“That’s abrupt.” “It’s not, actually. It’s overdue. And anyway, he found your letters,” I said. “And he’s leaving you?” “No, he’s threatening to out me if I don’t stay with him.” “What?” “I’m leaving him,” I said. “And I’m letting him do whatever the hell he wants. Because I’m fifty years old, and I don’t have the energy to be controlling every single thing anyone says about me until I die of old age. The parts I’m being offered are shit. I have the Oscar on my mantel. I have a spectacular daughter. I have Harry. I’m a household name. They will write about my movies for years to come. What more do I want? A gold statue in my honor?” Celia laughed. “That’s what an Oscar is,” she said. I laughed, too. “Exactly! Excellent point. I already have that, then. There’s nothing else, Celia. There are no more mountains to climb. I spent my life hiding so no one would knock me off the mountain. Well, you know what? I’m done hiding. Let them come and get me. They can throw me down a well as far as I’m concerned. I’m signed on to do one last movie over at Fox later this year, and then I’m done.” “You don’t mean that.” “I do. Any other line of thinking . . . it’s how I lost you. I don’t want to lose anymore.” “Its not just our careers,” she said. “The ramifications are unpredictable. What if they take Connor away?” “Because I’m in love with a woman?” “Because they think both her parents are ‘queers.’ ” I sipped my wine. “I can’t win with you,” I said finally. “If I want to hide, you call me a coward. If I’m tired of hiding, you tell me they'll take my daughter.” “I’m sorry,” Celia said. She did not seem sorry for what she had said so much as sorry that we lived in the world we lived in. “Do you mean it?” she asked. “Would you really give it up?” “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I would.”