Mile High Guy

by Marisa Mackle

  I turn around and face Mike for the first time since our rather uncomfortable meeting outside my hotel bedroom. I’m mortified. By the looks of things, the feeling’s mutual.

  ‘Yes, we’ve met,’ I say hastily feeling my cheeks burn. In the name of God, what did I do to deserve this? He looks well, very well in fact although for some strange reason I hate admitting this. He smells nice too – Polo, Ralph Lauren, I think.

  ‘How many of you are here?’ Debbie asks brightly.

  ‘Five of us. It’s Colin’s birthday.

  Great, I think. Colin is Donald’s brother, although he’s not half as handsome. What he lacks in the looks department though, he makes up for with his huge ego.

  Personally I don’t think the Cock Tavern will be big enough for all of us. As if by magic, the front door swings open and Colin and the rest of the lads crowd into the bar. Jesus, it’s like an airline bloody reunion in here. Come to think of it, this might be a good time to leave.

  ‘Oi, where do you think you’re going?’ Colin bellows as he sees me standing up. He’s so tall he makes me feel like a midget. Hmm. So much for my escape plan.

  ‘It’s my birthday. You can’t leave without buying me a drink. And where’s my birthday kiss, haha?’

  Mike and I exchange awkward glances.

  I go to give Colin a kiss on the cheek but he turns swiftly and our lips collide. Ugh. Should have seen that coming. Why can’t it be Mike’s birthday instead?

  I wipe my mouth as if to make a point.

  A couple more pilots arrive. They all look exactly the same: striped shirts and jeans. Mike stands out though. He looks good enough to eat. It’s a pity I’m not technically single. Although I will be in about one hour. That reminds me, I’d better get going. I’m meeting Tim in town and I just want to get this over and done with. I’m dreading seeing his face when I tell him. It’d be much easier to do it over the phone. But of course, I’d never ever do anything as cowardly as that. Tim deserves more. We’ve known each other for almost three years. We’ve got memories for God’s sake. We’ve even got a song. I just can’t remember what it is right now.

  ‘I’d better get going,’ I whisper in Debbie’s ear.

  ‘Ah stay for just one more,’ she pleads. ‘It’s awful being the only female among a group of lads.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘Don’t go,’ Colin booms in a loud voice. ‘Mike. Make her stay.’

  All the lads seem to find this very funny. Everybody except of course Mike, whose face has gone a curious crimson colour.

  ‘What’s the rush?’ Donald raises an eyebrow and I’m amazed at his coolness. Who does he think he is, bloody Casanova?

  Debbie leans over and says something in hushed tones.

  ‘Oh,’ he nods mysteriously, as if he suddenly understands. I can tell the others are dying to know what Debbie told him. No doubt he’ll inform them once I’ve gone. They’ll probably think I’m a callous bitch. That’s how I feel anyway as I put on my coat and wrap my big black woollen scarf around my neck. It’s awful to end a relationship so near to Christmas too. I do hope Tim hasn’t gone and bought my present already.

  As I bid the group a farewell wave I catch Mike looking at me and wish he wouldn’t. He has a very intense stare. As if he knows more about me than I know about myself. It’s unnerving.

  I head outside and hail a taxi. I told Tim I’d phone when I was on my way into town. In the back of my taxi I take my mobile phone out of my bag and see a missed call. I didn’t hear the phone with the noise in the pub.

  My heart gives a little leap as I realise Adam made the call. I’m thrilled. I really am absolutely over the moon. Quickly I ring him back but unfortunately get his answer machine. I’m about to leave a message when I panic and hang up. What’ll I say? I’ll have to think about this. I don’t want to sound like I’ve been waiting desperately by the phone for the last few days. Anyway I’d better ring Tim first. I can’t get through to him either, which is very annoying.

  As soon as I press END, the phone rings and Adam’s name flashes up. OhmiGod, I can’t believe he’s ringing back so quickly.

  ‘Hello?’ I answer with a big grin on my face, which thankfully Adam can’t see.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asks. Just like that. As if I was speaking to him five minutes ago instead of five days ago.

