The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

HELLO?” HER VOICE SOUNDED EXACTLY like it used to. Sweet but somehow firm.

“It’s me,” I said.

“Hi.” The way she warmed up in that moment made me hopeful that I might be able to put my life back together, the way it should have always been.

“I did love him,” I said. “Max. But I don’t anymore.”

The line was quiet.

Then she asked, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’d like to see you.”

“I can’t see you, Evelyn.”

“Yes, you can.”

“What do you want us to do?” she said. “Ruin each other all over again?”

“Do you still love me?” I asked.

She was silent.

“I still love you, Celia. I swear I do.”

“I . . . I don’t think we should talk about this. Not if . . .”

“Not if what?”

“Nothing has changed, Evelyn.”

“Everything has changed.”

“People still can’t know who we really are.”

“Elton John is out of the closet,” I said. “Has been for years.”

“Elton John doesn’t have a child and a career based on audiences believing he’s a straight man.”

“You’re saying we’ll lose our jobs?”

“I can’t believe I have to tell you this,” she said.

“Well, let me tell you something that has changed,” I told her. “I no longer care. I’m ready to give it all up.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m absolutely serious.”

“Evelyn, we haven’t even seen each other in years.”

“I know you were able to forget me,” I said. “I know you were with Joan. I’m sure you were with others.” I waited, hoping she would correct me, hoping she would tell me there had been no one else. But she didn’t. And so I continued. “But can you honestly say that you stopped loving me?”

“Of course not.”

“And I can’t say that, either. I have loved you every single day.”

“You married someone else.”

“I married him because he helped me forget you,” I said. “Not because I stopped loving you.”

I heard Celia breathe deeply.

“I’ll come to L.A.,” I said. “And you and I will have dinner. OK?”

“Dinner?” she said.

“Just dinner. We have things to talk about. I think we at least owe each other a nice, long talk. How about the week after next? Harry can watch Connor. I can stay for a few days.”

Celia was quiet again. I could tell she was thinking. I got the impression that this was a deciding moment for my future, our future.

“OK,” she said. “Dinner.”

* * *

THE MORNING I left for the airport, Max slept in late. He was supposed to be on set later in the afternoon for a night shoot, so I squeezed his hand good-bye and then grabbed my things from the closet.

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to take Celia’s letters with me or not. I had kept them all, with their envelopes, in a box at the back of my closet. Over the past few days, as I was gathering what I would take, I packed them and then unpacked them, trying to decide.

I had been rereading them every day since Celia and I started talking. I didn’t want to be apart from them. I liked to run my fingers over the words, feeling the way the pen had embossed the paper. I liked hearing her voice in my head. But I was flying to see her. So I decided I didn’t need them.

I put on my boots and grabbed my jacket, then unzipped my bag and pulled the letters out. I hid them behind my furs.

I left Max a note: “I will be back on Thursday, Maximilian. Love, Evelyn.”

Connor was in the kitchen, grabbing Pop-Tarts before heading over to Harry’s house to stay while I was gone.

“Doesn’t your dad have Pop-Tarts?” I asked.

“Not the brown sugar kind. He gets the strawberry ones, and I hate those.”

I grabbed her and kissed her on the cheek. “Good-bye. Be good while I’m gone,” I said.

She rolled her eyes at me, and I wasn’t sure if it was for the kiss or the directive. She had just turned thirteen, beginning her ascent into adolescence, and it was already breaking my heart.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said. “I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

I went down to the sidewalk to find my limo waiting. I gave the driver my bag, and at the very last minute, it occurred to me that after my dinner with Celia, she might tell me she didn’t want to see me again. She might tell me she didn’t think we should talk anymore. I might be on the flight back, aching for her more than I ever had. I decided I wanted the letters. I wanted them with me. I needed them.

“Hold on, one moment,” I said to the driver, and I dashed back into the house. I caught Connor coming out of the elevator just as I was going in.

“Back so soon?” she said, her knapsack on her back.

“I forgot something. Have fun this weekend, sweetheart. Tell your dad I’ll be home in a few days.”

“Yeah, OK. Max just woke up, by the way.”

“I love you,” I said to her as I pushed the button in the elevator.

“I love you, too,” Connor said. She waved good-bye and headed out the front entrance.

I made my way upstairs and walked into the bedroom. And there, in my closet, was Max.

Celia’s letters, which I had kept in such pristine condition, were flung about the room, most of them torn from the envelopes as if they were nothing more than junk mail.

“What are you doing?” I said.

