Evelyn And Celia Quotes

It’s not wrong,” Celia said. “It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?” “It’s not wrong, sweetheart. It’s not,” I said. “They’re wrong.

Celia may have left me in a huff, but it was a death by a thousand cuts. I hurt her with these tiny scratches, day after day. And then I got surprised when it left a wound too big to heal.

Evelyn, who was your great love? You can tell me.” Evelyn looks out the window, breathes in deeply, and then says, “Celia St. James.” The room is quiet as Evelyn lets herself hear her own words. And then she smiles, a bright, wide, deeply sincere smile. She starts laughing to herself and then refocuses on me. “I feel like I spent my entire life loving her.

The love of my life is gone, and I can't just call her and say I'm sorry and have her come back. She's gone forever. So yes, Monique, that is something I do regret. I regret every second I didn't spend with her. I regret every stupid thing I did that caused her an ounce of pain. I should have chased her down the street the day she left me. I should have begged her to stay. I should have apologized and sent roses and stood on top of the Hollywood sign and shouted, 'I'm in love with Celia St. James!' and let them crucify me for it. That's what I should have done. And now that I don't have her, and I have more money than I could ever use in this lifetime, and my name is cemented in Hollywood history, and I know how hollow it is, I am kicking myself for every single second I chose it over loving her proudly.

I loved you so much, that I thought you were the meaning of my life," Celia said, crying. "I thought that people were put on Earth to find other people, and I was put on Earth to find you. To find you, and touch your skin, and smell your breath, and hear all your thoughts. But I don't think that's true anymore." She wiped her eyes. "Because I don't want to be meant for someone like you.

Celia and I spent our nights together in this apartment. Harry spent his nights with John at their place. We went out to dinner in public, the four of us looking like two pairs of heterosexuals, without a heterosexual in the bunch.

Evelyn, who was the love of your life? You can tell me." Evelyn looks out the window, breaths in deeply, and then says, "Celia. St. James".

I love you,” I said. “I believe in you. Break a leg.” When my hand turned the doorknob, she called to me. “If I don’t win,” she said, her wet hair dripping onto the spaghetti straps of her slip, “will you still love me?” I thought she was joking until I looked directly into her eyes. “You could be a nobody living in a cardboard box, and I’d still love you,” I said. I’d never said that before. I’d never meant it before. Celia smiled wide. “Me too. The cardboard box and all of it.

And just as she was about to leave the microphone, she said, “And to anyone tempted to kiss the TV tonight, please don’t chip your tooth.” “Mom, why are you crying?” Connor asked. I put my hand to my face and realized that I had teared up. Harry smiled at me and rubbed my back. “You should call her,” he said. “It’s never a bad idea to bury hatchets.” Instead, I wrote a letter. My Dearest Celia, Congratulations! You absolutely deserve it. There is no doubt you are the most talented actress of our generation. I wish for nothing more than your complete and total happiness. I did not kiss the TV this time, but I did cheer just as loudly as I did the other times. All my love, Edward Evelyn

If it was cancer he was dying of, there'd be telethons.” “People don't understand AIDS,” I said. “They understand it just fine,” Celia said. “They just think that he deserves it because of how he got it.

The fact that I wanted to be around Celia all the time, the fact that I cared about her enough that I valued her happiness over my own, the fact that I liked to think about that moment when she stood in front of me without her shirt on—now, you put those pieces together, and you say, one plus one equals I’m in love with a woman. But back then, at least for me, I didn’t have that equation. And if you don’t even realize that there's a formula to be working with, how the hell are you supposed to find the answer?

I broke Celia's heart because I spent half my time loving her and the other half hiding how much I loved her.

Ah, yes. So that people won’t know you’re a lesbian.” I hated being called a lesbian. Not because I thought there was anything wrong with loving a woman, mind you. No, I’d come to terms with that a long time ago. But Celia only saw things in black and white. She liked women and only women. And I liked her. And so she often denied the rest of me. She liked to ignore the fact that I had truly loved Don Adler once. She liked to ignore the fact that I had made love to men and enjoyed it. She liked to ignore it until the very moment she decided to be threatened by it. That seemed to be her pattern. I was a lesbian when she loved me and a straight woman when she hated me.