  ‘I’m coming into town. I was out in Swords having a drink with a bunch of the lads,’ I tell him, thinking that makes me sound rather exciting. I just want him to know I haven’t been sitting in all evening twiddling my thumbs.

  ‘What lads?’

  ‘Oh just some of the pilots.’ I say casually.

  ‘I see.’

  He sounds put out. Good. He probably thinks the pilots all look like Greek Gods and are wildly exciting. And I’m not going to bother correcting him. Let him think I’ve all these dashing Tom Cruise types chasing me around the planes.

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m going into town.’

  ‘What are you doing there?’

  God, he isn’t half nosy, is he?

  ‘I’m meeting a friend.’

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘As I said, it’s a friend so it doesn’t matter whether they’re male or female, does it?’ I tease.

  ‘So it’s a male.’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘Is it a date?’

  Quick Katie. Think of something.

  ‘It’s just an old friend.’

  An old friend whom I also used to sleep with incidentally.

  ‘Where are you?’ I want to stop talking about me now.

  ‘Still in New York.’

  ‘Missing me?’ I say boldly.

  ‘Kind of.’

  Missing Sandy too? I obviously don’t say this but I’m thinking it. Is he going to phone her straight after me or has he just got off the phone to her? Maybe she didn’t answer so he dialled my number instead?

  ‘You should come over to New York,’ he says and my heart momentarily soars. I cannot believe Adam is on the phone suggesting I come and meet him. Doesn’t sound to me like a guy who’s in love with somebody else. Someone other than me.

  ‘We’ll see.’ I’m determined to remain uncommitted. No point jumping the gun too soon. After all, only a few minutes ago I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear from Adam Kirrane again.

  ‘Wish I was there,’ he says.

  Yeah, right.

  ‘Thank you. Er . . . when do you think you’ll be back?’ I ask, hoping I don’t sound too eager.

  ‘As soon as I can get away Babes. Schedule’s pretty hectic at the moment. But I’ll talk to you soon, okay?’

  ‘Sure. Talk soon.’

  He’s gone. Just like that. God, I wish I were in New York instead of Dublin, waiting to give Tim the bad news that we are no longer to be an item.

  I get out of the taxi at The Conrad Hotel. I walk down to the bar and order myself a glass of white wine. The place is empty except for two couples chatting quietly. I phone Tim again. This time he answers immediately.

  ‘Are you on your way in?’ I ask him.

  ‘Um no, I got held up at a meeting. Where are you?’

  ‘In The Conrad waiting for you.’

  ‘Listen, I’m not sure if I can make it in.’

  What does he mean he can’t make it in? Is he thinking of standing me up?

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ I say putting on my most serious voice.

  ‘I need to talk to you too,’ he answers just as seriously. He doesn’t sound like the Tim I know. He sounds almost hostile. I don’t like it.

  ‘Can’t we get together and talk face to face?’

  ‘Well actually Katie,’ he pauses for what seems like an age, ‘I don’t think this is going anywhere.’

  ‘What?’ I’m all confused. What’s he playing at? I’m in no mood for playing games. With Tim or with anybody. I am sitting in a bar on my own, I’m tired and my head is beginning to ache. My warm comfy bed is beckoning.


  ‘You and me. I think we’ve run our course.’

  Hang on. Am I hearing what I think I’m hearing? I can’t be. No. There’s no way Tim would . . . he’d never . . . God, is this Tim’s way of telling me he’s finishing it with me?

  ‘Are you still there, Katie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I know it’d be better if I told you to your face but as I said I’ve got held up. I’m really sorry. It’s never nice to be the one who has to break it off but I’m just being cruel to be kind.’

  ‘I’m shocked.’

  That’s an understatement. I’m completely stunned. What is Tim doing breaking it off with me when I’m the one supposed to be doing the dumping? How on earth is this happening? Has he met someone else? Is he held up because he’s on a date with another woman? Is she sitting there with him as he’s having this conversation with me? How humiliating! I don’t understand.

  ‘Listen Katie, I’m sure you’ll get over me. One day I’m sure you’ll meet somebody a bit more deserving. You’re a wonderful person, Katie. This isn’t about you, it’s about . . .’

