‘She’s never failed me before,’ offered Jeff, looking a tad hurt.
‘But … but, didn’t JFK Junior and his missus die in a little plane like this?’
‘Yes, well, kind of. Theirs was a smaller make, though,’ said Jeff. ‘It was only a single propeller plane. If you look at this baby, it’s got twin propellers. Plus I don’t come from a famous cursed family. So we’ll be fine. Now hop in.’
Not wanting to have a fall-out before the weekend even started, Parker took control of the deteriorating situation and with one of his stern looks, motioned to us with his eyes to climb on board.
Unsure if we were more scared of Parker or of the thought of plummeting to our death in an aviation tragedy, we stuffed ourselves and our bags inside the plane, in stony silence.
Far from Concorde, Florence was more like an early Elvis number with its baby blue velvet seats, blue carpet and matching side panels. Parker did his best Austin Powers impersonation with a loud, ‘Yeah, baby!’ It failed to lift my mood.
After all, I’d already been slapped in the face at the Four Seasons. Oh, how a plane crash would just finish off my decadent disaster of a day.
Settling into our taxi with wings, wedged in like sardines, some young fella looking no more than eighteen hopped in the front beside Jeff and started flicking switches and muttering ‘Roger to that.’
Seeing my distress Anna and Maddie each grabbed one of my hands but their touch didn’t work. Instead, frustrated by me being difficult, Parker did a Parker and began to sing. I put my fingers in my ears and started to hum. But all I could visualize was this flying coffin, spinning out of control and crash-landing in the sea.
Where were the snooty air hostesses? I wanted lunch with real cutlery. Not a gliding minibus to take me across the Irish Sea. It was a far cry from the John Travolta beast that Parker and I had been expecting. Without letting his disappointment show Parker continued to sing ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane’.
‘Shut up, Parker,’ I screamed, letting my nerves get the better of me. ‘John Denver died in one of these planes as well.’
‘So did Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper,’ laughed Jeff.
‘Oh, don’t forget Jim Reeves and Patsy Cline,’ added Parker. ‘Are we making you crazzzzy yet?’
‘SHUT UP!’
Getting into the spirit of things Anna gave me a reassuring nudge before spurting out, ‘Christie Brinkley nearly died in a plane crash. But after six hours of sitting in the snow on the side of a mountain, she was rescued. So that’s something positive.’
Baffled at her reasoning I could only moan, ‘Do you think?’
It was when Maddie offered, ‘And didn’t that young singer Aaliyah go down over the Bahamas?’ that I finally started to laugh. ‘OK, OK, you all win,’ I conceded. ‘If we’re going to hurtle to our death, so be it. Just please try and avoid turbulence. And definitely don’t crash, Jeff. We’re all too good-looking to die.’
‘Will do my best,’ smiled Jeff. ‘And so will I,’ said the very young co-pilot, before he resumed muttering into his headset.
Shortly after our bumpy take-off, Maddie remembered the spare snipes of Moët she had stuffed in her bag, and in true rock ’n’ roll style we necked them back while singing Westlife’s ‘Flying without Wings’, along with various other aviation-themed songs for the duration of the journey.
* * *
By five o’clock we were sitting in London traffic, after our thankfully uneventful flight to Heathrow. What a relief.
The little suited man, complete with chauffeur’s cap, waiting for us with the sign JEFF’S PARTY PEOPLE, was hilarious.
Resembling Sid James from the Carry On movies, Charlie C spread the cockney charm on thick, with cheesy lines like, ‘Olright my lovelies. Neva before ’ave I seen such beauties’, and, ‘Treacle, are you what they call Oirish royalty?’
Loving the attention being showered on us, we hardly noticed that Parker and Jeff had huddled in the back seat of the people carrier, locked in a private chat. Despite previous hesitations, Parker seemed to be uber-keen on his new suitor. It was good to see him so happy. Come to think of it, all complications aside, I was happy too.
London, lock up your sons, I thought, da diva was comin’ to get ya.
An hour later we were still stuck in traffic, but Jeff’s driver had kindly hopped out of the car and bought us chips, chocolate and Diet Cokes.
‘Sorry about this, Jeff, but we’re starving,’ I said, as I dripped ketchup on my damned shoe and on to the carpet.
