interview with destiny

Interview

with

Destiny

By Jon Broeke

R O M A N C E

Brotherhood Books

Published in South Africa by Brotherhood Books in 2014

Copyright © Jon Broeke 2014

All characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any real person,

living or dead, is merely coincidental

All rights reserved

ASIN: B00Q05Z63K

SAMPLE

For the whole book find

it at

www.amazon.com

Jon Broeke Interview with Destiny

1

CHAPTER 1

Kevin Brandt stood in the elevator taking him up to the 17th floor of

the hotel in the middle of London. He was listening to the song

playing in the background, something by Bonnie Tyler that he thought

he recognised from years ago, as he looked at himself in the reflective

metal of the elevator doors.

He looked at the light, golden-brown, suede sport jacket with

patches on the elbows he was wearing. It was one of his favourite

jackets, though it was completely impractical in the London weather,

so he only wore it if he was reasonably sure there was no chance of

rain. He looked at his hair. It was cut close to the top of his head, only

about an inch long, and stood up straight. It reminded him of a

military haircut, even though he’d never been in the military. It wasn’t

the desired look he’d been going for, but just the way his hair fell

when cut this way. It was easy to manage, so he didn’t mind too

much. He looked at the brown leather strap of his rucksack travelling

diagonally across his chest as the bag itself hung on his right hip. It

made him feel like Indiana Jones, though he would never admit that to

anyone out loud. He looked himself in the eyes through the thin

glasses he’d had to wear since he was twelve. The rims were just wide

enough to cover his eyeballs, and electric blue, the only thing that

gave away the true youth of his actual age, something most didn’t

realise. He was 29, but most thought he was in his thirties already. He


2

didn’t mind, it made them take him more seriously. He peered down

at the washed out blue jeans and the beige boots he was wearing. He

wasn’t one to normally follow fashion trends, and, truth be told, his

mother had bought him the jeans, but he liked them none the less. The

red button up shirt finished his entire ensemble, and he had to smile at

himself in the mirrored metal. He thought he looked good, albeit as

good as he could look, but it didn’t make any difference anyway. He

wasn’t there to impress anyone, only to do his job.

The film hadn’t been bad. Your common, bunch of young

people on a spaceship trying to survive the end of the world faire, but

good enough. The effects had been believable, the acting passable and

the story… Okay, the story had been really bad, but it wasn’t the

worst thing he’d seen this year, or this week for that matter. The thing

that had stood out for him was the performance of the girl in the lead.

A young actress named Celeste Hargrove. Pretty, blonde, British, but

playing an American in this film. Kevin had seen her in a couple of

films before, but always in bit parts or supporting roles. She’d been

pretty good in an adaption of The Hound of the Baskervilles, though

he couldn’t remember for the life of him which role she’d played. The

film itself hadn’t been a very good adaption.

It was with this thought going through his brain, trying to

remember the name of the sister of the guy with the dog, that the

doors opened revealing the upper level of the hotel.


3

Kevin stepped out the elevator and turned left before starting

to walk down the hall. This wasn’t the first time he’d been to this

particular hotel for this particular reason. He reached the door with

‘KENNEDY SUITE’ printed on the front in a few moments, still deep

in thought. The door was open, as he expected it to be, and there were

three other people inside that could only have been reporters as well.

Entertainment journalists, as Kevin had come to know, had a

certain way about them. Either they were struggling screen writers,

doing this until their big break, thrilled with the chance to break down

other peoples work because their own wasn’t up to scratch, or, like

him, seasoned journalists, taking this job as seriously as Christine

Amanpour interviewing Nelson Mandela, or Wolf Blitzer talking to

Barak Obama. People laughed at them for being so serious about their

work, but it was an interview, whether it was with the Dalai Lama, or

with Brad Pitt, it was still journalism. He recognised this sort

immediately, since there were so few of them in the industry. The

three inside the suite, though, were not ones he recognised. There was

a woman in a black outfit that made her look like a creature of the

night, with the emo make up to add to the effect. An old man that

looked like he may fall over of a heart attack long before getting

inside the interview rooms to talk to the cast, and a young guy who

was wearing shorts, slops and a t-shirt with a poster from a cult classic

film on the front. He was the one that Kevin scolded with his eyes the

most. Kevin felt that he belonged to a group that gave online


4

journalists a bad name. The kind of guy living in his parent’s

basement, blogging, a word Kevin despised, and calling it journalism.

