Mile High Guy (10 page)

‘A real pity,’ Adam agrees. ‘If you were staying any longer I could have popped over to visit you.’

I laugh. Adam is just so, so different to any guy I’ve ever met. None of them ever suggested ‘popping over’ to Boston.

‘When do you resume your filming schedule?’

‘The day after tomorrow,’ he says. ‘I’ve had the last few days off but my schedule is pretty hectic for the next couple of weeks. My character gets himself into all kinds of trouble.’

‘Like what?’ I raise an eyebrow as the waiter pours our champagne.

‘Oh you know, I can’t be giving the storyline away. It’s highly confidential.’

‘Ah go on,’ I tease and taste some of the champers. ‘Tell me are you busy having affairs and breaking women’s hearts?’

Adam pretends to look shocked. ‘I don’t write the scripts. I just read the lines. It’s not my fault if the scriptwriters cast me as cad. I’m not like that in real life though,’ he gives me a reassuring wink.

‘I’m not a huge telly fan,’ I tell him. ‘But I am working on a script of my own.’

Even as I’m speaking I’m aware of how pretentious I probably sound. Suddenly I’m embarrassed; half wishing I’d never opened my mouth.

Adam looks at me quizzically. ‘What kind of script?’

‘Well, it’s an
Angela’s Ashes
type story,’ I tell him. ‘It’s sad, gritty and well, very emotional.’

‘I’d love to take a look at it sometime.’

The waiter arrives to take our orders. I’m happy. Deliriously happy in fact. Adam has just told me that he’d like to look at my script. This means that he wants to see me again obviously. I ask the waiter for the vegetarian option. Adam orders the same.
I’m astounded. I rarely meet vegetarian men. Funny, I’ve always thought I’d marry a vegetarian like myself. Another sign, maybe?

I ask him about work and it’s obvious he loves what he does.

‘Actors don’t get paid for acting,’ he explains, ‘they get paid for all the hanging around.’

‘I’ve never thought about it like that.’

‘Most actors love what they do. If you didn’t love the life you couldn’t do it. It’s such an unpredictable profession. Every week I get my script. If it says ‘Train pulls in’, I never know whether my character is on the train or under it.’

Gosh, I had never imagined it would be like that. I suppose it would be weird if I turned up at the airport every day, not knowing whether I would be
on the flight or not. I’m imagining arriving into the cabin crew rest room, and checking in with crew control and them saying ‘Sorry love, you’re not going to Rome this morning. Bye now’. Can you imagine that? What would I do? I’d have to go
home and start typing out my CV again. But if you’re an actor on a famous soap, you can’t exactly turn up at your local petrol station the following week looking for a job, can you?

I start thinking about all the failed pop stars our country alone has produced over the years. What ever happened to them? All the wannabes. One minute they’re on TV and signing autographs. They appear in magazines as the next big thing and then . . . nothing. They just seem to disappear. It shows that you’ve got to be a tough nut to succeed in the ruthless entertainment industry.

‘Do you ever worry about not succeeding?’ I ask Adam.

‘Never,’ he looks me straight in the eye. ‘I never stop to wonder “what if?” It wouldn’t even occur to me. Life’s too short for doubts.’

Our vegetarian dishes arrive and I can’t wait to tuck in. The smell of the food is heavenly and there’s a lovely relaxed atmosphere in this restaurant. I
could fall asleep here, and Adam’s right: life is far too short for negative thoughts. I’ve decided to plough ahead with my script and not worry about rejection. I’ll work on it a bit more when I come back from Boston.

A couple walk into the restaurant and something makes me look up with interest. The blonde woman is wearing a jacket just like one that Tim’s sister, Elaine owns.

The woman turns around slightly as the waiter shows them to their table. As she does, I freeze. Oh Jesus, it bloody
is
Elaine. Oh God, I am so, so dead. What am I going to do?

Adam obviously notices that my face has changed colour. ‘Are you okay?’ he enquires.

What do I say? Should I tell him the woman who has just walked in is the sister of my boyfriend who isn’t actually really my boyfriend? I don’t think Adam would
understand, do you? I’m not sure I understand myself.

