“It’s embarrassing,” I told her now. Celia sat up, intrigued. “I kissed the television screen,” I said. “When you won. I kissed you on the TV, and I chipped my tooth.” Celia laughed so hard she cackled. The statuette fell back to the mattress with a thump. And then she rolled over on top of me and put her arms around my neck. “That’s the most lovable thing anyone has ever done since the dawn of man.” “I suppose I'll make a dentist appointment first thing tomorrow.” “I suppose you will.” I picked up her Oscar. I stared at it. I wanted one myself. And if I had stuck it out with Don a little longer, I could have had one tonight. She was still in her dress, her heels long gone. Her hair was falling out of the pins. Her lipstick was faded. Her earrings still glistened. “Have you ever made love to an Oscar winner?” she said. I’d done something very close with Ari Sullivan, but I didn’t think that was the time to tell her. And anyway, the spirit of the question was if I’d ever experienced a moment like that one. And I absolutely had not. I kissed her and felt her hands on my face, and then I watched as she stepped out of her dress and into my bed. kk * BOTH OF MY movies flopped. A romance Celia did sold out theaters. Don starred in a hit thriller movie. Ruby Reilly’s reviews for Jokers Wild called her “stunningly perfect” and “positively incomparable.” I taught myself how to make meat loaf and iron my own slacks. And then I saw Breathless. I left the theater, went straight home, called Harry Cameron, and said, “I have an idea. I’m going to Paris.”