‘You could write your script in my spare room,’ he continues. ‘I have a lovely big desk and a computer in my place in Soho. It’s really peaceful there and a lot of writers live in the area, so you’d probably find it quite inspirational.’
I’m listening but not saying anything. I can’t. My mouth has gone dry. My heart is palpitating. Has Adam Kirrane, the Adam Kirrane just suggested that I move in with him? I mean, if he were just inviting me over for the weekend, he wouldn’t expect me to be working, would he? God, he must really, really like me. After all, he isn’t inviting Wendy over to New York, or Sandy or the girl in the photo, is he? I’m so thrilled I can barely keep the smile off my face. Of course, moving in with him would be too much at this stage, and anyway I can’t just pack in my job and head off blindly. But it’s terribly flattering to know he’s thinking so far ahead. Just wait ’til I tell Debbie. She won’t believe it.
‘I don’t believe it!’
‘I swear to God Debbie. What do you make of it all? He must seriously be interested.’
‘Just be very careful though,’ she warns.
I’m locked in a bathroom cubicle of the quaint Wicklow hotel where Adam has brought me. Adam is in the dining room checking out the wine list. I’ve just checked my reflection in the mirror and I look different. I look so happy I almost didn’t recognise myself. Maybe this is the way people look when they realise they’ve finally met Mr Right after years and years of meeting Mr Wrongs. I wish Debbie wouldn’t put a dampener on things though. I thought she’d be happier for me.
‘I will be careful,’ I retort. ‘I just wanted you to be the first to know.’
‘The first to know what?’
‘That he’s asked me to move over,’ I say, sounding more than a little exasperated. I almost wish I hadn’t rung her now.
‘But has he actually asked you to move over?’ Debbie sounds suspicious. ‘I mean, are you sure you didn’t take him up the wrong way?’
‘No, I didn’t. He even told me I could write in his apartment.’
‘Mmm. Don’t get carried away though, do you hear me?’
‘Yeah okay, talk to you tomorrow Debbie.’
Huh! I wonder what’s eating her? She didn’t sound too excited for me, I think, as I wash my hands and dry them on the soft fluffy white towel. Maybe Donald hasn’t rung in a while and she’s feeling a bit down. Or maybe it’s just that time of the month and her hormones are at her. Oh well, I’m not going to let Debbie’s negativity ruin my night. Adam is waiting for me in the dining room and that’s the most important thing.
There are only six other tables in the hotel restaurant apart from our own. It’s very small, but homely and luxurious. According to Adam, this place used to be owned by an English aristocrat. It was his country home and he actually kept a mistress here, and nobody ever found out about her until the old man kicked the bucket. Then she refused to leave and the whole thing caused quite a scandal.
I hadn’t realised Adam took such an avid interest in Irish history. It’s refreshing to have dinner with such an educated person. God, when I think of what I put up with all those years I was seeing Tim. He used to go on about the bank, and all the people he disliked in his office, and how so and so didn’t deserve a promotion, and how such and such a female manager was so bitchy in order to hide her inferiority complex. He really hadn’t had a good word to say about anyone. Unfortunately, I was the one who had to listen to him ranting and raving on our twice weekly drives to the cinema multiplex.
It’s only when you look back on a relationship that you realise how unhappy you were in it. At the time, I suppose you just go along with it not questioning it. It just becomes routine and you get used to it. When I think about it now, I had quite a lucky escape when Tim finally dumped me, didn’t I? Can you imagine what a boring married life we might have had?
Anyway I’m not going to waste any more time thinking about Tim. Especially not tonight. The idea of it! Adam has ordered champagne and the waiter is pouring two glasses. I’m impressed. He asks me what I’m going to order and I pick up the menu. Unfortunately there’s only one vegetarian option, which I always think is a bit ignorant to see on a menu. As if vegetarians don’t deserve a choice or anything! But the pasta dish sounds tempting so I don’t complain.
Adam orders smoked salmon as a starter. I’m very surprised ’cos I distinctly remember him being a veggie.
