Wendy, Debbie and myself head over to The Cheesecake Factory at around seven. Both girls have made a huge effort to dress up and look pretty glam. Debbie always makes an effort anyway, even if it’s only to run down to the hotel gym. But Wendy looks like a young Claudia Schiffer in her figure-hugging black trousers and delicate white backless top. I wish I’d made more of an effort.
The restaurant is jammed and there’s a terrific buzz about the place. Heavenly aromas waft from the kitchen area. My mouth is watering. My tummy is grumbling. Out of the side of my eye I catch sight of the display of desserts. The cheesecakes are out of this world. I’m going to die deciding which one to go for.
We sit down and scan the menus. There’s so much to choose from that it’s almost impossible to make a decision. Determined to be good, I opt for a salad. This time I pour a delicious, calorie-ridden dressing over it. I don’t care. I’ve been dumped. Adam hasn’t called and I deserve a treat. We order a bottle of house wine and Debbie is asked to produce ID, much to the chagrin of Wendy and myself. Why the hell didn’t he ask us? Not to worry though, the waiter looks like a film star so I’ll forgive him just this once.
After dinner, my jeans are fit to bust but still I order a chocolate and raspberry cheesecake. It’s so sinfully delicious and large I just eat a sliver and ask for the rest to be put in a bag. I’ll have it later, I tell the waiter. He doesn’t bat an eyelid. People do this kind of thing all the time in the States.
I wouldn’t mind hitting a bar now, any bar, but the others are yawning and Debbie wants to go back to the hotel and call Donald. I don’t think it’s a great idea.
‘But he’s my boyfriend,’ Debbie answers crossly as we split the bill and I try to figure out how much of a tip to leave.
‘Who rings who the most?’ I suddenly question her. What I’m really trying to do is point out the obvious. I just feel she’s doing all the chasing. And I’m afraid she’ll get hurt.
‘Well . . . it’s about fifty fifty,’ she answers back. ‘Why?’
‘He should be ringing you more than you ring him,’ I tell her.
‘Says who?’
‘They were the rules the last time I checked.’
We walk back to the hotel in silence. Debbie seems clearly annoyed with me for pointing out the obvious. Deep down though, she must know Donald is playing games. I wish I could come straight out and tell her about himself and Amy but I can’t bring myself to. I’m just hoping she’ll find out soon. If there’s one thing I can’t bear to see a man getting away with, it’s infidelity. It’s just unforgivable.
I’d hate to think of Adam physically being with anybody else besides me. He’s probably so busy filming he wouldn’t have time anyway. But I’d hate him, you know, to even think about being with another woman. I don’t sound obsessed, do I? After all I don’t think I’ve fallen for him completely. And I know we’ve only been on one date. But I can’t stop thinking about him.
Back in the hotel Wendy asks me to join her for a drink in the hotel bar. Unsurprisingly Debbie has gone to her room to ring Donald. I’m amazed Wendy wants to stay up drinking. The girl has hardly said two words all night. Maybe she’s one of those people who miraculously comes to life after a couple of drinks though. I’m pleased to oblige however. I’ll have a drink with basically anyone. No need to twist my arm or anything. Besides I don’t want to be alone in my hotel room. Being alone gives me time to think and I don’t particularly want to think right now. About anything.
‘Debbie seems mad about that guy,’ Wendy observes once our drinks have been ordered.
Her big chocolate-brown eyes look full of concern for poor Debbie and I can’t help thinking what a nice girl she is.
‘Well, you don’t have to be a genius to figure that one out,’ I say.
We’re sitting in the magnificent white hotel lobby admiring the enormous silver and white Christmas tree. Yes, I know it’s only November and we’re in LA but the Christmas tree is up and it feels funny because we’ve been sunbathing all day. I don’t feel Christmassy. In fact I’m not really looking forward to Christmas this year because once again I have nothing organised. Every year I swear I’m going to be one of those people who do their Christmas shopping in the January sales. But every January the thought of me heading into town battling for bargains is just too much to bear so I avoid town. Of course the fear of my credit card being declined in front of a long queue of sneering women doesn’t encourage me either.