He cast this man a glaring look before taking his place as far from him

as possible in front of the free coffee that was almost always offered at

these events. He also went back to thinking about the elusive name of

the elusive character from that damned film.

“Miss Stapleton,” Kevin said out loud as he took one of the

coffee mugs, which are always stored upside down, and turned it the

right way up. He’d meant to say the name in his head, or at least under

his breath, but the silence in the room had carried his voice until it was

bouncing off the walls like echoes in an airy canyon. He quickly

looked up and found every person in the room looking at him. The

three journalists, though he was loathed to call them that, a fourth

journalist, who had just stepped through the bright, white-painted door

where the star they were to interview was waiting, the agent, a very

thin, very tanned woman with very dark hair that stuck up like bird

feathers, who was leading the journalist through the white door, and

the very pretty, even more pretty in real life, blonde actress, who he

had spent the better part of three minutes thinking about.

Every face was frowning at him, not in on the thought that had

been racing around his mind, every face, except the one under the

perfectly quaffed blonde hair. She was looking at him like she knew

exactly what he’d been thinking, and exactly what he’d meant by


5

saying it, as if she’d been the one running through his head, leading to

the name all along.

She smiled softly, knowingly, as the other faces turned from

Kevin. He felt blood rush to his cheeks as he looked at her. She

continued to look at him for a further thirty seconds, thirty seconds

longer than she needed to, before she turned to the journalist that was

leaving and graciously shook her hand. She cast Kevin one more look

before turning back into the room, followed closely by the agent, who

was so busy ushering in another journalist that she’d forgotten that

Kevin was even there.

Kevin turned back to the table, the blood still in his cheeks, as

he tried to will it down, putting a teaspoon of coffee, and the contents

of two packets of sweetener, in the mug.

The journalist, who Kevin recognised as Stacey Sharpe, who

had exited with the actress, moved over to him.

“Hey Kevin,” Stacey said.

“Hi Stacey,” Kevin replied, pouring hot water into the mug.

He’d known Stacey Sharpe for three years, since she’d taken over for

him at the Guardian. Her red hair and freckles hid a sharp wit and a

willingness to do the dirty work, but he liked her anyway. She,

however, was not an entertainment journalist. She was a hard hitting

journalist who slummed, as she put it, in the entertainment field when

there was no one to take her place. Kevin guessed she must have been

slumming today.


6

“Miss who?” Stacey asked as she stood next to him. The

embarrassment had passed, so Kevin looked up at Stacey.

“Stapleton,” he repeated. “I was trying to remember the

character she played in The Hound of the Baskervilles. Miss

Stapleton.”

Stacey nodded. Kevin could tell that she hadn’t seen it.

“She was rather good,” Kevin said, not needing Stacey to lie

to him for any reason. Stacey nodded again.

“Better than this drivel?” she asked.

Kevin shrugged. “I didn’t think it was that bad.” Stacey

looked at him like he was completely mental.

“Really?” she asked, but didn’t wait for his reply. “A bunch of

hormone filled teens on a spaceship, how they got there is anyone’s

guess.” It was explained in the film, but Kevin knew telling Stacey

that would be pointless. “Doing ridiculously teen things, until, oh yes,

an alien crashes the party. Not that bad?”

Again Kevin shrugged again, taking a sip of the coffee and

very nearly burning his tongue on it. “It’s not Shakespeare,” he

admitted. “But it is fun. And the effects are good.”

“The effects in Transformers are good,” Stacey commented.

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good film.”

Kevin knew arguing with her was pointless, and would simply

get him riled up, so he just nodded and moved over to a series of

dining room chairs standing by the wall before taking a seat. He


7

wasn’t sure where Stacey went from there, but when he looked up

again she had left. He was sure she’d gone off to do her work. Maybe

he’d upset her, been rude or something, but he didn’t particularly care.

He saw her once every three months or so when she did these things,

so her hurt feelings were really not his concern.

Ten minutes past before the next person, the blogger, Kevin

thought it as he would a swear word, went in to talk to the actress.

