#i really love that al went with a romantic comedy where he plays an easy going sweet and charming guy....

[mangocharmer]

Al Pacino as Johnny - FRANKIE AND JOHNNY (1991)

[shadowsof-thenight]

Who is he?

Summary: Revelations never come at an opportune time.

Words: 3261

Ship: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Pretty much all fluff and hinting at sexy times 

A/N: After trying to write a one shot for months and always ending up with new series, I finally managed it again. I hope you like it! Feedback is always welcome!

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Masterlist

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It’s funny how revelations seem to appear at the most inopportune times. How suddenly a feeling strikes and you come to the understanding that you had been hiding from the truth for a good long while. You were having one of those moments, right now. A moment where everything you thought changed and you were left to wonder how you had been so blind. And blind you had been, there was no other way to say it.

From the corner of your eye, you watched his smile stretch across his face and noticed that it lit up the room around him. It made your heart jump in your chest and you quietly cursed its traitorous nature. It wasn’t supposed to do that, not with him. Not after all this time. He had been your friend for years now, the intensity of your bond had surely grown over time, but for it to change so drastically was not expected. You loved him, you knew that, had known that. However, it wasn’t until this very moment, as the light of a nearby lamp reflected beautifully on his golden locks, that you realised that this love was not a platonic one. Rather one of the romantic variety.

You were in love with Steve Rogers.

Shifting around on the couch you had been seated on, you focussed on pulling your gaze from his face again, looking instead towards the screen in front of you. Though you had already lost track of the story in the movie, you really had no idea what was happening. The last you remembered was the leads hating one another and while you knew they would eventually end up together, you had missed the turning point as you pondered your new revelations. Suddenly they were laughing at the same jokes and placing gentle touches on arms and backs. It was endearing and cute.   It drew your attention to the hand that was currently placed on your knee, where Steve had placed it as he belted out over a joke you missed the punchline too. However, his mirth was enough to have you chuckle.

His closeness was suddenly hard to ignore though, almost uncomfortable as the spot where his thigh brushed yours got too warm and the place where his hand brushed by, upon retracting it from your knee, electrified. Steve appeared oblivious to the change in atmosphere you felt and you tried to get your wits about you. Losing his friendship was the last thing you wanted and you knew that hiding your feelings would be the best way to go about it. You would have to hide them from him and everyone else as well.

You scanned the room, stopping when your gaze met Wanda’s who regarded you with a knowing smile. She winked and pointedly looked past you to Steve and back. He didn’t seem to notice, for which you were grateful as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. When you opened your eyes again you used them to send a silent warning to your auburn haired friend. She just chuckled and you turned your face, trying once again to focus on the movie, only to see that the credits were rolling.

Abruptly you stood from the couch and wished everyone a good night, retreating from the room at what you hoped was a normal pace. Once the doors of the elevator closed behind you, you released the ragged breath that you had been holding, tapping your foot impatiently as the floors slowly went by. As soon as you reached the correct floor, you bolted from the confined space and into your bedroom. There you dropped face first on the bed with a loud groan.

It was hard to comprehend all the thoughts that were running through your mind. Thankfully, in the privacy go your room, you didn’t have to worry about schooling your expression or having to pretend to focus on anything else. You were now able to freely let your mind roam, though if you were honest, you had failed to keep from doing that before. Your emotions must have been clearly visible on your face and you could only hope that Wanda had been the only one that caught on. Perhaps the rest of the group might have actually been too engrossed in the movie to see it. You’d find out in the morning, there was no getting around it if any of them had seen it. And unfortunately for you, none of them had Wanda’s sensitivity and subtlety. Especially not Tony and Sam, who had both been present tonight. You could already envision their teasing comments.

Instead of worrying about the inevitable though, you tried to figure out when things had changed for you - the exact moment when you had gone from friendship to infatuation. It wasn’t easy to determine, you realised, as you shifted through your memories and going back as far as you could.

Was it last week? When Steve had awaited you as you returned from a long and tiring mission? He had greeted you with a smile and a hug, walking you to your room - waiting for you to wash off the grime of the fight and returning dressed in sweats, before putting on an episode of your favourite comedy. He had known you would need to unwind, the mission having been tougher than initially predicted. Steve had even prepared your favourite snacks and sat beside you, an arm wrapped around your shoulders in a comforting manner. He didn’t particularly like the show, but he had sat through not one but three episodes, before he went back to his own room and you went to sleep.