Anyway I’m not even going to think about Christmas. Because it seems to come around earlier and earlier every year now.
‘It’s a lovely tree isn’t it?’ Wendy suddenly comments.
‘Fabulous, but you know I feel silly thinking about the festive season so early,’ I explain.
‘Are you spending it with your family?’ she asks regardless.
‘I suppose so,’ I mutter, secretly swearing to myself that if my Dad insists on hammering Silent Night on the piano again this year, he can forget me joining in. I used to sing it to please my grandparents but I’m much too old for all that kind of carry on now.
I wonder if my sister, Ruth, will join us this Christmas. She threatens not to turn up every year and leaves me to peel all the Brussels sprouts, untangle the Christmas lights, and hoover the entire house. By the time she usually arrives in there’s no more work to be done, I’m barely speaking to my folks and she swans in looking a million dollars while my mother nearly falls over with gratitude over the fact that she has honoured us with her presence. Then she sits for the meal like the bloody guest of honour, guzzles the champagne and then heads off before the piano playing kicks off and the washing up needs to be done.
God, this Christmas I think I’ll go on strike. I really do. If I were rich I would book a month in a five star luxury hotel in Barbados and escape it all. The way things are, however, I couldn’t even afford a night in a Mullingar B&B.
‘What are you getting this year?’ Wendy wants to know.
Jesus, does this girl not want to talk about anything besides bloody Christmas? I don’t mean to be mean but her life must be pretty boring if she’s already planning her Christmas stocking. ‘I’m hoping for some socks and bubble bath.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Of course not. I haven’t even thought about Christmas. Why are you so obsessed with it?’
‘Well . . . it’s just that . . . I want to get something brilliant for my boyfriend this year,’ she confides. ‘So I was thinking about getting him something in the States ’cos everything’s so much cheaper out here, isn’t it?’
‘It is if you’re thinking of getting clothes, I suppose.’
‘Well, I was thinking I might go into Beverly Hills tomorrow and have a look around to see if I can get him anything on Rodeo Drive.’
‘Rodeo Drive?’ I almost laugh out loud. ‘Who is your boyfriend – a TV star?’
Wendy suddenly looks very uncomfortable. Her sallow skin flushes a deeper shade and she lowers her thick black eye lashes.
‘Well, yes,’ she says. ‘As a matter of fact he is.’
It takes a few seconds to make a connection. This is followed by a flicker of panic. Immediately thousands of worrying thoughts cross my mind. But then I tell myself not to worry. This is ridiculous. I’m just jumping to conclusions here. My imagination is running away with me. Surely . . . surely Adam wouldn’t have asked out another . . . I mean somebody else working in the same company as me?
I open my mouth to speak but no words escape. Instead I take a deep breath and wait for Wendy to continue. But she doesn’t. An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air. The seconds tick by. I have a horrible feeling that maybe . . . but surely Adam wouldn’t . . . couldn’t . . .
‘Who is he?’ I force the question even though I don’t really want to hear the answer. Just in case. Not if it’s what I think it might be.
‘I shouldn’t really say,’ Wendy takes a strand of her chestnut-coloured hair and starts plaiting it slowly.
�
�I won’t tell anyone,’ I promise. I’m beginning to feel numb.
‘Will you not?’ she looks at me trustingly.
I shake my head. And brace myself for the bad news.
‘His name is Adam,’ she says as my heart plummets. ‘Adam Kirrane.’
I want to throw up. Or cry. Or laugh or something. Instead I remain remarkably calm and start talking. It’s weird but it’s a well-known fact that people act unpredictably when in shock. I tell Wendy I heard he was actually going out with another airhostess. A girl called Sandy.
‘Not any more,’ Wendy refutes this suggestion. ‘I heard that rumour too but then I spoke to Sandy the other day and she told me there was nothing going on.’
