Cameron came to my dressing room and told me the good news. Little Women was getting the green light. “It’s you as Jo, Ruby Reilly as Meg, Joy Nathan as Amy, and Celia St. James is playing Beth.” “Celia St. James? From Olympian Studios?” Harry nodded. “What’s with the frown? I thought you’d be thrilled.” “Oh,” I said, turning further toward him. “I am. I absolutely am.” “You don’t like Celia St. James?” I smiled at him. “That teenage bitch is gonna act me under the table.” Harry threw his head back and laughed. Celia St. James had made headlines earlier in the year. At the age of nineteen, she played a young widowed mother in a war-period piece. Everyone said she was sure to be nominated next year. Exactly the sort of person the studio would want playing Beth. And exactly the sort of person Ruby and I would hate. “You're twenty-one years old, you’re married to the biggest movie star there is right now, and you were just nominated for an Academy Award, Evelyn.” Harry had a point, but so did I. Celia was going to be a problem. “It’s OK. I’m ready. I’m gonna give the best goddamn performance of my life, and when people watch the movie, they are going to say, ‘Beth who? Oh, the middle sister who dies? What about her?’ ” “I have absolutely no doubt,” Harry said, putting his arm around me. “You're fabulous, Evelyn. The whole world knows it.” I smiled. “You really think so?” This is something that everyone should know about stars. We like to be told we are adored, and we want you to repeat yourself. Later in my life, people would always come up to me and say, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear me blabbering on about how great you are,” and I always say, as if I’m joking, “Oh, one more time won’t hurt.” But the truth is, praise is just like an addiction. The more you get it, the more of it you need just to stay even. “Yes,” he said. “I really think so.”