I can barely breathe.
We pull on to the strip and my senses are hit further by the sheer volume of traffic, neon lights and signs. As we drive past the lit-up Bellagio Fountains, I’m dying to hold Nate’s hand. He might not even object; he is looking out the window and his whole posture and expression is relaxed. Instead, I turn to Alex as our driver overtakes an enormous black pick-up truck, which hoots in retaliation.
‘Seems there is a price to pay for fun,’ I say, pointing at the billboards advertising personal injury lawyers and bail bonds, ignoring the slight sense of unease curling through my thoughts as I picture the pills concealed within a vitamin bottle, courtesy of Michele Bianchi.
‘Yeah, I can imagine.’
We pull up outside another hotel, which looks much the same as ours. The rest of our group have already piled out of their taxi and are waiting at the bottom of the steps. Nate, myself, Alex and Joanna fumble around in our bags for dollar bills, but Alex pays our driver.
‘Get me a drink later,’ he says, batting away offers of cash.
I sit next to Alex when we are shown to our table and ask him for advice on dishes. Nate sits opposite. We order beers whilst everyone listens to the waiter running through the specials. As a group, we select summer rolls to start and I choose tofu coconut curry. I hear Nate opt for a spicy noodle soup. Alex launches into a tale about the last time he was at this club. One of the girls on his crew got so drunk, she went round begging strangers to marry her and had to be taken home by the supervisor, after security threatened to throw the whole group out.
This sets off a lively conversation of similar tales, each one getting worse. No one admits to being the main culprit in any of these stories, the common thread being that they are mostly fuelled by alcohol, jet lag or the need to let their hair down away from the constraints of home.
The thing I’ve realized about this job is that, although most crew secretly love it – for many it was a childhood dream – and they are attached to the transient nature, there is an underlying loneliness. I was surprised to learn that whilst suicide is not common, it isn’t unheard of either. And it usually occurs down-route, where problems can appear magnified when crew are away from friends and family. I look around the table – everyone looks relaxed, they are laughing, drinking, eating, chatting. To observers, we could look like a bunch of holidaying mates. But apart from Nate, of course, I don’t know any of these people. I only met them thirty-six hours ago and I may never see some – if any – of them again. Secrets spilled, experiences shared, most of these tenuous connections will cease to exist once the wheels touch down at Heathrow.
There is a general impression which emanates through stern emails and newsletters from ‘the office’ that crew ‘have it easy’. Rio one week; Sydney the next. On the surface, it appears idyllic. But although it probably seems simple enough to move crew around the world like chess pieces, every trip I hear different tales of woe. Crew have the same issues as everyone else, and thrown into the mix is the underlying threat of increasing terrorism. I’ve also discovered that infertility is a common female problem. And there’s an urban myth that pilots mostly father girls.
I look over at Nate.
He catches my eye and smiles. It reaches his eyes; they crease at the corners.
I put down my fork. I can’t swallow another bite. I remove my phone from my bag, check it and smile at a pretend message. ‘Excuse me,’ I say to the table and go outside.
Despite the outside heat, I need respite from my own emotions. I take a few minutes to try to collate my thoughts and feelings before returning.
The club is out of this world. Almost literally. I can’t think of any other way to describe it. It’s as though everything else ceases to exist outside of this moment. The up-and-coming DJ is barely visible – a dark, headphone-wearing shadow, raised above the crowds as though he is elevated to godlike status. His worshippers raise their hands and dance among the LED lights. Music pulsates throughout my body.
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ I shout in Alex’s ear. ‘What would you like?’
‘Vodka shot, please,’ he shouts back.
We crowd around the bar area, surrounded by gyrating podium dancers. Their costumes twirl and twist, shimmers of gold, silver and black. I buy a round of vodka shots and as we all count down until we knock them back simultaneously, Alan’s words from my first trip to Los Angeles – about how it wouldn’t take me long to get used to alcohol – flash through my mind. Alcohol is another not uncommon crew issue.
