“I am chubby,” insists Everett, in his breathy, blue-blooded drawl. Well, none of us are as thin as we once were, I intercede, and you were probably too skinny back then. Everett gives me a magnificent how-very-dare-you look. “No, I wasn’t. I was wonderful-looking at one point. I had muscles. Everything.” He’s talking about his golden era in the movies, when he was big box office. “It was quite short-lived. I call it my Hollywood year.” He chuckles. Everett’s got a wonderful chuckle. A barely audible hum.