Air Babylon
Page 29
‘Is it?’ He hiccups. ‘Oh well, we may as well give the neighbours something to complain about.’
‘Mmm,’ I mumble.
I’ve just taken a swig of my drink and am now trying to work out how to get it down me. It is foul, fetid and burning my mouth. I want to spit it out. But Sue walks past so I hold my breath and swallow. My eyes start to fill with water and a tear rolls down my cheek.
‘Jesus Christ,’ says Mark.
‘What?’
‘Over there.’
As the water slowly clears from my eyes, I can see over by the door two stewards who have just walked into the room. The first is wearing leather chaps, a black leather codpiece, black boots, a leather-studded cap and a sort of buckled harness across his naked and waxed chest; the other is on all fours, wearing a spiked dog collar, and has, quite simply, come as his bitch.
‘Are they with you?’ I ask Mark.
‘No, they came in from Bangkok some time last night.’
‘Do you know them?’
‘Yeah.’ He snorts. ‘They’re a couple of exhibitionists. They’re always dressing up like this. One of them has got some pretty dodgy piercings that are always getting him into bloody trouble if we ever go through the metal detectors at Customs. They’re not my cup of tea.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ He grins at me, finishing his Bailey’s. ‘My addiction is passengers. The straighter the better. You’d be amazed how many you can turn on a long-haul flight. I’ve done it on a plane, in the toilet and in the galley, but I usually like to wait until we land and get it back at the hotel room.’
‘Did you manage to pick up anyone on the last flight?’
‘No,’ he replies, making a sad face. ‘But I did manage to bag some bloke who sells mobile phones on the last trip out to Sydney. I filled him full of free champagne and he took me for a weekend spa in the Blue Mountains.’
‘Sounds great.’
‘It was.’
Mark and I stand in silence. He stares at the leather-clad master and dog while I watch Richard doing the rounds. He greets every woman in turn with the same wide smile and the same once-over with the eyes. The half-naked girls covered in bubbles appear to hold his attention the most. Their naked first officer in crime seems to have disappeared so they are happy flirting with Richard. He is, after all, a higher rank.
Andy has hooked up with the leather boys and is playing with his blond hair for all he is worth. He throws his body around with laughter, and it seems to be doing the trick. Tom’s disappeared. Sue is talking to another hostie. Craig is still mixing cocktails with his hand up the blonde’s skirt, and Rachel seems to be chatting up a slim, dark-haired steward in the corner. There are fewer dancers than earlier and the music seems to have slowed somewhat. The frantic boozing and bonding pace has abated a bit.
‘Let’s play truth or dare!’ suggests one of the half-naked girls as she clambers onto a table and claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. ‘Come on,’ she slurs. ‘I promise to be the first person to strip totally naked and cover myself in soap.’
Just as it looks as if she might have the room’s attention, the nude first officer bursts through the door in a pair of Burberry swimming trunks, a large yellow Garfield cartoon tattooed on his chest.
‘Skinny-dipping!’ he yells at the top of his voice, his arms outstretched like Jesus. ‘Come on, the pool is empty, there’s no-one about, let’s get our kit off!’
‘I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,’ says Richard to one of the bubble girls, who giggles loudly.
‘I’ll come with you!’ says one of the girls still dancing on a chair.
‘Me too!’ shouts someone else.
‘Doesn’t anyone want to play truth or dare?’ queries the topless girl on the table, looking oddly confused. ‘I thought that’s what we were playing.’
‘I’ll play truth or dare,’ declares Andy, banking on the two leather boys not being swimmers.
‘I’ll join you,’ says the man in the cap.
Relief is writ large on Andy’s face.
The party is beginning to divide up into those who want to drink and swim and those who want to drink and hand out forfeits. Someone turns the music down a bit. Not that Craig notices as he has his tongue down the throat of the blonde. She is sitting on the table, her legs wrapped around his waist, her backside in a pile of empties.
‘What are you going to do?’ asks Mark.
‘Not totally sure yet,’ I say, taking a step away. ‘How about you?’
‘I thought I might go skinny-dipping,’ he says, looking at me straight in the eyes.
‘Good,’ I say. ‘That sounds good. I think I might play truth or dare. I’m not a great one for swimming.’
‘Is that really your thing?’ asks Susan, slipping her arms around my waist and leaning up against me. Her timing is excellent. ‘I can think of much more pleasant ways of passing the time.’
‘Oh, right,’ mutters Mark, looking quickly at the floor. ‘Urn, fine,’ he adds, moving slowly away. ‘I’ll leave you two to it.’
Sue turns to face me, a wide smile on her expectant face, her dimples showing. Her breath smells sweetly of alcohol.
‘Thanks for that.’
‘For what?’
‘For seeing him off. I think he was after me . . .’ My voice fades as the expression on her face grows ever more confused.
‘After you?’ she asks. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ My heart is beginning to race, my chest to tighten.
‘Why don’t we go somewhere else?’ she asks softly, starting to play with the edge of my suit jacket.
‘Um . . .’ I swallow. My mouth has gone dry.
‘Alcohol!’ yells Tom from the doorway, waving what looks like bottles of Asti spumante. The whole room erupts into cheers and a round of applause. ‘Don’t ask me where I got it,’ he declares. ‘A true barman never reveals his sources.’
‘Come on,’ Sue whispers in my ear, ‘let’s go somewhere a little quieter.’
Hand in hand we make our way towards the door. Everyone is too crucified by tiredness and jet lag and too distracted by the sight of fresh alcohol to notice.
‘Flying!’ says Tom, as Susan and I slip past him. ‘A champagne lifestyle on lemonade money. Don’t you just love it?’
About the Author
Imogen Edwards-Jones is the bestselling author of Hotel Babylon, Air Babylon, Fashion Babylon, Beach Babylon and Wedding Babylon, as well as novels such as My Canapé Hell and Shagpile. She lives in west London with her husband and their two young children.
Anonymous is a collection of airline staff, front-of-house as well as behind-the-scenes, whose identities must remain secret in order to protect the guilty.
Also by Imogen Edwards-Jones
THE TAMING OF EAGLES
MY CANAPÉ HELL
SHAGPILE
THE WENDY HOUSE
HOTEL BABYLON
TUSCANY FOR BEGINNERS
AIR BABYLON
THE STORK CLUB
FASHION BABYLON
BEACH BABYLON
POP BABYLON
WEDDING BABYLON
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
A Random House Group Company
www.transworldbooks.co.uk
AIR BABYLON
A CORGI BOOK: 9780552153058
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446497395
Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press,
a division of Transworld Publishers
7 9 10 8
Copyright © Imogen Edwards-Jones 2005
The right of Imogen Edwards-Jones to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
CThis ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in wr
iting by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Addresses for Random House Group Ltd companies outside the UK can be found at:
www.randomhouse.co.uk
The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 954009