by C. B. Martin
I covered my mouth to stop the screams and tried to look up to tackle him eyeball-to-eyeball. But thanks to the super-heavy, peacock, feathered, false lashes welded to my eyes, I could hardly open them at all.
Franc raised his pencilled brows, dropped his jaw and glared at me with wide mascara eyes. He was clearly flabbergasted by my reaction and the few traces of niceness had well and truly vanished. He probably knew there was no way he was getting a sale, let alone a tip.
‘Well, my dear,’ he scowled with a razor sharp tongue, ‘you cannot polish a turd.’ Giving me one last death stare with his devil-like eyes, he pursed his lips and snatched his card out of my hand. He then swiftly turned on his Gucci loafers and minced off muttering what I imagined to be French obscenities under his breath.
I started sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I’m being taught a lesson!’ I wailed as I dramatically flung myself into Candice’s enormous silicone valley.
Poor Candice looked alarmed as it all flooded out of me; ‘I’m being punished for being a floozy. You see… I’m on my way to have sex with a man and I’m… I’m not wearing a… braaaaaaaaa, or kniccccccckeeeeeeeeers,’ I sobbed.
By now I was howling and Candice was desperately trying to prise my fingers off her shoulders. I carried on, oblivious to her discomfort, or the shocked faces of the other Duty Free shoppers. ‘It is, isn’t it…? - ISN’T IT? The Big-Man upstairs always knows, you know. Do you wear a bra, Candice?’ I sniffled.
As I picked up the mirror and took another look at Franc’s so called ‘artwork’ I didn't take any notice of Candice’s’ response. I did, however, hear the call to board my flight to Dublin.
‘This is the final call for flight number WWFR12Z to Dublin. Would all remaining passengers please make their way to gate number 12.’ Boomed the tannoy.
‘Oh shit!’ I screamed, as I shot up out of the chair. ‘That’s my flight!’
Almost hysterical, I scooped up my handbag and ran out of the shop. Once outside, I span around six times looking for a sign for the toilets.
‘Where’s the feckin’ toilets? Huh?’ Not directing the question at anyone in particular. I was directing it at the whole feckin’ airport.
Finally, spotting the ‘stick lady’ toilet sign, I put the door firmly in my sights and, covering my face as best I could, I went on a one-woman stampede for the entrance. Sweating profusely, I flung the door open, wide-eyed. I must have looked like an unhinged mental patient. I scrambled over to the mirror and winced as I saw my reflection. Arghhhh!
Even though my flight was boarding, there was no way I was getting on that plane looking like this. I whimpered as I ripped off the peacock lashes. I then held my hair back with one hand, squirted soap into the other and flicked the tap on. Yet, the more I tried to wash the nightmare away, the more the dark colours and lashings of eyeliner just smudged around my eyes.
I began grieving at the thought of my glorious array of makeup tucked away inside my bag, which was in turn buried deep somewhere in the airport baggage system, completely unreachable.
‘Would a Miss. Tara Ryan make her way to gate number 12 immediately,’ announced the tannoy. ‘This is your final call for flight WWFR12Z to Dublin.’
‘Oh God… feck… arse… shit… bastard… bollocks!’ I spat, my heart racing. I can do this, I can do this.
Using both hands and much more soap, I started to scrub again. After a frantic minute, with my face feeling raw and my eyes stinging from the soap, I took one final look in the mirror. My face was bare once again and my once sparkly blue eyes were now red and squinty. I looked like a heroin addict, but feck it, I really want to see Travis - even looking like this.
I grabbed my bag, a wad of toilet roll to dry my face and began my sprint to the gate. I gasped for air as I reached it and, with the shakes, handed over my passport and boarding pass. I was fully aware of the pieces of toilet roll stuck to my face and the small trail attached to my heel, but was almost beyond caring now.
‘Sorry… sorry… sorry… ’ I apologised to the stewardess who looked less than amused. Yes, yes, I thought. You don’t need to rub it in. I already know how much everyone hates the last person to board.
