August 31st, 1990

 

August 31st, 1990

Night flight from BOS – LHR

Queen Lizzie is once again up front, where I just came from (yummy biscuits!) Most of the First Class passengers are asleep but not mum, who not only has Hubert at her beck and call but apparently the Captain has invited her to sit on the flight deck for landing into Heathrow. Nice!

Anytime Millie and I do a trip together, we splurge on room service, but I knew mum would enjoy going out for breakfast, which of course was ample and delicious. From the diner, we walked to a wondrous place called the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, where, earlier this year (according to Millie) a couple of guys posing as police officers managed to talk their way into the museum late at night, tied up the two security guards and proceeded to steal several priceless paintings, the frames of which we saw hanging empty today.

We were in our element wandering through each of the exquisitely decorated rooms, filled to the brim with the treasures Mrs. Gardner acquired from all over the world, now housed in a replica of a Venetian palazzo, which from the outside didn’t look that impressive, until we stepped inside and began to experience the most magical place.

Stepping back into the sunny afternoon, we felt slightly dazed from all we’d seen and eagerly took Millie up on her suggestion to head to the water front. Took the tube, known as the T, to State Street and walked from there to the expansive harbour, where we took a cruise and listened to some guy with what I assume is a Boston accent regale us with tales of the Boston Tea Party, which sounded nothing like the way we pronounce, “party.”

Regardless of Mr. Boston’s incessant talking, the cool breeze felt amazing and the view was pretty fantastic.

 

August 30th, 1990

August 30th, 1990

Flight from LHR – BOS

Marriott Copley Place, Boston, Massachusetts

Queen Lizzie zoomed her way across the Atlantic, a flute of Champagne firmly in hand, smiling from ear to ear as she made herself comfortable in the plush surroundings of the First Class cabin, all while Millie and I practically walked all the way to Boston, surrounded by hundreds of needy passengers!

Millie said she’s convinced that Hubert, our Cabin Service Director, fancies mum and after hearing him gush, “What a treat it was to have your Mother onboard,” and watching him insist on mum sitting with him on the crew bus (she didn’t put up a fight!) I have to agree.

Five-hour time difference here so we wasted no time changing and grabbing a taxi to Quincy Market (Millie’s suggestion) where we devoured lobster rolls and some type of fishy soup that was utterly delicious.

This is mum’s first time in America since leaving New York in 1964 (!) and she literally hasn’t stopped smiling (or talking!) She and Millie get on like a house on fire and between them, they had me in stitches the entire night but with two sleepless nights behind me, I’m more than ready to crash.

Nighty nite from Beantown!

 

August 29th, 1990

August 29th, 1990

At home, England

Bucketed down the entire day, which meant a mad dash back to the car after getting my hair done (ugh!)

Listened to music while I cleaned the house and packed for Boston, where hopefully the weather will be better.

 

August 28th, 1990

August 28th, 1990

At home, England

Mum cycled over to mine this afternoon, the wicker basket on her bike overflowing with goodies.

“Ooh, thanks for the cream cakes,” I said. “I’ll make tea and we can sit in the garden.”

“Next year this’ll all be in bloom,” she said, as I placed the tea tray on the ceramic table the previous owners left behind.

“You have plans I see.”

“Aye well if you don’t mind, dad and I will plant some stuff then when the season rolls around again, we’ll fill pots with flowers and dot them about the patio.”

“Sounds lovely, mum.”

“Anything for my lassie,” she smiled. “I’m awful proud of you, hen.”

“I couldn’t have done any of it without you and dad.”

“Do you think David will come and stay?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, he’s trying to get some time off so he can stop in London on his way back from Tokyo.”

“Ohhhh,” she cooed. “Does this mean I might actually get to meet him?”

I smiled.

“Och,” she continued. “I canny wait!”

“I think you’ll like him.”

“I already feel like I know him,” she laughed.

“He says the same about you. It’s all that time you two have spent on the phone.”

“Aye but it’s no the same as seeing the person is it.”

Not a single bit.

 

August 27th, 1990

August 27th, 1990

Home sweet home, England

Dad came over bright and early this morning to paint the guest room, which now looks very inviting and leaves me to wonder who my first overnight guest will be!

