“Who is it?”
“Harry Cameron.”
“Harry Cameron is your friend?”
“He’s my best friend.”
“Well, fine,” Celia said, putting out her hand for me to shake. “I will be your second-best friend, next to Harry Cameron.”
I took her hand and shook it firmly. “Fine. Tomorrow I’ll take you to Schwab’s. And afterward, we can rehearse together.”
“Thank you,” she said, and she smiled brightly, as if she’d gotten everything she’d ever wanted in the world. She hugged me, and when we broke away, the man behind the counter was staring at us.
I asked for the check.
“It’s on the house,” he said, which I thought was the dumbest thing, because if there is anyone that should be getting free food, it isn’t rich people.
“Will you tell your husband I loved The Gun at Point Dume?” the man said as Celia and I got up to leave.
“What husband?” I said as coyly as possible.
Celia laughed, and I flashed her a grin.
But what I was really thinking was, I can’t tell him that. He’ll think I’m making fun of him, and he’ll smack me.
Sub Rosa
June 22, 1959
COLD, COLD EVELYN
Why would a beautiful couple with a gorgeous five-bedroom home not be interested in filling it up with a brood of children? You’d have to ask Don Adler and Evelyn Hugo that question.
Or maybe you’d just have to ask Evelyn.
Don wants a baby, and certainly we’ve all been waiting with bated breath to find out when the progeny of those two beautiful creatures will make his or her way into the world. We know any child they have would be sure to send us into fits of swooning.
But Evelyn’s saying no.
Instead, all Evelyn talks about is her career, including her new movie, Little Women.
More than that, Evelyn doesn’t even attempt to keep a clean house or mind her husband’s simple requests, and she can’t be bothered to be kind to the help.
Instead, she’s out at Schwab’s with single girls like Celia St. James!
Poor Don’s at home, yearning for a child, while Evelyn’s out having the time of her life.
It’s all Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn in that house.
And she’s left a very unsatisfied husband.
IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?” I said as I threw the magazine onto Harry’s desk. But of course, he’d already seen it.
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s not good.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Why didn’t anyone take care of this?” I asked.
“Because Sub Rosa isn’t listening to us anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“They don’t care about the truth or access to stars. They are just printing whatever they want.”
“They care about money, don’t they?”
“Yes, but they will make way more by pontificating about the ins and outs of your marriage than we can afford to pay them.”
“You are Sunset Studios.”
“And if you haven’t noticed, we aren’t making nearly as much money as we used to.”
My shoulders slumped. I sat in one of the chairs facing Harry’s desk. There was a knock.
“It’s Celia,” she said through the door.
I walked over and opened it for her.
“I take it you’ve seen the piece,” I said.
Celia looked at me. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s not good,” I said.
“No, it’s not.”
“Thank you. You both are a pair of aces.”
Celia and I had finished shooting Little Women the week before. The two of us, along with Harry and Gwendolyn, had gone out for celebratory steaks and cocktails at Musso & Frank the day after we finished.
Harry had given Celia and me the good news that Ari thought we were both shoo-ins for nominations.
Every night after shooting, Celia and I would stay late in my trailer and rehearse our scenes. Celia was Method. She tried to “become” her character. That wasn’t really my speed. But she did teach me how to find moments of emotional truth in false circumstances.
It was a strange time in Hollywood. There seemed to be two tracks running parallel to each other at the same time back then.
There was the studio game, with studio actors and studio dynasties. And then there was the New Hollywood making its way into the hearts of audiences, Method actors in gritty movies with antiheroes and untidy endings.
It wasn’t until those evenings with Celia, the two of us sharing a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of wine for dinner, that I even started paying attention to the new stuff.
But whatever influence she had on me was a good one, because Ari Sullivan thought I could win an Oscar. And that made me like Celia all the more.
Our weekly outings to hot spots like Rodeo Drive weren’t even feeling like a favor anymore. I did it happily, attracting attention for her simply because I enjoyed her company.
So as I sat there in Harry’s office, pretending to be pissed at both of them for not being very helpful, I knew I was with my two favorite people.
“What does Don say about it?” Celia asked.
“I’m sure he’s going all around the lot trying to find me.”
Harry looked at me pointedly. He knew what might happen if Don read it in a bad mood. “Celia, are you shooting today?” he asked.
She shook her head. “The Pride of Belgium doesn’t start until next week. I just have some wardrobe fittings later, after lunch.”
“I’ll move your wardrobe fittings. Why don’t you and Evelyn go out shopping? We can call over to Photoplay, let them know you’ll be on Robertson.”
“And be seen out around town with single gal Celia St. James?” I said. “That sounds like the perfect example of what I shouldn’t do.”
My mind kept racing through the contents of that stupid article. She can’t be bothered to be kind to the help.
“That little rat,” I said when I figured it out. I hit my fist on the arm of the chair.
“What are you talking about?” Harry said.
“My damn maid.”
“You think your maid talked to Sub Rosa?”
