Catch a Falling Star

by Jessica Starre

  “Car wouldn’t start?” That had happened before.

  “Dakota this time. She ate something that disagreed with her.”

  “Sounds messy.”

  “It was fairly disgusting.”

  “I called because I know you’ve been working on your event-planning business. I’m wondering if you would be available to help me with something?”

  Yes yes yes. Anything you want. She reined herself in. “I’d be glad to discuss how Once in a Lifetime could help arrange an event,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “It would be something for the spring,” he said.

  “That’s good. We usually need at least four to six months lead time to plan anything really big,” she said. “Locations get booked way in advance and so do the best caterers and such. What did you have in mind?”

  “It will probably be something fairly small. And probably at my house, so location is not a problem. Maybe we could discuss the details over coffee?”

  “I’d love to!” she said, and then realized she was acting like he had just asked her out on a date, which he had not. “I could do something first thing tomorrow.” Great, now she sounded desperate and overeager. “Or Thursday may be better.”

  “Sure, Thursday is fine.”

  “Let’s see … Paradise Diner is on my way to work and I don’t think it’s too far from your place. We could meet there.”

  “Paradise Diner?”

  Of course he had never heard of the place; it was so far beneath his radar he could be standing right in front of it and never see it.

  “They have great coffee. Or you suggest a place.” He’d say The Intercontinental and then she’d have to eat crackers for lunch for a week because coffee would have to be on her. He was the client and the client never paid for the coffee. Geez, the things they didn’t warn you about in all those books on starting your own business.

  “Paradise Diner is fine,” he said, and sounded amused, just like a fat-cat capitalist would. She supposed he was accustomed to people coming to him but she found it hard to concentrate in the middle of all that opulence he called home. “Eight?”

  She hoped coffee wouldn’t run on too long or she’d be late for work again and she couldn’t count on Mrs. Curtin not noticing twice in one week. “Eight’s fine.”

  “Then it’s a date.” A pause. “Well, a business date.”

  “Either way,” Brianna said, and then turned bright red and hung up the phone.

  • • •

  Either way. Matthias hung up the phone, feeling cheerful. Halfway through the conversation, he’d realized he was an idiot, with no graceful way to escape. He still had no graceful way to escape, but now he didn’t feel so bad about it. The things Donald’s wife drove him to do in self-defense.

  He looked at the Maltese Falcon. Beverly had tried losing it but he’d found it in the trash. He liked the Maltese Falcon. It was the Maltese Falcon’s fault, in a way. Every time he saw it, he thought of Brianna. And so his brain had presented him with the bright idea of calling Brianna to arrange some sort of festivity for him. She needed the business, and he enjoyed being with her. And this empty house needed something to fill it up. Maybe if he started entertaining, the walls wouldn’t echo so much.

  Obviously he hadn’t thought it all the way through because he had no idea what kind of event he wanted planned for spring. He guessed he’d have to figure that out before Thursday.

  Chapter Nine

  Brianna was on time — Dakota hadn’t lost her breakfast, Jasmine hadn’t accidentally peed all over the kitchen floor, the car had started, the stars aligned.

  She pulled open the door to Paradise Diner and was immediately assailed by the odor of stale grease. With a pang, she glanced around the place, at the scuffed wooden floor and the old vinyl seats, and saw it the way Matthias might. That was discouraging. This was her kind of place, a place she felt at home. And that perfectly manicured and elegantly appointed monstrosity on a hill was what felt like home to him.

  He was already seated in a booth so she gave him a little wave and shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on a hook in the entry. She tried to pat down her curls as she went to join him. It wasn’t just that they were accustomed to different surroundings. They were opposites in other ways, too, personal ways. Not just money. Attitude and expectations and personality. When he was upset, he probably did what Natalie did and found that quiet place inside. She bet he’d never thrown anything in his life, no matter how provoked he’d been.

  She slid into the booth, sitting opposite him. At the movie they had sat side by side, which had felt friendly and personal. But this was business. Remember that, she told herself sternly.