She waved me through the gate and I ran down the ramp to board just as they were closing the doors. As I made my way towards the back of the plane, I became aware that I was getting some strange looks. I really couldn’t understand why. I had removed most of the makeup and most of the toilet paper and anyway, I was here now. I hadn’t made us late. Well, maybe a little bit late. So what on earth were they staring at? They could all feck off with themselves. I pulled out my little mirror and checked my face, yes, it was red and blotchy, but it didn’t warrant the gawping stares. I closed my stinging eyes to shut them all out, took some deep breaths and continued to tell myself that I would be able to sort myself out at the other side.
As the plane descended into Dublin, I readied myself to run. I know I was the last person to get on the plane, but I was going to make sure I was the first one off it. I legged it through passport control and shimmied between the crowds at the baggage reclaim, managing to get myself a prime position in front of the carousel. I was like a woman possessed. Right now, I needed my makeup like I needed air.
[Text from Travis]
Hi babe, have landed. Just in baggage reclaim xxx
‘FOR FECK’S SAKE!’
What the hell is he doing in baggage reclaim? I didn't know he was flying into Dublin! I thought he was already here! I immediately dropped to the floor, left my bag on the carousel and made a dash for the toilets on all-fours. My bum was sticking up in the air as if on an assault course. My eyes darted around. Any one of those pairs of legs could be his, I thought to myself.
Relieved to be in the safety of the ladies toilets, I took a few moments to compose myself. Exhausted, I walked warily over to the mirror to survey the damage. My trendy symmetrical fringe was now in kiss-curls after it got wet, whilst I was trying to remove Franc’s so called magnifique artwork. Deciding not to linger too long on the face, I let my eyes travel down my body. It was then I spotted some strange markings across my chest.
No… No!! Sweet Mother of God. So that’s why everyone was staring at me on the plane. There, for all to see, were two perfect circles, one on each breast. I stepped closer and closer to the mirror for a better look. All the sweating and perspiring had made my fake tan seep through the wool of my dress, leaving me with two perfect sweaty brown circles on my enhanced boobs, complete with sweaty brown dots in the middle.
Shit-shit-shit! I had no jacket to cover up my sins, no makeup to fix my face and no straighteners for my fringe. Meanwhile, the man of my dreams was somewhere just the other side of the toilet wall.
I couldn’t have looked more like a poxy pig if I had tried. I had little piggy eyes, all red and swollen and great big piggy teats ready for a feeding. It couldn’t get any worse. I turned on my heels and slid down the wall by the washbasins. As I slumped down, I lifted my knees and bowed my head. I felt sick. I just wanted to go home.
Startled, I felt something hard hit my arm and then clank to the floor… Looking over, I could see it was a euro. The well-dressed woman who was rapidly leaving the loos had mistaken me for a down-and-out.
This had to be one of the lowest points of my life.
Then, my phone rang. It was Travis. Typical. He never phones me and the one and only time I don’t want to speak to him, he calls. I let it ring off. If I was having a nervous breakdown, I wanted to do it in private.
‘Why does everything have to be so difficult?’ I shouted to the heavens above, as I threw my hands up into the air. ‘Why me?’
[Text from Travis]
Hi babe, got my bag. Will head over to the bar in airport. I hope u r okay? xx
I let out a huge sigh of relief. Now it was possible to run out, get my bag, fix my face, fix my hair and get my jacket to cover my boobs. Or, I should just get the next flight home?
I peeked my head around the toilet
door and out into the terminal, just to check Travis wasn’t there. I could see my bag going round and round the carousel all on its own and decided I would just make a run for it.
I charged over, grabbed my bag and ran back. Okay, I thought, in front of the mirror. If I can fix this mess that was staring at me, I’ll go ahead. If not… I’m going home.
As I opened my bag, I discovered even more horror to follow, as I pulled out my one and only other outfit. My crisp-white shirt and bright-red skinny jeans were now in the colour of “Warm Beige” after my foundation had exploded inside my bag.
After ten minutes of wailing like a banshee and kicking over three sanitary bins, I calmed down. But only slightly.
This isn't how a WAG acts, I scolded myself, clouting myself around the head a couple of times.
I grabbed a toilet roll and began rinsing and wiping each item that could be salvaged.