Kevin watched him enter the room and the door close again behind

him before he stood and put the now empty mug back on the table. He

didn’t want any more coffee, but he did help himself to one of the

Danishes before returning to the chair.

He looked around the room he was sitting in. It was normal

for the foyer for one of these suites, or at least the way the studio

changed them to look for press junkets. The chair he was sitting in

was matched by ten others, all red velvet to match nothing in the

room. The carpet was beige, like the colour of a golden Labrador. It

made him think of the poor dog’s fur lining the hotel room. He was

sitting in a room off a corridor that led to the door he’d entered

through. There were other doors in the corridor, leading to other

rooms, he surmised, but they were closed and out of bounds for his

purposes. The only rooms he cared about was the one he was sitting,

with the coffee and eats in it, and the room the actress he was going to

be interviewing soon, was sitting in.


8

He looked at the emo journalist, leaning against the wall, her

nose glued to her phone. Kevin errantly wondered who she wrote for.

Probably a website, or a blog, he shuddered as he thought the word

again. There was nothing wrong with writing for a website, he wrote

for one himself, Moviejibe.co.uk, but there was something immoral

about a blog. It was too easy, too un-clean, not real journalism. He’d

studied, gone to Brown for heaven’s sake, studying journalism. He’d

chosen to become an entertainment journalist, chosen this profession.

What qualifications did they have? An online study guide maybe? Or

just an errant thought that it would be fun to ridicule the hard work of

people who’ve had more success in their lives then they had had up to

that point. Whatever their reasons, it really bugged him

He turned away from the emo girl, licked the syrupy

substance from his fingers, and dug in his bag. His recorder was in the

bag, along with a notepad that he’d jotted down a few questions on.

He checked the battery in the recorder, knowing he had extras in the

bag if he needed, but they were fine. He opened the note pad and

looked at the questions. They were really run of the mill. Tell me

about your character. What was the best part of shooting the film?

What was your favourite scene?

There were a couple of more intimate questions, specifically

about the plot, the training and the effects, but nothing that was going

to win him a Pulitzer. He was okay with that. He liked his job. He

liked interviewing actors and actresses and directors and writers. He


9

liked meeting them and going to premieres, and press junkets. He was

respected in his field, and that was all that mattered to him. Of course

the fact that he’d been poached to work at Moviejibe because of his

skills and was paid a pretty good salary didn’t hurt either.

The door opened again and the ‘shorts and t-shirt’ exited the

room. He looked happy enough. Kevin thought he’d probably asked

his inane questions and was now going to blog about how lovely the

actress was, and how cool he was for having met her.

Kevin shuddered again as the emo journalist walked into the

room. He stood and moved towards the door, looking through the gap

as it was closing, catching a glimpse of the actress. She was sitting in

a chair on the far side of the room, very similar to the one he’d been

sitting on in the waiting area, but better, looking towards the door, and

the emo journalist, but she caught sight of Kevin. She flashed him a

smile as the agent closed the door the rest of the way.

Kevin had to swallow, the smile having affected him far more

than he would have thought. He shook it out of his head quickly

though.

A pretty girl smiling at you will cause your heart to flutter, he

thought. Nothing to get excited about. Slowly his heart beat returned

to normal and he leaned up against the wall.

Get a grip, he thought to himself, and settled in to wait for his

turn to walk through the door.

*


10

A further ten minutes passed before the door opened again and the

emo girl exited the room. She wasn’t smiling, but Kevin wasn’t

entirely sure she knew how to, or if her make up would crack if she

did. She was followed closely by the agent who moved towards Kevin

in that brisk sort of way that only a harassed agent can move.

“Kevin Brandt?” she asked, her voice with a thick American

accent. Kevin nodded as the American moved out of the way and

indicated for him to enter the room. Part of him was annoyed. He’d

met this particular agent, though her name escaped him, several times

over the course of his career, and she should have known him by now,

but the annoyance was short lived. He was there for a purpose and

being distracted by a strange little American woman, who couldn’t

remember his name, was not something he needed.

He moved past her and entered the room. The blonde actress

was still sitting in the chair where he’d seen her ten minutes earlier. If

she was tired from all the interviews she’d been doing that day it

hardly showed. She stood as he approached her and gave him a great

smile as she extended her hand to him.

