The Seven Confessions of Celia St. James

All the weight it can hold when you say one name

She's cutting into that rare steak across from me, in the swanky hotel restaurant. I do the same. It's the last night before the final leg of our trip. Tomorrow we reach our destination.

"Why so glum?"

"I'm sorry." I am bummed, to the max.

"Don't be sorry. It's okay. I'm right here."

The elevator door shuts. I take her hand to squeeze and she tells me, "You won't believe me when I tell you this, but you have done me a great service by allowing me to unburden myself. It's as if you were a priest of sorts."

I do the sign of the cross the way I've seen it done in movies, "In the name of the father, the son..." she bats my hand away and hugs me.

We get inside the room. Before the door closes all the way she has me in her arms. She looks up at me, gets on tiptoe and kisses my nose. I can't hide the sadness.

"Not so happy right now?"

"I'm sorry. I have my jealous heart to thank for my mood. And besides, tomorrow..."

"...and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in its petty pace from time to time..."

"Enough, Queen Lear. Come to the bed," I say leading her.

"My, that's forward!"

"Tell me the rest." We sit side by side, reclining against great big pillows facing each other. "It might make me feel better, and if it doesn't, you'll just have to do a little penance." She giggles, takes my chin in her hand, and smiles before brushing her nose to mine.

"We moved to New York, the four of us, and got two apartments on the lower East side, walking distance from one another. Evelyn and Harry had married. Those two were always very close. So much so, they eventually decided to have a baby. That part was very hard for me. When Evelyn announced she wanted a baby with Harry, I  cried tears of impotent rage. I have never wanted children, but I would have given her anything, and I wanted to give her that. If only I were a man. Oh, if only... Just as she'd always said, things would have been so much easier. I hated that feeling of not being enough. But I wasn't enough. I couldn't give her a baby; but Harry could, so I did the next best thing and gave my permission..."

"Permission to what?"

"I'm sorry sweetheart; do you not know how babies are made?"

"I know you can make them in a clinic!"

"Oh no! God forbid!" she tells in mock shock and awe, palm to her chest. "It might make people suspicious."

"Evelyn would say something like that! So, you let them...?"

"What was I supposed to do? John wasn't thrilled either, believe me. The first night Harry and Evelyn attempted, I watched John pace in his living room, sit on the couch, stand back up, clench his fists, run his fingers through his hair. I finally sat him down on the couch and said, "Screw it, two can play this game! Let's make our own baby!" You would have thought a tarantula had crawled up his leg the way he recoiled before realizing I was pulling his leg. "Look," I told him, "I bet you, right now, Harry is closing his eyes concentrating on not losing the erection, picturing you, of course, while Evelyn is on her knees, bent forward, flipping through Vogue, waiting for Harry to, erm...complete the mission. No one is having any fun over there, John. Don't worry." And with that, I patted his back and took us to Katz for some cheesecake. Harry is about as queer as a three door Mustang, but still, I wasn't buying what I was selling. I was jealous the whole time, every time they did it, which there were many. Too many. Still, no one suspected I was pissed off. I'm that good."

"So they had their baby."

"Connor. I love that little girl. I was like an aunt to her, and John was like an uncle. She is not mine and Evelyn's, though. Connor belongs to her and Harry. Evelyn became a happy new mom, acting kept me busy and away sometimes. Meanwhile, Evelyn's career was in the dumps. What's a sex pot to do once she's over 35? I was in Italy when Max, that lascivious French director, offered me a role in a project I knew had potential, and which I would not be caught dead doing. In reading the script, however, I realized it was perfect for Evelyn."

"Three AM. You're talking about Three AM," I sit up, criss cross apple sauce on the bed, at attention, because I've seen the film. "Evelyn plays opposite Don."

