Mile High Guy (5 page)

Back in the car, Tim asks if I want to stay the night in his place. To be honest that’s the last thing I feel like doing. I tell him I’m too wrecked but agree to meet him again tomorrow. He leans over and gives me a kiss. His breath reeks of garlic. I wonder whether I should just break up with him now and save us both a lot of heartache in the long run. But I’m much too much of a coward to suggest breaking up so I smile, get out of the car and bid him goodnight.

I’m in my bedroom about two minutes when I have my mobile phone out and I’m punching the digits of Adam’s number. My heart is racing but I don’t care. This is what I want. I’m craving
excitement. I’m thinking although I’m a big girl now, I still feel like fourteen. And I’m thinking how much easier it is now that people have mobiles.

Remember when you’d ring some guy and their mother would answer the phone with a chilly ‘Who
is this?’

God, that was a bit horrible, wasn’t it?

Thankfully I’m not a teenager anymore.

‘Hello?’

Yikes, that was quick. I was kind of hoping Adam would have the phone switched off so I could just leave a message. Don’t you just hate when people answer their phones?

‘Adam?’

‘Yep? Who’s this?’

His voice is deep and sexy. No wonder millions of women turn on the telly each week to hear his voice.

‘It’s Katie.’

I’m not going to tell him where I work. Or how he might know me. No. I’m not going to make it easy for him. For all I know he asks several women out every week. Or every day.

I wait for him to say something and try to convince myself I’m not at all nervous. The palm of my hand feels clammy.

‘Katie, the air hostess,’ he says and I can visualise him smiling. He sounds like he’s smiling anyway and suddenly I’m glad I met him in first class on a plane and not in some nightclub locked out of my head.

‘That’s right.’ I’m smiling back but he doesn’t know that of course.

‘I wasn’t sure I’d hear from you,’ he says but his voice is warm.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Oh, I’d say I’m not the first passenger to ask you out.’ He laughs.

I laugh too.

He’s not
completely
wrong of course. I once had a stunningly beautiful Brazilian man leave his phone number on his tray for me. He was going to be in Dublin for one night. But one night with a Brazilian wasn’t exactly what I was looking for so I declined
his invitation for dinner. And whatever else he had in mind.

Then, there was that other time, when four very drunk teenage guys on their way to Gran Canaria, kept asking for more beer. When I made it clear I didn’t want to serve them any more, one of them told me I was by far the most beautiful air hostess on the flight and asked if he could go out with me sometime.

I was flattered because he was a bit of a cutie,
albeit a drunken cutie. But the flattery vanished as soon as I remembered I was the only air hostess on the flight; the other three crew members being male stewards.

‘There’s been a few but nobody like you,’ I answer truthfully.

‘So, do you want to meet up?’ Adam asks as my heart does a quick somersault.

I pause as if I’m thinking about it and then speak.

‘Sure,’ I try to sound as normal as possible. As if TV stars ask me out all the time. ‘Er . . . when?’

‘Tonight?’

‘Tonight?’ I look at my watch. It’s a quarter to twelve. Time for bed. He’s a bit cheeky now, isn’t it? Asking me out at such little notice. Does he think I’m desperate?

‘I’m about to go to bed,’ I tell him.

‘Sounds promising.’

‘I can meet you another time,’ I offer, simply ignoring his somewhat suggestive remark. If he thinks I’m the type of girl to go chasing strange men in the middle of the night, he has another thing coming.

‘I can’t meet you tomorrow night because I’m going to an award ceremony in London,’ Adam explains.

Well, that’s too bad then, I think. I notice he doesn’t offer to whisk me over and be his guest for the night. But maybe I’m jumping the gun too much.

‘I’m back Friday,’ he says.

‘That’s a pity. I’m going to Boston on Friday.’ I tell him. ‘Sorry.’

‘What are you doing there?’

‘I work as an air hostess, remember?

‘How long will you be in Boston?’

‘Just a night. Hey, how about I write up my entire timetable and fax it to you?’ I laugh.

‘Where are you staying?’

‘In the Back Bay area, just off Newbury Street.’

‘I know it well. I love that area. I might come and visit you.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘I never joke. I don’t have a sense of humour,’
he laughs.

‘Well come if you want,’ I say, not taking him at all seriously. After all, I’ve been seeing Tim for years and he’s never once managed to accompany me on any of my trips so I’m hardly expecting someone I barely know to follow me out. Especially
someone as famous as Adam Kirrane. But I decide to humour him anyway and give him the name of my hotel.

‘I’ll be in touch, Gorgeous,’ he says.

‘Right so, thanks for ringing,’ I say before I remember it was
me
who rang
him.

‘No probs,’ he says and cuts off.

I look in the mirror, my phone still in my hand. I look the same as ever. I don’t look like I’ve just been speaking on the phone to a big TV star. Nobody in the whole world knows I’ve just had a conversation with Adam Kirrane. It’s a nice feeling. And it’s my secret.

‘Katie. I didn’t wake you, did I?’

‘Well you
did
actually Debbie, what time is it?’

‘Time you were up. Did you ring your man?’

‘What man?’

‘Get away out of that? Adam Kirrane. Did you ring him?’

‘No.’ I lie. And I feel terrible for lying to somebody as nice as Debbie but I really don’t want anyone to know about last night’s phone call. For a number of reasons. You see if I end up dating a high profile guy like Adam and it doesn’t work out,
people will forever be asking why. And if it does work out, I don’t want Adam to think I’m gossiping about him at work. So I need to be careful. Anyway, as far as I know, I might never speak to Adam again. After all, I refused to go out with him
last night. And I know he says he’s going to follow me to Boston but sure, that’ll be the day.

