‘We’re just on a one-nighter,’ Amy tries to elbow me out of the way but I stand my ground. The Littlest Bar is obviously not the biggest bar on the planet but there’s no need to push and shove. ‘How long are you here?’
‘Well we’re actually here on a training course. We’ll be in Boston for another three days.’
Derek is back but Amy is still focusing on Mike, hanging on to his every word. She looks fascinated, as if he has just told he once flew a plane home by taking a short cut through space. I notice she’s not on Malibu any longer. She’s on vodka and orange like myself. Copycat.
‘What’s the craic?’ Derek nudges me in a jovial manner. ‘You’re not saying much.’
‘Oh I’m fine,’ I turn around to talk to Derek even though I don’t see why Amy gets to talk to the good-looking one. But I try not to let it bother me. I only came out tonight to get Adam out of my mind, not to meet a new man. And it’s not like Mike is that great anyway. He’s very attractive but presumably he thinks he’s bloody amazing too.
Derek proceeds to tell me about the last three overnights he’s had and how much he had to drink on the last one, and how he is building a house in Howth. He tells me he hired a bicycle a couple of months back and went cycling in Kerry for two weeks with four other pilots.
‘Gosh,’ I feign interest while struggling to keep my eyes open. ‘Why did you go to Kerry when you could have flown standby to anywhere in the world.’
‘Oh but I never fly standby,’ Derek tells me proudly. ‘I always need to know if I’m going to get on the flight. I have to know exactly where I’m going.’
Derek is like a lot of pilots in that respect. Most are not the type just to take off at the drop of a hat. Unless they’re getting paid of course. I, on the other hand, will head off anywhere. I once planned to visit Florida but ended up in Los Angeles instead. My standby flight to New York was no good because the flight was full (and the plan had been to fly from New York to Florida). Anyway I really didn’t fancy coming home with my packed suitcase once I was all psyched up to go away. So I asked ground hostess to swap my New York ticket for one to LA. An hour later I was heading for DisneyLand instead of Disney World. I was travelling on my own anyway so didn’t really care where I ended up.
I like to travel alone because it helps me think. There’s nothing worse than a travelling companion who signs up for all the rip-off touristy trips and insists on visiting every bloody museum within a hundred miles of the resort. On holidays, I just love to wake up and realise that I’ve nothing to do and nobody to report Also, I’ll let you in on a little secret here. If you travel alone, you lose lots of weight. Seriously. Because it’s not much fun going out for dinner alone. Especially if you’re a woman. Or are staying in a particularly romantic resort like the Whitsunday Islands, surrounded by loving couples.
Every time I head off on my tod, I come home a half stone lighter. Beats any of those fad diet books they try to sell you.
‘ . . . the roof should be on by March of next year and the plumbers should be finished by . . . ’
Derek is droning on about his yet-to-be-built house but I’m not really listening. I’m mentally picturing my next foreign holiday. Thailand would be nice. I haven’t really travelled much in the Far East although I did stop off in Singapore for a night on my way back from Oz.
I glance at Mike and Amy. They seem to have run out of things to say to each other, and are now showing a vague interest in the progress of Derek’s house, which is great because it takes the pressure off me. I wonder where Mike lives and if he has a house and a girlfriend. He’s not married. At least he’s not wearing a wedding ring. anyway. Anyway why am I even thinking about Mike?
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. As I wash my hands I look in the mirror and don’t care for what’s looking back at me. My eyes are bloodshot, my skin looks almost grey and my hair is dull and lank. No wonder Mike has been ignoring me and Derek thinks it’s all right to bore me stupid about his future house.
When I come back out, Amy and Mike have disappeared.
‘Amy didn’t feel that well, so Mike brought her back to the hotel. She said she’d give your room a ring in the morning,’ Derek explains.