Or had it been last month? When Steve returned from a mission that had taken a toll on his mental health and you had been there to comfort him, falling asleep on the comfortable couch in the living room - his head on your chest as he slept and your hands playing with his grown out hair. As you thought back to the moment you awoke the following morning, you suddenly remembered the look Wanda had given you from her spot at the kitchen counter. At the time it had appeared a simple smile to you, though now you knew it had been more. She had known then.

Perhaps you had fallen for your closest friend even before then, last year perchance when the two of you had gone on a mission together for the first time. Unlike all the cliché’s, the room had held two singles and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. It had been a simple mission, where you needed to attend a gala as Steve’s trophy wife. The objectification had made him more uncomfortable that it had you, causing chuckles to escape your lips throughout the night. Finally having enough of all the stares, he had removed his jacket and placed it on your shoulders, shielding your body from all the wandering eyes. On impulse, you had reached up to peck his lips. It had been purely innocent. Though that had been the first time that you noticed how much green there was in the blue of his eyes. It was really pretty and you had told him so, causing a blush to spread on his cheeks, neck and ears. You remembered how cute he was al flustered and wished you had enjoyed it more.  

Or had your feelings began long before that even? When he had started training you to accompany Wanda on a mission - two years ago when you had officially been assigned to fight alongside the Avengers. After two hours in the ring, you had accused him of taking it easy on you, which had been a massive mistake. Within seconds you had been thrown across the circuit and he had quickly run up to you, afraid that he had seriously injured you. Steve had not been able to relax until you had completely lost composure at the sight of his frowning face, overcome with fits of laughter. That had also been the moment your friendship had truly blossomed. Somehow the mischief in him had recognised the same in you and there had been little spare time spend without the other from then on.

Eventually you gave up, returning from memory lane and admitting to yourself that it was impossible to pinpoint where your feelings had evolved into something more. The realisation was perhaps too fresh for that. However, the more pressing matter now was: what were you going to do about this new information? How were you going to deal with it? Turning to lay on your back, you sighed loudly, dragging out the release of air. You’d really done it now, you thought to yourself. Getting into the most ridiculous situation, where you would have to make an important decision. Either be honest with Steve and risk your friendship, or stay quiet and risk your sanity. Neither of which really appealed to you, though your sanity had been questionable at best for many years now. So that might just be the safest bet.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your reverie and with a loud groan you slowly sat up on the bed, taking a moment to collect yourself before dragging your feet to the door. You really weren’t in the mood for talking, though part of you still hoped it was Wanda. She might be able to help you make sense of it all. Unfortunately luck was not on your side tonight.

“Where’d you go so fast?” Steve asked, flashing you one of those wonderful smiles and again your heart skipped a beat. You knew he must have been able to hear it, though he said nothing. For a moment you foolishly hoped that his super hearing was waning after all those years. Of course that was a silly thought to have, it would never do so. That was the whole point of the serum running through his veins.

“I’m just tired,” you offered weakly and he pushed past you into the room, plopping down on your bed and looking at you with amusement clear on his features.

“Which is why you have been laying on the bed in your regular clothes for a good thirty minutes now - sighing and cussing,” he chuckled as he challenged you, a perfect eyebrow raised.

Horror gripped at your heart as you wondered if he had heard you. And how much he might have heard. You couldn’t remember how much of your internal dialogue had in fact not been just that. In the confines of your room, you had not contemplated the thickness of the walls that separated you from the others. You had not even considered the occupants of the neighbouring rooms. To be fair, you had been rather preoccupied. And that was about to bite you in the butt now.

“I’m sorry, was I keeping you up?” You finally offered, threading lightly. He shrugged and shifted so he could follow you as you moved about the room.

“So who is it?” He asked, his tone changing into something more serious while the teasing glint disappeared from his blue eyes. It made the specks of green more prominent and his gaze turned a tad darker. You kinked your head to the side, to investigate this further - completely ignoring his question. It took you a moment, but finally you saw that glint return and a smile stretched his lips as he regarded your silence.

“It almost seems like the green expands,” you said suddenly, instantly knowing you sounded weird and perhaps a little stupid, but there was nothing you could do about it. It was out there now. Steve knitted his eyebrows, staring into space. You figured that he was probably wondering just what you meant, and opened your mouth to give an explanation, when instead he spoke.

“You mentioned that,”

“What?” It was your turn to be confused.

“Something about the green of his eyes,” Steve elaborated, leaning back on his elbows.

