The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

WE HAD A BEAUTIFUL WEDDING. Three hundred guests, hosted by Mary and Roger Adler. Ruby was my maid of honor. I wore a jewel-necked taffeta gown, covered with rose-point lace, with sleeves down to my wrists and a full lace skirt. It was designed by Vivian Worley, the head costumer for Sunset. Gwendolyn did my hair, pulled back into a simple but flawless bun, to which my tulle veil was attached. There wasn’t much of the wedding that was planned by us; it was controlled almost entirely by Mary and Roger and the rest by Sunset.

Don was expected to play the game exactly the way his parents wanted it played. Even then I could tell he was eager to get out of their shadow, to eclipse their stardom with his own. Don had been raised to believe that fame was the only power worth pursuing, and what I loved about him was that he was ready to become the most powerful person in any room by becoming the most adored.

And while our wedding might have been at the whim of others, our love and our commitment to each other felt sacred. When Don and I looked into each other’s eyes and held hands as we said “I do” at the Beverly Hills Hotel, it felt like it was just the two of us up there, despite being surrounded by half of Hollywood.

Toward the end of the night, after the wedding bells and our announcement as a married couple, Harry pulled me aside. He asked me how I was doing.

“I’m the most famous bride in the world right now,” I said. “I’m great.”

Harry laughed. “You’ll be happy?” he asked. “With Don? He’s going to take good care of you?”

“I have no doubt about it.”

I believed in my heart that I’d found someone who understood me, or at least understood the me I was trying to be. At the age of nineteen, I thought Don was my happy ending.

Harry put his arm around me and said, “I’m happy for you, kid.”

I grabbed his hand before he could pull it away. I’d had two glasses of champagne, and I was feeling fresh. “How come you never tried anything?” I asked him. “We’ve known each other a few years now. Not even a kiss on the cheek.”

“I’ll kiss you on the cheek if you want,” Harry said, smiling.

“Not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Did you want something to happen?” he asked me.

I wasn’t attracted to Harry Cameron. Despite the fact that he was a categorically attractive man. “No,” I said. “I don’t think I did.”

“But you wanted me to want something to happen?”

I smiled. “And what if I did? Is that so wrong? I’m an actress, Harry. Don’t you forget that.”

Harry laughed. “You have ‘actress’ written all over your face. I remember it every single day.”

“Then why, Harry? What’s the truth?”

Harry took a sip of his scotch and took his arm off me. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“You’re young.”

I waved him off. “Most men don’t seem to have any problem with a little thing like that. My own husband is seven years older than me.”

I looked over to see Don swaying with his mother on the dance floor. Mary was still gorgeous in her fifties. She’d come to fame during the silent-film era and did a few talkies before retiring. She was tall and intimidating, with a face that was striking more than anything.

Harry took another swig of his scotch and put the glass down. He looked thoughtful. “It’s a long and complicated story. But suffice it to say, you’ve just never been my type.”

The way he said it, I knew he was trying to tell me something. Harry wasn’t interested in girls like me. Harry wasn’t interested in girls at all.

“You’re my best friend in the world, Harry,” I said. “Do you know that?”

He smiled. I got the impression he did so because he was charmed and because he was relieved. He’d revealed himself, however vaguely. And I was meeting him with acceptance, however indirectly.

“Am I really?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Well, then, you’ll be mine.”

I raised my glass to him. “Best friends tell each other everything,” I said.

He smiled, raising his own glass. “I don’t buy that,” he teased. “Not for one minute.”

Don came over and interrupted us. “Would you mind terribly, Cameron, if I danced with my bride?”

Harry put his hands up, as if in surrender. “She’s all yours.”

“That she is.”

I took Don’s hand, and he twirled me around the dance floor. He looked right into my eyes. He really looked at me, really saw me.

“Do you love me, Evelyn Hugo?” he asked.

“More than anything in the world. Do you love me, Don Adler?”

“I love your eyes, and your tits, and your talent. I love the fact that you’ve got absolutely no ass on you. I love everything about you. So to say yes would be an understatement.”

I laughed and kissed him. We were surrounded by people, packed onto the dance floor. His father, Roger, was smoking a cigar with Ari Sullivan in the corner. I felt a million miles away from my old life, the old me, that girl who needed Ernie Diaz for anything at all.

Don pulled me close and put his mouth to my ear, whispering, “Me and you. We will rule this town.”

We were married for two months before he started hitting me.