I should have apologized and sent roses and stood on top of the Hollywood sign and shouted, 'I'm in love with Celia St. James!' and let them crucify me for it.

Evelyn. If you can handle this. But I can’t, in good conscience, do this to you if you don’t think you’ll survive it.” “Survive what, exactly?” “Losing me again. I don’t want to let you love me if you don’t think you can lose me again. One last time.” “I can’t. Of course I can’t. But I want to anyway. I’m going to anyway. Yes,” I said finally. “I can survive it. I’d rather survive it than never feel it.” “Are you sure?” she said. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure about anything. I love you, Celia. I’ve always loved you. And we should spend the rest of the time we have together.

You shouldn't have left me, Celia. You shouldn't have let me.

Haven’t you been listening to a single thing I’ve told you? I loved Celia, but I also, before her, loved Don. In fact, I’m positive that if Don hadn’t turned out to be a spectacular asshole, I probably never would have been capable of falling in love with someone else at all. I’m bisexual. Don’t ignore half of me so you can fit me into a box, Monique. Don’t do that.

People don't understand AIDS," I said. "They understand just fine," Celia said. "They just think that he deserves it because of how he got it.

By the power vested in me by . . . us, I now declare us married.” Celia laughed. “I may now kiss the bride,” I said, and I let go of her hands, grabbed her face, and kissed her. My wife.

There’s a difference between sexuality and sex. I used sex to get what I wanted. Sex is just an act. Sexuality is a sincere expression of desire and pleasure. That I always kept for Celia.” “I

You’re gorgeous,” she said. “Even more gorgeous than I imagined.” I blushed and put my head in my hands, embarrassed by how out of control I felt, how out of my league it all was. She took my hands off my face and looked at me. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said. “It’s OK,” she said. “I do.” That night, Celia and I slept nude, holding each other. We no longer pretended to touch by accident. And when I woke up in the morning with her hair in my face, I inhaled, loudly and proudly. Within those four walls, we were unashamed.

Celia St. James is going to ruin everything.

I kissed the television set. I kissed her right on her grayscale face. The clink I heard registered before the pain. And as Celia waved to the crowd and then stepped away from the podium, I realized I’d chipped my tooth. But I didn’t care. I was too happy. Too excited to congratulate her and tell her how proud I was.

Did I look at other people? Sure. Just like anyone in a relationship does. But I loved Celia, and I shared my true self only with Celia.

My Dearest Evelyn, Reading your letter felt like gasping for air after being trapped underwater. I hope you will forgive me for being so blunt, but how did we make such a mess of it all? And what does it mean that we have not spoken in a decade but I still hear your voice in my head every day? XO, Celia

People were just starting to talk about the idea of bisexuality, but I’m not sure I even understood that the word referred to me then. I wasn’t interested in finding a label for what I already knew. I loved men. I loved Celia. I was OK with that.

Is it because Evelyn can’t handle the fact that Celia received the Most Promising Female Personality Award that night? Or is it that Celia’s been nominated for an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress for their movie Little Women, and Evelyn didn’t get a mention

But we’d have each other. And that’s enough for me.” She was crying now, the tears streaking down her face and carrying her mascara with them. I put my arms around her and wiped her cheek with my thumb. “I love you so much, sweetheart. So, so much. And it’s in part because of things like that. You’re an idealist and a romantic, and you have a beautiful soul. And I wish the world was ready to be the way you see it. I wish that the rest of the people on earth with us were capable of living up to your expectations. But they aren’t. The world is ugly, and no one wants to give anyone the benefit of the doubt about anything. When we lose our work and our reputations, when we lose our friends and, eventually, what money we have, we will be destitute. I’ve lived that life before. And I cannot let it happen to you. I will do whatever I can to prevent you from living that way. Do you hear me? I love you too much to let you live only for me.” She heaved into my body, her tears growing inside her. For a moment, I thought she might flood the backyard. “I love you,” she said. “I love you, too,” I whispered into her ear. “I love you more than anything else in the entire world.” “It’s not wrong,” Celia said. “It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?” “It’s not wrong, sweetheart. It’s not,” I said. “They’re wrong.