  The waitress came over with a pot of coffee and asked Brianna if she wanted breakfast, but she was too nervous to eat. Mr. G gave the waitress his charming smile and said, “Coffee’s all for me, too,” and Brianna realized he’d probably never eaten in a place like this before, and probably never intended to.

  She wrapped her hands gratefully around the warm coffee mug and felt the butterflies flutter. Talking to him over the phone was easier. In person, with the full force of his physical presence, it was hard to think.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

  That made her relax. Mr. G in person had the same mania for small talk as Mr. G over the phone.

  “Fine. And you?”

  Finally they worked their way through the dogs (“No more tummy upset.”), the car (“Started on the first try.”), and the preparations for the gala, which was happening this weekend (“I’ve worn the numbers off my phone but I think it’s all going to come off all right.”)

  Then he said, “I started the Mr. G Collection,” looking at her over the rim of his coffee mug, his dark eyes warm with pleasure.

  She let that look wash over her. Her pulse accelerated and she tried to remember to breathe.

  “Oh?” she said. “And what piece did you acquire?”

  “The Maltese Falcon,” he said, and grinned.

  That made her laugh. She’d sent the link as a joke and hadn’t expected him to actually buy the statuette. “Really?” That was so not like him. Or at least not like what she thought he was like. It intrigued her. Maybe he wasn’t quite so … so Mr. G, a screen idol she could only worship from afar. Maybe there was a Matthias in there who would like to get to know her — not just the facts he was well-acquainted with, Dakota’s antics, the Ford’s unreliability, but her, the girl who had wanted a skateboard for Christmas the year she turned thirteen, who was afraid of heights, who had trouble believing people weren’t going to abandon her when things got hard.

  “The Maltese Falcon,” she said. “Excellent choice.”

  • • •

  Matthias felt the warmth of her smile all the way to the pit of his stomach. He’d always enjoyed talking with her on the phone, and he would like to think of her as a friend, though he wasn’t sure she felt the same way. But just now he felt her physical impact, a tall, solid woman with a strong sense of self, one of a kind. You would never mistake her for one of Marigold’s interchangeable Barbies.

  She reached into her bag for a folder and he watched her hands, plain, unadorned, short nails, no polish, no weekly manicure appointment in her daily planner. Practical.

  Her green eyes sparkled as she looked up from the folder. “You still owe me for that movie,” she teased. He looked into her eyes for a long timeless moment, happy and at home.

  “It’ll be my treat next time,” he said, and that lay there for a moment between them, an invitation that was not an invitation; it could be accepted or ignored and she wouldn’t have to feel he was hitting on her if she didn’t want that.

  “Hmm,” she said, whatever that meant. A sharp pang of disappointment cut at him. Maybe he needed to be more direct, say what he really wanted. I’d like to see you. Which he would. But try as he might, he just couldn’t imagine Brianna in the kitchen with him, wooden spoon in hand. So maybe i
t was better this way.

  She smiled brightly at him, clicked her ballpoint pen, and said, “Tell me about this event you want planned.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I don’t know if he knows what he wants,” Brianna said, poking the last of the hair pins into her up-do. There, that was fine. She had on the same black dress she always wore to the gala. She was in charge of the arrangements, not a guest, so she never wore an evening gown. But she looked nice. Her crazy hair was tamed for once and looked sleek and sexy. The dress was a timeless classic, one she’d gotten from a consignment shop. She would never have been able to afford it new.

  With a pang she remembered the cocktail gown she’d seen in the window of Timeless when she and Natalie had gone shopping for Natalie’s dress. A beautiful emerald green satin with a daring neckline and a handkerchief hem that would show off Brianna’s legs. She’d stopped, transfixed, and Natalie had gasped and said, “That would be so perfect on you!” But Brianna didn’t need a green satin cocktail dress. She had this great little black dress, the kind every woman needed.