“Kevin Brandt,” he said as he took the hand. The smile stayed

on her face, as if it was meant for him and only him, not a necessary

placation for a journalist interviewing her, which is what he was sure

it actually was. He found himself a little besotted by the lovely girl

and her radiant smile. Her hair glinted, golden in the light in the room

and fell over her shoulders. She lifted a hand and pushed it off her


11

face revealing the second of two sparkling blue eyes that seems to

radiate intelligence and wit. Her lips where a light pink with some

kind of gloss Kevin was sure she’d applied before he entered the

room, but besides that her face was make up free. He looked closely at

her and marvelled at how this 20 something year old actress was

confident enough to appear before a barrage of press with nothing but

her wits and lip gloss. The outfit she was wearing was understated

also, not relying on it to make her look better, just a beige satin button

shirt and a matching pair of slacks. A pair of beige high heel pumps

ending off the ensemble. He felt the besotting feeling growing, but

forced it down, knowing better. He sat in a more luxurious version of

the red velvet chair he’d been sitting on outside, opposite one of the

same which the actress sat in.

“Nice to meet you Kevin,” she said, her voice lilting softly in

the acoustics of the room.

“And you,” he replied as he pulled the recorder from the

pocket he’d placed it in. He turned it on and placed it on his knee

before looking closely at the young actress. She seemed completely at

ease, like she was talking to a long lost friend, or even one she’s seen

as recently as yesterday. She flashed him another smile, which he

professionally returned.

“Miss Hargrove,” he started. Her smile grew.

“Please,” she cut him off. “Call me Celeste.” Her tone was

friendly and soothing, and he found himself smiling at her again.


12

“Sorry,” he found himself saying, almost automatically.

“Celeste, you play a teen space traveller in the film, what was the

thing that drew you to the role?”

Celeste didn’t hesitate for a second. Answering every single

question he had for her with ease and confidence. Kevin found

himself sitting in awe of the incredibly beautiful young woman,

watching her eyes light up as she spoke about using the guns and

riding this futuristic looking space horse-thing in a scene that he’d

found especially ridiculous, but when she spoke about it, it seemed

completely amazing. He watched as her brow furrowed in thought as

he asked about the emotional core of the character, and about the

connections she had to her parents, and her foster parents, all of whom

had been space travellers in the film. It was obvious from her

expression that no one else had delved into this depth of the character,

instead comfortable to deal with the space ships and explosions, and

from the smile she flashed him he thought she must have been

impressed by his thoroughness, but it may have just been his wanting

to impress her. Again he pushed those thoughts way down deep as he

listened to her talk about the characters childhood, and her first love,

things that were not explored in the film.

She is incredible, he thought. Stop it. She is an actress and

you have a job.

Then, as soon as the interview had started, it was over, and he

had everything he needed for his article.


13

“Thank you so much Celeste,” he said as he turned off the

recorder and put it back in his jacket pocket. “I think I have

everything I need.”

“Really?” she asked.

Kevin nodded as he closed the notepad and put it back in his

satchel.

“I hope it makes a good article,” she said.

“As do I,” Kevin replied.

“Moviejibe.co.uk, right?” she asked as he stood from the red

velvet, feeling his pants stick to the back of his legs slightly. He

hadn’t realised it had been so warm in the room.

Kevin looked at her, surprised she knew the lowly website he

was working for.

“Yes,” he said. “How did you know?” As he said it he knew

that her agent had told her, but the question still escaped his mouth.

“Can I be honest?” she asked, leaning forward

conspiratorially. He frowned as he matched her lean.

“Of course,” he said.

“I read your work,” she said before flashing another of her

spell binding smiles. Kevin leant away, feeling blood rushing to his

cheeks, despite willing it not to.

“Really?” he asked.


14

“Uh huh,” she replied, still smiling. “I loved the interview you

did with Clive Owen, for that futuristic film. You really didn’t like it

did you?”

Kevin opened his mouth, meaning to argue the point, but with

one look at her eyes, he knew he couldn’t.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” he started. “I really hated it.”

“So did he,” she answered. “If your interview is anything to

go by.” Kevin laughed as she did. Her laugh was infectious, like it

filled the room with happiness and you couldn’t help but feel the joy

emanating from her.

“He was very open about how much he despised being forced

into the contract,” Kevin said. She laughed again.