“I’m positive my maid talked to Sub Rosa.”
“All right, well, she’s fired,” Harry says. “I can have Betsy go over there today and let her go. She’ll be gone by the time you get home.”
I thought about my options.
The last thing I needed was America not wanting to see my movies because I wouldn’t give Don a baby. I knew, of course, that most moviegoers would never say as much. They might not even realize they thought as much. But they would read something like this, and the next time one of my pictures came out, they’d think to themselves that there was something about me they never liked, they just couldn’t put their finger on it.
People don’t find it very sympathetic or endearing, a woman who puts herself first. Nor do people respect a man who can’t keep his wife in line. So it didn’t look good for Don, either.
“I need to talk to Don,” I said, standing up. “Harry, can you have Dr. Lopani ring my house this evening? Sometime around six?”
“Why?”
“I need him to call me, and when Paula answers, he needs to sound serious, like he has very important news to tell me. He has to sound concerned enough for her to be intrigued.”
“OK . . .”
“Evelyn, what are you up to?” Celia said, looking up at me.
“When I get on the phone, he has to say exactly this,” I said, and I took a piece of paper and started scribbling.
Harry read it and then handed the paper to Celia. She looked at me.
There was a knock on the door, and without even being welcomed, Don came in.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said. His voice showed neither anger nor affection. But I knew Don, and I knew that with him, there was no lukewarm. The
absence of warmth was a chill. “I assume you’ve read this bullshit?” He had the magazine in his hand.
“I have a plan,” I said.
“You’re goddamn right you have a plan. Somebody better have a plan. I’m not walking around this town looking like a henpecked asshole. Cameron, what happened here?”
“I’m dealing with it, Don.”
“Good.”
“But in the meantime, I think you should hear Evelyn’s plan. I think it’s important you’re on board before she moves forward.”
Don took a seat in the chair opposite Celia. He nodded at her. “Celia.”
“Don.”
“With all due respect, I feel like this is a matter for the three of us to discuss?” he said.
“Of course,” Celia said, stepping up from the chair.
“No,” I said, putting my hand out to stop her. “Stay.”
Don looked at me.
“She’s my friend.”
Don rolled his eyes and shrugged. “So what’s the plan, Evelyn?”
“I’m going to fake a miscarriage.”
“What on earth for?”
“They’ll hate me and probably lose respect for you if they think I won’t give you a baby,” I said, despite the fact that it was exactly what was going on between us. That was the elephant in the room, of course. This was all sort of true.
“But they’ll pity you both if they think she can’t,” Celia said.
“Pity? What are you talking about, pity? I don’t want to be pitied. There’s no power in pity. You can’t sell movies with pity.”
And then Harry spoke up and said, “Like hell you can’t.”
* * *
WHEN THE PHONE rang at ten after six, Paula answered and then rushed into the bedroom to tell me the doctor was calling.
I picked up the line with Don beside me.
Dr. Lopani read the script written for him.
I started crying, as loudly as I could on the off chance that Paula had decided to mind her own business for once.
A half hour later, Don went downstairs and told Paula we had to let her go. He wasn’t nice about it; in fact, he was just mean enough to piss her off.
Because you might run to the tabloids to tell them about the miscarriage of your employers. But you’ll definitely run to the tabloids and tell them about the miscarriage of the people who just fired you.
Sub Rosa
June 29, 1959
BLESS DON AND EVELYN! THEY NEED IT!
The couple who has everything but can’t have what they truly want . . .
In the home of Don Adler and Evelyn Hugo, things are not what they seem. It may appear that Evelyn is putting off Don’s advances when it comes to baby making, but the truth turns out to be quite a different tale.
Because all this time we thought Evelyn was pushing Don away, it turns out she was working overtime. Evelyn and Don desperately want a little Don and Evelyn running around the house, but nature has not been kind.
It seems every time they find themselves “in the family way,” things take a sad turn—a tragedy that has befallen them this month for the third time.
Let’s send Don and Evelyn our best wishes.
It just goes to show that money can’t buy happiness, folks.
THE NIGHT AFTER THE NEW article came out, Don was not convinced that it had been the right move, and Harry was busy but wouldn’t say with what, which I knew meant he was seeing someone.
And I wanted to celebrate.
So Celia came over to the house, and we split a bottle of wine.
“You’ve got no maid,” Celia said as she was searching around the kitchen for a corkscrew.
“No,” I said, sighing. “Not until the studio is done vetting all the applicants.”
Celia found the corkscrew, and I handed her a bottle of cabernet.
I never spent much time in the kitchen, and it was sort of surreal to be there without someone looking over my shoulder, offering to make me a sandwich or find whatever I was looking for. When you are rich, parts of your house don’t really feel like they are yours. The kitchen was one of them for me.
I looked through my own cabinets, trying to remember where the wineglasses were. “Ah,” I said when I found them. “Here.”
Celia looked at what I was handing her. “Those are champagne flutes.”
