‘If he’s free, yes. I think he’d be good.’
‘Will you get to pick the cast?’
‘I dunno. Hopefully they’ll let me have some say.’
‘Who’s producing it?’
‘Nobody yet, because I haven’t finished it to send it around to the studios.’
‘Oh.’ Amy’s eyes begin to glaze over. I can tell she’s had enough of this conversation.
‘Maybe Adam Kirrane could star in it,’ I say suggestively.
‘Maybe.’ She looks away. What on earth is she trying to hide? Why won’t
she tell me Adam’s secret?
‘Anyway, I’m hoping to go into films after this
job,’ I tell her. ‘Have you no dreams of doing something else?’
‘No.’
We sit side by side, deafening silence hanging between us.
‘Are you tired?’ Amy asks eventually.
‘Not a bit,’ l lie. ‘Come on, finish your drink and
let’s check out another bar.’
We leave the bar and she’s sulking now, but I’m determined not to go back to the hotel. If I go back I’ll only be lying on the big double bed thinking of
Adam and torturing myself wondering what this big secret of his is.
‘Where to so?’ Amy jumps up and down on the pavement, demonstrating how unbearably cold she is.
‘Have you been to the Littlest Bar?’ I ask.
‘Huh?’
‘Follow me.’ I start to run before the frost bites my toes off.
Amy just loves the Littlest Bar. Not because it’s Irish. Not because it’s so small it could only fit about thirty-five people. Not because of the jolly atmosphere. But because Amy recognises two of the customers.
They’re pilots.
Suddenly Amy is no longer showing any signs of tiredness. A big smile seems to be sellotaped onto
her face and her eyes are dancing in her head. My heart sinks as the two lads approach us and she eyes them flirtatiously. My chances of finding out Adam’s big secret have plummeted.
‘Hi Mike. Hi Derek,’ she beams and she looks the happiest I’ve seen her all day. Mind you, she’s had a couple of drinks, which seem to have added
some colour to her cheeks. ‘Have you met Katie?’
‘Hello,’ I say politely without being too enthusiastic. I notice there’s not much left in their pints. With any luck they might be leaving.
Mike is quite good-looking, I notice. He’s got very short dark hair and clear blue eyes. I don’t think much of his dress sense though (brown bomber jacket and black jeans). But he’s got a nice face. No wonder Amy is all over him. Derek isn’t that good-looking, but I noticed his eyes lighting
up when he saw Amy so I guess there’s no chance of himself and Mike heading off just yet.
‘Can we get you girls a drink?’ Mike offers.
Well, I must say I’m impressed. Some pilots have a name for keeping their hands firmly in their pockets. Especially if they’re considered good-looking.
Mike obviously isn’t one of them.
‘I’ll have a . . .’
‘Listen, I’ll get them,’ Amy shouts. ‘It’s my round.’
Oh no, I think. They’re going to think she’s bloody brilliant now. A beautiful bird who’s only falling over herself to buy them alcohol.
Derek looks like he’s about to accept but Mike won’t hear of it and insists on paying the round. Amy flutters her eyelids in thanks. I think I’m going to be ill.
Derek goes to the toilet and Amy whispers to me. ‘He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?’
‘Which one?’
‘Well both of them are nice, aren’t they? But I think Derek likes you,’ she says.
‘No, I think he likes you,’ I insist. If she thinks I’m going to entertain the ugly one
while she cops off with handsome Mike, she can feck off.
Mike hands us our drinks. ‘So where are the rest of your crew?’ he asks.
‘Oh they were all going to another bar so we came here instead,’ I tell him and he laughs.
Amy looks annoyed. Obviously I’m supposed to back off here but I’m just not getting
the message, am I? Well too bad about her. Anyway she’s supposed to be going out with another pilot.
Then again, I’m supposed to be with Tim. Tim
and
Adam. Well just Adam really. I just haven’t got around to letting Tim down yet. I want to break it
to him gently. It’s always awful being dumped. I’ve never quite got used to it anyway. I don’t think anyone ever does.
‘So did you arrive in this afternoon?’ Mike asks me and I wish he wouldn’t stare at me like that ’cos he’s got this really intense look that I’m sure lots of women find irresistible, but I don’t because I don’t suffer from pilotitis like Amy obviously does.
‘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.
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 th
e 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.’