‘I do eat fish,’ he explains.
‘But they have eyes.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Fish have eyes. You can’t be a veggie and eat things with eyes.’
Adam looks slightly uncomfortable as if he’d never actually realised that fish in fact have eyes. But I certainly don’t want to get into a heated debate about vegetarianism now, so I quickly raise my glass and say ‘cheers’ and then lean over and kiss him seductively on the lips.
‘Very nice,’ he smiles at me. ‘I hope there’s more from where that came from.
‘Well if you’re a good boy, you never know what might happen,’ I give him a seductive wink.
I’m getting quite good at this, I think. Considering I was with Tim for so many years and got no practice at seduction at all. Tim’s idea of foreplay was asking me if I was ‘on for it’ before rummaging through his wardrobe for a condom. That would usually take a while because his room was so messy. I would start reading a magazine or flicking through the TV channels or something while I was waiting. Sometimes I’d even ring someone for a quick chat on my mobile.
Anyway, what in the name of God am I still thinking about Tim again for? Didn’t he waste enough of my time when I was with him? He really shouldn’t be granted any more quality thinking time.
I notice Adam is knocking back the champagne. I hope he realises he has to drive me home later and can’t be drinking and driving. You wouldn’t believe how many of my friends still do that. They always think they’re fine to drive and then the next day they’re all remorseful and thankful they weren’t caught and are swearing never to do it again. Funny how they’re more pleased about not getting caught than not having knocked down some innocent passer-by.
Adam refills my glass. He’s staring into my eyes seductively and I have to admit he is probably the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life. Of course he looks genuinely scrummy in photos and on the TV screen. But up close he’s even better. His skin is sallow and flawless yet his jaw line is strong and defined. But it’s his eyes, which have captivated me. They’re the type of eyes that undress you with a glance. No wonder women find Adam Kirrane totally irresistible.
Our starters arrive. I can’t wait to tuck into my pear and walnut salad with blue cheese – yum! Adam plays around with his starter. I bet he watches his weight. How else could he maintain his perfectly toned body? It’s great though. So many men have grey, unhealthy skin, shocking receding hairlines and schoolteacher glasses. They wear woolly non-descript jumpers and own large, soft bellies. I must say it’s very disappointing doing pub-crawls these days. You leave one pub hoping that the next one will offer something more exciting, but it never does. That’s why when you meet a guy like Adam you realise what a rarity he is. Oh I know I said earlier that I didn’t like good-looking men any more but a girl’s got to be able to change her mind along the way.
I wish I’d a camera with me right now so you could see for yourself. Picture perfect. And he doesn’t even seem to realise it. At least if he does, he doesn’t let on. Right now Adam’s wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, which shows off his toned tanned arms perfectly. The candle in the middle of the table is flickering uncertainly between us and the champagne bubbles seem to have shot straight to my head. I reach out my hand and bravely rest it on Adam’s strong arm.
‘You feeling tipsy already?’ he laughs.
‘No.’
‘Well then you definitely need some more,’ he refills my glass.
When my main course, linguine with three cheeses and black olives, arrives, I devour it. It tastes even better t
han it looks. The portions are small which suits me fine. That’s what I love about gourmet food. It’s so good for the figure. Although sometimes I’m so hungry after gourmet meals, I feel like stopping off at McDonald’s on the way home.
Our conversation flows easily. Adam explains how he got into acting after studying drama in Trinity. He says so many drama students waste time talking about dreams rather than pursuing them. He says it’s easier to sit in someone’s flat smoking pot and wallowing in the injustice of the world of entertainment than to get out there and put your ass on the line. He tells me about the bitching and the backstabbing that goes on behind the scenes of Dreamboat and how you never know when the studio bigwigs are going to scrap the entire show, leaving most of the actors where they started out. On the dung heap.
I ask Adam if he feels under pressure to stay single in order to maintain fans. He looks fairly surprised and says he doesn’t really care what anyone else thinks because at the end of the day it’s his life and he’s got to live it.