There are so many women who continue to do incredible work well into their eighties or nineties. Celia was like that. She could have turned in riveting performance after riveting performance forever, because she was always consumed by the work.

And maybe one day I’ll find someone I love the way Evelyn loved Celia. Or maybe I might just find someone I love the way my parents loved each other. Knowing to look for it, knowing there are all different types of great loves out there, is enough for me for now.

I had been living in this world where I thought I could have this closeness with Celia and this distance with Don and neither of them would need anything else from anyone else.

But why does your relationship with Celia mean that we should uproot Connor’s life? And mine?

But you were using your sexuality to get things from men that Celia couldn’t give you.

But Celia was the sort of beautiful that felt as if you could hold it in your hands, like if you played your cards right, you might just get to marry a girl like Celia St. James.

That’s when I started to take a liking to Celia St. James.

My Dearest Celia, Do you think lovers can ever be friends? I hate to think of the years we have left in this life wasted by continuing not to speak. Love, Evelyn

Haven't you been listening to a single thing I've told you? I loved Celia, but I also, before her, loved Don. [...] I'm bisexual. Don't ignore half of me so you can fit me into a box, Monique. Don't do that.

I DON’T WANT TO DO this,” Celia said. She was wearing a tailored black dress with a deep-V neckline. It was the kind of dress I could never wear out of the house or I’d be picked up on a prostitution charge.

That night, Celia and I slept nude, holding each other. We no longer pretended to touch by accident. And when i woke up in the morning with her hair in my face, I inhaled, loudly and proudly. Within those four walls, we were unashamed.

But the minute Ruby said what she said, the minute I heard the word lesbian, my blood started beating so fast that my pulse was all I could hear. I was not paying attention to what was flying out of Ruby’s mouth. I could only catch certain words, like girl and dyke and twisted. The skin on my chest felt hot. My ears burned. I did my best to calm myself. And when I did, when I focused on Ruby’s words, I finally heard the other piece of what she was trying to tell me. “You should probably get a better handle on your husband, by the way. He’s in Ari’s bedroom getting a blow job from some harpy from MGM.” When she said it, I did not think, Oh, my God. My husband is cheating on me. I thought, I have to find Celia.

You have never felt like my other half.” It is only once David gets up off the sofa that I realize I assumed we would be sitting here talking for a long time. And it is only once he puts on his jacket that I realize he probably assumed he would sleep here tonight. But once he has his hand on the doorknob, I realize that I have put into motion the end of a lackluster life in the interest of eventually finding a great one. “I hope one day you find someone who feels like the other half of you, I guess,” David says. Like Celia. “Thank you,” I say. “I hope you find it, too.” David smiles in a way that is more of a frown. And then he leaves. When you end a marriage, you’re supposed to lose sleep over it, aren’t you? But I don’t. I sleep free.

I loved you so much that I thought you were the meaning of my life," Celia said, crying, "I thought that people were put on earth to find other people, and I was put here to find you. To find you and touch your skin and smell your breath and hear all your thoughts. But I don't think that's true anymore." She wiped her eyes. "Because I don't want to be meant for someone like you.

And I got an idea. I took Celia’s hand and turned us around. “Wave to the crowd,” I said, smiling. “Like we’re the goddamn queens of England.” Celia smiled brightly and did exactly as I did. We stood there, in black and green, redhead and blonde, one of us all ass and the other all tits, waving to the crowd as if we ruled them. Ruby and Joy were nowhere to be seen. And the crowd roared for us.

I just… I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted, and you want that, and I can’t give it to you.” “Celia, no,” I said. “It’s not like that at all.” “It’s not?” “You have given me more than I ever thought I could have in one life.” “You’re sure.” “I’m positive.

Celia looked down at the floor and laughed at me. “You certainly know how to handle almost any situation, don’t you?” “Yes,” I said, unsure why I was supposed to be insulted by that. “I do.” “And yet when it comes to being a human, you seem to have absolutely no idea where to start.

