But I’ve since come to understand that it wasn’t Ernie’s fault. None of it was Ernie’s fault. I’d told him I was someone else. And then I started getting angry that he couldn’t see who I really was. Six months later, I could deliver a line with sincerity. I wasn’t great by any means, but I was good enough. I'd been in three more movies, all day-player roles. I’d heard there was a part open to play Stu Cooper’s teenage daughter in a romantic comedy. And I decided I wanted it. So I did something that not many other actresses at my level would have had the guts to do. I knocked on Harry Cameron’s door. “Evelyn,” he said, surprised to see me. “Io what do I owe the pleasure?” “T want the Caroline part,” I said. “In Love Isn't All.” Harry motioned for me to sit down. He was handsome, for an executive. Most producers around the lot were rotund, a lot of them losing their hair. But Harry was tall and slim. He was young. I suspected he didn’t even have a decade on me. He wore suits that fit him nicely and always complemented his ice-blue eyes. There was something vaguely midwestern about him, not so much in how he looked but in the way he approached people, with kindness first, then strength. Harry was one of the only men on the lot who didn’t stare directly at my chest. It actually bothered me, as if I'd been doing something wrong to not get his attention. It just goes to show that if you tell a woman her only skill is to be desirable, she will believe you. I was believing it before I was even eighteen. ‘Tm not going to bullshit you, Evelyn. Ari Sullivan is never going to approve you for that part.” “Why not?” “Youre not the right type.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “No one would believe you were Stu Cooper’s daughter.” “T certainly could be.” “You could not.” “Why?”