Celia and I had discussed it and come to the conclusion that we could not move in together. She was less convinced of this than I was, but I was steadfast in my resolve. Even though my career was in the gutter, hers was thriving. I couldn’t let her risk it. Not for me. My head was on the pillow, but my eyes were wide open when I heard someone pull into the driveway. I looked out the window to see Celia slipping out of a car and waving good night to her driver. She had an Oscar in her hand. “You look comfortable,” Celia said, once she’d made her way to me in the bedroom. “Come here,” I said to her. She’d had a glass or three. I loved her drunk. She was herself but happier, so bubbly I sometimes worried she’d float away. She took a running start and hopped into the bed. I kissed her. “I’m so proud of you, darling.” “I missed you all night,” she said. The Oscar was still in her hand, and I could tell it was heavy; she kept allowing it to tip over onto the mattress. The space for her name was blank. “I don’t know if I was supposed to take this one,” she said, smiling. “But I didn’t want to give it back.” “Why aren’t you out celebrating? You should be at the Sunset party.” “I only wanted to celebrate with you.” I pulled her closer to me. She kicked off her shoes. “Nothing means anything without you,” she said. “Everything that isn’t you is a pile of dog shit.” I tossed my head back and laughed. “What happened to your tooth?” Celia asked. “Is it that noticeable?” Celia shrugged. “I suppose not. I think it’s just that ’'ve memorized every inch of you.” Just a few weeks ago, I had lain naked beside Celia and let her look at me, look at every part of my body. She had told me she wanted to remember every detail. She said it was like studying a Picasso.