Met Sarah and Lucy at The Harvester for lunch and sat outside enjoying Pimm’s. The last time I drank from a pitcher was with David, in Santa Barbara, when we downed yummy Margarita’s, after which, slightly tipsy, we meandered through the street market and bought fun, silly keepsakes for each other. After that, we drove back to Manhattan Beach and ended the day entwined on David’s rooftop terrace, which I’ll never forget.

Seems like no matter what I do at the moment, my thoughts turn to him.

 

August 26th, 1990

August 26th, 1990

Home sweet home, England

“You’re officially grown up!” Lucy (my first visitor!) said, handing me a bottle of wine and a house plant.

“Don’t be fooled,” I laughed.

Very nice,” she said, looking around. “You sure you just moved in? Looks like you’ve been here for ages.”

“It’s all due to my mum and dad’s help, they’ve been amazing.”

“I’m sure they’re really excited for you.”

“Let me give you the grand tour then we’ll have some wine. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

Within five minutes of Lucy’s departure, I rang David.

“Is this a good time?” I asked.

“Sure. I just got home from work. It’s pretty late for you isn’t it.”

“Yeah, Lucy, my old school chum just left.”

“Did you guys have fun?”

“We did. It was lovely to see her and hopefully I drank enough wine that I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“You didn’t sleep good last night?”

“Not ‘til the sun came up.”

“How come?”

“All I could think about was the mad axe murderer lurking outside the back door. I was so scared, it was awful.”

“Oh honey, that’s horrible. Maybe you could have your dad install a sensor light or something to make you feel safer.”

“That’s a good idea but it’d be better if you could come over. When can you get here?”

He laughed. “If I catch the red eye out of L A X tonight I can be there sometime tomorrow.”

“Noooooo,” I whined. “That’s too long.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s ok, I’m just being a baby.”

“So, my boss broke the news to me today that I need to go back to Tokyo.”

“Shit, when?”

“Thursday.”

“That’s when I leave for Boston.”

“I know, I have your roster right here. Your mom is going with you, right?”

“Yup and it’s all she can talk about; Lizzie’s big return to America!”

“I hear Boston is pretty cool.”

“You haven’t been?”

“Nope. I’m relying on you to tell me all about it.”

“I wish you could join us.”

“Me too. Hey, I just had a thought.”

“That’s dangerous,” I laughed.

“Yeah, right? Maybe I could hit London on my way back from Tokyo.”

“Ooooh, I could come and pick you up and whisk you back here to my lair.”

“Let me see what I can do.”

Fingers crossed.

 

August 25th, 1990

August 25th, 1990

Home sweet home, England

First night in my new house and I have carpets!

In my absence, dad managed to contact someone from the flooring company’s head office and with the help of Florence and her husband’s work van, they were able to salvage the carpets I paid for, which (especially financially) is very good news.

“Will you be ok there tonight by yerself?” Dad asked, as I was jamming the last of my stuff into the car.

“Of course I will.”

“You know you can phone us anytime, right? Day or night.”

“I know, thanks dad,” I smiled. “Don’t worry I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Dad, I spend half my life alone in a hotel room!”

“Aye but that’s different.”

“Trust me, I’ll be ok.”

“Do me a wee favour and give mum a phone in the morning when you wake up.”

“Will do.”

I just had a bath, overflowing with bubbles and I’m getting ready to ring David for a chat nobody else will hear.

Pure bliss.

 

August 24th, 1990

August 24th, 1990

Night flight from CCS – LHR

We’ll be landing in London in just over three hours, which means I’ll be walking through my front door in roughly six hours.

The Alitalia crew were out in full force at the pool today, the girls sporting designer, high cut swimsuits, and what Dolly called CFM’s.

“What’s CFM?” I asked. “Is it a swimwear line?”

She and Millie cracked up laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You really don’t know what it means?” Millie asked.

I shook my head. “Will somebody please tell me!”

“The shoes,” Millie said. “They’re not designed for walking so they’re commonly known as CFM’s.”

I gave her a questioning look.