A deep blush covered your face and you tried to smile, though it may have come off as a grimace. This really wasn’t going too well for you. You would either have to figure out who you knew with green eyes, fess up or play ignorant. The latter seemed like the best option, you could only hope he would not figure it out. After all, he knew you pretty well.

“Hmm, weird,” you said with a shrug, moving to your dresser and quickly grabbing a pyjama for the night without looking what you were doing, “I’m gonna change real quick.”

You really needed some time to yourself, without his close presence - it was distracting. So you rushed into the bathroom that you shared with Wanda, locking the door behind you. Rushing to the door at the other end, you barged into your friend’s room. The little hope you had held off her being there quickly vanished as quiet darkness greeted you. You were on your own. Back in the bathroom, you quickly pulled off your clothes and reached for the pj’s you had brought. Shocked you realised that what you had grabbed was one of your more revealing pieces. It wasn’t too bad, there were far more sexy things to wear, but you had really wanted to cover yourself better. The simple blue tank top and flowery blue shorts didn’t do that job properly.

“Are you going to tell me who he is?” Steve asked as soon as you walked back in and quickly crawled under the covers to hide your exposed skin. Pretending to be cold you forced a shiver and pulled the covers up to your neck. The blankets acted as a shield now and you felt calmer because of it. He regarded you with raised eyebrows, but he kept any possible comment to himself.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” since feigned ignorance wasn’t working, perhaps honest avoidance would.

“Why not?” He asked, scooting over a little to lay next to you, albeit on top of the covers.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” more vague honesty.

“But you tell me everything,” he seemed so adorably confused that it almost made you tell him. Just because he was that cute. You caught yourself and smiled instead.

“True,” you admitted, “but not tonight.”

It didn’t take long for your to realised just how close he was. His breath fanned over your face as he gave you the trained and tried puppy dog eyes in an attempt to sway you. Turning your face away from him and staring at the ceiling you pressed your lips tightly together. You were doing so well, standing your ground and avoiding straight answers. He shifted again and you sighed, not ready to see how near he was now.

Finally you did look, your head turned to your side, while your body remained flat and slightly rigid. You found him looking at you already, laying on his side and far too close now. There were mere centimetres between your faces, which was incredibly distracting and brought you to your second mistake. You glanced from his eyes down to his mouth and back again. It was a split second action, but the effects of it lingered. It was hard to keep from looking back at those pink lips. They seemed so soft and you wanted to touch them - with your own lips.

The thought lingered as much as your eyes did and you turned to lay on your side as well, keeping the close proximity in tact. No words were uttered, none seemed fitting. Or needed for that matter. The silence was comfortable, calm and nice. It was easy to slip into a state of relaxation and when you did, your hand slowly moved from under the covers to lay on his cheek. Your thumb tracing his bottom lip carefully and your eyes once again darting down.

How could you now have noticed the beauty of this man before?

“Who is it?” Steve whispered this time, inching even closer to you and your breath got caught in your throat. What was happening? Was he trying to trick you? Or kiss you? Should you let him? Beat him to the punch? Or were you imagining things?

Your thoughts were all jumbled up and your cheeks heated up again as you tried to focus on your options. It was no use though, this was all too much for your brain to handle. So you did the only thing that your mind could manage. Honesty.

“You.”

The second the word left your mouth, he charged - lunging for your lips. It wasn’t a peck, it wasn’t innocent and friendly. It was passionate and breathtaking and entirely overwhelming. So you didn’t try to think about it. Instead your hand found its way to the back of his head, fingers entangled in his hair, as you kissed him back with all your might. He smiled into the kiss, before swiping his tongue over your lips, prompting you to open up for him. He explored your mouth as your hands pulled at him until he was on top of you.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Steve confessed softly, pulling back slightly as he spoke, before moving to kiss your jaw, slowly making his way down to your neck. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped.

“You’re so beautiful and kind and nobody can make me laugh quite as often or as easily as you,” his words were soft and said in between kisses. Not exactly dirty talk, but it was kinda working. One of his hands was in your hair, while the other was following the track of his lips, sliding down your throat. You were surprised by how hot that was to you. How was this happening?

By now the sheets you had been hiding under were tangled between you two and his one hand slowly moved lower, following the neckline of your tank top. A heat was quickly spreading through your entire body and you were not the only one that was moaning anymore. You pushed him off a little and tugged at the sheets, wanting to remove them from your body. That was when a loud knock resounded through your room and broke the spell you had been under. Reality quickly setting in again.

“Guys!” Wanda sounded annoyed, “Keep it down will you. I’m trying to sleep and your combined feelings are a little overwhelming.”

