Page 32 of When Stars Collide
Phineas hadn’t seemed to hear anything as he reached for his phone. A persistent workaholic, he would just as soon cut off his left testicle than miss responding to an email.
“So,” I began to keep conversation flowing, “Phineas has become quite the local celebrity.”
He scoffed, “I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”
“Don’t be modest. The convention today was a solid success for the firm. You were by far the most popular speaker there. Not to mention, you’ll be hobnobbing with celebrities at the red carpet New York premiere ofSoldiers of Atlantisin a few months.”
“And any success I owe to my very competent and able-bodied staff without whom I wouldn’t be able to function at nearly the same level I have been.” He gestured to me. “Mena’s something of a rising star at the office. She has a real eye for detail and can sniff out talent hidden under stacks upon stacks of rubbish. I predict a long and fruitful career with the firm, especially if we expand like I think we may be able to do next year.”
“Really? So, the expansion is a sure thing, then? Phineas, that’s wonderful.”
“It’s not a done deal yet. We’ll have to see how the next couple of months shake out.”
“This expansion, will it still be in New York?” Peter asked.
“Oh yes, of course. We’re in the middle of the action here. I couldn’t operate anywhere else or with anyone else.” Phineas smiled at me as he held up his glass of water and took a sip.
I sensed a tension in Peter so heavy that it made the air around him thick and hard to breathe.
“Peter, what do you do for a living?”Phineas asked, perhaps sensing the tension, too.
“Ah, well, I can’t say as I lead half the glamorous life as you do here. The only people I’m hobnobbing with are Chuck the set-up guy and Lori in finishing. Although, Chuck was on the local news once for packing away almost sixty hot dogs in ten minutes at our local hot dog eating contest. So, in a way, I get to work with celebrities, too.” Noticing that Phineas looked utterly confused, Peter backtracked. “I’m an assembly line worker at a plastics factory in Roanoke. It’s nothing exciting, but it pays my living expenses for now.”
“Until he goes back to school,” I added.
Peter caught my eye from out of the corner of his. “IfI go back to school,” he corrected me.
“What is it that you want to study?”
“Engineering.”
“I know absolutely nothing about engineering, but I hear it’s a great field to get into. With any luck, you’ll be able to find your way back to college, if that’s what you want to do, of course.”
“Of course. Thank you.” Peter raised his glass at Phineas and took a sip of what I guessed he was wishing was something a little stronger than water.
“Peter’s an excellent father,” I added, placing my hand on his. “He’s devoted to Jackson, a very precocious little boy just like his father.”
“I thought you mentioned he had a son. You’re a single father, then? How very admirable. No wonder you haven’t made it back to school. I’m sure you’re busy enough as it is.”
“Yeah,” Peter answered him, “no wonder.”
The rest of our lunch proceeded in much the same way, with Phineas and me making all the conversation, and Peter piping in a comment or two only when necessary. This change in him—from quick-witted snark to tame-to-the-point-of-being-sedated—made me uneasy. Initially, I tried not to let it bother me, believing that he was just tired from the travel and the whirlwind schedule we usually kept on our weekends together. But it persisted, the near silence, and my discomfort continued to grow throughout the rest of the day.
“You’re a filthy cheater, is what you are,” Jo proclaimed, hitting the buttons on her controller so erratically I wouldn’t have been surprised if she broke it in two.
“It’s not my fault you didn’t use your banana peel wisely,” Peter answered, calmly sliding his go-kart across the checkered finish line.
“See if I save the last hard cider for you again.” Jo tossed the controller down on the floor next to the game console and flopped down on the couch next to me, where I was sketching from memory a cardinal I’d seen sitting in a tree on our walk home. Drawing was something of a stress reliever for me—always had been.
“For the last time,” Peter said, shutting the game down, “I didn’t do you dirty. That’s how the game is played.”
“All I’m going to say is, next time you’d better prepare yourself for a red turtle shell straight up your exhaust pipe,” Jo warned, taking a drink from her bottle of whatever beer had been on sale this week.
Peter took a seat on the cushion next to me. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I don’t need to know the details of your personal life.” Jo leaned over to peer at my notebook. “Wow, Mena’s good at doodling, but I guess I don’t have to tell you that.” She winked at Peter. “Seriously, though, she has that drawing thing down.”
Peter inched closer to me on the couch, placing his arms around my shoulders as he inspected my work.
