“You’re twenty-one years old, you’re married to the biggest movie star there is right now, and you were just nominated for an Academy Award, Evelyn.”
Harry had a point, but so did I. Celia was going to be a problem.
“It’s OK. I’m ready. I’m gonna give the best goddamn performance of my life, and when people watch the movie, they are going to say, ‘Beth who? Oh, the middle sister who dies? What about her?’?”
“I have absolutely no doubt,” Harry said, putting his arm around me. “You’re fabulous, Evelyn. The whole world knows it.”
I smiled. “You really think so?”
This is something that everyone should know about stars. We like to be told we are adored, and we want you to repeat yourself. Later in my life, people would always come up to me and say, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear me blabbering on about how great you are,” and I always say, as if I’m joking, “Oh, one more time won’t hurt.” But the truth is, praise is just like an addiction. The more you get it, the more of it you need just to stay even.
“Yes,” he said. “I really think so.”
I stood up from my chair to give Harry a hug, but as I did, the lighting highlighted my upper cheekbone, the rounded spot just below my eye.
I watched as Harry’s gaze ran across my face.
He could see the light bruise I was hiding, could see the purple and blue under the surface of my skin, bleeding through the pancake makeup.
“Evelyn . . .” he said. He put his thumb up to my face, as if he needed to feel it to know it was real.
“Harry, don’t.”
“I’ll kill him.”
“No, you won’t.”
“We’re best friends, Evelyn. Me and you.”
“I know,” I said. “I know that.”
“You said best friends tell each other everything.”
“And you knew it was bullshit when I said it.”
I stared at him as he stared at me.
“Let me help,” he said. “What can I do?”
“You can make sure I look better than Celia, better than all of ’em, in the dailies.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“But it’s all you can do.”
“Evelyn . . .”
I kept my upper lip stiff. “There’s no move here, Harry.”
He understood what I meant. I couldn’t leave Don Adler.
“I could talk to Ari.”
“I love him,” I said, turning away and clipping my earrings on.
It was the truth. Don and I had problems, but so did a lot of people. And he was the only man who had ever ignited something in me. Sometimes I hated myself for wanting him, for finding myself brightening up when his attention was on me, for still needing his approval. But I did. I loved him, and I wanted him in my bed. And I wanted to stay in the spotlight.
“End of discussion.”