This takes a second or two to sink in. I’m pretty stunned. I cannot believe Amy waited for me to go to the bathroom so she could sneak off. The pair of them must have been dying to get rid of the pair of us. Derek and myself must have been cramping their style. Jesus, I’m really annoyed. I feel completely used even though I was the one who had practically forced Amy into the bar. I’m also annoyed that Mike obviously preferred Amy to me. God, what is wrong with me? Suddenly my head feels like it’s being crushed. I feel drowsy and I just want to collapse. I want to be in my bed right now. And don’t want to go out and face the cold again. I don’t even want to have to fly home again tomorrow. In fact I don’t want to fly ever again. I want to be a famous scriptwriter and be the person sitting in first class with my feet up.
‘Katie?’
‘Mmm.’
‘You’re a million miles away.’
‘Oh sorry,’ I say dreamily.
‘I bought you another vodka and orange but you don’t have to drink . . .’
‘Thank you,’ I lift the glass and knock back the contents.
CHAPTER NINE
My head. Oh God, my head. It definitely doesn’t feel the best. Opening my eyes I try to remember which country I’m in. Oh yes, America. Boston. It’s all coming back to me. Yes. Kitty’s and The Littlest Bar. I vaguely remember going there but don’t remember leaving. I must have come back though. With Derek. Derek the pilot. Not the good-looking one. No. That was Mike. I don’t remember saying goodbye to Derek but I must have. It’s all a bit of a blur.
I’m parched. I can’t believe I forgot to leave some water beside the bed yesterday evening. Very silly. Not to worry though, there’s a soft drinks machine on the corridor outside. And as far as I remember there’s also an ice machine.
I’d better slip out and grab a can before I die of dehydration. I pick up my hotel key and sneak outside wearing my pink Dunnes Stores pyjamas with an elephant on the front. They’d be cute on a ten-year-old but I’m not sure they suit me. I pop a dollar into the machine and press the button. A can of Diet Coke crashes to the bottom.
It’s nice and chilled but I may as well grab some ice. Sugar. I realise I’ve nothing to put the ice in. I’d better go back to my room and grab an ice bucket. I dart back inside, leave down the can and re-emerge with the ice bucket. The ice cubes smash into the bucket making the loudest sound. I hear somebody coming out of their room. Sugar, sugar, sugar. I don’t like to be caught standing out here in my jammies. Oh well, it’s probably just some American whom I’ll never see again.
The door slams and I feel somebody approach me and stop behind me. Suddenly I panic. A chill runs along my spine. Suppose it’s a rapist or someone who’s thinking of dragging me into their room and clobbering me over the head with my own ice bucket?
I swing around. And my eyes meet another pair. They’re blue and inquisitive. And they belong to Mike. Mike, the pilot. He looks gorgeous. And I look like shit. I’m furious at him for sneaking up on me like this. I hate him for seeing me in this state.
‘Hello,’ he says, really casually. As if it’s perfectly normal to be chatting to a colleague in her nightclothes. He’s wearing denims and a white t-shirt. I bet he’s been up for hours. He looks like he got a good night’s sleep. Hmm. That’s weird. I wonder what happened between himself and Amy. Then I remember how he left me in The Littlest Bar without saying goodbye. The nerve!
‘Hello,’ I answer back, very coolly. I have no intention of having a conversation in my nightclothes with a man who abandoned me in a bar in order to cop off with another airhostess.
‘Did you get home all right?’ he enquires.
Well, actually, I was mugged, raped and stabbed on the way home but sure I’m grand now.
‘Poor Amy wasn’t feeling well,�
�� he continues as I try to manoeuvre my way around him. He’s standing between the ice machine and me so it isn’t that easy. I wish he’d let me pass.
‘Really?’ I answer dully.
‘Yes, but I think she’s fine now.’
‘Well that’s fantastic. Now forgive me for being rude but I need to go back to bed. Last night turned out to be a very long one.’
I ignore Mike’s puzzled expression and disappear back into my room.
I shut the door and immediately run to the mirror. Oh Jesus. I knew I wouldn’t exactly win a beauty contest this morning but I didn’t realise I was looking this shit. My mascara has run half way down my face as I forgot to remove it last night and my skin is puffy and blotchy. I am so annoyed with myself for letting one of the pilots see me in this state. I’ll be the laughing stock of the airline. Hmm. Bet Mike is glad he picked Amy over me. I’m sure he’s thanking his lucky stars he left me in the bar with Derek. Well, good luck to him, I think. I’m not going to worry about what he thinks. He might be cute enough but I wouldn’t go near him. Not if he was the last available man on the planet.
