Page 95 of When Stars Collide
Esther turned to Phineas, face pleading with him to accompany her through the assembly line of questioning she was up against. In turn, he peered back at me as if asking for my permission. I flicked my wrist, mouthing, “Go ahead,” to him as I stayed behind, trying not to draw attention to myself. I watched him whisper into Esther’s ear, most likely giving her advice. He stayed a couple steps to her left while she answered the reporter’s questions, occasionally looking to him for his approval, which he provided with a nod. As always, he was a true professional.
“Poor Preston is being swallowed alive out there,” a voice I’d heard in film dozens of times said behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see none other than the exotic Kira Capucci heading in the direction of the line of reporters. Right toward me. She was flanked by two burly men—bodyguards, I guessed. “I’d be offended by all the attention he’s getting out there, except it’s cold and there’s booze in here.”
“Seriously?” I asked without thinking. “I knew there would be some form of alcohol served here. Phineas was really holding out on me.”
Kira Capucci eyed me up and down, a sly smile overspreading her face. “A woman after my own heart.” She held out her hand, “Nice to meet you …”
“Mena,” I answered, shaking her hand.
“Mena, it’s always a pleasure to meet someone who can both hold her liquor and appreciates Deidre’s as much as I do.”
“How could you possibly know where my dress came from by just looking at it?”
“Please,” she scoffed as though every woman was born with this superpower. “The cut, the style,” she leaned in closer to me, inhaling deeply, “the smell. I practically live at Deidre’s when I’m in town. I’m sure they probably mentioned that to you while you were there. It’s kind of their thing, or so I’m told.”
“Your name may have been thrown around a time or two.”
“Shocker.” She smirked. “This your first time?”
“Huh?”
“All this.” She gestured all around us. “This is your first premiere, isn’t it?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You just seem a little out of sorts, is all. Kind of like me at my first premiere. That night, I discovered that champagne works wonders for anxiety.”
“Kira, I sense the beginning of a beautiful friendship between us.”
“Speaking of beautiful, I see you’re here with Phineas Drake.”
“You know Phineas? I mean, of course you do. He’s part of the reason we’re even here right now.”
“Are you kidding me? I knew who he was before I signed on for this movie. Everyone who wants to make a name for themselves in the publishing world has heard of Phineas Drake. I’m working on my memoir, and my agent told me he’s the guy. She just neglected to tell me how handsome he is.” She eyed Phineas in much the same way I used to eye the food trucks thatoccasionally visited us on campus at Cogsworth—hungry and eager. “Are you two an item?”
“We’re colleagues,” I answered, shaking my head. “Only colleagues and nothing more.”
“Shame … for you, anyway.” With the way she looked at him, I felt like my very presence was intruding on something.
“Kira,” a reporter called, waving for her to make her way over.
“I suppose it’s time to get this over with.” Kira sighed. “It was lovely to meet you, Mena.”
“Likewise.”
I looked around the immense theater filled withSoldiers of Atlantisparaphernalia. The hype for this movie was incredible. If Esther were to write a sequel, she would probably be set for life, but based upon the abject terror on her face this evening, she may just give up writing future blockbusters altogether. A troupe of actors outfitted to resemble the aquatic warriors in the film, complete with gills behind their ears, marched in unison, much to the delight of spectators. With the countdown to showtime steadily drawing nearer, people were beginning to file inside, including the supporting actors from the film and a few select fans. Amused by the fanfare, I watched the troupe, who, without warning, suddenly did an about-face, heading straight toward me. Startled, I backed up, crashing into the person standing behind me.
“Excuse me,” I began, looking up into the eyes of Preston Paul. Of all the people I could have taken out, of course it would have been the star of the film.
“Quite all right,” he said, catching me. His British accent was much heavier in person than it was onscreen, probably by design. “I had a woman faint at my feet this evening, others tugged at my hair, one managed to pilfer a cufflink, but none of them outright tried to tackle me.”
“It was either take you out or get trampled by a school of grown men in fish makeup. I think I made the right choice.”
“Indeed, you did, Miss …”
“Mena.” Phineas called my name. I turned around to find him standing behind me, looking from me to Preston and to Preston’s arm—still firmly around my waist from when he caught me—and then back at me again.
“Ah, Phineas,” Preston greeted him, “are you familiar with this young lady who accosted me?”
