Celia toasted a piece of bread at the craft services table and slathered it with peanut butter and then bit into it. “What on earth are you scared of?” Ruby said. “T have no idea what I’m doing!” Celia said. “Celia, you can’t really expect us to fall for this ‘aw shucks’ routine,” I said. She looked at me. And the way she did it made me feel as if no one had ever really looked at me before. Not even Don. “That hurts my feelings,” she said. I felt a little bit bad. But I certainly wasn’t going to let on. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “Yes, you absolutely did,” Celia said. “I think you’re a bit of a cynic.” Ruby, that fair-weather friend, pretended to hear the AD calling for her and took off. “T just have a hard time believing a woman the entire town is saying will be nominated next year is doubting her ability to play Beth March. It’s the chewiest, most likable role in the whole thing.” “If it’s such a sure thing, then why didn’t you take it?” she asked me. “T’m too old, Celia. But thank you for that.” Celia smiled, and I realized I’d played right into her hands. That’s when I started to take a liking to Celia St. James.