You blushed and stared into Steve’s face in shock. Somehow you had not considered her as he swept you off your feet, figuratively speaking.

“Also, gross,” she added after a moment and for a long quiet minute, neither one of you moved. You just stared at each other, wide eyed.

Then you burst out laughing as you tried to utter an apology to your neighbour and friend, the embarrassment washed away quickly at the sound of his howling laugh. It took a moment for the both of you to compose yourself again and when you did he placed a lazy kiss on your lips - a much tamer one than the one before. Steve then moved to stand up, despite your quiet objections and held out his hand for you to take. He pulled you out of bed and held you close to him with a bright smile on his face.

“Perhaps my room is far enough to relieve her,” he said and you returned the smile with a nod, letting him lead you there.

[onpaperintofilm]

Julie Christie The most honest and revealing of actresses, she speaks a language of her own that we instantly understand. 1 STEPHANIE ZACHAREK 06.12.2001•9:06 AM Al Pacino was once asked in a Playboy interview what actress he'd most like to work with. His answer: "Julie Christie, because she's the most poetic actress." "Poetic" is the best possible word to describe Julie Christie. If every great actor embodies an essential paradox, Christie's is that she's both tigress-direct and fawn-subtle, often at the same time -- the cross section of haiku and a sonnet. You find yourself watching in wonder to unravel the quiet but sometimes ferocious mystery of her performances, from her shallow social climber in John Schlesinger's 1965 "Darling" to her shrewd but ferally tender madam in Robert Altman's 1971 "McCabe & Mrs. Miller" to her fragile Gertrude in Kenneth Branagh's 1996 "Hamlet." Many of her characters are, on the surface, crisp, forthright, almost businesslike, but there's always a soft layer of vulnerability beneath her fine-boned beauty. She's naked even when fully clothed. Christie was born in India in 1941, where her father ran a tea plantation. She went to school in England and Europe, eventually enrolling in the Central School of Music and Drama in London in 1957. As a young professional actress, she did stage work and had a regular role in a British TV series, "A for Andromeda," in the early '60s. In 1963 she appeared in Schlesinger's drab working-class comedy-drama "Billy Liar," and although it wasn't her film debut, she grabbed the attention of movie audiences and critics. The story of a young man, played by Tom Courtenay, who retreats into a fantasy world to escape his unglamorous life, "Billy Liar" is leaden and vaguely smug; we're made to feel beaten down by the monotony of Courtenay's life, so that by the movie's disheartening conclusion, we're well primed for self-congratulation: "You see, we knew nothing would work out right in the end." But Christie, as the vibrant young woman who represents the last shred of real-life hope for Courtenay, brightens the movie whenever she appears. Her character has no depth or resonance, but she's pure light. As the sunny, fearless girl who appears seemingly out of nowhere to tempt Courtenay to freedom and fun -- freedom and fun that he has difficulty allowing himself, at least in real life -- she's like a vision of everything the '60s were, at their best, to become. It's supposed to be tragic that Courtenay can't partake of them, or of her. But when he and Christie part at the movie's end, you barely feel sorry for him. Her smile, dazzling at the age of 22, scotches the final effect of the movie: We're left thinking, How could the boy be such a schmuck to let her go? Christie was flying high by 1965, appearing in two major films: Schlesinger's "Darling" (for which she would win an Academy Award) and David Lean's "Doctor Zhivago," in which she played Lara, the tragic heroine. But "tragic heroine" isn't quite the right phrase for what Christie does in that picture. The term implies histrionics, or at least some sort of submerged melodrama. Christie carries the core of the movie's sorrow -- and that means the sorrow of revolutionary Russia, as well as her own -- not just in her hopelessly blue eyes, but in the set of her jaw. She's stalwart, brave, reliable beyond compare, and still, she suffers. What Christie doesn't do is turn the performance into an exercise in masochism. Before she even played one, she proved she had the heart and soul of a Thomas Hardy heroine -- a woman who was made to bear sadness but retain her inner dignity at all costs. But before Christie would tackle Hardy, she put an entirely different sort of woman on the screen: shallow, clever, earth-quakingly gorgeous and determined to be a star regardless of the emotional cost to herself and those around her. In "Darling" Christie played Diana Scott, a fashion model who hooks up with a brainy TV journalist (Dirk Bogarde) only to end up ditching him for a cold, dashing figure who can introduce her to more of the "right" people (Laurence Harvey). The story is supposed to be a morality tale, a snapshot of swinging '60s greed and corruption, but Schlesinger layers on so much