“Hopefully this interview will be happier,” she said.

Kevin laughed again. “I can guarantee it,” he said with a

chuckle.

“Well then,” Celeste extended her hand to him again. “I’ll let

you go and write it.”

Kevin took the hand, feeling electricity passing between them.

He looked hard at the young actress before him, and if she did feel the

same thing, she didn’t let it show. They released hands and looked at

each other for a moment before he turned and started walking towards

the exit.

“Before you go,” she called him back. He turned and frowned

at her.


15

“This is a little embarrassing,” she said. His frown deepened.

“But, could I get a picture?”

She lifted her cell phone from her pocket as she asked.

Kevin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He’d seen many journalists ask

for photos, or selfies as they were called now, with celebrities, but this

must have been the first time that a celebrity had asked for a selfie

with a journalist. He was a little stunned, but shook himself out of it

quickly.

“Um,” he answered, a little flustered. “Sure.” He moved back

towards her as she jabbed at the touch screen phone. Part of him

expected this to be a joke, a horrible jibe at his expense, but she

seemed genuinely eager for a photo with him. He moved towards her

as she looked back at him, smiling.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, suddenly incredibly self-

conscious over this entire turn of events.

“Right here,” she laughed as she motioned for him to come

right to her with her arm. He couldn’t help but laugh again as he

moved towards her. She wrapped her arm around his neck as she lifted

the phone in front of them. He could smell the strong scent of vanilla

in the perfume she was wearing as he smiled into the camera, her

smiling right beside him. She snapped the picture and looked at it, her

arm still around his neck, his around her waist, not knowing what else

to do with it. Her smile grew as she looked at her picture. She released

his neck and jabbed at the phone again.


16

“What’s your number?” she asked. He frowned at her again.

“What?” he asked.

She looked away from the phone at his face. He suddenly

realised how close he actually was to her, and worried about the

freshness of his breath. She just smiled.

“Your phone number?”

“Um,” he was flustered again. “072 55 45 7839.” He

answered. She looked back at her phone and started jabbing again.

Moments later the unmistakable ding of his mobile sounded. He

pulled the phone out and found the picture that she had just taken

staring at him from the screen on his phone. The radiance of her smile

emanated from the screen, lighting his face. He looked from the phone

at the actress, who was smiling broadly, as if she’d just perpetrated a

great coup.

“Now we both have it,” she smiled again. Kevin couldn’t help

but laugh. There was something about the girl that just lightened up

the entire world. He stood looking at her, while she looked at him. He

might have stood there for the rest of the day, the week, his lifetime,

but at that moment the agent walked in the room.

“Time to go,” her American accent grating the air, and

breaking the spell. Celeste looked over at the agent for a moment

before looking back at Kevin. She was still smiling, but the magic of

the moment was passed, and Kevin had got his bearings back. He took


17

a step back, and could have sworn he saw Celeste’s smile falter

slightly when she noticed.

“Thank you,” he extended his hand. She smiled again, took it,

the electricity passing between them again, but then it was over. They

released hands, looking at each other for a moment longer.

“Bye,” Celeste said. Kevin smiled.

“Bye,” he gave her a curt nod before he turned and walked

from the room, past the agent and out into the hall.

He continued to walk down the corridor and to the elevator,

standing and watching the doors as they closed in front of him until he

was looking at himself in the reflective metal of the elevator doors. He

looked down, thinking for a moment, before he pulled his phone from

his pocket. He turned on the screen and found what he was looking

for, the picture of Celeste smiling up into his face. He looked at the

photo as the elevator moved downwards, the little red number reader

on top of the door counting down from 17. He was still looking at the

picture when the door opened on the ground floor. He could feel the

electricity passing between the phone and his hand. He could feel the

blood slowly rising into his cheeks, and he knew what it meant. He’d

felt love once or twice in his life, and he knew that if he got to know

this girl, if he spent time with her, he could totally fall in love with

her. It probably wouldn’t even take much more than one date, or even

a drink, and he’d be planning the wedding. He smiled, closing his eyes

to the picture in front of him and moving the phone back to the start


18

screen. He knew it couldn’t happen. It was unethical for him to even

consider dating her. He was a journalist and she was an actress. She

was his bread and butter. Besides, what would this incredible young

beauty ever want with the likes of him?