“Come beep me,” she whispered.

“Oh,” I mouthed, the penny dropping, with an expression that sent the two of them into another fit of giggles.

I was horizontal on the sun lounger (flat makes me feel thinner!) enjoying the fashion parade, when Massimo appeared above me. It took all I had not to laugh at the sight of him in his neon speedos that I hate to admit he has the body for. I can’t believe I just said that about such a creep! He started rattling on about the, “in sea dint,” at the disco and said he was, “sorry for upset.”

From behind my shades, I allowed my lustful eyes to roam over his taught, tanned body, hating myself for imagining how he’d look naked. What is wrong with me, I thought, as he perched his slender frame on the edge of the sun lounger.

“It is un-four-chew-nit,” he said, his animated hands dangling dangerously close to my chest, “that you are going home.”

I sighed deeply and inched my way up the lounger.

“You are sad?”

“No,” I stated, feeling my cheeks flush.

“You are hot?”
“Yes,” I said, making a move to get up. “I need to go back to my room.”

“First you give me your telephone number?”

“No,” I said, quickly gathering up my belongings. “Absolutely not.”

He stood up and held out his hand. “Maybe we meet again?” He moved close enough that I could smell Drakkar Noir, the scent Ben used to use and in that split second, I wanted nothing more than to drag him to my room and surrender to an afternoon of unbridled passion.

Instead, I regained my composure and uttered something nonsensical along the lines of; “Have a nice life,” before making my hasty exit.

I can only conclude that I must be ovulating!

 

August 23rd, 1990

August 23th, 1990

Caracas, Venezuela

Spent the morning on the balcony with Millie and Dolly, gorging on tea and toast, recounting; “Tales from the Amazon,” which kept us laughing until the temperature spiked, forcing us inside, where the air conditioning was broken, which led us to the beach!

Floating in the water, I couldn’t help but think of David and how much I miss him. I’ve already sent him two postcards and a mega letter but I wish we could talk. He’s in Tokyo and I know where he’s staying but with a mortgage to pay, there’s no way I can afford or justify the cost of even a short chat.

Tonight, the hotel disco was the place to be, teeming with all sorts, including the Alitalia crew who arrived a few hours prior. Every one of them was stunning looking (average weight seven stone!) dressed to the nines, looking as if they just stepped off the catwalk (some of them acted as though were still on it!)

I got chatted up by an amazing dancer, dressed in a Prada suit (I clocked the label when he opened his jacket on the dance floor, oh, imagine the moves!) Unfortunately, he was deeply in love with himself but still managed to tell me his name is Massimo and that he liked my “style.” I ignored most of his subsequent questions and comments and continued dancing but he wasn’t taking the hint. “I’m on the dance floor to dance, not talk,” I wanted to say.

After a few songs, Massimo started getting a bit full on and when I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. I attempted to pull away but his grip was firm.

“Let go,” I yelled, thinking my next move would be to, as mum would say, “Kick him in the goolies.” There wasn’t enough room to step back so I figured I’d knee him instead, which I was just about to do when Roberto appeared.

Roberto took one look at me and yelled something in Italian that made Massimo promptly release his grip.

“You ok?” Roberto mouthed.
I nodded yes and he tilted his head in the direction of the bar, where most of my crew was gathered.

“What was all that about?” Millie asked when I finally made it to the bar.

“Just some dickhead trying it on.”

“Looks like your knight in shining armour took care of him,” she said, gesturing to Roberto as he made his way towards us.

“You sure you’re ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. What did you say to him?”

He laughed. “I can’t repeat it. Far too rude.”

“Well whatever it was, thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks for taking care of that slime ball,” Millie said, passing a drink to Roberto.
“For me?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” she smiled. “It’s a Mojito.”

“My favourite. Thanks, Millie,” he said, clearly surprised.

“No problem,” she said, passing the same to me. “One for you as well, Madison.”

“Yummy, thanks, Millie, oooh, the mint smells so good.”

“Cheers you two,” she said, clinking her glass first to mine then to Roberto’s.

“Cheers,” Roberto and I said in unison.

Wonders will never cease!