heavy-handed irony that it's really more of a cartoon. I'm not sure what the movie looked like to audiences in 1965, but in 2001, it's all too easy to watch it and decree with a shiver that, yes, those '60s people were all too dreadful. There's something more than vaguely distasteful about the way "Darling" cooingly reassures us it's better to be conventional, "normal," because you're more likely to end up a moral human being that way. It's numbingly facile -- no deeper than an air kiss. The thing that's amazing about "Darling" is the way Christie takes a chalky caricature and turns her into a human being. She unintentionally undermines the movie: While you're supposed to be tsk-tsking over her behavior, you see that the same gears that drive her manipulativeness also throw off blazingly intelligent sparks. Christie swaddles Diana's matchstick frailty in heartlessness, but she knows it's a transparent cloak. As Pete Townshend sang not long after, in a song that had nothing to do with Christie but everything to do with the hypocrisy that "Darling" tried so hard to expose, "I can see right through your plastic mac." In "Darling," Christie, the most honest of actresses, doesn't even bother to do up the buttons. When "Darling" became a hit, both in the U.K. and stateside, Christie, even more so than most movie stars, began to represent more than just the parts she chose and the way she played them. She represented the spirit and style of her era, but not in a way that was forgotten in a month or two. Even today, Christie still stands as the actress of the '60s, the way Clara Bow was the "It" girl of the '20s. It had not only to do with her talent, nor even with the fact that she was English. (To be English in the '60s was coolness itself.) She seemed to speak a language of her own, a language her contemporaries instantly understood, in the way she carried herself and the way she dressed. "What Julie Christie wears has more real impact on fashion than all the clothes of the ten Best-Dressed women combined," Time magazine decreed in 1967, and for once, Time was right. Captured in fashion photos from the era, Christie paints even the most ridiculous clothes with dignity. In pictures from the late '60s, she's the model of droopy elegance in haute-hippie garb. Just a few years earlier, in a mid-'60s fashion shot by David Bailey, we'd seen her looking serious and gorgeous in a dress of shimmery paillettes, their silliness offsetting her sun-kissed gravity. From the mid-'60s to the mid-'70s, Christie was a major presence in popular movies. In 1967 she played that Hardy heroine for real in Schlesinger's "Far From the Madding Crowd," a picture that captured the bleak beauty of Hardy perfectly. As Bathsheba Everdene, a plucky, self-sufficient landowner who becomes enmeshed in the love of three different men, Christie again balances that graciously composed façade with an innocence that's buried deep; she shows a kind of cautious openness to the world around her. What makes her Bathsheba so moving is that no matter how many trials she faces, she never seems to be on the verge of cracking. Instead, she lets you see, with little more than the flicker of an eyelid or a reserved smile, how painful it is to persevere, and to bend. An extraordinary cast joined Christie, including Terence Stamp and Alan Bates, but the movie was rejected by the same audiences that loved the supposedly with-it quality of "Darling." "Far From the Madding Crowd" is a picture that has never quite received its due; it ranks among Schlesinger's best work, as well as Christie's. Christie racked up an astonishing number of movie credits through the late '70s, among them François Truffaut's "Fahrenheit 451" (1966), Richard Lester's "Petulia" (1968), Nicolas Roeg's "Don't Look Now" (1973) and Warren Beatty and Buck Henry's "Heaven Can Wait" (1978). She has worked fairly steadily since then, although she hasn't always been in the spotlight. Notoriously guarded about her private life, she's the kind of actress who resurfaces now and then in a terrific performance, and you ask yourself where on earth she's been. In 1997 she appeared opposite Nick Nolte in Alan Rudolph's "Afterglow," for which she earned an Academy Award nomination. In 1996, she played an aging but still incontrovertibly sensual Gertrude in Branagh's "Hamlet"; it was one of the most remarkable performances of her career. But my two favorite Christie performances, four years apart, seem like spiritual counterparts to each other. They also, as it happens, feature the same costar, Warren Beatty, with whom Christie was romantically involved in the early '70s. It seemed that once Beatty and Christie -- who reteamed for a third time in 1978's "Heaven Can Wait" -- locked in to each other's natural rhythms, as lovers do, there was no turning back. They're one of the most natural, effortless movie pairings ever. In both Altman's "McCabe & Mrs. Miller" and Hal Ashby's 1975 "Shampoo," Christie is the tougher one, the woman who faces up to everything that her male partner just can't. In "McCabe," she's Constance Miller, a brothel madam who sweeps into Presbyterian Church, the frontier town