“Oh, right,” I said, putting them back where I’d found them. We had two other sizes. I showed one of each to Celia. “Which?”
“The rounder. Do you not know glassware?”
“Glassware, serving ware, I don’t know any of it. Remember, honey, I’m new money.”
Celia laughed as she poured our drinks.
“I’ve either not been able to afford it or have been so rich someone would do it for me. Never anywhere in between.”
“I love that about you,” Celia said as she took a full glass and handed it to me. She took the other for herself. “I’ve had money my whole life. My parents act as if there is a recognized nobility in Georgia. And all of my brothers and sisters, with the exception of my older brother, Robert, are just like my parents. My sister Rebecca thinks my being in movies is an embarrassment to the family. Not so much because of the Hollywood aspect but because I’m ‘working.’ She says it’s undignified. I love them, and I hate them. But that’s family, I guess.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I . . . don’t have much family. Any, really.” My father and the rest of the relatives I had back in Hell’s Kitchen had not succeeded in contacting me, if they had even tried at all. And I hadn’t lost one night of sleep thinking about them.
Celia looked at me. She appeared to neither pity me nor feel uncomfortable for all that she’d had growing up that I didn’t have. “All the more reason for me to admire you the way I do,” she said. “Everything you have you went out and got for yourself.” Celia leaned her glass into mine and clinked. “To you,” she said. “For being absolutely unstoppable.”
I laughed and then drank with her. “Come,” I said, leading her out of the kitchen and into the living room. I put my drink down on the hairpin-leg coffee table and walked over to the record player. I pulled out Billie Holiday’s Lady in Satin from the bottom of the stack. Don hated Billie Holiday. But Don wasn’t there.
“Do you know her real name is Eleanora Fagan?” I said to Celia. “Billie Holiday is just so much prettier.”
I sat down on one of our blue tufted sofas. Celia sat on the one opposite me. She folded her legs underneath her, her spare hand on her feet.
“What’s yours?” she asked. “Is it really Evelyn Hugo?”
I grabbed my wineglass and confessed the truth. “Herrera. Evelyn Herrera.”
Celia didn’t react really. She didn’t say, “So you are Latin.” Or “I knew you were faking it,” as I feared she might be thinking. She didn’t say that it explained why my skin was darker than hers or Don’s. In fact, she said nothing at all until she said, “That’s beautiful.”
“And yours?” I asked. I stood up and moved over to the couch where she was sitting, to close the gap between us. “Celia St. James . . .”
“Jamison.”
“What?”
“Cecelia Jamison. That’s my real name.”
“That’s a great name. Why did they change it?”
“I changed it.”
“Why?”
“Because it sounds like a girl who might live next door to you. And I’ve always wanted to be the kind of girl you feel lucky just to lay your eyes on.” She tilted her head back and finished her wine. “Like you.”
“Oh, stop.”
“You stop. You know damn well what you are. How you affect the people around you. I’d kill for a chest like that and full lips like yours. You make people think of undressing you just by showing up in a room fully clothed.”
I felt flushed hearing her talk about me like that. Having her talk about the way men saw me. I’d never heard a woman talk about me that way before.
Celia took m
y glass out of my hand. She threw the wine back into her own throat. “We need more,” she said, waving the glass in the air.
I smiled and took both glasses into the kitchen. Celia followed me. She leaned against my Formica counter as I poured.
“The first time I saw Father and Daughter, do you know what I thought?” she said. Billie Holiday was now faintly playing in the background.
“What?” I said, handing her her glass. She took it and put it down for a moment, then hopped up onto the counter and picked it up. She was wearing dark blue capri pants and a white sleeveless turtleneck.
“I thought you were the most gorgeous woman who had ever been created and we should all stop trying.” She inhaled half the contents of her glass.
“No, you did not,” I said.
“Yes, I did.”
I took a sip of my wine. “It makes no sense,” I told her. “You admiring me like you’re any different. You’re a knockout, plain and simple. With your big blue eyes and your hourglass figure . . . I think together we really give the guys a wild sight.”
Celia smiled. “Thank you.”
I finished my glass and put it down on the counter. Celia took it as a challenge to do the same with hers. She wiped her mouth with her fingertips when she was done. I poured us more.
“How did you learn all the underhanded, sneaky stuff you know?” Celia asked.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” I said coyly.
“You’re smarter than you let on to just about anybody.”
“Me?” I said.
Celia was starting to get goose bumps, so I suggested we go back into the living room, where it was warmer. The desert winds had swooped in and turned this June night into a chilly one. When I started to get cold, too, I asked her if she knew how to make a fire.
“I’ve seen people do it,” she said, shrugging.
“Me too. I’ve seen Don do it. But I’ve never done it.”
“We can do it,” she said. “We can do anything.”
“All right!” I said. “You go open another bottle of wine, and I’ll start trying to guess how to get it started.”
“Great idea!” Celia flung the blanket off her shoulders and ran into the kitchen.
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo Page 10