Page 2 of Seven Minutes In Heaven
Whatever. Just as well she didn’t know what the man looked like. Claire had enough on her plate trying to remember the people coming up to shake her hand and offer her their sincere – and sometimes not so sincere – congratulations.
She didn’t get a break until the last old shit with a trophy wife winked at Arthur and showed himself out of the party. The blond woman with fake tits following him smacked her gum between her teeth and never said a word to Claire.
“Could get you a pair like those,” Arthur said, leaning in toward his fiancée. “I know the man who did them. Old pal of mine from Stanford.”
“Mine are all natural, Art.”Whatwould Claire do with fake F-cups, anyway? Last she checked, her body didn’t exist to make Art happy. “Don’t tell me you’re the kind of guy who would eschew a decent pair of natural breasts.”
“I won’t know until you let me find out, honey.”
Claire ignored that. “Think it’s time for us to mingle separately, Arthur. Don’t want the press thinking we’re so attached at the hip that we’re fake.” That was the word of the day, wasn’t it?
“You make a good point. My publicist did say something about keeping a good mix of togetherness and separation. It’s a new age of relationship dynamics, or so I’m told.” He took a swig of his champagne. “I’ll always be a bit old-fashioned, I suppose.”
“Good for you,” Claire muttered. “I think I see some of my friends over there. I’m gonna go say hi, so they don’t think my upcoming married life has made me a bitch.”
“I collect horses, not dogs, Claire-Bear!”
She shuddered to hear that name.Gross. God, so gross.
In truth, she didn’t recognize any of the people on the other side of the ballroom. They were either Arthur’s acquaintances or professional party-goers hired specifically to flesh out the guest list. Either way, Claire was under no duress to talk to them, unless they were super intent on making their acquaintance known with her.
They weren’t. Good.
Yet there was one man in attendance who continued to catch her eye. At first, Claire thought she knew him. Why else would she always look back at him again, and he always looked at her as if they should know each other?My God. I would remember someone like him.The guy in question was around Claire’s age, with chestnut brown hair cut close to his scalp and a few facial hairs adding character to his chin and cheeks. The way he carried himself implied he was completely comfortable in the presence of Hollywood elite. Whenever he happened to make eye contact with Claire, she immediately thought that those were the most beautiful brown eyes she had ever seen.
He was the opposite of Arthur’s dull gray eyes and duller, formerly-blond hair. Even this young man’s physique claimed he would age more gracefully than Arthur had.Just my luck. I’m engaged to marry a swine herder when Prince Charming is right here making eyes at me.Wasn’t that how it worked? Claire had spent half her life looking for love. When she finally gave up and decided to marry for money instead, she came across the kind of guy who made her heart race.
And other things race, but she tried not to think about that while at her own engagement party.
It became increasingly difficult, however, when guests continued to ask her – in their own, niggling ways – what the hell she saw in Arthur. Besides his money, of course. Because why would someone young and pretty like Claire marry an aging producer unless it was for money and a career advancement?
God. Everyone knows what a farce this is.Claire had to pretend to be in love with Arthur. She had to put up a front that batted her eyelashes in his direction and left trails of parched kisses all over his grizzly, wrinkly cheek. When it came to men of a certain age, Claire’s opinion on making love to them waswhen I’m that age as well.Preferably, after she had grown old with them.
Claire took a break from the façade when she went to claim a soda from the open bar. There, she encountered the young, mysterious guest who had caught her eye more than once as she made the rounds at her party.
“Oh,” she said, as they reached for a napkin at the same time. “Excuse me.”
She politely looked away and let him have a napkin first. The man hesitated before snatching one of the crimson-colored pieces of paper and saying, “No. Excuse me. I should be deferring to the woman of honor at her engagement party.”
Claire blushed. The napkin wrapped around a small handful of mixed nuts. The man did not get a drink. “I’m afraid we’ve never met before. I’m Claire Finn. Do you know Arthur?”
They shook hands. The man had such a firm grip that Claire delightfully allowed her hand to stay within his grasp. “You could say I know him. He’s the reason I’m here.”
Claire laughed. “Of course! Do you work with him?”
The man cocked his head. A mischievous grin crossed his youthful face.He can’t be that much older than me, though.He was definitely an adult. Young, but solidly in his twenties. His suit screamed work more than fun, and that kind of handshake only came from experience working with men who expected a certain attitude before agreeing to a meeting. Hollywood may have had its own rules in many ways, but that wasn’t one of them.
Still… how could he be so effortlessly boyish, yet mature enough to know to say, “Arthur and I go way back. He helped me get my start in the industry.”
“Oh! So, are you a producer too?”
“Working on it. I mostly work on indie films. Guess you could say I work in that branch of the company. You wouldn’t have heard of me, though.”
“You sure? I love indie films.” God knew Claire had auditioned for half the ones filming in California. Even got parts in a couple of them! Not that those films went anywhere… and one of them included her taking off her top before the villain gassed her to death…
“I’m sure.”
“I still didn’t catch your name.” Claire accepted her Coke from the bartender with a smile. “If you’re a guest at my party, I should know your name.”
