“So play everything,” she said. “Be bold. Do what no one expects you to do.” “People will say it’s unbecoming.” “The Evelyn I love doesn’t care about that.” I closed my eyes and listened to her, nodding. She wanted me to do it for me. I really believe that. She knew I wouldn’t be happy being limited, being relegated. She knew I wanted to continue to make people talk, to tantalize, to surprise. But the part she wasn’t mentioning, the part I’m not even sure she truly understood, was that she also wanted me to do it because she didn’t want me to change. She wanted to be with a bombshell. It’s always been fascinating to me how things can be simultaneously true and false, how people can be good and bad all in one, how someone can love you in a way that is beautifully selfless while serving themselves ruthlessly. It is why I loved Celia. She was a very complicated woman who always kept me guessing. And here she had surprised me one more time. She had said, Go, have a baby. But she had meant to add, Just don’t act like a mother. Fortunately and unfortunately for her, I had absolutely no intention of being told what to do or of being manipulated into a single thing. So I read the script, and I took a few days and thought about it. I asked Harry what he thought. And then I woke up one morning and thought, I want the part. I want it because I want to show I’m still my own woman. I called Max Girard and told him I was interested if he was interested. And he was. “But I'm surprised you want to do this,” Max said. “You are one hundred percent sure?” “Is there nudity?” I asked. “I’m OK with the idea. Really. I look fantastic, Max. It’s not a problem.” I did not look fantastic, nor did I feel fantastic. It was a problem. But it was a solvable problem, and solvable problems aren’t really problems, are they? “No,” Max said, laughing. “Evelyn, you could be ninety-seven years old, and the whole world would line up to see your chest.”