  But she would have liked to see Matthias’s reaction if she —

  She stopped. When had she started thinking of him as Matthias? That was a road she couldn’t afford to go down, no matter what she though she saw in his eyes.

  “In fact,” she said, pirouetting to make sure everything looked okay in the mirror, “I know Mr. G doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t even know why he’s throwing a party. I suspect someone talked him in to it.”

  She turned to look at Natalie, who was still in her underclothes. One of Brianna’s old high school friends had stopped by to do her hair, which was arranged partly upswept and partly curling over her shoulders. She looked delicious. She also looked visibly nervous.

  “You’re not paying any attention to me, are you?” Brianna said.

  Natalie gave her a shaky smile. “What if I do something stupid?” she said. “Like spill champagne on my dress or dump hors d’oeuvres all over someone?”

  “As long as you don’t dump them on Mrs. Curtin, it’ll be fine,” Brianna said and turned back to the mirror to slick on one last coat of mascara.

  “What if I forget how to dance?”

  “You know, even if it’s a total disaster, the only person you’ll meet there that you ever have to see again is me,” Brianna said. “And whatever you do, I won’t hold it against you, even if it is hors d’oeuvres down the front of my dress.”

  • • •

  “What we really need is a carriage,” Brianna said, getting into the battered old Ford. “Because this is just embarrassing. I usually park at the employees’ lot in the back and go in that way, but guests like you are supposed to go in the front way. Which means everyone will see you arrive in a pumpkin.”

  Natalie was maneuvering her skirts into the car. She didn’t respond until she got the door shut and her seatbelt in place. Then she said, “You worry about the craziest things.”

  “You should see these people, Nat. They have fleets of cars. Their beater cars are brand-new BMWs. They’ve got Jaguars and Bentleys and Rolls Royces and Maseratis and Maybachs.”

  “I’ve never even heard of that. A Maybach.”

  “See? They’re not like you and me, Nat.”

  “Yeah, they have more money,” Natalie said, deadpan. “I’m already nervous, Bree, and you’re not helping any.”

  “It’ll be fine. We’ll descend from the pumpkin, the valet will whisk it away before anyone can see it, and you’ll get to be part of what the glitterati do on Saturday nights.”

  “Oh, Bree, look at that,” Natalie breathed, as Brianna turned into the sweeping drive that led to the front entrance of the museum. At seven-thirty on a November evening, it was already quite dark out, and the electrical subcontractor had worked with the groundskeepers to string lights in the trees, making it look like an enchanted fairyland. Brianna had overseen the work, and she’d seen it all before, but she was glad Natalie was impressed. It took a lot of work to make something look effortless and beautiful.

  “Oops, that light is out in the fountain,” she said, parking the car and hopping out. “I’ll have to go hunt down one of the maintenance people.” She tossed the keys at the valet, glad that they were early enough not to be seen by the crush of people who would be arriving after the official start time of eight P.M. Another valet had already opened Natalie’s door, and she stepped out of the battered car regally, like normally she could be found exiting limos, and Brianna stopped, struck by how beautiful she looked and how much she seemed to belong here.

  Natalie thanked the valet politely but not effusively, exactly how Brianna had seen people like Mr. G do but could never manage herself. Then she smiled at Brianna and said, “Ready?”

  “It’s just a job to me,” Brianna said. They started up the stairs to the front entrance, where Natalie showed her invitation to the doorman, her gesture elegant and regal and the doorman tipped his hat to her. Brianna showed her employee ID card, and they went in together.

  Mrs. Curtain was already in the main gallery, and Brianna introduced Natalie to her, and Mrs. Curtin made a fuss over her, so the old dragon did have a kind bone in her body. Of course, anyone would be happy to see Natalie; she was pretty and poised and sweet and never did anything dumb or embarrassing. And when you knew her history, the way Mrs. Curtin did, you couldn’t help but think how brave and admirable she was. And she looked just right; her dress was a conservatively cut evening gown in a light-blue watered silk that managed to show off her slender figure to its best advantage without having to resort to plunging necklines. Tasteful and attractive.

