WHEN CELIA AND John came home, things went back to normal. Celia lived with me. Harry lived with John. Connor stayed at my place, with the assumption that Harry would come by days and nights to be with us, to care for us.
But that first morning, just around the time Harry was due for breakfast, Celia put on her robe and headed to the kitchen. She started making oatmeal.
I had just come down, still in my pajamas. I was sitting at the island nursing Connor when Harry walked in.
“Oh,” he said, looking at Celia, noticing the pan. Luisa was washing dishes in the sink. “I was coming in to make bacon and eggs.”
“I’ve got it,” Celia said. “A nice warm bowl of oatmeal for everybody. There’s enough for you, too, if you’re hungry.”
Harry looked at me, unsure what to do. I looked at him, equally uncertain.
Celia just kept stirring. And then she grabbed three bowls and set them down. She put the pot in the sink for Luisa to wash.
It occurred to me then how odd this system was. Harry and I paid Luisa’s salary, but Harry didn’t even live here. Celia and John paid the mortgage on the home Harry lived in.
Harry sat down and grabbed the spoon in front of him. He and I dug into our oatmeal at the same time. When Celia’s back was to us, we looked at each other and grimaced. Harry mouthed something to me, and even though I could barely read his lips, I knew what he was saying, because it was exactly what I was thinking.
So bland.
Celia turned back to us and offered us some raisins. We both took her up on it. And then the three of us sat in the kitchen, eating our oatmeal quietly, all aware that Celia had staked her claim. I was hers. She would make my breakfast. Harry was a visitor.
Connor started crying, so Harry took her and changed her. Luisa went downstairs to grab the laundry. And when we were alone, Celia said, “Max Girard is doing a movie called Three A.M. for Paramount. It’s supposed to be a real art-house piece, and I think you should do it.”
I had kept in touch with Max, on and off, since he directed me in Boute-en-Train. I never forgot that it was with him that I was able to catapult my name to the top again. But I knew Celia couldn’t stand him. He was too overt in his interest in me, too salacious about it. Celia used to jokingly call him Pepé Le Pew. “You think I should do a movie with Max?”
Celia nodded. “They offered it to me, but it makes more sense for you. Regardless of the fact that I think he’s a Neanderthal, I can recognize that the man makes good movies. And this role is exactly your thing.”
“What do you mean?”
Celia got up and took my bowl with hers. She rinsed them both in the sink and then turned back to me, leaning against it. “It’s a sexy part. They need a real bombshell.”
I shook my head. “I’m someone’s mother now. The whole world knows it.”
Celia shook her head. “That’s exactly why you have to do it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a sexual woman, Evelyn. You’re sensual, and you’re beautiful, and you’re desirable. Don’t let them take that away from you. Don’t let them desexualize you. Don’t let your career be on their terms. What do you want to do? You want to play a mom in every role you take from now on? You want to play only nuns and teachers?”
“No,” I said. “Of course not. I want to play everything.”
“So play everything,” she said. “Be bold. Do what no one expects you to do.”
“People will say it’s unbecoming.”
“The Evelyn I love doesn’t care about that.”
I closed my eyes and listened to her, nodding. She wanted me to do it for me. I really believe that. She knew I wouldn’t be happy being limited, being relegated. She knew I wanted to continue to make people talk, to tantalize, to surprise. But the part she wasn’t mentioning, the part I’m not even sure she truly understood, was that she also wanted me to do it because she didn’t want me to change.
She wanted to be with a bombshell.
It’s always been fascinating to me how things can be simultaneously true and false, how people can be good and bad all in one, how someone can love you in a way that is beautifully selfless while serving themselves ruthlessly.
It is why I loved Celia. She was a very complicated woman who always kept me guessing. And here she had surprised me one more time.
She had said, Go, have a baby. But she had meant to add, Just don’t act like a mother.
Fortunately and unfortunately for her, I had absolutely no intention of being told what to do or of being manipulated into a single thing.
So I read the script, and I took a few days and thought about it. I asked Harry what he thought. And then I woke up one morning and thought, I want the part. I want it because I want to show I’m still my own woman.
I called Max Girard and told him I was interested if he was interested. And he was.
“But I’m surprised you want to do this,” Max said. “You are one hundred percent sure?”
“Is there nudity?” I asked. “I’m OK with the idea. Really. I look fantastic, Max. It’s not a problem.” I did not look fantastic, nor did I feel fantastic. It was a problem. But it was a solvable problem, and solvable problems aren’t really problems, are they?
“No,” Max said, laughing. “Evelyn, you could be ninety-seven years old, and the whole world would line up to see your chest.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“Don,” he said.
“Don who?”
“Your part,” he said. “The whole movie. All of it.”
“What?”
“You’re playing opposite Don Adler.”
*
WHY DID YOU AGREE TO do it?” I ask her. “Why not say you wanted him cut from the film?”
“Well, first of all, you don’t go throwing your weight around unless you’re sure you’ll win,” Evelyn says. “And I was only about eighty percent sure that if I pitched a fit, Max would fire him. And second of all, it seemed mildly cruel, to be honest. Don was not doing well. He hadn’t had a hit in years, and most younger moviegoers didn’t know who he was. He was divorced from Ruby, hadn’t remarried, and the rumor was that his drinking had gotten out of control.”
“So you felt bad for him? Your abuser?”
“Relationships are complex,” Evelyn says. “People are messy, and love can be ugly. I’m inclined to always err on the side of compassion.”
“You’re saying you had compassion for what he was going through?”
