Mile High Guy

by Marisa Mackle

  I was so delighted. In fact I was proud of myself for taking a stand. If only more women would ask for what they wanted instead of pussyfooting around, life would be a lot less complicated, I told myself smugly.

  Of course Jack never showed up. The party started at eight and by half ten everyone was sozzled; a few people had started to dance and party poppers were going off everywhere as I skulked around the kitchen looking for the biggest knife. Well not quite, but I was terribly depressed. Firstly, I felt let down by Jack and then humiliated because I was sure everyone at the party was feeling sorry for me. Poor old Katie and her imagination, eh?

  I gave him until eleven and then went upstairs with my mobile phone in one hand and a full bottle of wine in the other. Recipe for disaster or what?

  I slowly pressed the digits on my mobile, hoping against hope that there might be some sort of reasonable explanation for his behaviour. Maybe he’d been involved in a terrible accident. Perhaps his sister had fallen ill or he had lost his mobile phone? Pathetic, I know, but I was clutching at anything!

  The phone rang out and then I redialled. Please let him answer, I silently begged.

  Someone answered. It wasn’t him.

  It was a little girl’s voice.

  ‘Hello?’ came the soft baby voice.

  Oh shit, I thought. I must have the wrong number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘I’ve the wrong number sweetie. Don’t worry about it. Bye-bye.’

  I put down the phone. Poor kid. Must have thought I was mad.

  I rang Jack’s mobile again.

  ‘Hello?’

  Same baby voice. Funny that. And then the penny dropped.

  ‘Is er . . . your daddy there?’ I asked tentatively, my heart racing faster than the speed of light.

  ‘One moment,’ the little girl answered as I dropped the phone in shock.

  I never quite got over it. And I never found out whether the wheelchair-bound sister was in fact his wife. Or whether he even had a sister at all. Or any more children. Because I never heard from Jack again.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’ the girl behind the bar asks. I’m about to shake my head when I realise that I’ve drunk all my wine. God, I must stop daydreaming. For a moment there I nearly forgot where I was.

  The bar seems to be filling up pretty quickly with an after-work crowd. I don’t fancy sitting here with no glass in front of me so I order the same again. I have a horrible, passing thought that Adam might not show up. But I banish it quickly. Not all men are like Jack, I tell myself as the bar girl hands me another glass.

  Mind you, it’s all very strange. I’m wondering if I’m in the right bar. After all, it’s at least twenty minutes since Adam said he was on his way. Maybe he got waylaid on the street. Perhaps he was accosted by autograph hunters or was being trailed by the paparazzi. My imagination is hurtling towards overdrive when my mobile suddenly rings.

  ‘Hey, where are you?’

  It’s Adam. Oh thank you God. Thank you so much for not letting me be stood up again. I just couldn’t have dealt with that twice in a lifetime.

  ‘I’m in Ba Mizu. Sitting at the bar. You can’t miss me. I’m the stunning blonde, although you probably won’t recognise me out of uniform.’ I laugh at my feeble attempt at a joke.

  And then I see him. A vision in a crowd of faces that all look the same. He looks like a star. Then again, he is a star. I keep forgetting. And then I notice the heads turn. Men look vaguely ill at ease, women in power suits stare openly. And I’m beginning to realise I’m probably the envy of every person in the room. Adam Kirrane is here. And he’s here to see me.

  ‘Hey,’ he gives my cheek a quick peck and I hope he doesn’t burn his lips because I’m sure my face is red hot. I certainly feel hot anyway. But hot and happy and . . . well, a little tipsy. I haven’t had anything to eat all day.

  ‘Hey,’ I answer back because I honestly can’t think of anything else to say. I feel I have fallen in love for the second time in my life. I’m like a teenager on a first date. Not knowing what to say but realising I’ve got to say something.

  ‘Are you well?’ I ask awkwardly, aware that people are staring over and feeling a bit self-conscious because I’m really not used to this kind of attention. I keep thinking my knickers are showing or something.

  ‘I’m great. A little tired but apart from that I’m flying,’ he laughs revealing snow-white teeth. I wonder if they’re capped.