I smeared my face with my white shirt collecting as much foundation as possible from it and blended in some concealer, then some more concealer, then, more concealer on top of that.
In the end, I decided it wouldn’t take as much of an overhaul as I feared to sort myself out. Pretty soon, my face started to resemble that of a human being once more. My breathing thankfully returning normal…
[Text to Travis]
Just waiting for my bag. Be with you in 10 mins xxx
I expertly applied soft, smoky browns and golds again while simultaneously rehearsing a pout and a sexy smile to help me get back into the moment. I knew deep down I was kidding no one, especially myself, but… well… I did look a little better, even if a little piggy-like all the same.
With no power socket for my straighteners, I had no choice but to pin my fringe back with a diamante clip. As much as I didn’t like to have my hair off my face, needs must. After agonising for a few moments, I sadly tossed my now unsalvageable “Warm Beige” shirt and jeans into the bin.
I elected to put my dress on back-to-front. There was one disadvantage to this strategy. The dress was woollen, so the fabric was not what you’d call ‘forgiving’. In fact, there was an arse-shaped bulge stretched in the material, now flapping in front of my lady-garden. Still, it was better than before. I put on my jacket, gathered my things and headed out of the toilets.
Utterly exhausted, I dragged myself towards Customs. Please… please God, I prayed, please don’t let them pull me over. A female security guard suddenly darted towards me and asked me to stay where I was. For the love of God… Not again, I thought as I prepared myself to break down in tears. I was so on the edge, so close to touching Travis now, I thought I might actually kill anyone who stood in my way. Luckily, the security guard walked straight past me and began questioning a shifty-looking man that seemed to be hiding behind me.
Feeling dishevelled and disoriented, I hurried through security and headed straight for the bar.
‘Pull yourself together,’ I whispered to myself under my breath. ‘Think about your entrance.’
Trying to emulate Franc’s perfect catwalk strut, I held my head high and began a hip-swirling, lip-pouting walk to the Arrivals bar.
‘Oi you, gorgeous!’ shouted a strange voice from across the terminal. ‘The party’s this way!’
‘Oi - she’s with me mate - back off,’ I heard another voice say. I knew immediately it was Travis. My heart was beating so hard in my chest I thought it might burst straight through. I turned slowly to face him.
‘The cheeky sod,’ said Travis playfully, giving me a smile that made me want to faint. ‘You’re all mine.’
With that, he picked me up and hugged me so hard that it hurt. I blushed and smiled as he held me back at arms length and searched me from head to toe.
‘God, I want you,’ Travis said in a low voice as he gritted his teeth and drew in air. ‘But first, lets get us a glass of Champers.’
He gave me a wicked dirty smile, grabbed my hand and my bag and eased me towards the bar. For once, I was speechless. I just couldn’t believe we were together at last. Despite the endless struggles to get here, nothing could possibly ruin this moment…
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘How was your flight, gorgeous?’ asked Travis, cool as a cucumber, adjusting his Ray-Bans and striding purposefully with me through the crowds towards the bar.
‘Perfect,’ I lied, smiling sweetly as I checked out his gorgeous arse whilst holding on to him for dear life. I tried desperately to retain my cool, but I was overwhelmed and slightly star-struck. It was a surreal feeling. Here I was, after all this time; able to see him, touch him and smell him. I wanted to pinch myself. I am finally with Travis at long last.
He looked smoking-hot as ever, wearing a dark blue Ralph Lauren top with the collar popped, sexy Levi’s and tan builder boots. He really was every inch the perfect man. Why on earth had I ever fantasised about marrying a pot-throwing, temperamental chef when I could have a high-flying, rugged rugby coach? This was much better in every way.
‘You’re even more beautiful than I remember,’ he commented, suddenly swinging around to face me.
‘Oh… thanks,’ I replied nervously, feeling even more light-headed. I hoped I just didn’t spoil the moment by tripping over someone’s suitcase and falling flat on my face. I was just so unbelievably mesmerised by his presence.
‘Sorry about the rush,’ said Travis, as he picked up the pace - we were by now almost sprinting, ‘I just want to have you alone with me. We’ll have a quick drink in here, and then…’ Travis looked at me grinning and biting the side of his lip, ‘then… I’m going to eat you alive.’