I sit down on the bed and wonder what to do with the rest of my day. I’m sure as hell not going to waste it thinking about Mike anyway. God, no. I’d like to go down to the leisure centre and sweat off last night’s drink fest in the sauna but am afraid of bumping into Mike in a near-naked state. He’s already seen my very unsexy just-got-out-of-bed look, but I simply refuse to let him see my cellulite too!
I think I’ll go down to Boston Common for a walk, that should clear my head. Then I might have a root around Filenes’s basement to see if I can pick up any bargains. Mind you, with the head I’ve on me this morning, maybe a walk in the park is all I’ll have the energy for.
It takes me an hour to get ready. Thank God I’ve my heavy coat with me. Walking around Boston when you’re not appropriately dressed can be miserable. Once outside, I immediately feel better. There’s something very claustrophobic about hotel rooms. Must be the air conditioning. It’s nippy though. Outside the hotel foyer, I hug myself against the icy morning chill.
When I get to Newbury Street, I wander around marvelling at the quaint little boutiques that line the street. If I’d lots of money I’d hang out here all the time, I think. I love everything about this street, especially the gorgeous little shops that sell exotic-looking ice cream even in the depth of winter. I walk and walk and walk and I’m soon feeling much better. Walking in Boston is therapeutic. My hangover is rapidly disappearing. Last night seems like months ago now. I’m wondering how Adam is getting on in New York. I’d half expected him to send me a text or something but there hasn’t been a peep from him. He’s probably really busy, I tell myself. He’d said something about meeting a powerful film executive. Adam wants to get into movies. He told me that. He doesn’t want to be a mere TV star all his life. Doesn’t want to be typecast. He has visions.
I love walking alone. It helps me think. I’m sure Amy is still in bed with the remote control watching some mindless soap. I still can’t get over her behaviour last night. What did she think she was playing at, abandoning me like that?
After a while I’m in Boston Common and I sit on a bench watching kids skate on a frozen pond. The park looks really Christmassy, like a postcard. I wish I could stay in Boston a while longer. I’m not looking forward to going home. I never am.
I love my job, don’t get me wrong. Love the perks and the cities I visit. I just don’t like working the actual flights. I did at first because it was a novelty but I get bored easily, and now I just wish there was a bit more to my life. I fly to places and then fly back again but sometimes I just want to fly somewhere and keep flying.
I get up from the park bench because it’s too cold. I consider heading to Filenes’s but then decide I can’t face the crowds. I’ll do it another time. Right now, I just want something to eat. I make for the nearest deli.
At the deli I help myself to a little bit of everything. The choice of food is wonderful and everything seems to be low fat so I can fill my plate without feeling guilty. I wish there were delis like this back in Dublin where I could always eat well. It’s a struggle to stay slim living in Ireland because even the salads are laden with calories.
After lunch, I head back to the hotel. Pick-up is in five hours. The coach will collect us outside the hotel. And then it’ll be back to Logan Airport where we’ll face the long flight home. The flight home is usually a lot shorter than the flight over, especially if we’ve the wind behind us. But it always feels longer. Yes, coming home always feels a lot longer.
Back in my hotel room I wonder if I should grab a couple of hours kip before my flight. If I can do it, the flight home will be more bearable. Then again, I don’t want to lie in bed tossing and turning with one eye on the dreaded clock. That often happens. I’m not one of these people who conks out the minute my head hits the pillow. I wish I was.
Sometimes I see passengers sleeping on the short hop from Dublin to Manchester. As soon as we take off, they’re out for the count and wake up as the wheels hit the runway. They must be very peaceful, those people. I can never sleep because my mind is always racing. And I’m always worrying about things. Stupid things. I read somewhere that most things people worry about never happen, and the things that do happen, there’s nothing you can do about them anyway. Therefore worrying is completely pointless. But that nevertheless doesn’t stop me.