There was no point in fighting with Celia once she got mean," Evelyn says, "If things got too tense, I tended to back off before they came to a head. I would tell her I loved her and I couldn't live without her, and then I'd take my top off, and that usually ended the conversation. For all her posturing, Celia had one thing in common with almost every straight man in America: she wanted nothing more than to get her hands on my chest." "Did it stick with you, though?" I ask, "Those words?" "Of course it did. Look, I'd be the first person to say back when I was young that all I was was a nice pair of tits. The only currency I had was my sexuality, and I used it like money. I wasn't well educated when I got to Hollywood, I wasn't book-smart, I wasn't powerful, I wasn't a trained actress. What did I have to be good at other than being beautiful? And taking pride in your beauty is a damning act. Because you allow yourself to believe that the only thing notable about yourself is something with a very short shelf life.

The photographers started calling our names as we all walked in. My head was a jumble of words being thrown in my direction. “Ruby! Joy! Celia! Evelyn!” “Mr. and Mrs. Adler! Over here!” I could barely hear myself think over the din of cameras snapping and the crowd buzzing. But, as I had long ago trained myself to do, I pretended as if I felt perfectly calm inside, as if being treated like a tiger at the zoo was my most comfortable situation.

Rompí el corazón de Celia porque pasé la mita de mi tiempo amándola y la otra mitad escondiendo lo mucho que la amaba.

For all her posturing, Celia had one thing in common with almost every straight man in America: she wanted nothing more than to get her hands on my chest.

I do not seek to scrape acquaintance with Lady Celia; I do not want my photograph in the Tatler, I have not come to exhibit myself.

I had lost her. My love. My Celia. My soul mate. The woman whose love I’d spent my life earning. Simply gone. Irrevocably and forever.

That was how it was with Celia. When you denied her what she wanted, when you hurt her, she made sure you hurt, too.

Celia may have left me in a huff, but it was death by a thousand cuts.

I wanted Celia to have anything she wanted.

I had lost her. My love. My Celia. My soul mate. The woman whose love I'd spent my life earning.

Así eran las cosas con Celia. Cuando le negabas lo que quería, cuando le hacías daño, se aseguraba de lastimarte también a ti.

I broke Celia’s heart because I spent half my time loving her and the other half hiding how much I loved her.

Is it that noticeable?" Celia shrugged. "I suppose not. I think it's just that I've memorized every inch of you.

It’s not wrong,” Celia said. “It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?” “It’s not wrong, sweetheart. It’s not,” I said. “They’re wrong.

It's not wrong," Celia said. "It shouldn't be wrong to love you. How can it be wrong?" "It's not wrong, sweetheart, It's not." I said. "They're wrong.

Destrocé el corazón de Celia porque pasaba la mitad del tiempo amandola y la otra mitad ocultando lo mucho que la amaba

There’s a difference between sexuality and sex. I used sex to get what I wanted. Sex is just an act. Sexuality is a sincere expression of desire and pleasure. That I always kept for Celia.

I was the sort of beautiful that women knew they could never truly emulate. Men knew they would never even get close to a woman like me. Ruby was the elegant, aloof sort of beauty. Ruby was cool. Ruby was chic. But Celia was the sort of beautiful that felt as if you could hold it in your hands, like if you played your cards right, you might just get to marry a girl like Celia St. James.

Celia miró lo que estaba alcanzándole. —Esas copas son de champán. —Ah, cierto —dije, y las guardé donde las había encontrado. Teníamos otros dos tamaños. Mostré a Celia una de cada tamaño—. ¿Cuál?

I upset you,” she said. “With the Schwab’s thing. I’m sorry.” “Celia, if you’re going to be as big as you clearly want to be, you need to learn two things.” “And what are they?” “First, you have to push people’s boundaries and not feel bad about it. No one is going to give you anything if you don’t ask for it. You tried. You were told no. Get over it.” “And the second thing?” “When you use people, be good at it.

But still. She can say it. She can say it to me. She can admit it, freely. Now. Here. "Evelyn, who was your great love? You can tell me." Evelyn looks out the window, breathes in deeply, and then says, "Celia St. James.

But still. She can say it. She can say it to me. She can admit it, freely. Now. Here. "Evelyn, who was your great love? You can tell me." Evelyn looks out the window, breathes in deeply, and then says, "Celia St. James.

