“It’s embarrassing,” I told her now.
Celia sat up, intrigued.
“I kissed the television screen,” I said. “When you won. I kissed you on the TV, and I chipped my tooth.”
Celia laughed so hard she cackled. The statuette fell back to the mattress with a thump. And then she rolled over on top of me and put her arms around my neck. “That’s the most lovable thing anyone has ever done since the dawn of man.”
“I suppose I’ll make a dentist appointment first thing tomorrow.”
“I suppose you will.”
I picked up her Oscar. I stared at it. I wanted one myself. And if I had stuck it out with Don a little longer, I could have had one tonight.
She was still in her dress, her heels long gone. Her hair was falling out of the pins. Her lipstick was faded. Her earrings still glistened.
“Have you ever made love to an Oscar winner?” she said.
I’d done something very close with Ari Sullivan, but I didn’t think that was the time to tell her. And anyway, the spirit of the question was if I’d ever experienced a moment like that one. And I absolutely had not.
I kissed her and felt her hands on my face, and then I watched as she stepped out of her dress and into my bed.
* * *
BOTH OF MY movies flopped. A romance Celia did sold out theaters. Don starred in a hit thriller movie. Ruby Reilly’s reviews for Jokers Wild called her “stunningly perfect” and “positively incomparable.”
I taught myself how to make meat loaf and iron my own slacks.
And then I saw Breathless. I left the theater, went straight home, called Harry Cameron, and said, “I have an idea. I’m going to Paris.”
CELIA WAS SHOOTING A MOVIE on location in Big Bear for three weeks. I knew that going with her wasn’t an option, nor was visiting her on the set. She insisted she would come home every weekend, but it felt too risky.
She was a single girl, after all. I was afraid the prevailing wisdom erred too close to the question What do single girls have to go home to?
So I decided it was the right time to go to France.
Harry had some connections to filmmakers in Paris. He made a few calls on the sly for me.
Some of the producers and directors I met with knew who I was. Some of them were clearly seeing me just as a favor to Harry. And then there was Max Girard, an up-and-coming New Wave director, who had never heard of me before.
“You are une bombe,” he said.
We were sitting in a quiet bar in the Saint-Germain-de-Prés neighborhood of Paris. We huddled in a booth in the back. It was just after dinnertime, and I hadn’t had a chance to eat. Max was drinking a white Bordeaux. I had a glass of claret.
“That sounds like a compliment,” I said, taking a sip.
“I don’t know if I have before met a woman so attractive,” he said, staring at me. His accent was so thick that I found myself leaning in to hear him.
“Thank you.”
“You can act?” he said.
“Better than I look.”
“That cannot be so.”
“It is.”
I saw Max’s wheels start turning. “Are you willing to test for a part?”
I was willing to scrub a toilet for a part. “If the part is great,” I said.
Max smiled. “This part is spectacular. This part is a movie-star part.”
I nodded slowly. You have to restrain every part of your body when you are working hard not to look eager.
“Send me the pages, and we’ll talk,” I said, and then I drank the last of my wine and stood up. “I’m so sorry, Max, but I should go. Have a wonderful evening. Let’s be in touch.”
There was absolutely no way I was going to sit at a bar with a man who hadn’t heard of me and let him think I had all the time in the world.
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away, but I walked out the door with all the confidence I had—which, despite my current predicament, was quite a lot. And then I went back to my hotel room, put on my pajamas, ordered room service, and turned on the TV.
Before I went to bed, I wrote Celia a letter.
My Dearest CeCe,
Please never forget that the sun rises and sets with your smile. At least to me it does. You’re the only thing on this planet worth worshipping.
All my love,
Edward
I folded it in half and tucked it into an envelope addressed to her. Then I turned out my light and closed my eyes.
Three hours later, I was awakened by the jarring sound of a phone ringing on the table next to me.
I picked it up, irritated and half asleep.
“Bonjour?” I said.
“We can speak your language, Evelyn.” Max’s accented English reverberated through the phone. “I am calling to see if you would be free to be in a movie I am shooting. The week after next.”
“Two weeks from now?”
“Not even, quite. We are shooting six hours from Paris. You will do it?”
“What is the part? How long is the shoot?”
“The movie is called Boute-en-Train. At least, that’s what it is called for now. We shoot for two weeks in Lac d’Annecy. The rest of the shoot you do not need to be there.”
“What does Boute-en-Train mean?” I tried to say it the way he said it, but it came out overprocessed, and I vowed not to try again. Don’t do things you’re not good at.
“It means the life of the party. That is you.”
“A party girl?”
“Like someone who is the heart of life.”
“And my character?”
“She is the kind of woman every man falls in love with. It was originally written for a French woman, but I have just decided tonight that if you will do it, I will fire her.”
“That’s not nice.”
“She’s not you.”
I smiled, surprised at both his charm and his eagerness.
