The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo(17)

“Sure,” he said. “I think it’s a smart thing to do. You’ll get better, and who knows, you might even star in a picture one day.”

I would star.

I wanted to punch his lights out.

But I’ve since come to understand that it wasn’t Ernie’s fault. None of it was Ernie’s fault. I’d told him I was someone else. And then I started getting angry that he couldn’t see who I really was.

Six months later, I could deliver a line with sincerity. I wasn’t great by any means, but I was good enough.

I’d been in three more movies, all day-player roles. I’d heard there was a part open to play Stu Cooper’s teenage daughter in a romantic comedy. And I decided I wanted it.

So I did something that not many other actresses at my level would have had the guts to do. I knocked on Harry Cameron’s door.

“Evelyn,” he said, surprised to see me. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want the Caroline part,” I said. “In Love Isn’t All.”

Harry motioned for me to sit down. He was handsome, for an executive. Most producers around the lot were rotund, a lot of them losing their hair. But Harry was tall and slim. He was young. I suspected he didn’t even have a decade on me. He wore suits that fit him nicely and always complemented his ice-blue eyes. There was something vaguely midwestern about him, not so much in how he looked but in the way he approached people, with kindness first, then strength.

Harry was one of the only men on the lot who didn’t stare directly at my chest. It actually bothered me, as if I’d been doing something wrong to not get his attention. It just goes to show that if you tell a woman her only skill is to be desirable, she will believe you. I was believing it before I was even eighteen.

“I’m not going to bullshit you, Evelyn. Ari Sullivan is never going to approve you for that part.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not the right type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No one would believe you were Stu Cooper’s daughter.”

“I certainly could be.”

“You could not.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, I want to know why.”

“Your name is Evelyn Diaz.”

“So?”

“I can’t put you in a movie and try to pretend you’re not Mexican.”

“I’m Cuban.”

“For our purposes, same difference.”

It was not the same difference, but I saw absolutely no merit in trying to explain that to him. “OK,” I said. “Then how about the movie with Gary DuPont?”

“You can’t play a romantic lead with Gary Dupont.”

“Why not?”

Harry looked at me as if to ask if I was really going to make him say it.

“Because I’m Mexican?” I asked.

“Because the movie with Gary DuPont needs a nice blond girl.”

“I could be a nice blond girl.”

Harry looked at me.

I tried harder. “I want it, Harry. And you know I can do it. I’m one of the most interesting girls you guys have right now.”

Harry laughed. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”

Harry’s secretary knocked on the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Cameron, you need to be in Burbank at one.”

Harry looked at his watch.

I made one last play. “Think about it, Harry. I’m good, and I can be even better. But you’re wasting me in these small roles.”

“We know what we’re doing,” he said, standing up.

I stood up with him. “Where do you see my career a year from now, Harry? Playing a teacher with three lines?”

Harry walked past me and opened his door, ushering me out. “We’ll see,” he said.

Having lost the battle, I resolved to win the war. So the next time I saw Ari Sullivan at the studio dining hall, I dropped my purse in front of him and “accidentally” gave him an eyeful as I bent down to pick it up. He made eye contact with me, and then I walked away, as if I wanted nothing from him, as if I had no idea who he was.

A week later, I pretended I was lost in the executive offices, and I ran into him in the hallway. He was a portly guy, but it was a weight that suited him. He had eyes that were so dark brown it was hard to make out the irises and the kind of five o’clock shadow that was permanent. But he had a pretty smile. And that was what I focused on.

“Mrs. Diaz,” he said. I was both surprised and not surprised to find that he had learned my name.

“Mr. Sullivan,” I said.

“Please, call me Ari.”

“Well, hello, Ari,” I said, grazing my hand on his arm.