A story shared at the table earlier creeps back into my mind – about a guy who’d been caught and dismissed for not handing over the charity money collected in at the end of each flight. He was charged with theft – he’d amassed thousands, also through duty-free fraud – and initially rumours spread that he was a big drinker. But during his court case it emerged that his son was being badly bullied at school for being mildly autistic and he desperately wanted to get him into a private school. Even though I’d never met the guy, I felt sorry for him. At least he was trying to help his son. I doubt he came out to places like this. I bet he stayed in his room and Delsey dined – brought cheap food from home and ate it in his room.
‘Let’s dance,’ Alex grabs my hand, and we merge into the crowds on the main dance floor.
I am aware of the others near us – Nate included – but for the first time in a very, very long time I am so exhilarated, so distracted, that I don’t constantly monitor my behaviour and thoughts for the sole benefit of creating a good impression for Nate.
When I glance at the time, I am shocked to see that it is past one in the morning, meaning it’s after nine at home. I slip away, out on to the balcony. The heat has subsided, just a touch. I stare at the lit horizon and wonder how many people are having the time of their life and how many others are dealing with heartbreak or disillusionment. I shiver. Tiredness must be kicking in.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ Nate’s voice.
He appears at my side.
‘Have you been here before?’ I ask.
‘Not here, no. Was that your boyfriend messaging you earlier?’
I fix my eyes on a tall building straight ahead surrounded in pink lights. ‘Yeah, he misses me.’ I turn to look at him. ‘No one special in your life, then?’
‘Not really. There was someone recently. She’s a pilot too, but it didn’t quite work out.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’ I grab his hand as a song I recognize blares out through the doors. ‘I love this song. Let’s go back in.’
We dance for the entire track. Nate seems relaxed. I am cautiously happy. I wonder if this is one of those moments in my life. One of those moments where it’s only in hindsight that I’ll look back and realize that I had it good. I wish these particular life moments could somehow be highlighted in advance so I’d know. Whenever I spend time reliving my past with Nate, I wish I’d enjoyed myself more and not concerned myself with the mundane – like what I was going to cook that evening or whether his plane would crash and leave me a girlfriend-widow before we’d had a chance to be married. I craved stability so badly that I didn’t relax.
I know the answer now, which is that if I can extract a higher degree of security and reassurance from him, our relationship will quickly progress to a much deeper level. All this rationalizing makes me realize that it is the perfect moment to depart.
Like Cinderella, I have to leave him wanting more.
‘I’m going to call it a night,’ I say in his ear. ‘Say bye to the others. Matt’s going to call me shortly.’
‘I’ll come out, get a taxi with you.’
‘No, I’ll be fine, thanks. Stay and have fun,’ I insist.
This is what I mean. He thinks he doesn’t want me, but he’s proving that he does. It’s all up to me to help him come to terms with his feelings so this whole mixed-messages thing stops. Turning him down is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I have no choice.
This time, I’m in
it for the long haul.
16
I only sleep for a couple of hours, I’m too agitated. I lie on my bed reliving every moment from the evening. I mull over every gesture, every sentence, every word. Each time, I arrive at the same conclusion: Nate is pliable, ripe to be re-moulded back into the man I knew.
Nate has posted several pictures of the view from the club’s balcony last night, twenty minutes after I’d left. My room internet connection is really slow; it’s frustrating, especially as I can’t access my spy app. Although the general group plans are to meet in the bar again tonight, I need to see Nate before then. Alone. In the absence of not being able to find out anything concrete, the gym is realistically my best option. It’s way too hot to go jogging.
Mid-morning, I head for the gym. There is a small café in the corner, which means I can sit and watch without having to pretend to exercise for hours. Two coffees later, I’m still rooted to my seat. I’ve read a local paper and got bored of checking to see if my spy app works, which it doesn’t. I pick up the in-house phone and dial Nate’s room number, intending to hang up if he answers. At least it will wake him up.
It rings. And rings. Damn. He has gone out.