“It is about two men who are petty thieves, and they are on the run to Switzerland when they are distracted by an incredible woman they meet on the way. The three of them go for an adventure in the mountains. I have been sitting here with my pages, trying to decide if this woman can be American. And I think she can. I think it’s more interesting that way. It is a stroke of luck. To meet you at this time. So you will do it?”
“Let me sleep on it,” I said. I knew I was going to take the part. It was the only part I could get. But you never get anywhere good by seeming amenable.
“Yes,” Max said. “Of course. You have done nudity before, yes?”
“No,” I said.
“I think you should be topless. In the film.”
If I was going to be asked to show my breasts, wouldn’t it be for a French film? And if the French were going to ask anyone, shouldn’t it be me? I knew what got me famous the first time. I knew what it could do a second time.
“Why don’t we discuss it tomorrow?” I said.
“Let’s talk tomorrow morning,” he said. “Because this other actress I have, she will show her breasts, Evelyn.”
“It’s late, Max. I’ll ring you in the morning.” And I hung up the phone.
I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, considering both how beneath me this opportunity was and how lucky I was to be given it. It’s a hard business, reconciling what the truth used to be with what the truth is now. Luckily, I didn’t have to do it for very long.
* * *
TWO WEEKS LATER, I was back on a film set. And this time, I was free of all the buttoned-up, innocent-girl stuff that Sunset had pinned on me. This time, I was able to do whatever I wanted.
It was clear for the entire shoot that Max wanted nothing more than to possess me himself. I could tell by the way he looked at me in stolen glances that part of my allure to Max the director was my allure to him as a man.
When Max came to my dressing room on the second-to-last day of filming, he said, “Ma belle, aujourd’hui tu seras seins nus.” I had picked up enough French by then to
know he was saying he wanted to shoot my scene coming out of the lake. When you’re an American movie star with huge boobs in a French movie, you quickly learn that when French men are saying seins nus, they are talking about you being topless.
I was fully willing to take my top off and show my assets if that was what it took to get my name back out there. But by that point, I had fallen madly in love with a woman. I had grown to desire her with every fiber of myself. I knew the pleasure of finding delight in a woman’s naked body.
So I told Max I’d shoot it however he wanted but that I had a suggestion that might make the movie even more of a sensation.
I knew my idea was a good one, because I knew how it felt to want to tear a woman’s shirt off.
And when Max heard it, he knew it was a good one, because he knew how it felt to want to tear my shirt off.
In the editing room, Max slowed down my exit from the lake to a snail’s crawl and then cut the footage a millisecond before you can see my full breasts. It simply cut to black, as if the film itself had been tampered with, as if maybe you’d just gotten a bad cut.
There was so much anticipation. And it never paid off, no matter how many times you watched it, no matter how perfectly you paused the tape.
And here’s why it worked: man, woman, gay, straight, bisexual, you name it, we all just want to be teased.
Six months after we finished shooting Boute-en-Train, I was an international sensation.
PhotoMoment
September 15, 1961
SINGER MICK RIVA SWEET FOR EVELYN HUGO
Performing last night at the Trocadero, Mick Riva had a few minutes to indulge our questions. Armed with an old-fashioned that appeared not to be his first, Mick was awfully forthcoming . . .
He revealed that he’s happy to be divorced from siren Veronica Lowe because, he said, “I didn’t deserve a lady like that, and she didn’t deserve a guy like me.”
And when asked if he’s dating, he admitted he’s been seeing quite a few ladies but that he’d give them all up for one night with Evelyn Hugo.
The former Mrs. Don Adler has proven to be a very hot commodity these days. Her appearance in French director Max Girard’s newest film, Boute-en-Train, has spent the summer selling out movie houses all over Europe, and now it’s taking the good ol’ US of A by storm.
“I’ve seen Boute-en-Train three times now,” Mick told us. “And I’ll see it a fourth. I just can’t get enough of her coming out of that lake.”
So would he like to take Evelyn out on a date?
“I’d like to marry her is what I’d like to do.”
You hear that, Evelyn?
Hollywood Digest
October 2, 1961
EVELYN HUGO TO PLAY ANNA KARENINA
Talk of the town Evelyn Hugo has just signed on to play the title role in Fox’s epic Anna Karenina. She has also signed to produce the picture with Harry Cameron, formerly of Sunset Studios.
Miss Hugo and Mr. Cameron worked together at Sunset on such hits as Father and Daughter and Little Women. This will be their first project together outside of the Sunset umbrella.
Mr. Cameron, who has made a name for himself in the biz for his great taste and even greater business acumen, is said to have left Sunset over differences with none other than studio head Ari Sullivan. But it appears Fox is eager to be in business with both Miss Hugo and Mr. Cameron, as they have ponied up a substantial fee and a stake in the box office.
Everyone has been watching to see what Miss Hugo’s next project will be. Anna Karenina is an interesting choice. One thing’s for sure, if Evelyn so much as shows a bare shoulder in the flick, audiences will come running.