‘No worries,’ said Jeff. ‘I’m sure Charlie here is more than happy to have you ladies in the car, even if it does mean it stinks of salt and vinegar.’
‘So what’s the plan tonight then?’ I asked, curious about what to expect.
‘Whatever you ladies desire,’ smiled Jeff. ‘Fancy an early night? Maybe get a take-away and watch a DVD?’
‘As if!’ shrieked Maddie.
‘Fine by me.’ Parker winked, then remembered he was supposed to be playing butch.
A little thrown off track, a nervous Jeff resumed with, ‘Ah, em, well would you like to grab a drink in town before we head out? Or do you just want to go back to Primrose Hill and change first?’
‘Aren’t we staying in Primrose Hill?’ asked an over-excited Anna. ‘Isn’t that where all the celebrities live?’
‘Yeah, there’d be a few heads about all right.’
‘Perfect! Take us to that pub that Sadie Frost is always being photographed outside looking shit,’ demanded Anna, without having the decency to ask the group first.
Throwing Maddie a definite glare, she shot, ‘Trust me, it’s cool. All the Primrose Hill set hang out there. Ewan McGregor, Jude Law and Jonny Lee Miller drink there.’
‘Yeah, maybe when they’re not making movies,’ offered Maddie.
‘Can we go, can we go?’ pleaded Anna as she bounced on her seat like a six-year-old.
The perfect host, Jeff asked Charlie to ‘Drive us to Queens, please mate,’ in an adopted English accent, as we all started to rummage in our bags for lippie to reapply.
‘Are you sure you’re not thinking of Billie Piper and Chris Evans looking a little worse for wear sitting outside pubs?’ I asked, convinced she’d got it wrong about Sadie.
‘Oh, probably,’ muttered Anna. ‘But she’s forever being photographed without her make-up on.’
‘OK girls, listen up. I’ll give you the quick guided tour,’ said Jeff, in an attempt to keep us entertained. Coming up here on the left is Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin’s place. Noel Gallagher and Nicole Appleton live just around the corner … down there. And then Jamie Oliver and his missus Jools live just up here, well they used to as far as I can remember.’
Overawed, we sat speechless, mouths open, as if ready to catch flies. Staring at these elegant stucco Victorian houses, with their wide tree-lined paths, was like looking at a movie set. Coming into her own, Anna piped up with some of the worthless knowledge she’d absorbed from the gossip mags.
‘Doesn’t Kate Moss have a pad here too? The paparazzi are always camped outside her place.’
‘Yes, very good,’ praised Jeff. ‘There’s also a great vegetarian restaurant here called Manna, and I’ve heard Moby goes there a lot.’
Trying to be nonchalant Maddie asked, ‘Anyone else?’
‘Wow, you girls are tough to please. Erm, Helena Bonham Carter and Tim Burton live around here somewhere, and as far as I know they filmed parts of The War of the Worlds here. So I can only presume Tom Cruise would have stayed in the area.’
‘OK, we’ll give you five out of ten for your tour guide skills,’ I joked, ‘but I think we need to see some of these stars for ourselves.’
Just then our cheeky Charlie livened up again and said, ‘Boys and girls, here we are. This is Queens.’ Hopping out, he opened the door for us and offered us each a hand out.
‘If you see Katie Moss, tell her to stop calling me,’ he teased. ‘I’ve had to c
hange my number three times already.’
Feeling like we were attending a film première, we stood outside the pub, fluffing our hair and plumping up our cleavage as we waited for the boys to follow us. But they didn’t.
Sticking my head back in the car door, I asked, ‘Are you all right?’
But they looked far too comfortable.
Passing me a handful of sterling, Parker shooed me back out, directing me to ‘Go buy the girls drinks. We’ll follow you in.’
Happy to oblige I grabbed the money and ran by the girls laughing, ‘The last one to the bar gets the ugly mate.’
‘Tits out, tummy in.’ Anna winked, and with a massive intake of breath she strode through the heavy door.
It hardly looked like a celebrity hangout, just an average English pub, but, with a quick thought to St Jude, I morphed into a cool diva and prepared myself for an entrance.
Several bottles of Coors Light later and there was no sign of Jude Law, Ewan McGregor, Jonny Lee Miller or even one of Sadie Frost’s young boyfriends. And the mood started to wane just a little.
‘You know it’s Valentine’s Day in ten days,’ mused Anna.