I wonder who the man is. The man with Elaine. He’s not her husband obviously. I’ve met her husband Craig lots of times and it’s definitely not him. But I’m not going to read into it of course. Just because you’re having dinner with somebody, doesn’t mean you’re screwing them too.

Tim’s sister is a pretty glamorous woman who spends a fortune on clothes and getting her hair done. Her hair is naturally curly but everyone thinks it’s straight because she goes to the hairdresser every second day. She owns a little boutique that does pretty well. And Elaine is a regular in the social diaries, due to the fact that she hangs
around with a few minor celebs. Well, the deal is this: she lends them dresses free of charge whenever they turn up to a glamorous do. They, in turn, give her a plug every time they’re asked what their favourite shop is. That’s the way it works. Mutual
back scratching.

I’m wondering if she noticed Adam and myself. I don’t think she did but I couldn’t be sure. I don’t think Elaine likes me. She’s a bit funny towards me.

It’s as if she doesn’t think I’m good enough for Tim. Her husband is a lot nicer. He’s more laid back and likes to play his golf and isn’t into the whole social scene. I can’t think for the life of me how he ended up with the boisterous Elaine.

We’re polishing off our dinner, and exchanging meaningful glances. At least I think they’re meaningful. But maybe he’s looking at me and going,  eh . . . no way. I don’t know why I always wonder if a guy is going to like me or not. I mean if I were smart I wouldn’t think about it too much. But I’m a girl. And girls tend to put everybody else’s feelings before their own.

Adam is telling me all about New York and the
way everyone over there wants to be famous. It’s fascinating. He tells me about various stars he’s met including Susan Sarandon and Sarah Jessica Parker,
and he tells me he once literally bumped into Cindy Crawford on the street.

‘Did she recognise you?’ I ask, intrigued.

‘Well she smiled at me and said “hi”, so I guess maybe she did.’

Wow. Thank God Cindy’s married or I might, you know, be getting a little jealous here.

‘You know, it’s a real pity you’re going to Boston tomorrow,’ Adam continues. ‘If you were in New York we could hook up and I could take you to a club. Actually I could introduce you to the rest of the cast, including the producer. He’s cool. His dad
is half-Irish, like nearly every American on the East Coast.’

I’m sorry I’m not going too. I mean I love Boston, but meeting Adam in New York would just be incredible. Can you imagine me telling the pilots and cabin crew that I couldn’t meet them in Rosie O’Grady’s for a drink in New York on the next overnight because I was meeting the cast of
DreamBoat
instead? That would be just too funny.

The cabin crew don’t really go clubbing in New York. It’s because of the time difference really. I mean when we arrive, it’s already evening time for us, yet still the middle of the day in New York. The sun is shining when it should be dark. So by
night-time you are usually so exhausted you just want to go to bed. Sometimes I’ll just go out anyway and to hell with the consequences. Sure I might be wrecked the next day, but I’ll be a long time dead. Whether I go out or not usually depends
on the rest of the crew. If they’re a boring bunch then I’ll just excuse myself and go to my room or go for a swim and a sauna in the hotel. But if any of them are up for a laugh we’ll usually just go to Rosie O’Grady’s.

Sometimes, we’ll just get a load of beer and wine and go to somebody’s room for a party, where we’ll drink loads and gossip like mad about other crew members or give out about the job and life in
general.

Uh oh, I’m at it again. Daydreaming. I give myself a quick reality check.
‘Oh I’m sure we’ll meet up again,’ I say. As casually as that. The champagne
has gone straight to my head and I feel on top of the world. So what if Adam is going to New York tomorrow and I’m going to Boston? I love Boston, so I know I’ll have a good time there even if I don’t have anything in common with the rest of the crew and am forced to amuse myself over there.

If you got bored in Boston, there would be
something seriously wrong with you. It has got to be the most beautiful city on earth and it’s home of Harvard and Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. But gorgeous Hollywood actors aside, Boston is just the type of place you’d love to bring up kids. So that is why I won’t be ringing crew control in order to swap onto the New York flight.
You see, I’ve done all that before. With Geoff. I made a fool out of myself over Geoff. And I sure as hell am not going to do it again. Men never appreciate women who do the running. Believe me, I know all about that.

