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“We barely know each other,” I said.
“We have known each other since 1960, ma belle. You simply do not realize how much time has passed. That’s more than twenty years.”
I was in my midforties. Max was a few years older. With a daughter and a fake husband, I thought falling in love again was out of the question for me. I wasn’t sure how it would ever happen.
And here was a man, a handsome man, a man I did rather like, a man I shared a history with, who was saying he loved me.
“So you’re suggesting I leave Harry? Just like that? Because of what we think might be between us?”
Max frowned at me. “I am not as stupid as you think I am,” he said.
“I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”
“Harry is a homosexual,” he said.
I felt my body pull back, as far away from him as possible. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
Max laughed. “That line didn’t work when we were getting burgers, and it won’t work now.”
“Max . . .”
“Do you enjoy spending time with me?”
“Of course I do.”
“And do you not agree that we understand each other, creatively speaking?”
“Of course.”
“Have I not directed you in three of the most important films of your career?”
“You have.”
“And do you think that is an accident?”
I thought about it. “No,” I said. “It’s not.”
“No, it isn’t,” he said. “It’s because I see you. It is because I ache for you. It is because, from the very moment I set my eyes on you, my body was full of desire for you. It is because I have been falling in love with you for decades. The camera sees you as I see you. And when that happens, you soar.”
“You’re a talented director.”
“Yes, of course, I am,” he said. “But only because you inspire me. You, my Evelyn Hugo, are the talent that powers every movie you are in. You are my muse. And I am your conductor. I am the person who brings out your greatest work.”
I breathed in deeply, considering what he was saying. “You’re right,” I said. “You are absolutely right.”
“I can’t think of anything more erotic than that,” he said. “Than being each other’s inspiration.” He leaned in close to me. I could feel the heat of him on my skin. “And I can think of nothing more meaningful than the way we understand each other. You should leave Harry. He will be fine. No one knows what he is, and even if they do, no one’s talking. He doesn’t need you to protect him anymore. I need you, Evelyn. I need you so badly,” he whispered into my ear. The heat of his breath, the way his stubble scratched my cheek, awakened me.
I grabbed him. I kissed him. I pulled my shirt off. I tore his. I unfastened the belt of his pants, flinging the buckle. I ripped apart the button fly of my jeans. I pushed myself against him.
The way he grabbed me back, the way he moved, made it clear he was yearning for me, that he couldn’t believe his luck to be touching me. When I pulled off the straps of my bra and exposed my breasts, he looked me in the eye and then placed his hands on my chest as if he’d unlocked a hidden treasure.
It felt so good. To be touched like that. To set free my desire. He lay down on the couch, and I sat on top of him, moving the way I wanted to, taking what I needed from him, feeling pleasure for the first time in years.
It felt like water in the desert.
When it was over, I didn’t want to be apart from him. I wanted to never leave his side.
“You’d be a stepfather,” I said. “Do you get that?”