I worry a lot. About people not liking me and not achieving everything I want to. Sometimes I worry about being left on the shelf, but equally worry about marrying somebody I don’t really love. I worry about not being able to have children but also worry that having children will take away my freedom. Most of all though, I worry about really small, really insignificant things.
Like my roster.
My roster is something I’m never terribly happy about. In fact I resent the fact that somebody I don’t know is organising my life, deciding what time I get up at, what country I’ll have lunch in, and who I get to spend the weekend with.
If I were a successful scriptwriter I could write whenever I pleased, in whatever country I chose. I would write my own roster, and not even stick to it if I didn’t want to. Now somebody else does that. Somebody else decides if I get Christmas or New Year’s Eve off. They decide what time I must set my alarm and God do I hate that.
One day, I’m going to do it my way. That’s the dream anyway. I want to live my own life. And not have to ask someone for permission for a weekend off. If I go to the doctor it should be own private business. I don’t want to get a written note explaining everything to my employer. God, some things should be sacred!
I get undressed. I think I’ll have a bath anyway. A nice hot bath where I can relax using the luxurious hotel bath gel. A bath is a luxury I rarely indulge in at home. Mainly because there’s somebody always in the bathroom. And if there’s not, there’s always someone trying to get in.
If I had my way, I’d have a bath every day and then go to the hairdresser too because that’s the secret to looking great. No matter how tired you are, if your hair is shiny and blow-dried, you can get away with murder.
I’ve one toe in the water when the phone rings. Dammit. I bet it’s housekeeping wondering can they clean my room. Well no, they bloody can’t, I think irritably, retrieving my toe from the bubble bath and reaching for the phone.
‘Hi, it’s Amy,’ says the voice although it doesn’t really sound like Amy. It sounds like an impersonator. What does she want anyway?
‘Hello.’ I don’t sound very enthusiastic. Not surprisingly really since Amy is not my favourite person since her surprise party-piece last night.
‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine. In fact I’m actually about to get into the bath Amy so if you don’t mind . . .’
‘Oh I’m sorry, I really am. I was just ringing to apologise about last night.’
‘What happened last night?’ I pretend not to care what she’s talking
about. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she hurt me.
‘I left without saying goodbye.’
‘Oh yes. So you did. I’d completely forgotten. You see, Derek and I were having such a laugh, we didn’t even notice you’d gone.’
‘Oh.’ Amy sounds subdued.
‘Yes. Well see you later.’
‘Katie?’
‘Yes?’ My bath is getting cold. Can’t we talk later? Like on the plane? Or preferably never?
‘I think Donald is cheating on me.’
I don’t say anything. My blood has run cold. How much does she know? Did somebody tell her about Debbie? Does she know I know? Suddenly I don’t care about my bath any more. I actually feel sorry for Amy. There’s nothing more horrible than suspecting someone you love, or even like, is cheating on you.
‘I’ll come around to you and we can talk properly,’ I tell her. ‘What room are you in again?’
* * *
Amy looks like I looked this morning when I bumped into Mike, only worse. Her eyes are red and her skin is ropey-looking.
‘You don’t look well at all,’ I say grimly.
‘Thanks.’
She looks miserable in fact.
‘So,’ I sit on the end of her bed. ‘What makes you think Donald is cheating?’
‘Well I’m not one hundred per cent sure,’ she leans forward in the bed. ‘But I have my suspicions.’
‘Oh?’ I play dumb.
‘Yes. So last night I was quizzing Mike to see if I could get any information out of him.’
Aha. It’s all beginning to make sense now. So Amy wasn’t trying to lure Mike into the sack last night after all. What a relief! She was merely using him as a means of finding out information. Well, that makes me feel a lot better.
‘I hope you didn’t think I was ignoring you in the bar. Donald’s strange behaviour has been on my mind for quite a while now, so last night I just grabbed the opportunity to get some inside information. You know yourself.’
Mile High Guy Page 12