I barely notice Adam ordering another bottle of champagne. I’m fascinated by his conversation, by his life, his ambitions and his dogged determination to succeed. I ask him if women throw themselves at him just because he’s on TV.
‘Not as many as people think,’ he insists.
I ask him if he has dated any other air hostess.
‘A couple,’ he answers. And I’m relieved he’s not lying to me.
He’s not very keen to discuss the other air hostesses he’s dated. Instead he tells me about Soho in New York and how he really likes hanging out there. Some really big names live in Soho, he says. And they just walk around without being hassled. I promise to visit him there soon and he looks pleased. After a while I realise that we’ve spent most of the night talking about Adam and hardly any time talking about me. But that’s okay because Adam’s life is a hell of a lot more interesting and anyway in the past I’ve given out far too many details about myself, far too soon.
When the waiter comes round with the dessert menus, we agree to share a chocolate hazelnut torte. Adam also orders two Irish coffees. I don’t know how the hell we’re going to get home now, but I’m too happy and drunk to care.
All my life I’ve waited for someone like Adam. In fact I’d almost given up. Venturing out for a night on the tiles is a chore sometimes. I’m tired of being verbally attacked by men who seem intent on taking women down a peg or two. Thankfully I didn’t settle for any of them. I don’t know what I’d have done if Adam hadn’t come along to rescue me.
After a while I notice we’re the last customers in the room. Everybody else has quietly disappeared. I check my watch and am stunned to discover it’s almost midnight. It seems like we just got here five minutes ago. Where did the time fly? Hesitantly I show Adam the face of my watch. His fingers reach out and intertwine mine. He holds my gaze and suddenly it’s obvious we won’t be going home.
Adam, it turns out, has already booked a room. When I ask why he didn’t mention it earlier he says he wanted it to be a surprise. I’m so touched. It’s a gorgeous Victorian type room with a chandelier and a huge four-poster bed. Like something straight out of an interiors magazine. Another champagne bottle is chilling on the bedside table.
‘I’m not drinking that,’ I insist drunkenly.
‘You don’t have to,’ Adam smiles and removes his dinner jacket. ‘But you don’t mind if I have a glass, do you?’
He pours himself another glass and sips it slowly. As far as I remember I pretty much drank the rest.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I am NEVER EVER drinking again. No really, I mean it. God I feel my head has got caught in a cement mixer. I’m leaning over the toilet in the pretty little bathroom next to the gorgeous bedroom where Adam and I made love for the first time last night. But instead of being wrapped in his arms in post-coital bliss I feel wretched.
Oh, and by the way, you’re not getting any sordid details about last night because to be honest, even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn’t because I remember very little about anything after that third bottle of champagne.
The bath is running because I don’t want Adam to hear me getting sick. The sweat beads gather on my face and neck and tears are streaming down my face. My stomach retches and I feel totally miserable. Why am I being punished for this? Why did I let myself get so plastered? Adam’s going to think I’m a drunken twit with no morals. He’ll think I’m the type of woman to jump into bed with anyone. I stand up unsteadily and give the mirror a fright. I look a holy show. Should I have a shower? I look at the tiny hotel standard bottle of hair and body shampoo and don’t think it’ll do my hair any favours. Then again, if I go back out and climb into the bed with bits of vomit stuck to my hair, it’ll be even worse, won’t it? Oh Katie, why do you never learn?
As I’m in the shower washing the remnants of last night’s meal from my hair I hear a knock on the door. Adam’s wondering if he can join me. Suddenly I become all shy. I mean I know he saw my body last night but it was dark then so it was completely different. However, I don’t want him to think I’m a prude so I wrap myself in a bath towel and open the door. Adam is standing there naked, like a Greek God, looking ridiculously sexy. I’m mortified and don’t know where to look.
‘Get back into the shower, Missus,’ he orders and I obey.
He takes the soap and lathers it all over me and we make love again but I refuse to kiss him. God, do you know how much I’d pay for a toothbrush and toothpaste right now?
