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Celia arrived just before the show began. She was wearing a pale blue strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline. The color of her hair against the dress was striking. When my eyes set on her, for the first time in nearly five years, I found myself breathless.
I’d gone to see every single one of Celia’s movies, even though I was loath to admit it. So I had seen her.
But no medium can capture what it is to be in someone’s presence, certainly not someone like her. Someone who makes you feel important simply because she’s choosing to look at you.
There was something stately about her, at the age of twenty-eight. She was mature and dignified. She looked like the kind of person who knew exactly who she was.
She stepped forward and took John Braverman’s arm. In a tux that seemed to strain at his broad shoulders, John looked as all-American as a husk of corn. They were a gorgeous couple. No matter how false it all was.
“Ev, you’re staring,” Harry said as he pushed me into the theater.
“Sorry,” I said. “Thank you.”
As we took our seats, we smiled and waved to everyone seated around us. Joy and Rex were a few rows behind us, and I waved politely, knowing people were watching, knowing that if I ran up and hugged them, people might be confused.
When we sat down, Harry said, “If you win, will you talk to her?”
I laughed. “And gloat?”
> “No, but you’d have the upper hand that you seem to so desperately want.”
“She left me.”
“You slept with someone.”
“For her.”
Harry frowned at me as if I was missing the point.
“Fine, if I win, I’ll talk to her.”
“Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
“Because I want you to be happy, and it appears I have to reward you for doing things in your own favor.”
“Well, if she wins, I’m not saying a single word to her.”
“If she wins,” Harry said delicately, “which is a big if, and she comes and talks to you, I will hold you down and force you to listen and speak back.”
I couldn’t look directly at him. I was feeling defensive.
“It’s a moot point anyway,” I said. “Everyone knows they’re going to give it to Ruby, because they feel bad she didn’t get it last year for The Dangerous Flight.”
“They might not,” Harry said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I told him. “And I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you.”
But when the lights dimmed and the host came out, I was not thinking that my chances were slim. I was just delusional enough to think the Academy might finally give me a goddamn Oscar.
When they called out the nominees for Best Actress, I scanned the audience for Celia. I spotted her the very same moment she spotted me. We locked eyes. And then the presenter didn’t say “Evelyn” or “Celia.” He said “Ruby.”
When my heart sank into my chest, aching and heavy, I was mad at myself for believing I had a chance. And then I wondered if Celia was OK.
Harry held my hand and squeezed it. I hoped John was squeezing Celia’s. I excused myself to the bathroom.
Bonnie Lakeland was washing her hands as I came in. She gave me a smile, and then she left. And I was alone. I sat in a stall and closed the door. I let myself cry.