  ‘Don’t even say it,’ I warn. ‘Please do not insult me.’

  The walls of the bar are beginning to spin. I feel like this is a dream and I’m not really having this conversation. Why has Tim had a sudden change of heart? Instead of feeling elated that Tim wants to end our relationship, I feel kind of ill. Did somebody tell him something about me? Oh my God. I know what it is. His bloody sister must have gone and said something to him. She must have told him about bumping into Adam and myself.

  ‘Are you still there Katie?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say in a small voice. I’m feeling very subdued.

  ‘We can be friends.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Not straight away of course. We probably need a “cooling off” period. It won’t be easy for either of us at the beginning.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But let’s just remember the good times.’

  Were there good times? I can’t think of any right now. Then again, I can’t think of anything. Only that Tim is breaking it off and it’s a complete shock.

  ‘You’re still welcome to call me any time you need to chat.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, although what I’m thanking him for, I really have no idea.

  ‘And Katie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Take care of yourself.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Bastard.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘God Katie, you’re so immature. Here rub some of this on my back will you?’

  Debbie rolls over on her tummy as I squirt the vile smelling suntan lotion onto the palm of my hand. I slap it on her sallow-skinned back.

  ‘I still can’t believe he broke it off though,’ I whine.

  ‘But it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? He was actually doing you a favour when you think about it.’

  I know she’s right. Tim actually saved me from doing the dirty deed but for some reason that doesn’t make me feel better. I’m still reeling from being dumped. I want to know why he did it. And so callously over the phone too. I feel hurt. Almost as hurt as if I had really loved Tim. I’m thinking that if he didn’t think I was worth going out with, then what hope do I have of holding on to Adam? What will Adam see in me that Tim obviously didn’t? The more I think about it, the more I sink into a horrible depression. Not even the sunny skies of LA can lift my spirits.

  ‘I’ll get over it,’ I tell Debbie even though I’m really talking to myself. Trying to convince myself I am strong.

  ‘Of course you will,’ Debbie agrees. ‘It’s never nice splitting up with anybody. I just hate the finality of it all, don’t you? You begin to wonder what the wasted years were for. What have you got to show for your investment? However,’ she adds with a sympathetic smile, ‘we all get dumped at some stage in our lives and just get on with it. I’d like to feel that if Donald and I ever parted company that we could be mature about it and still remain friends.’

  I say nothing. First of all, I know she’s kidding herself. If I told Debbie right now what Donald has been up to, she would never speak to him again, never mind want him as a friend. It’s easy to say we should all be friends, blah, blah, blah, but it’s just wishful thinking. In an ideal world we’d all be friends, but we don’t live in such a an amicable world. And human beings do not, to my knowledge, stay friends with people who have hurt them.

  The sun is beaming down forcing me to head for the small pool. I lower myself into it thinking that there’s something quite wonderful about being able to swim outdoors in winter. I think of Tim walking around Dublin in his Parka jacket trying to keep warm and I secretly hope it’s lashing rain back in Ireland.

  I’m on my second lap of the pool when a thought strikes me like a slap in the face. God, it’s so bloody obvious. Tim must be dating somebody else. He must be. Of course. That’s the reason for his bizarre behaviour. Why else would he have got rid of me like that? I know Tim’s not the type of man to give something up unless he has something better lined up. I feel nauseous. The idea of Tim calling to some other girl’s house with a plant for her delighted mother makes me feel ill. I’ll never forgive him for treating me like this.

  After my swim I feel marginally better and lie down to dry off in the sun. After a while Debbie says she’s sick of the pool. She suggests heading to Venice Beach instead. I like the idea. Sitting by a small pool all day can become monotonous and Venice Beach is always so full of crazies, it’s bound to cheer me up.

  Half an hour later I wait for her in the hotel lobby. It doesn’t take us long to reach Venice Beach with all it’s weird and wonderful patrons and sidewalk vendors. Body builders literally work out on the prom, roller-bladers with enormous rigid breasts zoom past and a zillion fortune-tellers wait to tell passer bys about their future. We stroll along looking out at the Pacific. It looks deceptively inviting but given the time of year, the water’s probably freezing.