‘What’s your point?’ snapped a disgruntled Maddie.
‘Yeah well, you were dateless last year as well Maddie, weren’t you?’ sniggered Anna in a sarcastic tone that said, don’t get stroppy with me.
Just as I was about to butt in and cool the frayed tempers, I noticed a very sexy guy walk towards the bar. He’d been sitting in front of us since we’d come in, but with his back turned the whole time.
Although I didn’t recognize him, he had a certain X-factor aura about him. He was gorgeous, a total hottie in a kind of unshaven John Cusack sort of way. Actually, he was better looking than John Cusack, he was a rugged Tom Ford, wearing old jeans, a frayed style T-shirt and an old grey hoodie top. And now he was standing right beside me.
As the girls continued to make bitchy remarks to each other, I used the classic, ‘Oh, sorry am I in your way?’ line as I pulled at my stool a little.
‘Gosh, no,’ said my perfect stranger, waving the remark away. ‘No, you’re fine,’ he smiled. He had a mild New York accent.
‘Wow, you’re a long way from home,’ I blurted, before taking the time to plan my next move.
‘For sure,’ he cooed, smirking down at me as he rubbed his hand over his designer stubble. ‘I like London, but I much prefer Ireland.’
‘You’re very perceptive,’ I flirted back, thrilled by his ability to recognize an Irish accent. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you’re a quarter Irish.’
‘Actually I am.’ He laughed, barely missing a beat.
‘Oh, for shurrrr!’ I mocked, as I kicked Maddie in the leg so she’d see my new pal.
‘You may be a non-believer but I’m actually half Irish. My mother was from Cavan,’ the handsome stranger insisted.
With that a boisterous Maddie swung around on her stool and announced, ‘Well, hello tasty. Who are you?’
‘Oh, em, hello yourself, I’m Michael,’ gushed my handsome stranger. ‘Can I buy you girls a drink?’
‘Well, come take a big bite outta me!’ shrieked Maddie, as I hung my head in my hands with shame. What can of worms had I opened here?
Choosing to ignore my embarrassment, she raved on, ‘Oh, yes, Michael, we’d love a drink, wouldn’t we, Eva? And I’m Maddie, and Michael, this here is Anna. And for the record we’re all single.’
Truly mortified, I just shrugged at Michael and expressed my feelings towards Maddie with my eyes.
‘Don’t mind her,’ said Maddie, pulling at his sleeve. ‘She’s just gone quiet ’cause you’re her type. You’ve got that arty thing going on. You’re definitely her type.’
‘Thanks for that, Maddie,’ I was trying desperately hard to seem pissed off. Of course, I wasn’t. I was thrilled. Maddie had done all the groundwork for me. All I had to do now was try and look sweet; well, sweet in a sexy way, and hope that he would fall for it.
Thirty minutes later, I had found out Michael was a fashion photographer who was currently trying to break into making videos and commercials. He had worked with all the big names from Gisele to Naomi Campbell, and apparently she was ‘not as temperamental as the media makes her out to be’. Although he had dated many models, and had a small crush on an Irish model, Catriona Balfe, who also lived and worked on the ‘Island’ (Manhattan, of course), he was currently single – and ‘actively looking for a good woman to love’.
As he stared deep into my eyes, as if trying to read my mind or capture my soul, all I could do was gaze back at him.
Was this guy for real? I wasn’t a supermodel, so why the hell was he talking to me? Maybe all the drink I had had made me more confident, and so more appealing. Yanks loved confidence, especially New Yorkers, but still … I just couldn’t understand. Judging by his body language he was true. Leaning into me, his smell of Davidoff Clearwater was filling up my senses, but it was his whole persona that was starting to overpower me.
By now Maddie and Anna had muscled over to his mates’ table and seemed happy enough. Occasionally I’d hear a flirtatious yelp or scream from Maddie, so I knew she was coping on her own.
After suppressing the need to pee for about twenty minutes, terrified I’d spoil the moment, I excused myself from my American dream.
‘I’ll be right here,’ he said, in a smouldering and smooth tone.
Unfortunately I then went and ruined the moment slightly by jumping off my seat and chirping, ‘O-K’, as if I wasn’t bothered.
