Page 88 of Until the Last Star Fades

“California was—UCLA, their school of theater, film, and television. Made sense, too. Working in California post-graduation has been her dream since forever, and she would’ve made great contacts during college. She got accepted, but…” Maggie’s gaze fell to her lap.

You were diagnosed with cancer, and Riley wouldn’t leave you. Ben stopped fidgeting, invested in Maggie’s response.

“She chose NYU instead.” She looked up at the vacant stage. “I told her I’d be fine and she should go to UCLA. She had worked toward it all through high school, but she’s stubborn.”

“You must be really proud of her.”

“So proud my heart’s about to burst. She’s had so much thrown at her, but she never complained, worked hard, and here she is—wearing the gold tassel on her cap, graduating as an Honors Scholar…and she’s still the kind, compassionate person I always hoped she’d be.”

Ben nodded in agreement. His phone glowed with a backstage text from Riley: ‘4 Benjamin’. He tapped it and a new eighties song popped up: “Lucky Star” by Madonna. You know it! A soft grin lingered. “You raised a good one there.”

Maggie smiled. “Did you go to college?”

“I did, yeah—Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London. I was the first one in my family to go to uni. Mum was adopted and they left her some money—she put it aside for my education. She saved like mad, too—with what, I have no clue, because we weren’t exactly rolling in it.” His eyes swept the art deco hall. “She never went out or spoiled herself. I think that’s why she was kinda stuck in the eighties when I was growing up. She made do with what she had, and it’s rubbed off on me—I love eighties stuff. Riley takes the piss. She’s like, ‘You weren’t even born then!’ but it’s just what I like.”

“And it bonds you and your mom. She sounds like a wonderful woman—with great taste in music.” Maggie’s finger looped around her ear as if she was trying to tuck hair behind it, but the only softness she felt was her scarf. Ben stifled a wince as Maggie’s wide smile faded. Her hand dropped to her lap. “Oh! I keep doing that. Old habits—”

“Ladies and gentlemen.” A confident female voice emerged from the speakers. “Welcome to the Tisch School of the Arts Salute. The class of 2018 will enter in a processional, appearing in the order in which their departments were founded.” Underneath her announcement, “Pomp and Circumstance”, the traditional song for graduation ceremonies, filled the hall.

“Where does the time go?” Maggie sighed. “I can’t believe Riley’s graduated…oh! There’s Casey!”

He entered from stage right carrying the purple ‘Film and TV’ banner. Behind him, a single-file procession of happy graduates waved, smiled, and snapped selfies.

“The Maurice Kanbar Institute of Film and Television.” The woman’s announcement was met with applause and cheers from the audience.

“This is pretty cool.” Ben’s eyes searched for his friend.

Maggie lifted a digital camera to her nose. “Oh, there she is!” She blinked back a tear and beamed, snapping a burst of photos as Riley walked behind Piper, the two women waving and laughing until they reached the steps leading down from the stage.

Ben raised his phone and pressed the red record button, following Riley until she disappeared into the darkness of the hall’s orchestra seating.

• • •

A pint of Rolling Rock rose toward the ceiling. “To our class of 2018…” The Scottish brogue of Piper’s father rolled over the long communal table in Hudson Malone, a gastro-pub on East 53rd Street. The watering hole, celebrated for its old New York charm, featured libations favored by Marilyn Monroe, Ernest Hemingway, and Audrey Hepburn. “Long may they keep us entertained!”

“To Casey, Riley, and Piper!” The party of eleven clinked their sodas, beers, and cocktails, their rush upward enticing the rustic table’s candles to bow and flicker.

Riley smiled at Maggie, busy across the table sharing a memory with Piper’s mom. So far, so good. She doesn’t look too tired.

“Ahh, that tastes like heaven.” Ben nodded to Piper’s dad and wiped his lips, sweeping away foam left behind by his perfectly pulled pint of Guinness.

“Born in Scotland, raised in England, loving Irish beer…” Riley nudged his right arm and sipped her water. “Living in New York!”

“He’s an international man of mystery.”

Ben and Riley turned, following the male voice. Casey hovered over their shoulders, an iced tea in his hand. “It’s about time we met, mate. I’m Casey.”

Rising to his feet, Ben caught Piper’s eye roll over Riley’s shoulder. “Hey!” Casey, always wary of shaking germy hands, offered his fist for a bump. Ben complied. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All good I hope?” Casey chuckled.

“Of course. And congrats—Riles says you’re headed back to NYU to get your master’s.”

“And I hear you just made an indie film in LA—and you’re bezzie mates with Mark Keegan.”

“Er, I wouldn’t call us bezzie mates.” Ben’s eyes dipped to Riley and Piper, who were listening intently. “He’s a good friend. I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“Oh, like since uni?”