The Magic of a Potter Premiere
Adriana Pratt | Thursday, November 10, 2011
We made eye contact, I swear. There was an understood smile, a nod and possibly a wink. That pixie cut definitely brought out her bold side.
She lingered a moment, then moved on to acknowledge her other overbearing, overly-dramatic, shamelessly fawning fans — they were so pathetic. I don’t want to speak for her, but I’m going to speak for her. Emma Watson wanted to be my best friend the moment we laid eyes on each other.
It all began an hour and a half earlier, as I eagerly sat at my computer Googling information about the Harry Potter red carpet premiere. I’ll admit it; I was obsessed with the idea of seeing my childhood heroes in person, even if Daniel Radcliffe looked more like a hobbit than a hottie.
I knew there was a reason God had given me an internship in New York City. It wasn’t so I could learn how to interview, report and produce professional pieces from some of the best journalists in the world. It wasn’t even so I could continue my vending-machine-pretzels addiction. God knew my office was a block away from Lincoln Center, the most magical place on earth.
This was my moment. I had never played hooky from work before and was a little nervous, so I included two other interns, Kelley and Lauren, in my ploy. If I went down, we were all going down together.
Rushing out the door without even saying goodbye to my favorite security guards, we turned left at Columbus Ave., crossed 65th Street and were greeted by enormous barricades and shrieking tweens.
Thank goodness Kelley was there. Spotting the Lincoln Center subway entrance 30 feet away, he had a brilliant idea.
“What if we go down those stairs and come up the other side? It looks like it comes out right on the square!”
It surely had to be blocked off, right? The Secret Service men wouldn’t leave somewhere so subtle, yet obvious open to their hallowed shrine would they?
Kelley, Lauren and I made our way through the subway stop, palpitations pounding in my ears the whole way. I almost turned back, but my partners in crime showed no signs of stopping.
We climbed the steps two at a time and emerged in a land of beauty and bliss.
Our fearless leader Kelley pushed forward, and we snuck beneath the shade of the Metropolitan Opera House to plan our next step. A lifetime of trips to the Catholic confessionals made me undeniably prone to guilt and I was afraid we’d get harrassed for our wrongdoing. As we sat there listening to Kelley list our options, a guard approached. I almost peed my pants.
“You can’t stand here. You need to move along,” she said.
A line began to form along the edge of the red carpet directly in front of us and Kelley, never one to miss the action, confidently walked that way with Lauren and I two steps behind.
Thirteen-year-olds eagerly squeezed their friends’ hands, nervously bouncing up and down in anticipation. I did the same. I’m 21.
It was almost our turn. Kelley, as per usual, led the crew and flashed the gatekeeper a brilliant smile.
“We’re together,” he said.
“Great, go ahead!”
What? That easy?
Lauren, Kelley and I scampered into the stands and the rest of the day was a magical blur. Someone must have slipped Felix Felicis into my Starbucks Skinny Vanilla Latte that morning, because there was no way this was real life.
Alan Rickman strolled by, with a smug smile and sneer in true Severus Snape-style. Matthew Lewis shed his chubby cheeks for a much more handsome Neville Longbottom-look. Even Matthew Broderick made an appearance, giving me my first chance to bond with a celebrity.
As Broderick pulled in close to sign fans’ autographs, I made my most daring move yet ⎯ I complimented him on his outfit.
“Love the gray suit Matt!” I screamed.
He heard me, looked up, rolled his eyes, then returned to signing autographs. I know he loved it.
Rupert Grint and Daniel Radcliffe made their way around, then the crème de la crème graced us with her appearance.
In a shimmering amber corseted confection, Emma Watson arrived. She did the obligatory interviews, then traipsed around the carpet flashing a demure smirk at her nearly passed-out fans. We made eye contact and were immediately friends for life.
I’m still waiting for her to call, but it’s whatever … I know she’s busy. I’m not pushy.