Celia lights a cigarette. "Don fucking Adler. I didn't know he'd be the lead when I presented the script to Evelyn. All I was thinking was, "She would be great in this role, she'll be perfect as Patricia, Max is going to turn out a fantastic film!" I thought it would be a great career move for a fading bombshell. The night she got off the phone with Max and came over to me with the news of who'd been cast as Mark, I told myself Evelyn needed this and I was not going to ruin it, so I made myself be okay with it. Not that she asked my permission to carry on with the project, but I knew, if I wanted to, I could make life uncomfortable for us if I wasn't okay with it. I could be a terror about this sort of thing. I mean, there were moments, like the time I got my second Oscar, when I would tarnish something as celebratory and exciting as that with an uncomfortable phone call. "I wish you were here, I needed you here for support. You're ashamed of me. You don't want people to know you're a lesbian," She often called me a brat, which I often was, but for Max's project, I told myself I would be a saint and trust in Evelyn's professionalism. I decided to become the perfect housewife, and I did; caring for Connor, asking how the shoot was going, ensuring she got proper rest. About every evening, Evelyn would call and apologize for being detained at work. It started to feel like that cliché. The one where the husband is working late hours at the office with his secretary, and then everyone has to get a penicillin shot. But I ignored those thoughts. I pushed aside the memory of Evelyn telling me how badly she ached for Don all those years ago. Late one night, Evelyn came home from work with flowers for me, so I knew something was very wrong. She'd been acting suspicious for a couple of days, wouldn't touch me, was avoiding me. I told myself it was the stress of filming with Don, sleep deprivation, and not having time with Connor. That night, she let it all out.

"Max had a talk with me. He wants the love scene to be more...visceral," she said.

"What does that mean?"

"He wants the audience to know why Patricia is so hell-bent on saving Mark. Max said she's coming across saintly in the film and we should make sure the audience knows exactly what she's getting out of her relationship with Mark. That she desires him and..."

"And gets off with him, is that it?"

"Yes, well..."

"Oh, it makes complete sense. Otherwise, Patricia comes off as Mary holding Jesus in the Pieta. A wimpy, tasteful little love scene will not do. An explicit scene would work perfect for the film. It's a great contrast. It's not love making, it's fucking. Max knows his stuff." Evelyn's face lit right up as if I'd consented. She thought my understanding meant I was on board. She was very much mistaken. If she was asking my permission, which obviously she was, I was absolutely not going to give it. I forgave her fucking Mick, I forgave her fucking Harry. It was my turn to be forgiven for putting my foot down, just this once. I was going to play that card. Just this once, even though it killed me. "Don't do this," I said.

The smile slid from her tired face. "I thought you understood."

"I understand. I'm also saying no. I want to say yes, more than anything I want to be okay with it. You know I'm nothing but supportive of your career and want nothing but success for you. I wouldn't ever want to keep you from being your best but, I am telling you, this one thing. This one thing, I can't. I could try, but I already know. I can't let you do it."

"It's done."

"It's decided?"

"It's been shot," she said. And there it was. Predictable, really, and yet somehow shocking. That Evelyn would ever ask my permission to do what she wanted; ain't that a laugh. I never forgave her. I never, ever will. I'm sure I don't have to tell you it wasn't about her simulating sex with Don, although at the time it very much was the reason I didn't want the scene shot. If she'd only taken me into consideration before acting. And that really is the trend of our failure.  Evelyn does whatever she wants and asks forgiveness afterwards. After she gets what she wants. It's exhausting being with someone who pretends to put you first and then guts you. She broke me bodily, the heart, it ain't the half of it.

It's past midnight, and we're nude under covers. Celia sleeps in my arms, face buried in my tits. I run my fingers through her iconic red hair. She stirs, tugging me near, and sighs. I cradle her like a child. She is soft and reposed, a beauty unfolding once more. Pallid skin, freckled, stretched over her bones. I hold her ever close, like second hand smoke.

"Joan," she murmurs my name sleepily.

"I'm right here, darling. I'm right here." She is the smell before rain. She is the blood in my veins.