But instead of spending the next hour and forty-five minutes nursing my wounds, I spent the time holding back a smile. Celia was going to win an Oscar. It was as plain as the nose on her face. And it didn’t make me jealous. It made me happy. When Beth died, I cried. And then I reached over Robert’s and Don’s laps and squeezed her hand. Don rolled his eyes at me. And I thought, He’s going to find an excuse to hit me later. But it will be for this.

Y quizás algún día encuentre a alguien a quien quiere como Evelyn quiso a Celia. O tal vez encuentre a alguien a quien ame como se amaron mis padres. Por ahora, me basta con saber que puedo buscarlo, que hay distintas clases de amor.

When you dig just the tiniest bit beneath the surface, everyone’s love life is original and interesting and nuanced and defies any easy definition. And maybe one day I’ll find someone I love the way Evelyn loved Celia. Or maybe I might just find someone I love the way my parents loved each other. Knowing to look for it, knowing there are all different types of great loves out there, is enough for me for now. There’s still much I don’t know about my father. Maybe he was gay. Maybe he saw himself as straight but in love with one man. Maybe he was bisexual. Or a host of other words. But it really doesn’t matter, that’s the thing. He loved me. And he loved my mom. And nothing I could learn about him now changes that. Any of it.

-Te quiero- dijo. -Yo también te quiero- le susurré al oído-. Te quiero más que a nada en todo el mundo. -No está mal- dijo Celia-. No debería estar mal que te quiera. ¿Cómo puede estar mal? -No está mal, querida-respondí-. Lo que está mal son ellos.

And maybe one day I'll find someone I love the way that Evelyn loved Celia. Or maybe I might just find someone I love the way my parents love each other. Knowing to look for it, knowing there are all different types of great loves out there, is enough for me now.

I really like you, Evelyn.” I looked at her sideways. She laughed at me. “I know that’s probably not something most actresses mean in this town, but I don’t want to be like most actresses. I really like you. I like watching you on-screen. I like how the moment you show up in a scene, I can’t look at anything else. I like the way your skin is too dark for your blond hair, the way the two shouldn’t go together and yet seem so natural on you. And to be honest, I like how calculating and awful you kind of are.” “I am not awful!” Celia laughed. “Oh, you definitely are. Getting me fired because you think I’ll show you up? Awful. That’s just awful, Evelyn. And walking around bragging about how you use people? Just terrible. But I really like it when you talk about it. I like how honest you are, how unashamed. So many women around here are full of crap with everything they say and do. I like that you’re full of crap only when it gets you something.” “This laundry list of compliments seems to have a lot of insults in it,” I said. Celia nodded, hearing me. “You know what you want, and you go after it. I don’t think there is anyone in this town doubting that Evelyn Hugo is going to be the biggest star in Hollywood one of these days. And that’s not just because you’re something to look at. It’s because you decided you wanted to be huge, and now you’re going to be. I want to be friends with a woman like that. That’s what I’m saying. Real friends. None of this Ruby Reilly, backstabbing, talking-about-each-other-behind-our-backs crap. Friendship. Where each of us gets better, lives better, because we know the other.” I

I love you,” she said. “I love you, too,” I whispered into her ear. “I love you more than anything else in the entire world.” “It’s not wrong,” Celia said. “It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?” “It’s not wrong, sweetheart. It’s not,” I said. “They’re wrong.

Homosexuals were misfits. And while I didn’t think that made them bad people—after all, I loved Harry like a brother—I wasn’t ready to be one of them. So I told myself that the spark between Celia and me was just a quirk we had. Which was convincing as long as it remained quirky.

Celia was pacing the living room floor, her heart racing. She believed everything was going to change after that night. She believed that because gay people had announced themselves, had been proud enough to admit who they were and strong enough to stand up, attitudes were going to change.

Everyone, for what had felt like my whole life, had always been divided into 'Celia' and 'not Celia.' Every other woman I considered striking up a conversation with might as well have had 'not Celia' stamped on her forehead. If I was going to risk my career and everything I loved for a woman, it was going to be her.

I had looked at other women besides Celia. I had pictured myself with other women besides her. But everyone, for what had felt like my whole life, had always been divided into "Celia" and "not Celia" Every other woman I considered striking up a conversation with might as well have had "not Celia" stamped on her forehead.