  ‘It’s good to see you again. Would you like another wine?’ he asks and I nod before I’ve time to ask myself if I really need another glass on an empty stomach.

  I glance around but nobody’s looking over any more. Irish people don’t like to be caught staring. We’re all very important in this town you see. We have VIPs and VVIPs and then of course people like myself who never get in anywhere. At least not into any members’ bars to hobnob with all the ‘important’ people. But I do get to see a lot of famous people on my flights, which is great really. I’ve seen U2 and the President and some supermodels, and basically every famous Irish person. Most of them are very nice. But the funny thing is, the bigger the star, the more likely they are to be polite and friendly. It’s only vaguely famous people that are likely to cause trouble. But anyway I’m rambling again and I know you probably just want me to get back to my date with Adam.

  Okay, we’re getting on well and I’m not going to tell you word for word what we’re saying because it’s kind of awkward and the conversation is peppered with the usual first date trivia questions like ‘so how many brothers and sisters do you have?’

  My stomach is beginning to rumble and suddenly I realise I’m starving. But I don’t like to say this to Adam in case he thinks I’m just looking for a fancy meal. As if that was the only reason I showed up.

  Out of nowhere, Adam’s hand rests on my lap and he says, ‘Let’s go grab something to eat. I’m starving.’

  Oh my God, he is my soulmate. He must be. Our minds think alike. It’s a sign. And he’s got really amazing green eyes and I’ve never gone out with anybody with green eyes. Maybe that’s another sign?

  I stand up (rather unsteadily, I have to admit), and Adam holds my coat open. Hmm. I never remember Tim ever holding my coat open for me. Oh God, I promised I wouldn’t talk about Tim. Or even think about him.

  We leave Ba Mizu and walk to Adam’s car. It’s a Mercedes SLK and as Adam holds the passenger door open I slide into the leather seat and think what a lucky girl I am. Not that I’m shallow or anything. But I’m getting just a bit sick of Tim’s second-hand Nissan Micra. We drive to Browne’s on Stephen’s Green and I’m more than impressed. Browne’s has the reputation for being one of the best restaurants in Dublin. When we arrive, the staff greet Adam like an old friend. I’m wondering how often he comes here. And wonder who else has accompanied him on a date. Maybe the girls’ names change every week. Once again Adam takes my coat and then orders a bottle of champagne.

  ‘When’s your next flight?’ he reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze. The touch of his skin on mine is electrifying.

  ‘Tomorrow morning. I’m going to Boston.’

  ‘Boston? Oh yes, I forgot. I love that city.’

  ‘Me too, but unfortunately we don’t stay there very long. Just a night. Pity.’

  ‘A real pity,’ Adam agrees. ‘If you were staying any longer I could have popped over to visit you.’

  I laugh. Adam is just so, so different to any guy I’ve ever met. None of them ever suggested ‘popping over’ to Boston.

  ‘When do you resume your filming schedule?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow,’ he says. ‘I’ve had the last few days off but my schedule is pretty hectic for the next couple of weeks. My character gets himself into all kinds of trouble.’

  ‘Like what?’ I raise an eyebrow as the waiter pours our champagne.

  ‘Oh you know, I can’t be giving the storyline away. It’s highly confidential.’

  ‘Ah go on,’ I tease and
taste some of the champers. ‘Tell me are you busy having affairs and breaking women’s hearts?’

  Adam pretends to look shocked. ‘I don’t write the scripts. I just read the lines. It’s not my fault if the scriptwriters cast me as cad. I’m not like that in real life though,’ he gives me a reassuring wink.

  ‘I’m not a huge telly fan,’ I tell him. ‘But I am working on a script of my own.’

  Even as I’m speaking I’m aware of how pretentious I probably sound. Suddenly I’m embarrassed; half wishing I’d never opened my mouth.

  Adam looks at me quizzically. ‘What kind of script?’

  ‘Well, it’s an Angela’s Ashes type story,’ I tell him. ‘It’s sad, gritty and well, very emotional.’

  ‘I’d love to take a look at it sometime.’