I wait another ten minutes, in case he is on his way. I wonder if he is in such a deep sleep that he didn’t even hear the phone. Or – my heart sinks at the very thought – maybe he never went back to his own room. He could now, this very moment, be in someone else’s bed. Joanna’s? I stand up, perhaps rather too abruptly, as the man drinking a smoothie at the next table gives me a strange look.
Back in my room, I check his Facebook. Nothing. My spy app is still refusing to cooperate. There is a chance that Nate may have gone for a swim. It’s not his favourite pastime. But perhaps, with a hangover, he will consider it better than no exercise at all.
I put on my costume, replace my gym clothes with a dress, grab a bag and head for the basement floor.
Through the glass, I peer into the pool area. There are several people completing lengths and a couple of kids in the shallow end, but no one who could feasibly be Nate. Just as I turn away, I catch sight of him. He is wearing black swimming trunks and is heading for the Jacuzzi at the far end.
I nip into the changing room and undress as quickly as possible, shoving my belongings into a locker and turning the key. As I step out into the poolside area, the smell of chlorine and floor cleaning chemicals hits me. I stand, dithering, when I realize that the Jacuzzi is empty. Nate is not in the pool either. Bloody hell, I must have been mistaken. I stand, momentarily unsure what to do, when I spot two doors: Sauna and Steam Room.
I pad over and pull open the first door.
Empty.
I shut it and try the second. An over-strong menthol smell emits as I enter.
Amidst the steam, Nate is sitting on a wooden bench, leaning over, his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up.
Placing my towel on an opposite bench, I sit down quietly, feeling the heat against my legs as it moves up through my body. I inhale. I lean back and close my eyes, grateful for the extra few seconds to compose myself. The door opens. I fling open my eyes, ready to go after Nate, but a woman enters. Nate sits up properly. I can tell his eyes are adjusting to the shade and mist, then they widen as he spots me.
‘Lily?’
‘God, Nate. You gave me a fright!’
The woman glares at me.
I mouth, ‘Sorry.’
I smile at Nate and he grins back. I make a ‘shall we leave?’ gesture, by nodding in the direction of the door. He stands up and I follow him out into the relative cool.
I place my towel on a nearby hook and take a swift shower, turning the temperature to lukewarm to cool down. Nate waits patiently for his turn. Whilst he showers, I climb into the Jacuzzi, which is thankfully free from anyone else. I lie back and close my eyes, as though I’m so chilled out that it makes no difference to me whatsoever whether or not he joins me.
He does. He sits next to me. Not too close, but not too far away either.
‘I thought you were more of a gym person?’ I say.
‘I am. I woke up with such a bad head – the worst I’ve had for ages – and I couldn’t face it. I thought this,’ he points around, ‘might help.’
‘And has it?’
‘A bit.’
‘You need some hair of the dog. It’s the only thing for really bad hangovers. Come to the Venetian with me a bit later. I’m going to explore.’
‘I’m not sure. I think I should take it easy today, seeing as we’re operating tomorrow.’
‘Don’t be boring.’ I nudge him with my elbow. ‘Come on. You can sit in your room anywhere in the world. If you don’t come, I’ll have to ask Alex or one of the others, but it would be more fun with you. Have you ever been before?’
He shakes his head.
‘Well, that’s it. I’ve decided for you. I’ll come to your room about five. I’ve had enough in here, I’m off to the spa.’ I stand up. ‘See you later.’
‘All right.’
I climb up the steps, clutching the mini ladder. ‘Make sure you wear something smart,’ I say over my shoulder.
With my towel over my arm – it’s too wet to wrap around me – I navigate around the edge of the pool and push open the heavy door to the female changing rooms without looking back. I shower – again – applying a thin layer of body lotion. It’s a favourite brand of Nate’s and he always commented when I wore it.