‘Do you want to go into town?’

‘I don’t mind. I’ve no money but what’s new? If I hang around the house all day I’ll just end up watching TV and eating though, so I might as well.’

‘I’ll meet you outside The Bailey at one so.’

‘Er Debbie . . . do you mind if I meet you somewhere else?’

The thought of standing outside The Bailey on my own fills me with dread. It’s where all the beautiful and wannabe beautiful people hang out.

‘Okay. Outside Brown Thomas?’

‘How about just inside Brown Thomas? The menswear department.’

‘Sure. See you then.’

I think about taking the car into town but then decide against it. The traffic in Dublin is appalling now. So I decide to get the bus instead. At least, this way, I won’t have to drive round and round Stephen’s Green looking for a car parking space when I get into town.

I meet Debbie in Brown Thomas. When I spot her she’s picking up ties pretending to look at them. She’s visibly relieved to see me. After all, there’s
only so much interest you can pretend to have in ties when you’re manless.

‘My bus was late,’ I give her a hug.

‘Your bus is always late,’ she laughs. ‘You should really get another one.’

‘Haha. Anyway I’m here now, so are we going for lunch or what?’ I ask.

‘Sure, but let’s go upstairs first and have a look at some clothes we can’t afford. Just to put us in a really good mood.’

We head upstairs for a look. After a while though, I’m beginning to feel slightly depressed. How many charter flights to Athens would I have to do before I could afford a single Armani suit? I spot a few immaculately dressed women wandering about, pausing to hold various garments against themselves in the mirror. I wonder if they have fabulously wealthy husbands. Or are they mistresses even? Or did they simply win the lottery? I know they’re not high-powered executives because if they were, they’d be at work, wouldn’t they?

I love speculating about other people’s lives. My imagination goes into overdrive as I think about the exciting lives other people must lead. I sometimes look at little girls’ faces on flights and they look back
at me, probably thinking I must have the best job in the world. And I look at other people in office jobs with every weekend off and think how nice their lives must be. Sometimes I just wonder what constitutes a
really
exciting life. Maybe we’re all just lost souls looking for something that simply doesn’t exist?

Debbie is looking a bit bored at this stage. She’s fingering the racks of clothes but not really paying close attention. She has a glazed look in her eye. I know that look.

‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s go and get ourselves a drink.’

Alarm bells sound loudly. If she thinks I’m falling for that, she has another thing coming. I’ve known Debbie for the last few years and I have never ever known her to go for just the one drink.

‘Let’s get something to eat first,’ I suggest. I’ve a strong feeling I need to line my stomach. We eat in a salad bar in The Powerscourt Centre before heading downstairs to Ba Mizu where we order two quarter-bottles of wine. The glasses they give us are so huge. Mmm. I wonder why they do that?

Anyway I like this bar, despite the large glasses and its dark interior. It’s dark in a pleasant way. I like dark bars, especially late at night, when the old make-up starts to wear off and my eyes become a bit bloodshot.

The wine tastes good. Almost too good. There’s something very satisfying about sitting in a bar drinking wine in the middle of the day while the rest of the world is at work. It’s a bit like mitching school, isn’t it? I also love drinking on planes.
Because it’s a bit like drinking at the office. Of course I don’t drink while I’m at work. No. Well,
obviously
not. Even though that’s the very time I could do with a stiff drink. But when I’m going on holidays I love sipping wine while somebody else serves the passengers. I don’t want to drink too much now though. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll end up
telling Debbie about my phone call to Adam. Alcohol’s desperate like that, isn’t it? One drink too many and all innermost thoughts are anybody’s.

Don’t you just hate revealing secrets under the influence of alcohol? It’s easy to do at the time but
it’s horrible waking up and remembering that you’ve said lots of things you shouldn’t have. And I especially don’t like not remembering how I got home, or whom I snogged. And I hate finding unfamiliar phone numbers in my bag without knowing how the hell they got there. Of course the worst thing is remembering half way through the day that the person I snogged is someone that I work with. Someone I don’t even like. Or somebody with a girlfriend.

‘Would you ever get that into you?’ Debbie urges.
She’s almost finished her glass of wine and I’ve just started sipping mine.

I know any minute she’s going to nod at my glass and go, ‘Same again?’ and I’m afraid I’m not going to have the willpower to say no. I sip slowly but that doesn’t stop her from ordering two more quarter bottles. She never even asked if I wanted another
drink. I’m embarrassed. After all, it’s my round. But she says I can buy the next two.
The next two?
Oh, God, I just
knew
this was going to happen.

After Ba Mizu we head to Davy Byrne’s. My choice. I really like the atmosphere there and there’s always a few decent-looking men hanging around. We grab a seat down the back and order another two glasses of wine.

‘We should really drink two glasses of water as well to limit the damage,’ I suggest.

‘Yes we should,’ Debbie agrees but then we forget all about the water and head off to Cocoon for another few. In Cocoon, they show fashion videos all day on large screens. Debbie and I sit back and stare at various male models modelling tight briefs and try not to laugh.

I’m pretty merry now and basically laughing at anything. I’m kind of tempted to tell Debbie about Adam but luckily I don’t. She confides in me that she slept with one of the married pilots on her last overnight in Kerry and I am
so
shocked. She makes me swear not to tell anyone though.

Then I feel really bad because she has told me something so personal and I’m not even prepared to tell her about a silly phone call to Adam. A phone call that might or might not lead to anything.

She asks me if I still have Adam’s number and I tell her I have. She tells me she thinks he is the most beautiful man in the world and would kill to go out with him.

‘Suppose he is just after one thing though?’ I ask her.