“Do what?”
“Act so cavalier about things that are sacred to other people?”
“Because other people have got nothing to do with me.”
Celia scoffed, somewhat gently, and looked down at her hands.
“Except you,” I said.
I was rewarded with the sight of her looking up at me.
“I care about you,” I said.
“You cared about me.”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t misspeak.”
“You certainly moved on fast enough with Rex North.”
I frowned at her. “Celia, you know better than that.”
“So it was fake.”
“Every moment.”
“Have you been with anyone else? Any men?” she asked. She was always jealous of the men, worried she couldn’t compete. I was jealous of the women, worried I wouldn’t compare.
“I’ve had a good time,” I said. “As I’m sure you’ve had.”
“John isn’t—”
“I’m not talking about John. But I’m sure you haven’t kept chaste.” I was fishing for information that might break my heart, a flaw of the human condition.
“No,” she said. “You’re right about that.”
“Men?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes. If it was men, I knew it didn’t mean anything to her.
She shook her head, and my heart broke just a little bit more, like a tear that deepens from strain.
“Anyone I know?”
“None of them were famous,” she said. “None of them meant anything to me. I touched them and thought of what it felt like to touch you.”
My heart both ached and swelled to hear it.
“You shouldn’t have left me, Celia.”
“You shouldn’t have let me leave.”
And with that, I had no more fight in me. My heart cried out the truth through my throat. “I know. I know that. I know.”
Sometimes things happen so quickly you aren’t sure when you even realized they were about to begin. One minute she was leaning against the sink, the next her hands were on my face, her body pressed against me, her lips between mine. She tasted like the musky creaminess of thick lipstick and the sharp, spiced sting of rum.
I was lost in her. In the feel of her on me once again, the sheer joy of her attention, the glory of knowing she loved me.
And then the door was flung open, and the wives of two producers walked in. We broke apart. Celia pretended she had been washing her hands, and I moved to one of the mirrors and fixed my makeup. The two women talked together, caught up in their conversation, barely noticing us.
They entered two stalls, and I looked at Celia. She looked at me. I watched her turn off the faucet and take a towel. I worried that she might walk right out the bathroom door. But she didn’t.