I make my way to the spa reception and sit in a comfortable armchair in the calm, cool waiting area sipping a herbal tea. I feel as though I could drop off and sleep for hours. My name is called out. The same stylist as yesterday washes and blow-dries my hair, which is useful as it means I don’t have to explain how I like it done all over again. I ask the beautician who applies my make-up for a more dramatic look around my eyes, much darker colours and an eyelash-lengthening mascara. When she’s finished, I stare into the mirror. I look like someone else. Someone happy, confident and in control.
I look like the sort of person who could be Nate’s other half. Yin and yang.
I am so thrilled that, as I sign for the treatments to be charged to my room, I hand over a large tip.
I’m back in my room by four, which leaves me exactly an hour. I double-check that the limo I’ve ordered is still due to arrive at five fifteen, and I send Alex a message to say I won’t make it to the bar tonight.
I undress. Opening my suitcase, I choose a new, matching black underwear combination, which I put on before taking my blue dress out of the wardrobe. I rip the protective plastic cover and gently ease it off the hanger before I slide it over my head. The zip is a bit of a struggle, but I manage.
I open my jewellery case and select a simple pair of silver earrings, given to me by Babs last Christmas. On to my wrist I slide a plain silver bangle. I borrowed it from Amy ages ago, but she has never asked for it back. I dab perfume behind my ears, then spray some into the air before walking through. Finally, I try on two pairs of shoes, one pair with higher heels than the other. After much deliberation, I select the slightly lower pair. They are black sling-backs and are elegant enough but without giving away how hard I’ve tried.
After a final once-over in front of the mirror, I take a deep breath.
This is it.
I pick up my bag, a plain black one containing my passport, a credit card, some cash and a lipstick, plus a few other items that may come in useful, and I make my way to the lifts. As I wait, watching the red lights illuminate and disappear at each floor level, I feel a calmness descend upon me.
The lift chimes. I step in.
Nate isn’t ready. He opens the door in a hotel robe and his hair is wet.
‘Sorry. I fell asleep.’
‘Shall I choose you something to wear?’ I say, instantly regretting my words the moment they come out of my mouth.
‘No, it’s fine. I won’t be long.’ He disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door.
I sit on t
he edge of the bed and put my hands under my thighs to stop myself from nosing through his belongings, which is just as well because Nate takes mere minutes. He emerges, wearing the powder-blue shirt that he wears when he has to position – travel as a passenger – for work.
I watch as Nate bends down, pulling open a drawer and taking out a pair of black socks. I don’t see the point of unpacking totally when I’m away. It’s not as if it’s a week-long holiday, and it only has to be repacked – sometimes as little as twenty-four hours later – plus there’s a higher chance of forgetting things. He sits down next to me; I can feel the weight of him as the mattress sags a little. As soon as he has pulled on his socks he stands up, crouches down in front of the desk mirror, runs his hand through his hair, slides his wallet into his back pocket, then turns round to face me.
‘How do I look?’
‘Good,’ I say, looking down at my watch. ‘I’ve booked a car.’ I stand up.
He stares at me, as if properly seeing me for the first time. ‘Wow. You look . . . incredible.’
‘Thanks.’ I point to his passport on the desk. ‘Don’t forget your ID, otherwise you could end up with a teetotal night.’ I turn towards the door.
‘Doesn’t he mind? You know. Um. I don’t remember your boyfriend’s name . . .’
I stop and turn round to face him. ‘Matt. I haven’t mentioned yet that I’m going out for an hour or two with you. What’s there to say, really? It’s early days, we’ve only been seeing each other a short while. I’m sure he’ll be cool with it.’
‘As long as you’re sure?’
I shrug. ‘He’s a great guy. In fact, you and he would get on. There’s nothing to worry about.’
Inside the lift, I hope that we don’t bump into anyone. I don’t want any last-minute, unwanted hangers-on. I distract myself by pretending to check my phone. As we walk towards the hotel exit, I act on impulse, but it feels like the right thing to do. I link my arm into Nate’s and continue walking as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t object – in fact, he turns to me and smiles.
The Perfect Girlfriend Page 15