After a lengthy toilet break and a quick text to Lisa: ‘The Princess: Miss U. GR8 nite. Wish U were ere’, I gathered my composure and strutted back outside – and found Parker draped all over Michael.
‘I’ve just been acquainted with your new friend, Eva,’ gushed Parker. ‘Isn’t he just the dogs?’
Unfazed by a strapping gay man swinging from his shoulder, Michael explained, ‘I hear you’re going to some big party tonight. It sounds great.’
‘Does it?’ I asked, totally clueless.
‘Yes, Miss Eva,’ interrupted Parker. ‘It’s going to be totally fabulous – if we ever get there. We’re already past fashionably late, so get your skates on.’
Panicked, I just stood there looking gormless. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted my chat to Michael to go on for ever. Damn Parker for coming in and ruining my moment. Backing away, Michael handed me my jacket and my fake Prada handbag – it looked money even though it wasn’t – and threw me a winning smile.
‘Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around.’ His velvety words melted out of his mouth like chocolate.
‘Yeah,’ I replied, praying for him to ask for my phone number. But he didn’t. He just smiled back at me. Then Parker grabbed my hand, and pretending to use me as a puppet he put on his camp girlie voice and flapped my arm around saying, ‘Right then, bye-bye Mr America, lovely to meet you. Byeeee.’
As he pushed me towards the door, Maddie and Anna air-kissed his friends goodbye and then blocked my view of Michael.
‘Fuck sake, Parker,’ I barked, ‘could you not have given me an extra minute? I thought I was getting somewhere with him.’
‘Oh, come on Miss Valentine, he’s from New York. You’ll never see him again. What’s the point?’
Devastated I got back in the people carrier. I didn’t want to leave so I had to be pushed.
A little emotional from the amount of alcohol in my system, I sat in a mood, and refused to make eye contact with the group. As Charlie drove off, I just cursed them all for crushing my happy-ever-after fantasy.
I felt utterly cheated. He could have been my Mr Right. He was definitely a very hot Mr Maybe.
* * *
Acting like a spoilt brat I moaned for what seemed like hours.
Eventually we arrived at the bash that Jeff had flown us over for. It was a very stately Victorian home with massive spotlights circling outside the front and an illumination of some model on the wall wi
th the words ‘To The Manor Born’ written across her naked body.
Unimpressed by the pomp, I huffed past the model waiters offering champagne cocktails, and then returned to them to demand where the toilets were.
Furious, I had to queue behind women who were laughing about how hilarious Gary Lineker was and what a wonderful wealth of knowledge Jeremy Clarkson had. I had to keep my head down and bite my lip so to stop myself crying.
When I returned to the group I then had to endure Maddie rattling on about how beautiful Nicole Appleton was in person. I know I should have shown more of an interest as she gushed, ‘She’s so down-to-earth. Look, I got a picture with her on my phone.’
But I didn’t care about meeting any stars. I still didn’t even know why they were all here, other than that Jeff’s family’s company was sponsoring the event. Tired and emotional, and still wearing the same clothes from that morning, I told Parker I needed a minute to myself. Wandering out to a garden area, I found a space to sit on my own.
It was ten minutes before I realized he wasn’t following me out to cheer me up. I was gutted. Staring at my phone to make it look as if I was doing something, I was at pains to think who I could text or call.
I had texted Lisa earlier but had heard nothing back. So I decided Maddie my supposed best friend should come out and comfort me.
Lacking the energy to submerge myself in the madding crowd again, I texted ‘Maddie: I’m out in the garden. Come out with a drink pls.’
Straight away she texted me back: ‘2mins.’
Somewhat relieved, I relaxed into my concrete chair, and people-watched the smokers.
Although a heavy dew had started to cling to everything, semi-clothed glamorous women frolicked around, puffing bellyfuls of smoke to the sky like old movie stars, while a group of grumpy-looking men pretended not to notice them.
Half choked by their unforgiving starched collars and vast footballer’s ties, these men looked so absorbed in their own conversation that if the Marlboro Man’s ghost had walked up and asked them for a light they’d have totally ignored him.
Another couple huddled in a corner looked very devious indeed. Both in their forties, they definitely looked like they were having an affair; but one that was coming to an end. Uneasy in each other’s company, they seemed on constant lookout, as the woman sobbed into her champagne cocktail, and he remained sullen.
Champagne Kisses Page 6