He was in a black T-shirt and sweatpants. “What am I doing?” he said. “That is too much. You coming in here asking me what I am doing.”

“Those are mine.”

“Oh, I see that, ma belle.”

I leaned down and tried to take them from him. He pulled them away.

“You are having an affair?” he said, smiling. “How very French of you.”

“Max, stop it.”

“I do not mind some infidelity, my dear. If it is respectfully done. And one does not leave evidence.”

The way he said it, I realized he had slept with people outside our marriage, and I wondered if any woman was ever really safe from men like Max and Don. I thought of how many women out there thought they could prevent their husbands from cheating if only they were as gorgeous as Evelyn Hugo. But it never stopped any man I loved.

“I am not cheating on you, Max. So would you cut it out?”

“Maybe you are not,” he said. “I suppose I can believe that. But what I can’t believe is that you are a dyke.”

I closed my eyes, my anger burning so hot inside me that I needed to check out of the world, to momentarily gather myself in my own body.

“I am not a dyke,” I said.

“These letters beg to differ.”

“Those letters are none of your business.”

“Maybe,” Max said. “If these letters are just Celia St. James talking to you about her feelings for you in the past, then I am in the wrong here. And I will put them away right now, and I will apologize to you immediately.”

“Good.”

“I said if.” He stood up and came closer to me. “It is a big if. If these letters were sent leading up to you deciding to visit Los Angeles today, then I am angry, because you are playing me for a fool.”

I really do think that if I told him I had absolutely no intention of seeing Celia in Los Angeles, if I really sold it well, he would have backed off. He might have even said he was sorry and driven me to the airport himself.

And that was my gut instinct, to lie, to hide, to cover up what I was doing and who I was. But just as I opened my mouth to feed him a line, something else came out.

“I was going to see her. You’re right.”

“You were going to cheat on me?”

“I was going to leave you,” I said. “I think you know that. I think you’ve known that for some time. I am going to leave you. If not for her, for me.”

“For her?” he said.

“I love her. I always have.”

Max looked floored, as if he had been pushing me in this game, assuming I’d forfeit. He shook his head in disbelief. “Wow,” he said. “Incredible. I married a dyke.”

“Stop saying that,” I said.

“Evelyn, if you have sex with women, you are a lesbian. Don’t be a self-hating lesbian. That’s not . . . that’s not becoming.”

“I don’t care what you think is becoming. I don’t hate lesbians at all. I’m in love with one. But I loved you, too.”

“Oh, please,” he said. “Please don’t try to make me any more of a fool than you already have. I have spent years loving you, only to find it meant nothing to you.”

“You didn’t love me for one goddamn day,” I said. “You loved having a movie star on your arm. You loved getting to be the one who slept in my bed. That’s not love. That’s possession.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Of course you don’t,” I said. “Because you don’t know the difference between the two.”

“Did you ever love me?”

“Yes, I did. When you made love to me and you made me feel desire and you took good care of my daughter and I believed that you saw something in me that no one else saw. When I believed you had an insight and a talent that no one else had. I loved you very much.”

“So you are not a lesbian,” he said.

“I don’t want to discuss this with you.”

“Well, you’re going to. You have to.”

“No,” I said, gathering the letters and envelopes and shoving them into my pockets. “I don’t.”

“Yes,” he said, blocking the door. “You do.”

“Max, get out of my way. I’m leaving.”

“Not to see her,” he said. “You can’t.”

“Of course I can.”

The phone started ringing, but I was too far away to answer it. I knew it was the driver. I knew that if I didn’t leave, I might miss my flight. There would be other flights, but I wanted to catch that one. I wanted to get to Celia as soon as possible.

“Evelyn, stop,” Max said. “Think about this. It makes no sense. You can’t leave me. I could make one phone call and destroy you. I could tell anyone, anyone at all, about this, and your life would never be the same.”

He wasn’t threatening me. He was simply explaining to me what was so clearly obvious. It was as if he was saying, Honey, you’re not thinking clearly. That won’t end well for you.

“You’re a good man, Max,” I said. “I can see you being angry enough to try to hurt me. But I’ve known you to at least try to do the right thing most of the time.”

“And what if this time I don’t?” he said. And there, finally, was the threat.

“I’m leaving you, Max. It either happens now or it happens later, but it’s happening sometime. If you decide you want to try to bring me down over it, then I guess that’s just what you’ll have to do.”

When he wouldn’t move, I shoved him out of the way and walked right past him out the door.

The love of my life was waiting, and I was going to go get her back.