“I’m saying you should have a little compassion for how complicated it must have been for me.”
Cut down to size, I find myself staring at the floor, unable to look at her. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I haven’t been in that situation before, and I was . . . I don’t know what I was thinking making any sort of judgment. I apologize.”
Evelyn smiles gently, accepting my apology. “I can’t speak for all people who have been hit by someone they love, but what I can tell you is that forgiveness is different from absolution. Don was no longer a threat to me. I was not scared of him. I felt powerful and free. So I told Max I’d meet with him. Celia was supportive but also hesitant once she learned Don had been cast. Harry, while cautious, trusted my ability to handle the situation. So my representatives called Don’s people, and we set a time and place for the next time I was in L.A. I had suggested the bar at the Beverly Hills Hotel, but Don’s team changed it at the last minute to Canter’s Deli. That’s how I ended up seeing my ex-husband for the first time in more than fifteen years over a pair of Reubens.”
*
I’M SORRY, EVELYN,” DON SAID when he sat down. I had already ordered an iced tea and eaten half of a sour pickle. I thought he was apologizing for being late.
“It’s only five past one,” I said. “It’s fine.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. He looked pale but also a bit thinner than some of his recent photos. The years we had been apart had not been good to Don. His face had bloated, and his waistline had widened. But he was still heads and tails more handsome than anyone else in the place. Don was the sort of man who was always going to be handsome, no matter what happened to him. His good looks were just that loyal.
“I’m sorry,” he said. The emphasis, the meaningfulness of it, hit me.
It caught me off guard. The waitress came by and asked for his drink order. He didn’t order a martini or a beer. He ordered a Coca-Cola. When she left, I found myself unsure what to say to him.
“I’m sober,” he said. “Have been for two hundred and fifty-six days.”
“That many, huh?” I said as I took a sip of my iced tea.
“I was a drunk, Evelyn. I know that now.”
“You were also a cheater and a pig,” I said.
Don nodded. “I know that, too. And I’m deeply sorry.”
I had flown all the way here to see if I could do a movie with him. I had not come to be apologized to. The thought had never occurred to me. I merely assumed I would use him this time the way I used him back then; his name near mine would get people talking.
But this repentant man in front of me was surprising and overwhelming.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” I asked him. “That you’re sorry? What is that supposed to mean to me?”
The waitress came and took our orders.
“A Reuben, please,” I said, handing her the menu. If I was going to have a real conversation about this, I needed a hearty meal.
“I’ll have the same,” Don said.
She knew who we were; I could see it in the way her lips kept trying to hold back a smile.
When she left, Don leaned in. “I know it doesn’t make up for what I did to you,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “Because it really doesn’t.”
“But I hope it might make you feel a little better,” he said, “to know that I know I was wrong, I know you deserved better, and I’m working every day to be a better man.”
“Well, it’s awfully late now,” I said. “You being a better man does nothing for me.”
“I won’t hurt anyone like I did then,” Don said. “To you, to Ruby.”
My heart of ice melted briefly, and I admitted that did make me feel better. “Still,” I said. “We all can’t go around treating people like dog shit and then expecting that a simple I’m sorry erases it.”
Don shook his head humbly. “Of course not,” he said. “No, I know that.”
“And if your movies hadn’t tanked and Ari Sullivan hadn’t dropped you like you got him to drop me, you’d probably still be living high on the hog, drunk as a skunk.”
Don nodded. “Probably. I’m sorry to say you are most likely right about that.”
I wanted more. Did I want him to grovel? To cry? I wasn’t sure. I just knew I wasn’t getting it.
“Let me just say this,” Don said. “I loved you from the moment I saw you. I loved you madly. And I ruined it because I turned into a man I’m not proud of. And because I ruined it the way I did, because I was awful at treating you the way you deserved to be treated, I am sorry. Sometimes I think about going back to our wedding day and wanting to do it all over again, wanting to fix my mistakes so that you never have to go through what I put you through. I know I can’t do that, but what I can do is look you in the eye and tell you from the very bottom of my heart that I know how incredible you are, I know how great we could have been together, I know that everything we both lost was my fault, I am dedicated to never behaving that poorly again, and I am truly, truly sorry.”
In all my years after Don, all my movies, all my marriages, I had never once wanted to go back in time in the hopes that Don and I could get it right. My life since Don had been a story of my own making, a mess and a joy of my own decisions, and a string of experiences that landed me with everything I ever wanted.
I was OK. I felt safe. I had a beautiful daughter, a devoted husband, and the love of a good woman. I had money and fame. I had a gorgeous house in a city I had reclaimed. What could Don Adler take from me?
If I had come to see if I could stand him, I found that I could. There was not a bone in my body that was afraid of him.
And then I realized: if that was true, what did I have to lose?
I did not say the words I forgive you to Don Adler. I simply took my wallet out of my purse and said, “Do you want to see a picture of Connor?”
He smiled and nodded, and when I showed him her photo, he laughed. “She looks just like you,” he said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I don’t think there’s any other way to take it. I think every woman in this country would like to look like Evelyn Hugo.”
I threw my head back and laughed. When our Reubens were half eaten and taken away by the waitress, I told him I’d do the movie.
“That’s great,” he said. “Really great to hear. I think you and I could really . . . I think we can really give them a show.”
“We are not friends, Don,” I said. “I want to be clear on that.”
Don nodded. “OK,” he said. “I understand.”
“But I think we can be friendly.”
Don smiled. “I’d be honored by friendly.”
*