“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.