run by John McCabe (Beatty), ready to get down to business. There's something lustful, but not sensual, about the way she sits down at the town cafe and orders up "four eggs fried, stew and strong tea." It's the equivalent of a Wild West power lunch. She eats it like a man or, more specifically, like a convict, shoveling the chow into her gob with one hand as she hunches protectively over the plate. McCabe watches, enchanted and a little abashed. He has fallen in love. On the other hand, the only time Mrs. Miller succumbs to sensuality is when she sets herself adrift on opium: Her eyes soften, and their gaze reaches out as if to embrace an imaginary lover. She's much less yielding with the shambling, stuttering, heartbreakingly decent McCabe, who becomes her lover. He pays for the privilege, of course. She wouldn't have it any other way. Mrs. Miller wears the pants in this tale, and disguised as a sweeping skirt, they're that much more threatening. Her jaw line -- that superb jaw line -- is like a ship's anchor; her hair is aquiver with tiny ringlets, as if hooked up to their own private energy source. She's the kind of woman even a tough man would steer clear of, which is what makes her moments of tenderness with McCabe so lovely. At one point McCabe comes to her quarters, distraught and trying to hide it, muttering something about how he's never been so close to a woman before. You can practically see Mrs. Miller's own guarded vulnerability welling up inside her, and she's less able to bear that than she is McCabe's weakness. Her eyes soften just barely as she cajoles him into bed: "Hey -- why don't you just get under the covers, huh?" Mrs. Miller knows McCabe better than he knows himself, but she knows herself best of all. That's why the film's final image is so haunting, and so troubling: After McCabe's death, we see Miller propped up and floating into an opium dream, a slight smile playing across her lips. She doesn't know he's dead, but their separation is final nonetheless. He's gone, and he's taken her with him, figuratively speaking; she's never coming back. It's as if her heart, brittle by nature, has broken into two clean pieces, cracked at the hinge like a busted locket. She's as surprised as anybody that it could have happened. Christie's character in "Shampoo," high-class gold digger Jackie, is in many ways softer than Mrs. Miller. Mrs. Miller has worked so hard at cultivating a tough shell that she's forgotten how to be tender; Jackie yearns to be soft toward the man she loves, Beatty's philandering hairdresser George, her ex-boyfriend, but her sense of self-preservation demands that she harden herself toward him. Christie's performance in "Shampoo" is one of the most mournfully luminous things ever put on film. Her vulnerability courses through the movie like a barely audible heartbeat, even when, or especially when, she's trying to treat George indifferently. Her beauty is so cool in "Shampoo" -- her hair is a subtle ash blond sweep (no garish Tiffany-gold tresses for her), and there are times when her lips curl into a crocodile smile that's almost predatory. But when she and George fall into a discussion of his restless habits, and he tells her bluntly, "I don't fuck anybody for money, I do it for fun," you have to watch Christie's face carefully for the crestfallen look that flickers across it. Suddenly, it's gone, replaced by her usual crisp composure. Christie is the sort of actress who reveals more of herself in what she hides than she does in any broad gesture or expression. In one of her most remarkable moments in "Shampoo," we don't even see her face. But we can read it even so. She and George, inching toward a reconciliation, find themselves alone in a darkened bathhouse at a swinging party. He has confessed to her, in words that we desperately want to believe, that she's the only one he loves, that he can't imagine growing old with anyone else. We see her drinking the words in cautiously, as if she doesn't dare let herself believe them. Not long after, just as she and George have begun making love, his current girlfriend walks in on them. George leaps up to run after her, leaving Jackie behind in the dark. She isn't, of course, in total darkness. She sits up, and we see her from behind, a naked back that's less like a body part than a lithe sliver of light. But it's a piece of light we can read like a book, a sensual curve in the darkness. With her back to the world, Christie betrays a wealth of feeling that we perhaps couldn't bear to look at in her face. The curve of her spine speaks of resignation, and one last, major disappointment in love. You could call it artful composition on the cameraman's part, and without a doubt that contributes to the effect. But Christie, like all great actors, understands the truth that bodies tell. There's inexplicable sadness in the curve of her back, and flexibility, too. But for that moment, she's simply the woman who's been left behind. Her back is a rune that spells goodbye.

Salon 2001, STEPHANIE ZACHAREK

She was my first big actor crush. Oh what a beauty. To this day! Enchantingly beautiful and wistful and like light itself.