‘Indeed. He must be very, very busy.’
‘Yes.’
‘But not too busy to see you?’
‘No,’ she says, looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘So anyway I want to buy Adam something special. To show how much I care. He’s a very special guy. He’s not a bit like the way you see him on TV. But I’m in a dilemma. What on earth do you get the man who has everything?’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ I answer.
I mean it. After all what do you get a guy like Adam?
More to the point, what does he deserve?
CHAPTER TWELVE
I’m standing outside Debbie’s room knocking on her door. Not too loudly though in case I wake everyone else up. Then again they’ve probably already been woken by the Hispanic maids who shout to each other in Spanish over the noise of their vacuum cleaners. It drives me mad. What is the point in hanging a ‘Do not disturb’ sign on your door when nobody takes a blind bit of notice?
Anyway, here I am, about to do something I really don’t want to do but have to do. It’s my duty. Debbie is my friend. And I’m not going to let her get hurt.
I didn’t sleep well last night. No. I tossed and turned thinking about Adam and then berated myself for getting my hopes up about him. I thought about Tim too and how he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me either. And then eventually I got thinking about every man who’d ever dumped me and ended up pretty depressed. I hadn’t ever thought about it too much before but during the night I must have totted up at least twenty or thirty men. I never realised the figure was so high. Jesus!
Then I sat up in bed, switched on the light and lit a cigarette. As I sat there, clouding the air with smoke I suddenly had a vision of clarity. Yes and I began to feel a lot better. I decided that from now on I’m not going to revolve my life around men but will let them revolve about me instead. I’m not going to phone them, visit them or even meet them half way. No. In fact I am going to spend quality time with family and friends, doing fun things. Like not wasting time thinking about members of the opposite sex.
I’m also going to get involved with some kind of a charity group, which will make me feel a lot better off. And maybe take up a sport. I’m also going to throw myself into my script when I go home, in order to make my mark on this world. Definitely. I am not leaving this planet with nobody knowing who I was and why on earth I was here.
And then I fell asleep.
This morning when I woke up I remembered all my promises. Then I thought there was no point trying to be a good person when my friend was in another hotel room down the corridor being deceived by a dirty old scoundrel. So I got dressed and headed off on my mission. I have turned over a new leaf. I am a good person who will not let my friends be trampled on by men.
Debbie opens the door slowly. Though still in her pyjamas, she looks remarkably well rested. It’s obvious she spent no part of the night tossing and turning and fretting about the world, like I did.
I enter her room. It’s dark because the heavy curtains are pulled over.
‘What time is it?’ she asks groggily before pulling back the curtains and peeping outside. Rays of sunlight flood the room.
‘Oh I do love LA,’ she continues happily and I feel even more dreadful. I’m about to burst her happy bubble, but what can I do?
‘Debbie,’ I say in what I hope is a kind, sincere voice. ‘I’ve something to tell you but don’t know how I’m going to do it.’
I sit down on her bed and try to look sad because obviously my face should not look at all happy when I deliver the bad news.
‘Oh my God, are you okay?’ Debbie looks extremely concerned and she lowers her eyes from my face to my stomach as if I might be . . . oh God this is ridiculous.
‘Now don’t worry I’m not pregnant or anything,’ I try to put her mind at ease. ‘In fact this has absolutely nothing to do with me. It’s er . . . about you.’
Debbie looks slightly amused but then again, she doesn’t know the horrible thing I’m about to tell her. There’s no easy way to do this.
‘Debbie,’ I take a deep breath. ‘Donald is seeing somebody else.’
I can hardly bear to look at her face, which remains surprisingly expressionless. The poor girl has obviously gone into shock. I know exactly how she’s feeling. In fact I’m sure I looked the same way the night Tim broke up with me on the phone. And maybe I looked like that last night when I found out Adam had also asked Wendy and God knows how many other airhostesses on a date.