I regret every second I didn’t spend with her. I regret every stupid thing I did that caused her an ounce of pain. I should have chased her down the street the day she left me. I should have begged her to stay. I should have apologized and sent roses and stood on top of the Hollywood sign and shouted, ‘I’m in love with Celia St. James!’ and let them crucify me for it. That’s what I should have done. And now that I don’t have her, and I have more money than I could ever use in this lifetime, and my name is cemented in Hollywood history, and I know how hollow it is, I am kicking myself for every single second I chose it over loving her proudly.

Wave to the crowd,” I said, smiling. “Like we’re the goddamn queens of England.” Celia smiled brightly and did exactly as I did. We stood there, in black and green, redhead and blonde, one of us all ass and the other all tits, waving to the crowd as if we ruled them. Ruby and Joy were nowhere to be seen. And the crowd roared for us.

That I know I use people. I’m fine with the idea of using people. And all of that energy that you spend trying to convince yourself that you’re not using people I spend getting better at it.” “And you’re proud of that?” “I’m proud of where it’s gotten me.” “Are you using me? Now?” “If I was, you’d never know.” “That’s why I’m asking.

-Espero que sepas, a estas alturas, que todos tus secretos están a salvo conmigo -repuso Celia, mientras empezaba a desabotonar su blusa para probarse la mía. Creo que, para ella, fue una frase cualquiera. Pero para mí, fue muy importante. No porque la hubiese dicho ella, creo, sino porque cuando la dijo, me di cuenta de que la creía.

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.

And that is this: Evelyn Hugo was bisexual and spent the majority of her life madly in love with fellow actress Celia St. James. She wanted you to know this because she loved Celia in a way that was in turns breathtaking and heartbreaking. She wanted you to know this because loving Celia St. James was perhaps her greatest political act. She wanted you to know this because over the course of her life, she became aware of her responsibility to others in the LGBTQ+ community to be visible, to be seen. But more than anything, she wanted you to know this because it was the very core of herself, the most honest and real thing about her. And at the end of her life, she was finally ready to be real. So I’m going to show you the real Evelyn.

No, I was miserable. I was hung up on her for years. I mean, sure, I spent my time having fun. Don’t get me wrong. But Celia was nowhere in sight. In fact, I would read copies of Sub Rosa because Celia’s picture was in them, analyzing the other people with her in the photos, wondering who they were to her, how she knew them. I know now that she was just as heartbroken as I was.

hope you know by now that all of your secrets are safe with me,” Celia said as she started unbuttoning it to put it on. I think for her it was a throwaway line. But it meant a lot to me. Not because she said it, I suppose. But because when she said it, I realized I believed her. “I do,” I said. “I do know that.” People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth.

And I grabbed Celia’s hand and held it. She looked down, surprised. I could feel Harry’s gaze on our hands, too. I pulled my hand away, and just as I corrected myself, I saw a woman down the row from us stare at me. She looked to be in her midthirties, with a patrician face, small blue eyes, and perfectly applied crimson lipstick. Her lips turned down as she looked at me. She had seen me. She had seen me hold Celia’s hand. And she had seen me pull it back. She knew both what I had done and that I had not meant for her to have seen it. Her small eyes got smaller as she stared at me. And any hope I had that she did not realize who I was went right out the window when she turned to the man next to her, probably her husband, and whispered in his ear. I watched as his gaze moved from Mick Riva to me.

She’s a lesbian, Evelyn.” Until that point, the sounds of the party going on around us had been muted but still distinct. But the minute Ruby said what she said, the minute I heard the word lesbian, my blood started beating so fast that my pulse was all I could hear. I was not paying attention to what was flying out of Ruby’s mouth. I could only catch certain words, like girl and dyke and twisted. The skin on my chest felt hot. My ears burned. I did my best to calm myself. And when I did, when I focused on Ruby’s words, I finally heard the other piece of what she was trying to tell me. “You should probably get a better handle on your husband, by the way. He’s in Ari’s bedroom getting a blow job from some harpy from MGM.” When she said it, I did not think, Oh, my God. My husband is cheating on me. I thought, I have to find Celia.

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.

