Celia and Eve

Chapter 8: Free Falling

As I stayed in LA for the next few months, I began to adopt some destructive habits. It was the mid 1970s, and I was alone in California. My lungs were saturated with nicotine, and my blood with alcohol, a reflection of cultural norms and my lonely love life. I was alone in a relationship, totally abandoned.

Jonathan was injured and unable to visit, and I hadn't seen Eve since Christmas. We were both working in different states, and I knew she wouldn't want to be seen with me in LA anyway, so why bother trying to arrange a meeting? She still called me every night at 9:30. I suspected that it was her way of making sure I wasn't out every night, doing God knows what. She hated when I spent time with my old friends, like Vivian and her crowd at the Cabaret. I didn't even care about Vivian or her easy friends; I only went out to make Eve pay for abandoning me at the airport.

My time on the set of another Goldman production coincided with the start of the awards season, and to my expectations, I went on to sweep nearly every major award. It wasn't just about talent; it was all about having the right connections. I was working with people who knew how to market and promote me in such a way that made it look like I was the only actress who had ever truly deserved such accolades. The other nominees didn't stand a chance against my carefully crafted image.

I received awards and recognitions for best actress, best performance, best Hollywood personality, and even best dressed - although I must say; that last one was well deserved. When it came to fashion, most of these cheap Hollywood wannabes didn't have a clue where to start.

It was easy to get caught up in the glitz of it all. Goldman became my go-to producer and was responsible for most of my successful films. His projects were top-notch, and I was determined to win even more accolades. I had grown accustomed to being on stage, whether as a guest star on Broadway or as the recipient of various best actress awards. If heartbreak could be turned into a craft, then mine was a masterpiece.

Despite my efforts to ignore it, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't truly a priority for Eve. It always seemed like there was one more thing she needed or wanted or some limitation imposed by her status that prevented her from fully committing to me. In my mind, her image and reputation took precedence over me. She was determined to maintain her image as a heterosexual bombshell for the public, particularly for men, and it made me feel like I wasn't enough.

I was in my mid-thirties when I won my second Oscar for best performance by an actress in a leading role. As I stood on stage, clutching my golden statuette, a feeling of nostalgic loneliness washed over me. A deja-vu. I couldn't help but feel like I was reliving the same old story of abandonment that had plagued me since childhood.

And here I was, in the midst of my greatest achievement, feeling alone and abandoned once again. The weight of it all was suffocating.

It was considered ill-bred to draw attention to oneself in my circle. My parents had always been dismissive of Hollywood, seeing it as the epitome of bad taste. Jonathan, my dear friend, was still recovering from his injuries and unable to travel, but my partner, the love of my life, didn't even want to be seen with me in public.

Feeling the sting of rejection, I began to drown my sorrows in the champagne that was being passed around. As the night wore on, I found myself calling Eve, I wasn't happy, and I don't remember what I said to her, but I knew it wasn't good. I was sad, angry, and drunk, and she was the only person I could call at that moment.

In my mind, Eve was the one who deserved the best of me, so it was only natural that she would also have to handle the worst of me. And in that moment, I was the worst version of myself. But I also knew that I would have to make it up to her later. Eve had a way of making me pay for my mistakes.