I wait for a reaction, hoping madly that Debbie doesn’t burst into tears or even worse, accuse me of being a liar. Some girls do that you know. They’re so blinded by men that they won’t accept that they’re being cheated on.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I tell Debbie. And I mean it. I can’t bear the fact that I’m hurting her. I wish there was something I could say to make her feel better. I wish Donald wasn’t cheating on her. I feel like I’m part of a sick joke.
Debbie suddenly bursts out laughing and I try my best not to be alarmed. After all, it’s a well-known fact that people react to shock in different ways. So the fact that Debbie is laughing is okay. It’s just a normal reaction. I’m glad she’s not crying anyway. That would be hard to deal with.
Debbie is still giggling away. I refuse to join in. That would be highly inappropriate. Instead I just sit there waiting patiently for her to stop. At last she does but still looks amused nevertheless.
‘Katie, you silly moo,’ she leans over and gives my shoulder a friendly punch.
I’m lost for words. Seriously. Does she think this is a joke? Can you believe it? As if my sense of humour could be this awful! I’m also trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder, the result of her not-so-light punch.
‘Debbie, I am NOT joking,’ I say very, very slowly as if I am talking to a tiny child.
‘I know you’re not pet, I know. And I do appreciate you telling me but the thing is . . . Donald is in fact dating a couple of women but he told me about them so it’s fine. We’re dating American-style. We’re not exclusive.’
‘What?’ I just stare at Debbie.
‘Listen Katie,’ she sighs, ‘Donald was in a seven- year relationship until this summer. The last thing he needs right now is to get heavily involved. We’re just casually dating but we’re not sleeping together because I’ve explained that I won’t go to bed with somebody I’m not serious about.’
This all takes a while to sink in, but eventually I find my tongue. ‘So that’s why you were annoyed last night when I was trying to give you advice?’
‘Yeah, basically. I’m old enough to make up my own mind. I’m not going to put pressure on Donald to commit to me or anything in case he goes running in the opposite direction. Men run a mile from women who seem too keen so I’ve no intention of doing that.’
‘Do you not think he’s having his cake and eating it though?’ I ask bluntly.
‘Who’s to say I‘m not having my own cake? She grins and there’s a twinkle in her eye.
‘You’re NOT!’
‘Am so.’
‘Who?’
‘You know Tim’s friend, Shane?’
My jaw falls. Debbie has been seeing Shane? Why hasn’t she said anything? Why am I always the last person to know what’s going on?
>
‘Oh I haven’t been seeing him properly or anything. I met him in Lillies the other night and we shared a taxi home and had a bit of a snog in the back.’
‘Was er . . . Tim with him?’
‘Not in the back of the taxi, no.’
‘But he was in Lillies?’
‘Yeah, just for a while though.’
Funny, when I was going out with Tim he absolutely refused to go to nightclubs.
‘Was he with any . . . actually no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’
Debbie says nothing, which of course confirms that he was indeed with somebody. I don’t care though. Tim wasn’t right for me so good luck to him. Anyway I’ve enough on my plate without worrying about somebody who didn’t even have the decency to finish our relationship properly.
‘Are you not worried though that Donald will fall in love with one of those other girls?’
‘It’s a chance I have to take,’ Debbie shrugs. ‘Who knows what’ll happen? I’m hoping he’ll just get tired of the others.’
I admire the girl. I really do. This is a very mature attitude to have. I wonder if she’s right though. Maybe I’m being completely unrealistic trying to keep Adam all to myself. Should I just adopt Debbie’s attitude and date him casually?
‘A penny for your thoughts,’ Debbie says suddenly.
‘I’m thinking about Adam Kirrane,’ I tell her, deciding it’s time to come clean with Debbie. ‘I went on a date with him.’
‘No way,’ Debbie screeches and nearly falls off the side of the bed. ‘I can’t believe it. Here I am going on about Donald and Tim’s bloody friend Shane and you’re dating a flipping superstar!’
Mile High Guy Page 15