He put the phone back in his pocket as he laughed at the

thought of the girl again. He knew there would never be anything

between them. So he shook the thought out of his head, putting it

firmly in the wishful thinking file in his brain before he stepped out

the elevator into the hotel foyer.

He’d see her when he interviewed her again, but that would be

it. And he could live with that


19

CHAPTER 2

Celeste was sitting on the brown material couch in a pair of grey

sweat pants and a red pullover that was three sizes too big for her,

sipping on a cup of coffee and watching a pre-recorded episode of

Strictly Come Dancing, when the doorbell to her Hogarth road

apartment rang. She paused the DVR before she stood from the couch,

placed her mug on the wooden coffee table in the middle of the room,

and moved over to the window. She looked down on the street, seeing

the white outsides of the buildings across the street, the black tar of

the road, and the short spiky feather like hair and incredibly deep tan

of her agent standing in the road. The tanned woman smiled and

waved as she saw Celeste looking through the window, knowing she

always looked before opening the door. Celeste smiled back as she

moved across the floor in her bare feet and buzzed the front door

open.

She could hear the woman coming up the stairs as the door

closed. She’d always been amazed at the amount of noise Gina Duarte

could make just walking up a set of stairs. Celeste opened the door to

her apartment and pushed her blonde hair behind her ear as Gina

appeared at the top of the stairs and walked into the apartment.

“Would it kill you to get a ground floor apartment?” Gina

asked, her American accent bouncing off the walls like they were

made of rubber. “Or an apartment in a building with an elevator?”


20

“It too much for your New York legs to walk up a flight of

stairs?” Celeste teased.

“Hey,” Gina retorted. “Are you saying something bad about

New Yorkers?”

Celeste smiled. “Of course not,” she said, lifting her arms in

surrender. “I would never do that.”

Gina smiled at Celeste’s playful jibe before she continued

walking into the apartment and Celeste closed the door. Gina threw

her black leather briefcase onto one of the other couches as she pulled

her big black coat off and threw it on top. Celeste moved back to her

chair, grabbing her mug off the coffee table as she moved past it, and

sat again.

“What’s up?” she asked as she made herself comfortable

again.

“Well,” Gina started. “Did you read those scripts I sent you?”

Celeste pulled a face. “Yes.”

Gina looked a little surprised. “What?” she asked.

Celeste hesitated. “They’re not very good,” she said, as if she

didn’t want to say anything at all.

“They can’t all be Shakespeare dear,” Gina retorted. “But they

are worth a lot of money.”

Celeste rolled her eyes. “Money.”

Gina sat on the couch her bag and coat were on, pushing them

back so there was room for her rather thin frame as well. “Yes,


21

money,” she said. “Baby, you’re hot right now. With all the coverage

we got with Space Cadet, and the interviews you did, we need to

capitalise on this now. Right?”

Celeste shrugged. “I guess,” she said.

Gina raised her eyebrows, making her look a little like a

pterodactyl. “You guess?” she asked.

“You’re right,” Celeste recanted. “You know what’s best, I

know that. I just want to do something with a little more substance.”

“Substance?” Gina asked. Then she looked away at the

ground. “Substance,” she repeated. “Substance? Why does that sound

so familiar?”

Celeste looked down at the mug in her hands, shrugging. “I

don’t know.”

Gina’s eye suddenly went wide as she looked around the

apartment, jumping from her perch on the couch. It took her just a

moment to find what she was looking for. She quickly moved over to

the laptop sitting on the counter between the open-plan kitchen and

the living area they were sitting in. Celeste moved as Gina passed,

pulling bare feet off the couch and placing them on the laminated

wooden floor, but she didn’t stand. She knew she couldn’t beat her

agent to the computer, so there was really no point in trying.

Gina reached the computer before moving her finger rapidly

over the touch pad that moved the mouse on the screen. The screen,

which had been blank, lit up with a picture of Celeste’s niece and


22

sister, a little box asking for a password in the middle of the screen.

Gina quickly put the word ‘GRETA’, Celeste’s niece’s name, in the

box and the screen changed, and Gina saw exactly what she expected

to see. On the screen was the Moviejibe.co.uk website, and it was

open to Kevin Brandt’s review of Space Cadet. The review in which

he said that he liked the actress, but wished she would do something

with more substance, the way she had done with The Hound of the

Baskervilles.