  Beside her Brianna felt like she was in a wash-and-wear housecoat, which she had never felt before in all the years of coming to the gala and dealing with the details.

  “A light’s out in the fountain,” Brianna said, shoving that aside. “I’m going to track down Henry to get it fixed. Anything else right off the top?”

  “The caterer doesn’t seem to have brought the vegan options,” Mrs. Curtin said.

  “Uh oh,” Brianna said. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Curtin said. Then she turned to Natalie, favoring her with a dazzling smile. “You must come meet some of the board members,” she said, linking her arm with Natalie’s and not giving Brianna a second look.

  • • •

  Arriving at the museum, tenth in a line of vehicles dropping guests off at the front entrance, Matthias felt he should probably have driven the Aston Martin instead of the Lexus today, but as usual he hadn’t spent enough time considering such trifles. On the other hand, none of the valets were going to go joyriding in the Lexus, so there was that plus.

  Finally it was his turn to hand his car over. He got out of the car, straightened his tie, and watched the couples go in ahead of him, the women polished and bright and glittering, the men more subdued in their dark evening clothes. He should have brought a date. He could have asked one of Marigold’s friends. Why hadn’t he? He didn’t particularly like these events. He’d spend the evening waiting impatiently for the time to come when Mrs. Curtin would introduce him as a donor to the silent auction, and say warm things about him, and then he could leave.

  He really should have brought a date. He supposed Brianna would be around, but Brianna would be doing what she always did, harrying the caterer and making sure the musicians didn’t take breaks that lasted too long. It was impossible to get a word in with her when the party was on.

  He showed his invitation and entered, going to the main gallery where the bulk of the festivities would take place. He looked around for Mrs. Curtin so she could know he had arrived, and found her talking to one of the board members, an exquisitely beautiful blonde woman he’d never seen before at her side.

  The blonde turned to look at him and smiled. The smile lit up her whole face. She had blue eyes, big and excited. She was happy to be here. That so intrigued him that he just stopped to look for a minute. Then
Mrs. Curtin spotted him and reached out with her hand to clasp his. She liked rich men in general and big donors in particular.

  “Matthias,” she said, coming in to kiss his cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you! Of course you know Cleveland Cooper, on the board. And this is Natalie Johnson.”

  That was the exquisite blonde who was extending her hand to him. He felt like he should do something like kiss the back of it but he settled for shaking it instead.

  “Natalie, this is — ”

  A large woman wearing a turban distracted Mrs. Curtin from completing the introduction. “Martha!” she cried out and Mrs. Curtin said, “Katrina!” and the two hugged each other in a show of affection Matthias did not realize Mrs. Curtin was capable of feeling. Brianna would tilt her brow and say What makes you think she isn’t faking?

  He turned to Natalie. “Would you like a glass of champagne? There must be a waiter around here somewhere.”

  She beamed at him and said, “I would like that very much,” and made him feel brilliant for having asked. Brianna would have said no and then motored off to tell the waiter he was holding the tray too high.

  He found said waiter, and he was holding the tray too high, but Matthias let this pass unremarked, secured two glasses of champagne and handed Natalie one. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before,” he said.

  “It’s my first.” Her shining eyes were taking in everything.

  “New in town, then?”

  She shook her head and fixed her gaze on him and he felt the wallop clear through to his soul. For a fleeting moment he pictured her in his house, looking exactly like she belonged there.

  “I’ve lived here most of my life,” she told him. Her eyes sparkled at him over the rim of her champagne glass. “This is the first time I’ve been able to finagle an invitation to the gala, though.”

  “It’s a wonderful museum and an excellent cause,” he said, belatedly realizing he sounded like he was reading a brochure. If Brianna had been the one standing there she would have rolled her eyes at him and asked when he’d drunk the Kool-Aid. But Natalie didn’t say anything like that, she just smiled the smile that lit up her whole face and said, “Oh, I agree! They do such good work here.”