Say something… say something! I screamed to myself. But nothing came out of my mouth. I was utterly spellbound. Thankfully, he leaned into me and delicately kissed me on the lips.
‘I… I… like your top,’ I began to stammer, nervously pulling away from him. ‘It’s… err… a very nice colour.’
Oh my god! I have the most exquisite creature that I have ever set eyes on right in front of me and I tell him his top is a nice colour? Get a grip, Tara. Stop letting your nerves get the better of you. Luckily, Travis didn’t seem in the least bit phased.
He smiled his delicious ‘come-to-me’ smile, then turned and signalled to the barman with a nod.
‘Two glasses of your finest Champagne, please,’ he said firmly. I couldn’t help but get turned on by his authority.
Reaching across, Travis tenderly caressed my cheek. The second he made contact it was as though a thousand volts passed through me. Then, guiding my jaw to him with his finger, he pulled me closer. By now we were so close I could feel his warm breath on my face. Teasing me, he pulled back and looked at me, cocking his head to one side while coolly removing his Ray-Bans. We were silent. Despite the fact we were standing in a packed, noisy bar, it was as if nothing else existed. The atmosphere between us was inexplicitly charged, as his penetrating stare bore deep into my soul. His pupils, large and dilated, danced into mine. The air around us was almost sparking. I would have dropped my knickers right there, right then (if I were wearing any).
I felt an endless swirling pleasure as Travis slid his hands down to my waist. I had to bite my lip to stop myself crying out as his hands travelled further down the small of my back. And then, with a deft movement, he pulled our nether regions tightly together. The whole time he was doing this, he kept his eyes locked firmly on mine. As I stared back into those deep brown eyes, I felt hot with intense desire as he sensually squeezed my bum cheek, sending shivers down my spine.
Was I really about to make love for the first time in my whole life? And with this beautiful man? Hell yes! I mean, I know it’s not like I was a virgin or anything, but I’d never actually made love, because I’d never really been in love. Not up until then, any way. This was completely different. I actually ached for him. It was an exquisitely beautiful pain.
‘You've… got no knickers on,’ whispered Travis, widening his eyes excitedly.
His hand continued to circle my cheek as he leaned in even
closer, with his face touching mine so he could whisper into my ear. I could feel his warm breath.
‘This delectable derriere is all mine,’ he said, as he squeezed a handful of butt cheek, his voice husky with pleasure.
I giggled and blushed simultaneously. I couldn't help it. I felt like a teenager all over again. Eagerly responding, I moved my head back and kissed him gently down the side of his neck. Taking in the smell of his spicy, sexy aftershave at such close quarters nearly made me convulse on the spot.
‘Jesus, Tara, you’re making me tingle. Like everywhere,’ his voice purred darkly. We were still locked together, but to emphasise his point, he pushed his groin even harder into me. He was rock hard, a fact I couldn’t help but greet with moan of tantalising pleasure.
The intensity of the moment was interrupted by the barman placing two Champagne flutes on the bar in front of us. Travis stepped back and deftly flipped open his wallet, handed the man a few notes and indicated with a wave that he should keep the change.
Drinks in hand, we headed for a table in a quiet corner.
‘God, I’ve missed you,’ said Travis shaking his head, as we slipped onto the red, velvet bench, getting as close as it was possible to get without me actually sitting on his lap. ‘I keep forgetting just how beautiful you are.’
Travis rubbed my leg seductively, gently easing my dress up by a few inches. I smiled, with what I hoped was a naughty, ‘that’s-for-later’ expression and emphasised my point by smoothing my dress back down.
‘Patience. Anticipation is the strongest aphrodisiac,’ I commanded, with a girlie giggle.
‘And you’re just so natural,’ he breathed, drawing me even closer. ‘I love natural beauty.’
Hearing that, I had to use every ounce of strength I had not to choke, splutter or laugh. There really was very little left of my face or body that had not been tampered with in one way or another. I recovered well though and even managed a polite - and dare I say it, demure - thank you. Well, who was I to burst his bubble? Sheila had done the most fabulous job of ironing my face out.
