her.”
“If she wins,” Harry said delicately, “which is a big if, and she comes and talks to you, I will hold you down and force you to listen and speak back.”
I couldn’t look directly at him. I was feeling defensive.
“It’s a moot point anyway,” I said. “Everyone knows they’re going to give it to Ruby, because they feel bad she didn’t get it last year for The Dangerous Flight.”
“They might not,” Harry said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I told him. “And I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you.”
But when the lights dimmed and the host came out, I was not thinking that my chances were slim. I was just delusional enough to think the Academy might finally give me a goddamn Oscar.
When they called out the nominees for Best Actress, I scanned the audience for Celia. I spotted her the very same moment she spotted me. We locked eyes. And then the presenter didn’t say “Evelyn” or “Celia.” He said “Ruby.”
When my heart sank into my chest, aching and heavy, I was mad at myself for believing I had a chance. And then I wondered if Celia was OK.
Harry held my hand and squeezed it. I hoped John was squeezing Celia’s. I excused myself to the bathroom.
Bonnie Lakeland was washing her hands as I came in. She gave me a smile, and then she left. And I was alone. I sat in a stall and closed the door. I let myself cry.
“Evelyn?”
You don’t spend years pining away for one voice not to notice it when it finally appears.
“Celia?” I said. My back was to the stall door. I wiped my eyes.
“I saw you come in here,” she said. “I thought it might be a sign that you weren’t . . . that you were upset.”