Evelyn looks me in the eye, and I know she needs one more tiny push. “It’s OK, Evelyn. Really.” It’s a big deal. But it is OK. Things are different now from how they were then. Although still not entirely safe, either, I have to admit. But still. She can say it. She can say it to me. She can admit it, freely. Now. Here. “Evelyn, who was your great love? You can tell me.” Evelyn looks out the window, breathes in deeply, and then says, “Celia St. James.

Well, it helped that my husband was upstairs cheating on me. Because I was sickeningly jealous on both accounts. I was jealous when I found out Celia was gay, because it meant that she was with other women, or had been with other women, that her life wasn't just me. And I was jealous that my husband was with a woman upstairs at the very party I was at, because it was embarrassing and threatening my way of life. I had been living in this world where I thought I could have this closeness with Celia and this distance with Don and neither of them would need anything else from anyone else. It was this odd bubble that just up and burst." "I would imagine, back then, it wasn't a conclusion you'd come to easily--being in love with someone of the same sex." "Of course not! Maybe if I'd spent my whole life fighting off feelings for women, then I might have had a template for it. But I didn't. I was taught to like men, and I had found--albeit temporarily--love and lust with a man. The fact that I wanted to be around Celia all the time, the fact that I cared about her enough that I valued her happiness over my own, the fact that I liked to think about that moment when she stood in front of me without her shirt on--now, you put those pieces together, and you say, one plus one equals I'm in love with a woman. But back then, at least for me, I didn't have that equation. And if you didn't even realize that there's a formula to be working with, how the hell are you supposed to find the answer?

The love of my life is gone, and I can’t just call her and say I’m sorry and have her come back. She’s gone forever. So yes, Monique, that is something I do regret. I regret every second I didn’t spend with her. I regret every stupid thing I did that caused her an ounce of pain. I should have chased her down the street the day she left me. I should have begged her to stay. I should have apologized and sent roses and stood on top of the Hollywood sign and shouted, ‘I’m in love with Celia St. James!’ and let them crucify me for it. That’s what I should have done

I was taught to like men, and I had found –albeit temporarily– love and lust with a man. The fact that I wanted to be around Celia all the time, the fact that I cared about her enough that I valued her happiness over my own, the fact that I liked to think about that moment when she stood in front of me without her shirt on–now, you put those pieces together, and you say, one plus one equals I'm in love with a woman. But, back then, at least for me, I didn't have that equation. And if you don't even realize that there's a formula to be working with, how the hell are you supposed to find the answer?

So this book, your biography . . . you’re ready to come out as a gay woman?” Evelyn closes her eyes for a moment, and at first I think she is processing the weight of what I’ve said, but once she opens her eyes again, I realize she is trying to process my stupidity. “Haven’t you been listening to a single thing I’ve told you? I loved Celia, but I also, before her, loved Don. In fact, I’m positive that if Don hadn’t turned out to be a spectacular asshole, I probably never would have been capable of falling in love with someone else at all. I’m bisexual. Don’t ignore half of me so you can fit me into a box, Monique. Don’t do that.

When I met him, as we fell in love, I remember thinking that the fact that he was white made things easier because I knew he would never tell me I wasn't black enough. I think of Evelyn the first time she heard her maid speaking Spanish. I remember thinking the fact that he wasn't that well read meant he would never think I was a bad writer. I think of Celia telling Evelyn she wasn't a good actress. I remember thinking that the fact that I was clearly the more attractive one made me feel better, because I thought it meant he'd never leave. I think about how Don treated Evelyn despite her being, arguably, the most beautiful woman in the world.

Robert always claimed that he married me because he would do anything for Celia. But I think he did it, in at least some small part, because it gave him a chance to have a family. He was never going to settle down with one woman. And Spanish women proved to be just as enchanted by him as American ones had been. But this system, this family, was one he could be a part of, and I think he knew that when he signed up. Or maybe Robert merely stumbled into something that worked for him, unsure what he wanted until he had it. Some people are lucky like that. Me, I’ve always gone after what I wanted with everything in me. Others fall into happiness. Sometimes I wish I was like them. I’m sure sometimes they wish they were like me.