  The waiter arrives to take our orders. I’m happy. Deliriously happy in fact. Adam has just told me that he’d like to look at my script. This means that he wants to see me again obviously. I ask the waiter for the vegetarian option. Adam orders the same. I’m astounded. I rarely meet vegetarian men. Funny, I’ve always thought I’d marry a vegetarian like myself. Another sign, maybe?

  I ask him about work and it’s obvious he loves what he does.

  ‘Actors don’t get paid for acting,’ he explains, ‘they get paid for all the hanging around.’

  ‘I’ve never thought about it like that.’

  ‘Most actors love what they do. If you didn’t love the life you couldn’t do it. It’s such an unpredictable profession. Every week I get my script. If it says ‘Train pulls in’, I never know whether my character is on the train or under it.’

  Gosh, I had never imagined it would be like that. I suppose it would be weird if I turned up at the airport every day, not knowing whether I would be on the flight or not. I’m imagining arriving into the cabin crew rest room, and checking in with crew control and them saying ‘Sorry love, you’re not going to Rome this morning. Bye now’. Can you imagine that? What would I do? I’d have to go home and start typing out my CV again. But if you’re an actor on a famous soap, you can’t exactly turn up at your local petrol station the following week looking for a job, can you?

  I start thinking about all the failed pop stars our country alone has produced over the years. What ever happened to them? All the wannabes. One minute they’re on TV and signing autographs. They appear in magazines as the next big thing and then . . . nothing. They just seem to disappear. It shows that you’ve got to be a tough nut to succeed in the ruthless entertainment industry.

  ‘Do you ever worry about not succeeding?’ I ask Adam.

  ‘Never,’ he looks me straight in the eye. ‘I never stop to wonder “what if?” It wouldn’t even occur to me. Life’s too short for doubts.’

  Our vegetarian dishes arrive and I can’t wait to tuck in. The smell of the food is heavenly and there’s a lovely relaxed atmosphere in this restaurant. I could fall asleep here, and Adam’s right: life is far too short for negative thoughts. I’ve decided to plough ahead with my script and not worry about rejection. I’ll work on it a bit more when I come back from Boston.

  A couple walk into the restaurant and something makes me look up with interest. The blonde woman is wearing a jacket just like one that Tim’s sister, Elaine owns.

  The woman turns around slightly as the waiter shows them to their table. As she does, I freeze. Oh Jesus, it bloody is Elaine. Oh God, I am so, so dead. What am I going to do?

  Adam obviously notices that my face has changed colour. ‘Are you okay?’ he enquires.

  What do I say? Should I tell him the woman who has just walked in is the sister of my boyfriend who isn’t actually really my boyfriend? I don’t think Adam would understand, do you? I’m not sure I understand myself.

  I wonder who the man is. The man with Elaine. He’s not her husband obviously. I’ve met her husband Craig lots of times and it’s definitely not him. But I’m not going to read into it of course. Just because you’re having dinner with somebody, doesn’t mean you’re screwing them too.

  Tim’s sister is a pretty glamorous woman who spends a fortune on clothes and getting her hair done. Her hair is naturally curly but everyone thinks it’s straight because she goes to the hairdresser every second day. She owns a little boutique that does pretty well. And Elaine is a regular in the social diaries, due to the fact that she hangs around with a few minor celebs. Well, the deal is this: she lends them dresses free of charge whenever they turn up to a glamorous do. They, in turn, give her a plug every time they’re asked what their favourite shop is. That’s the way it works. Mutual back scratching.

  I’m wondering if she noticed Adam and myself. I don’t think she did but I couldn’t be sure. I don’t think Elaine likes me. She’s a bit funny towards me.

  It’s as if she doesn’t think I’m good enough for Tim. Her husband is a lot nicer. He’s more laid back and likes to play his golf and isn’t into the whole social scene. I can’t think for the life of me how he ended up with the boisterous Elaine.

  We’re polishing off our dinner, and exchanging meaningful glances. At least I think they’re meaningful. But maybe he’s looking at me and going, eh . . . no way. I don’t know why I always wonder if a guy is going to like me or not. I mean if I were smart I wouldn’t think about it too much. But I’m a girl. And girls tend to put everybody else’s feelings before their own.

