The Perfect Girlfriend(47)
The thing I’ve realized about this job is that, although most crew secretly love it – for many it was a childhood dream – and they are attached to the transient nature, there is an underlying loneliness. I was surprised to learn that whilst suicide is not common, it isn’t unheard of either. And it usually occurs down-route, where problems can appear magnified when crew are away from friends and family. I look around the table – everyone looks relaxed, they are laughing, drinking, eating, chatting. To observers, we could look like a bunch of holidaying mates. But apart from Nate, of course, I don’t know any of these people. I only met them thirty-six hours ago and I may never see some – if any – of them again. Secrets spilled, experiences shared, most of these tenuous connections will cease to exist once the wheels touch down at Heathrow.
There is a general impression which emanates through stern emails and newsletters from ‘the office’ that crew ‘have it easy’. Rio one week; Sydney the next. On the surface, it appears idyllic. But although it probably seems simple enough to move crew around the world like chess pieces, every trip I hear different tales of woe. Crew have the same issues as everyone else, and thrown into the mix is the underlying threat of increasing terrorism. I’ve also discovered that infertility is a common female problem. And there’s an urban myth that pilots mostly father girls.
I look over at Nate.
He catches my eye and smiles. It reaches his eyes; they crease at the corners.
I put down my fork. I can’t swallow another bite. I remove my phone from my bag, check it and smile at a pretend message. ‘Excuse me,’ I say to the table and go outside.
Despite the outside heat, I need respite from my own emotions. I take a few minutes to try to collate my thoughts and feelings before returning.
The club is out of this world. Almost literally. I can’t think of any other way to describe it. It’s as though everything else ceases to exist outside of this moment. The up-and-coming DJ is barely visible – a dark, headphone-wearing shadow, raised above the crowds as though he is elevated to godlike status. His worshippers raise their hands and dance among the LED lights. Music pulsates throughout my body.
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ I shout in Alex’s ear. ‘What would you like?’
‘Vodka shot, please,’ he shouts back.
We crowd around the bar area, surrounded by gyrating podium dancers. Their costumes twirl and twist, shimmers of gold, silver and black. I buy a round of vodka shots and as we all count down until we knock them back simultaneously, Alan’s words from my first trip to Los Angeles – about how it wouldn’t take me long to get used to alcohol – flash through my mind. Alcohol is another not uncommon crew issue.
A story shared at the table earlier creeps back into my mind – about a guy who’d been caught and dismissed for not handing over the charity money collected in at the end of each flight. He was charged with theft – he’d amassed thousands, also through duty-free fraud – and initially rumours spread that he was a big drinker. But during his court case it emerged that his son was being badly bullied at school for being mildly autistic and he desperately wanted to get him into a private school. Even though I’d never met the guy, I felt sorry for him. At least he was trying to help his son. I doubt he came out to places like this. I bet he stayed in his room and Delsey dined – brought cheap food from home and ate it in his room.
‘Let’s dance,’ Alex grabs my hand, and we merge into the crowds on the main dance floor.
I am aware of the others near us – Nate included – but for the first time in a very, very long time I am so exhilarated, so distracted, that I don’t constantly monitor my behaviour and thoughts for the sole benefit of creating a good impression for Nate.
When I glance at the time, I am shocked to see that it is past one in the morning, meaning it’s after nine at home. I slip away, out on to the balcony. The heat has subsided, just a touch. I stare at the lit horizon and wonder how many people are having the time of their life and how many others are dealing with heartbreak or disillusionment. I shiver. Tiredness must be kicking in.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ Nate’s voice.
He appears at my side.
‘Have you been here before?’ I ask.
‘Not here, no. Was that your boyfriend messaging you earlier?’
I fix my eyes on a tall building straight ahead surrounded in pink lights. ‘Yeah, he misses me.’ I turn to look at him. ‘No one special in your life, then?’
‘Not really. There was someone recently. She’s a pilot too, but it didn’t quite work out.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’ I grab his hand as a song I recognize blares out through the doors. ‘I love this song. Let’s go back in.’
We dance for the entire track. Nate seems relaxed. I am cautiously happy. I wonder if this is one of those moments in my life. One of those moments where it’s only in hindsight that I’ll look back and realize that I had it good. I wish these particular life moments could somehow be highlighted in advance so I’d know. Whenever I spend time reliving my past with Nate, I wish I’d enjoyed myself more and not concerned myself with the mundane – like what I was going to cook that evening or whether his plane would crash and leave me a girlfriend-widow before we’d had a chance to be married. I craved stability so badly that I didn’t relax.