There’s the early marriage that ended in divorce when she was eighteen. Then the studio-setup courtship and tumultuous marriage to Hollywood royalty Don Adler. The rumors that she left him because he beat her. Her comeback in a French New Wave film. The quickie Vegas elopement with singer Mick Riva. Her glamorous marriage to the dapper Rex North, which ended in both of them having affairs. The beautiful love story of her life with Harry Cameron and the birth of their daughter, Connor. Their heartbreaking divorce and her very quick marriage to her old director Max Girard. Her supposed affair with the much younger Congressman Jack Easton, which ended her relationship with Girard. And finally, her marriage to financier Robert Jamison, rumored to have at least been inspired by Evelyn’s desire to spite former costar—and Robert’s sister—Celia St. James. All of her husbands have passed away, leaving Evelyn as the only one with insight into those relationships.

I got down on my knees, in the hallway of the hotel, and bawled my eyes out. She pulled me inside. "Take me back, Celia, I begged her. "Take me back, and I'll give the rest of it up. I'll give up everything but Connor. I won't ever act again. I’ll let the world know about us. I'm ready to give you all of me. Please” Celia listened. But then she very calmly sat down in the chair by the bed and said, "Evelyn, you are not capable of giving it up. And you never will be. And it will be the tragedy of my life that I cannot love you enough to make you mine. That you cannot be loved enough to be anyone's" I stood there for a moment longer, waiting for her to say something else. But she didn't. She had nothing else to say. And there was nothing I could say that would change her mind. Facing reality, I got hold of myself, held in my tears, kissed her on her temple, and walked away. I got back on the plane to New York, hiding my pain. And it wasn’t until I was back in my apartment that I lost it. Sobbing as if she'd died. That's how final it felt. I had pushed her too far. And it was over.

The love of my life is gone, and I can’t just call her and say I’m sorry and have her come back. She’s gone forever. So yes, Monique, that is something I do regret. I regret every second I didn’t spend with her. I regret every stupid thing I did that caused her an ounce of pain. I should have chased her down the street the day she left me. I should have begged her to stay. I should have apologized and sent roses and stood on top of the Hollywood sign and shouted, ‘I’m in love with Celia St. James!’ and let them crucify me for it. That’s what I should have done. And now that I don’t have her, and I have more money than I could ever use in this lifetime, and my name is cemented in Hollywood history, and I know how hollow it is, I am kicking myself for every single second I chose it over loving her proudly. But that’s a luxury. You can do that when you’re rich and famous. You can decide that wealth and renown are worthless when you have them. Back then, I still thought I had all the time I needed to do everything I wanted. That if I just played my cards right, I could have it all.

Me acerqué a ella, la miré a esos increíbles ojos azules y le dije: —Creo que te quiero. Entonces sujeté el cinturón de su bata y tiré de él. Lo hice despacio. Tan despacio que ella habría podido detenerme un millón de veces antes de que se soltara. Pero no lo hizo. Se irguió en el asiento, me miró con más audacia y apoyó una mano en mi cintura. Apenas el cinturón cayó, los lados de su bata se abrieron, y allí estaba ella, desnuda y sentada frente a mí. Su piel era pálida y suave. Sus pechos eran más turgentes de lo que yo había imaginado, y sus pezones eran rosados. Su vientre plano se redondeaba apenas por debajo del ombligo. Y cuando mis ojos llegaron a sus piernas, las abrió ligeramente. Por instinto, la besé. Apoyé las manos en sus pechos y los toqué como quería hacerlo, y luego, como me gustaba que me tocaran a mí. Cuando ella gimió, me excité. Me besó el cuello y la parte superior del pecho. Me quitó la blusa por encima de la cabeza. Me miró, mis pechos descubiertos. —Eres preciosa —dijo—. Aún más de lo que había imaginado. Me sonrojé y me tomé la cabeza con las manos, avergonzada de sentirme tan insegura, tan inexperta. Celia me quitó las manos de la cara y me miró. —No sé lo que estoy haciendo —confesé. —No importa —respondió—. Yo sí. Esa noche, Celia y yo dormimos desnudas, abrazadas. Ya no simulamos tocarnos sin querer. Y cuando desperté por la mañana con su pelo en mi rostro, inhalé, con fuerza y con orgullo. Entre esas cuatro paredes, no teníamos vergüenza.