  Adam is telling me all about New York and the way everyone over there wants to be famous. It’s fascinating. He tells me about various stars he’s met including Susan Sarandon and Sarah Jessica Parker, and he tells me he once literally bumped into Cindy Crawford on the street.

  ‘Did she recognise you?’ I ask, intrigued.

  ‘Well she smiled at me and said “hi”, so I guess maybe she did.’

  Wow. Thank God Cindy’s married or I might, you know, be getting a little jealous here.

  ‘You know, it’s a real pity you’re going to Boston tomorrow,’ Adam continues. ‘If you were in New York we could hook up and I could take you to a club. Actually I could introduce you to the rest of the cast, including the producer. He’s cool. His dad is half-Irish, like nearly every American on the East Coast.’

  I’m sorry I’m not going too. I mean I love Boston, but meeting Adam in New York would just be incredible. Can you imagine me telling the pilots and cabin crew that I couldn’t meet them in Rosie O’Grady’s for a drink in New York on the next overnight because I was meeting the cast of DreamBoat instead? That would be just too funny.

  The cabin crew don’t really go clubbing in New York. It’s because of the time difference really. I mean when we arrive, it’s already evening time for us, yet still the middle of the day in New York. The sun is shining when it should be dark. So by night-time you are usually so exhausted you just want to go to bed. Sometimes I’ll just go out anyway and to hell with the consequences. Sure I might be wrecked the next day, but I’ll be a long time dead. Whether I go out or not usually depends on the rest of the crew. If they’re a boring bunch then I’ll just excuse myself and go to my room or go for a swim and a sauna in the hotel. But if any of them are up for a laugh we’ll usually just go to Rosie O’Grady’s.

  Sometimes, we’ll just get a load of beer and wine and go to somebody’s room for a party, where we’ll drink loads and gossip like mad about other crew members or give out about the job and life in general.

  Uh oh, I’m at it again. Daydreaming. I give myself a quick reality check. ‘Oh I’m sure we’ll meet up again,’ I say. As casually as that. The champagne has gone straight to my head and I feel on top of the world. So what if Adam is going to New York tomorrow and I’m going to Boston? I love Boston, so I know I’ll have a good time there even if I don’t have anything in common with the rest of the crew and am forced to amuse myself over there.

  If you got bored in Boston, there would be something seriously wrong with you. It has got to be the most beautiful city on earth and it’s home of Harvard and Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. But go
rgeous Hollywood actors aside, Boston is just the type of place you’d love to bring up kids. So that is why I won’t be ringing crew control in order to swap onto the New York flight. You see, I’ve done all that before. With Geoff. I made a fool out of myself over Geoff. And I sure as hell am not going to do it again. Men never appreciate women who do the running. Believe me, I know all about that.

  We order coffee and another bottle of wine. I protest feebly, saying I can’t drink any more because of my flight tomorrow.

  ‘I’ve a flight too,’ Adam tries to justify it.

  ‘That’s a bit different,’ I say. ‘I’ll be working the damn flight but you’ll be in first class fast asleep’.

  ‘I understand,’ Adam nods solemnly. ‘I’ll send the wine straight back’.

  I bite my lip pensively. I don’t want him to do that either. I really don’t want the night to end. If only I didn’t have to go to Boston tomorrow. If only Adam didn’t have to go back to New York. If only neither of us had to work and we could live happily ever after together. Oh God, I really must be drunk. My mind feels hazy. I must get that coffee into me fast. I must . . .

  ‘Hello, sorry to bother you but, I was just wondering if you were the . . . ’

  I turn around. I’d recognise that voice anywhere.

  ‘Hi Elaine,’ I grin.

  You should see her her jaw hit the floor! Elaine just stares at me in utter disbelief. I don’t know if it’s because I’m with Adam or if it’s because I’m out with someone other than her brother, but I have to say I am enjoying this. ‘Yes, this is the Adam Kirrane,’ I continue and Adam holds out a hand. ‘And this is er . . . Elaine.’

  I don’t say why I’m with him, but I know she’s just dying to ask. It must be killing her. Then again, she probably wouldn’t like me asking her who her ‘friend’ in the corner is.