  We head to a little café and order black coffees and salads with no dressing because after a walk on wacky Venice Beach, one is not exactly inclined to stuff one’s face. LA is a very strange place. Everyone seems to be either very thin or very fat. There’s no in between really. Also, nobody really seems to belong either. They come from all over the world to search for something here. Something, which I’m sure, most never find. I don’t know if I could live here full time but God, it’s a incredibly interesting place to visit.

  The girl who serves is us a stunning brunette with a flawless face and a foreign accent. Russian maybe. She’s so thin she looks like she might break. She completely understands when we refuse the dressing. I’m sure the only dressing she ever does, is for auditions.

  Of course, I’m sure she’s not really a waitress. She’s probably just one of thousands of gorgeous-looking women standing on their feet in this town. Feeding and watering ordinary people like myself and Debbie. I’m sure she could tell you about the stars who’ve popped in here. Maybe Nicole Kidman has also enjoyed a dressing-free salad in here too. Or somebody who looks like her. Or wants to be her. The possibilities are endless . . .

  I’m so glad I never just arrived out here armed with my script and a prayer. I wonder what drives people to come out? What makes them stay and why are they so afraid to go home? Maybe they never go home and just hide out on Venice Beach forever withering their skin under the relentless sun. Maybe all the street performers who hang out there once had dreams of making it big.

  Thankfully I never wanted to be an actress. At least not since I was a child. After auditioning for Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz and ending up being one of the munchkins, I hung up my acting hat. I often think it must be one of the hardest professions. I suppose that’s why I admire Adam so much. Imagine putting yourself up for rejection after rejection day after day. Adam must have gone through all the hell before he hit the big time. And he’s still going through it in a way. He doesn’t find TV challenging enough apparently. He
wants to be a big movie star.

  The Russian waitress arrives with two glasses of iced water and I can tell by her eyes that she’s on the verge of giving up. If she landed a two-bit role in a TV series or a commercial, she might just hold out a bit longer. Turning up for auditions has to be the hardest work ever. And it’s unpaid.

  ‘You know, most of the actors living here, work for free to get experience,’ says Debbie, obviously reading my thoughts.

  ‘I know,’ I nod.

  ‘The film companies get away with it because there are so many wannabes just desperate to put anything on their CVs. Have you seen all the ads in the acting magazines?

  ‘Mmm. That’s just what I was thinking. I was flicking through a magazine for actors and the only jobs offered were unpaid.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a disgrace.’

  ‘Or you can sell your eggs I suppose.’

  ‘What?’ I throw Debbie a surprised look.

  ‘Oh you know, those magazines are full of ads looking for women to sell their eggs. I suppose they’re aimed at wannabe actors living on the breadline.’

  I shudder. Once again I’m just so glad I abandoned any acting ambitions when Fame came to an end. But still, I would really, really love to have my script accepted.

  And have other people act out the parts I’ve created.

  Debbie wants to visit the mall in Santa Monica so we head there after lunch. She hits the clothes shops while I stop off at the bookshop to browse. I always treat myself when in LA by buying a screenplay or two. I’ll browse through them later in bed with a nice glass of wine.

  Not much happens in LA at night around the Marina Del Ray area. Everybody’s in bed by ten. At least that’s how it feels. If New York is the city that never sleeps, LA is the city that seems to shut down at sunset.

  An hour later I meet Debbie, laden with bags. I show her the books I’ve bought and she rolls her eyes to heaven. She thinks the whole scriptwriting dream is daft. As do most people.

  Debbie doesn’t want to carry her bags home so we get a taxi. When I get to my hotel room, the little red light is flashing on my answer phone. My heart gives a little leap. Could it be . . . oh could it be that Adam has found out my hotel room number and left a little love message? My excitement is short-lived however. I’ve three messages but they’re all from the same person. Wendy, one of the air hostesses, is wondering what I’m doing for dinner later on. Dinner? God help us, but how is anybody expected to lose weight around here? I ring her back and ask what the plan is. She suggests The Cheesecake Factory, which I have to admit is the most fab restaurant around here. They serve over forty types of cheesecake, so how can I resist? Forget the diet – there’s always tomorrow.