Gina Growled. “Fucking Hound of the Baskervilles. Why did

you ever agree to that film?”

“Because it was good role,” Celeste answered. Gina turned

and looked at her with an agent-ready look, created to console a client.

“And you were good in it,” she said. “But now everything you

do is compared to bloody Hound of the Baskervilles.”

“There are worse things,” Celeste said, retreating back into the

mug. Gina turned back to the computer screen.

“Why are you reading Kevin Brandt’s review anyway?” Gina

asked.

“I just like his reviews,” Celeste answered. Gina turned back

to Celeste, her eyes wide, but Celeste was looking into the mug, so

she didn’t see.

“Did you read any other reviews?” Gina asked. Celeste picked

up the slight hint of panic in her voice, so she looked up at her agent.


23

She saw the wide eyes moments before Gina forced them back to their

original size.

“No,” Celeste said. “Why?”

Gina looked back at the computer screen. “No reason,” she

said.

“Gina,” Celeste said, and Gina knew that meant to fess up.

Slowly she turned back towards the actress, but she didn’t need to say

anything. The look on her face spoke volumes.

“That bad, huh?” Celeste asked. Gina tried to smile, but it

came out more like a grimace. Celeste groaned as she lifted her feet

back on the couch and tried to make herself into a ball, burying her

face in her knees. Gina moved from the computer towards her client,

putting a hand on her knee.

“It’s not that bad,” she said as she rubbed the sweat pant

covered appendage. “Most of them liked you, just not the film.”

“Most of them?” Celeste asked, still hiding her head in her

arms.

Gina didn’t answer again, so Celeste groaned again.

“It’s the way it is sweetie,” Gina said as she moved from her

perched position and moved back in front of her bag and coat. “People

aren’t always going to like your films, especially films like this.”

Celeste looked up at her. “Like this?” she asked.

Gina shrugged. “Well,” she started. “Let’s be honest. It’s not

Hound of the Baskervilles, is it?”


24

Celeste laughed in spite of herself. Gina smiled. “At least the

one review you did read was nice, even if he didn’t really like the film

either.”

“What do you know about him?” Celeste asked, leaning

forward, putting one foot on the ground to put her mug on the coffee

table, before returning into her balled up position, but at least looking

at Gina.

“Who?” Gina asked.

“Kevin,” Celeste said.

Gina frowned for a moment, obviously lost, but then she

found her way. “Kevin Brandt?” she asked.

Celeste nodded.

“Oh,” Gina said, the light coming on.” She shrugged.

“Journalist for ten years or so. Well respected. He used to write for

some major publications, like The Guardian and the Times, always

doing entertainment, but very serious about it. That was before he was

poached for Moviejibe.” She looked at Celeste, a frown on her face.

“Why?”

Celeste shrugged, but it wasn’t as non-committal as she’d

hoped. Gina thinned her eyes, looking at Celeste.

“No,” she said.

Celeste looked at her, frowning. “No, what?” she asked.

“You know what, no,” Gina answered.


25

Celeste looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking

about,” she said, obviously knowing exactly what she was talking

about.

“Celeste,” Gina said. “Journalists are not good dating

material, especially not that one.”

Celeste frowned, looking back at her. “Why not that one?”

She imagined a slew of ex’s in his wake. Breaking hearts left and right

and having no regard for anyone of the female gender. Obviously the

thought was translated onto her face.

“He’s no Don Juan, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Gina said.

“He has too much integrity.”

“What does that mean?” Celeste asked.

Gina sighed, obviously trying to think of the best way to

answer the question. “He views what he does the same way Christine

Amanpour does, like he’s a serious journalist.”

Celeste smiled. “That’s part of what I like about his work,”

she said.

“Sure,” Gina said. “It’s good for his work, but it means he

won’t get involved with an actress.”

“Why?” Celeste said.

“Something about impeding his journalistic integrity, or

something like that,” Gina told her. “He wrote a column on it a few

years ago.”

“Seriously?” Celeste asked.


26

“Yes,” Gina answered. “So, it’s a bad idea.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Celeste said,

sinking her face into her knees again.