Sub Rosa
October 23, 1961
DON ADLER AND RUBY REILLY, ENGAGED?
Mary and Roger Adler threw a party this past Saturday that was said to have grown a bit out of control! The guests who showed up were surprised to learn that it wasn’t just a party for Don Adler . . .
It was to announce the engagement of Don and none other than Sunset Studios’ reigning queen, Ruby Reilly!
Don and Ruby have become close after Don’s divorce from bombshell Evelyn Hugo almost two years ago. Apparently, Don admitted he had eyes for Ruby way back when she and Evelyn were shooting Little Women together.
We are so happy for Don and Ruby, but we can’t help but wonder how Don feels about Evelyn’s skyrocketing fame. She is the hottest thing under the sun right now, and if we had let her go, we’d be kicking ourselves.
Regardless, best wishes to Don and Ruby! Hopefully, this one sticks!
I WAS SENT AN INVITATION to see Mick Riva perform at the Hollywood Bowl that fall. I decided to go, not because I cared about seeing Mick Riva but because an evening outside sounded fun. And I wasn’t above courting the tabloids.
Celia, Harry, and I decided to go together. I would never have gone with just Celia, not with that many eyes on us. But Harry was a perfect buffer.
That night, the air in L.A. was cooler than I had anticipated. I was wearing capri pants and a short-sleeved sweater. I had just gotten bangs and had started sweeping them to the side. Celia had on a blue shift dress and flats. Harry, dapper as ever, was wearing slacks and a short-sleeved oxford shirt. He held a camel-colored knit cardigan with oversized buttons in his hand, ready for any of us who were too cold.
We sat in the second row with a couple of Harry’s producer friends from Paramount. Across the aisle, I saw Ed Baker with a young woman who appeared as if she could be his daughter, but I knew better. I decided not to say hi, not only because he was still a part of the Sunset machine but also because I never liked him.
Mick Riva took the stage, and the women in the crowd started cheering so loudly that Celia actually put her hands over her ears. He was wearing a dark suit with a loose tie. His jet-black hair was combed back but just slightly disheveled. If I had to guess, I’d say he’d had a drink or two backstage. But it didn’t seem to slow him down in the slightest.
“I don’t get it,” Celia said to me as she leaned in to my ear. “What do they see in this guy?”
I shrugged. “That he’s handsome, I suppose.”
Mick walked up to the microphone, the spotlight following him. He grabbed the mic stand with both passion and softness, as if it were one of the many girls yelling his name.
“And he knows what he’s doing,” I said.
Celia shrugged. “I’d take Brick Thomas over him any day.”
I shook my head, cringing. “No, Brick Thomas is a heel. Trust me. If you met him, within five seconds, you’d be gagging.”
Celia laughed. “I think he’s cute.”
“No, you don’t,” I said.
“Well, I think he’s cuter than Mick Riva,” she said. “Harry? Thoughts?”
Harry leaned in from the other side. He whispered so softly I almost didn’t hear him. “I’m embarrassed to admit I have something in common with these shrieking girls,” he said. “I would not kick Mick out of bed for eating crackers.”
Celia laughed.
“You are too much,” I said as I watched Mick walk from one end of the stage to the other, crooning and smoldering. “Where are we eating after this?” I asked them both. “That’s the real question.”
“Don’t we have to go backstage?” Celia asked. “Isn’t that the polite thing to do?”
Mick’s first song ended, and everyone started clapping and cheering. Harry leaned over me as he clapped so Celia could hear him.
“You won an Oscar, Celia,” he said. “You can do whatever the hell you want.”
She threw her head back and laughed as she clapped. “Well, then I want to go get a steak.”
“Steak it is,” I said.
I don’t know whether it was the laughing or the cheering or the clapping. There was so much noise around me, so much chaos from the crowd. But for one fleeting moment, I forgot myself. I forgot where I was. I forgot who I was. I forgot who I was with.
And I grabbed Celia’s han
d 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.
There was a subtle disgust in his eyes, as if he was unsure if what he suspected was true but that the thought in his head made him nauseated and it was my fault for putting it there.
I wanted to slap both of them across their faces and tell them that what I did was none of their business. But I knew I couldn’t do that. It wasn’t safe to do that. I wasn’t safe. We weren’t safe.
Mick hit an instrumental part in the song and started walking toward the very front of the stage, talking to the audience. Reflexively, I stood up and cheered for him. I jumped up and down. I was louder than anyone there. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just wanted to make the two of them stop talking, to each other or to anyone else. I wanted the gossip game of telephone that had started with that woman to end with that man. I wanted it all to be over. I wanted to be doing something else. So I cheered as loudly as I could. I cheered like the teenage girls in the back. I cheered as if my life depended on it, because maybe it did.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” Mick said from the stage. He had his hand over his brow, shading the spotlight from his eyes. He was looking right at me. “Or is that my dream woman right there in the front?”
Sub Rosa
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo Page 15