time. Looking at it now, Evelyn and Celia seem to shine brighter than the others. But I’m pretty sure that’s simply hindsight bias. I’m seeing what I want to see, based on how I know it all turns out. Evelyn puts my cup and saucer down on the black-lacquer coffee table. “Sit,” she says as she takes a seat herself in one of the plush chairs. She pulls her feet up underneath her. “Anywhere you want.” I nod and put my bag down. As I sit on the couch, I grab my notepad. “So you’re putting your gowns up for auction,” I say as I settle myself. I click my pen, ready to listen. Which is when Evelyn says, “Actually, I’ve called you here under false pretenses.” I look directly at her, sure I’ve misheard. “Excuse me?” Evelyn rearranges herself in the chair and looks at me. “There’s not much to tell about me handing a bunch of dresses over to Christie’s.” “Well, then—” “T called you here to discuss something else.” “What is that?” “My life story.” “Your life story?” I say, stunned and trying hard to catch up to her. “A tell-all.” An Evelyn Hugo tell-all would be . . . I don’t know. Something close to the story of the year. “You want to do a tell-all with Vivant?” “No,” she says. “You don’t want to do a tell-all?” “T don’t want to do one with Vivant.” “Then why am I here?” I’m even more lost than I was just a moment ago. “Youre the one I’m giving the story to.” I look at her, trying to decipher what exactly she’s saying. “You're going to go on record about your life, and you’re going to do it with me but not with Vivant?”