“Mm hmm,” Gina answered, obviously not believing her for a

second. Celeste looked back at Gina out of the top of her eyes, and

saw the American glaring at her. “It’s my job to protect you,” she

said. “Even from yourself.”

Celeste pulled her face from her arms. “I don’t need

protection.”

“Yes, you do,” replied Gina. “How many boyfriends have you

had? Not just while you’ve been acting, but your whole life?”

Celeste put her chin back in her arms again, shrugging as she

did.

“Well I do,” Gina answered her own question. “It’s six. Total,

since you were thirteen and allowed to date. Six.”

“So?” Celeste said, rather defensively.

“So,” Gina elaborated. “You aren’t exactly well versed in

love, and Kevin Brandt is not the person to break your teeth on.”

Celeste frowned at the metaphor and Gina pulled a face at her.

“You know what I mean,” she said. Celeste laughed softly

while she nodded.

“I do,” she said. “But I think you’re wrong. Kevin is just the

kind of guy I should be involved with. A guy with integrity, who’s


27

nice and smart and who isn’t interested in me because of my career.”

She lowered her chin again before quickly lifting at once more.

“Not that I’m interested in him,” she quickly added. “But if I

was, I’d think you’d be pleased. Especially after Chris.”

Gina groaned. Chris Fullerton had been the perfect boyfriend.

He’d met Celeste on the underground from Heathrow to Earls Court

station where she lived. They’d started dating soon after, and then

Gina had discovered that it hadn’t been an accident that this particular

dark haired, well-tanned young man had been on that tube. That he’d

been waiting for Celeste, he’d sought her out, and that he’d charmed

her just because he thought he could get his career off the ground by

being connected to her. Gina, thankfully, had been able to put a kibosh

on the whole thing, especially when Celeste had spoken to her about

Chris’ idea to take some naughty photos of her.

Just for us, he’d said. Just for fun.

Well, Gina knew how that ended up, and was not going to

stand for it. Ever since Celeste had moved to London from the little

town of Wareham, in Dorset, to pursue her dream of becoming an

actress, Gina had looked at the child, not so much as a client, but more

as a daughter, or at least as a little sister, who she needed, and wanted,

to care for. So she had sent Chris packing, with the help of her much

larger older brother, Keith, who loved Celeste as much as Gina did.

Ever since, though, Celeste had been reluctant to date anyone, fearing

they were with her for her fame, and not for her. Gina could


28

understand how Kevin alleviated that fear, but she still thought it was

a bad idea.

“Chris was a different sort of asshole,” Gina said, causing

Celeste to smile. “But I still think Kevin Brandt is not a good idea,

besides, he’ll never go for it.”

Celeste looked away, not looking Gina in the eye. “But maybe

if he spent some time with me,” she said, not wanting to look at the

leer she knew Gina was casting her direction. “Maybe he’d feel

differently.”

“Well,” Gina added. “I dare him to spend ten minutes with

you and not fall in love with you.” Celeste smiled, looking at Gina

again. She was also smiling, but it was a teasing smile, a smile Celeste

had expected from her older sister. Gina sighed.

“Fine,” she said, standing and putting her coat back on. “I’m

going to do something I’ve never done before and go against my

better judgement.” She put her second arm through the sleeve of the

dark coat and turned to face Celeste again. “Who knows, it might

actually be good for your career too.” She looked at the look on

Celeste’s face and smiled again. “Not that you’re interested.” Celeste

was panicking a little. She had no idea what Gina was going to do,

and now that it was kind of a real possibility, she wasn’t entirely sure

she wanted to get involved with anyone.

Gina laughed, obviously seeing the panicked look on her

client’s face.


29

“Gina,” Celeste said, standing from the couch. “What are you

going to do?” Gina grabbed the bag off the couch and moved to the

door, opening it and leaving the apartment as Celeste followed on her

bare feet. “Gina?”

Gina just continued to laugh as she walked down the stairs

towards the exit of the building, Celeste watching her go. She

suddenly felt very worried, and knew she was in for something that

would make her feel very uncomfortable. And worse, was that she had

asked for it. She watched Gina as she exited the building before she

closed the door to her apartment and sunk into deep thought,

mumbling over what her agent could possibly be thinking, and

whether or not it was actually going to work.

For more, find the book on

www.amazon.com

interview with destiny

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