We order coffee and another bottle of wine. I protest feebly, saying I can’t drink any more because of my flight tomorrow.

‘I’ve a flight too,’ Adam tries to justify it.

‘That’s a bit different,’ I say. ‘I’ll be working the damn flight but you’ll be in first class fast asleep’.

‘I understand,’ Adam nods solemnly. ‘I’ll send the wine straight back’.

I bite my lip pensively. I don’t want him to do that either. I really don’t want the night to end. If only I didn’t have to go to Boston tomorrow. If only Adam didn’t have to go back to New York. If only neither of us had to work and we could live happily ever after together. Oh God, I really must be drunk. My mind feels hazy. I must get that coffee into me fast. I must . . .

‘Hello, sorry to bother you but, I was just wondering if you were
the
. . . ’

I turn around. I’d recognise that voice anywhere.

‘Hi Elaine,’ I grin.

You should see her her jaw hit the floor! Elaine just stares at me in utter disbelief. I don’t know if it’s because I’m with Adam or if it’s because I’m out with someone other than her brother, but I have to say I am enjoying this.
‘Yes, this is
the
Adam Kirrane,’ I continue and Adam holds out a
hand. ‘And this is er . . . Elaine.’

I don’t say why I’m with him, but I know she’s just dying to ask. It must be killing her. Then again, she probably wouldn’t like me asking her who her ‘friend’ in the corner is.

‘I’m a huge fan of your show,’ Elaine gushes and practically breaks Adam’s hand she’s shaking it so vigorously. She nearly takes my left eye out as she does so. Hasn’t she any pride at all?

‘I’m just wondering can I give you my card?’ she continues, unabashed. ‘I’ve a little shop in town . . .’

She whips a business card from her Burberry handbag and places it on the table. ‘I’d love you to pop in and pick yourself out a little pressie of your choice. I’m just branching into menswear and we’re very exclusive. Just a few hand chosen garments.
Anyway, as I said, I know you’re probably very busy but we’re having a little party before Christmas to celebrate the introduction of our menswear collection.’

‘Oh are you?’ I interrupt. ‘Brilliant! I haven’t got my invitation yet but I’m sure it’s in the post.’

‘I was going to give yours to Tim to pass on to you,’ she says coolly.

‘Oh.’

Oh!

‘Yes, well I’d better get back to my colleague.’ Elaine says swiftly.

‘Of course,’ I agree.

Colleague indeed.

‘Lovely to meet you, Adam,’ she says and has the audacity to give him a kiss as if she knows him. The bloody cheek! How dare she embrace my date!

‘Who was that?’ Adam looks fairly amused as she totters back to her table.

‘Oh she’s just someone I vaguely know.’

I certainly don’t want to talk about her. Elaine is not allowed to ruin my perfect date. I refuse to let her do that even if she is my on/off boyfriend’s older sister. I’m wondering when she’ll tell Tim, and I’m not sure how on earth I think I’m going to
explain our little rendezvous but I’ll worry about that later. I knock back my wine and Adam  immediately refills my glass. I know I should stop drinking now.

But I don’t.

Jesus. How did my alarm not go off? I was sure I’d set it last night. How could I have forgotten? Yikes! All I know now is that my dad is yelling at me that the taxi is waiting outside to take me to the airport. I’m not dressed; I’ve nothing packed
and am hungover as hell. Talk about a bloody nightmare! At least my shirt is ironed though. Phew! I ask Dad to tell the taxi man to give me ten minutes as I scramble out of bed like a lunatic throwing God knows what into my case. I pull back my hair
into an unflattering bun and slap some foundation onto my face. My contact lenses are forced into my slightly bloodshot eyes and I pull on a pair of brown, unflattering tights. In less than ten minutes I’m sitting in the taxi apologising profusely for the
delay, and terrified that fumes of alcohol are emitting from all my pores.