At breakfast the dining room looks completely different. Fresh flowers have replaced last night’s candles. The room looks more homely than romantic. I don’t have any appetite though. Black coffee will suffice.
Adam orders a fry. I order toast because if I eat anything else I’ll probably throw up again. I feel more normal once I’ve tasted the coffee. I’ll feel even better when I hit the fresh air.
‘Listen I was probably talking a load of shite last night so forgive me,’ I tell Adam as he drives us home.
‘You were funny,’ Adam laughs. ‘Anyway I should be apologising for letting you get so drunk.’
‘You can bring the horse to the well . . . but nobody forced it to drink champagne. I bet I made a fool of myself though. Alcohol has a weird effect on me. I always either become quite argumentative or else I become all lovey dovey.’
Adam places a hand on my thigh and squeezes it. ‘You’re a refreshing girl, do you know that? So many of the actresses I work with won’t drink. I dunno why. Maybe they’re afraid of putting on weight or don’t like to lose control. Women are different in the States. They don’t let themselves go.’
‘Wise women,’ I comment.
Adam slows down the car and then stops it. ‘Listen,’ he turns to me. ‘You’re not to go beating yourself up about last night. I thought you were fantastic.’
‘You did?’
‘Hey, let’s do it all over again later.’
‘Oh em . . .’
‘No excuses. Hey my folks are away at the moment. Why don’t you come and stay in my place tonight?’
'Do you not have a place of your own?'
‘Well no actually, my home is in New York now so I tend to stay with my parents when I’m in Ireland. They don’t mind. I’m an only child so they adore me.’
‘Really? I don’t know any only children. Aren’t they supposed to be spoilt?’
‘Spoilt rotten,’ he grins. ‘But you don’t see me complaining.’
I never told you that Adam’s parents live in a palatial mansion complete with indoor swimming pool and outdoor tennis court. Nor did I tell you about their mini-cinema, private bar and snooker room. No. And the reason I didn’t tell you any of this was because I had absolutely no idea. Of course, you can imagine my shock as Adam’s BMW pulled into the drive of his family home in Foxrock.
If I felt intimidated before, I’m absolutely stunned into silence as the imposing electric gates open and his car sweeps into the drive.
‘Wow, y
ou have a lovely home,’ I say because although I’m stunned, I feel it’d be terribly rude not to say anything at all.
‘It’s a house,’ he contradicts me. ‘Just a house. And it’s not mine, it’s my parents.’
He parks the car and I follow him up the steps to the huge Georgian front door.
Before he finds his keys, the door opens. A small suspicious woman wearing thick glasses and flat, brown shoes looks me up and down.
‘Hi, I’m Katie.’ I give her my best air hostess smile and shake her hand. It feels like a dead fish in mine. She doesn’t tell me who she is or what she’s doing here. Nor does she ask who I am.
‘Hi ya Rosie, looking well.’ Adam greets her as he grabs my hands and leads me up the big sweeping stairway.
As I ascend the stairs I can almost feel that strange woman’s eyes on my back.
‘Who the hell was that?’ I ask in a whisper, once we’re safely in his bedroom. As if she might be lurking outside, her ear pressed to the doorway.
‘She’s the housekeeper,’ Adam sits down on the side of the bed and kicks off his shoes. ‘She’s a bit wary of me bringing back strangers to the house.’
‘Does it happen a lot?’ I ask, sitting down on his knee and ruffling his hair playfully.
‘Nah, but she doesn’t like it all the same. Give her a while. She’ll get used to you.’
I like that way he says that. I love it, in fact. It makes me feel secure. Adam obviously expects me to stay in his life for quite some time. Suddenly I think of my parents and feel guilty. They must be wondering where the hell I am. I tell Adam I’m going to ring them to let them know I’m okay.
‘What time do you have to be back at?’ he teases, toying with the top of my bra strap.
‘Uh . . .’
‘Is tomorrow morning too late?’ he asks.
Mile High Guy Page 17
