September 29th, 1990
Night flight from EWR – LHR
Woke up with a horrendous headache. Guzzled down two bottles of water and was getting ready to go back to sleep when the phone rang.
“Are you hungry?” Millie asked.
“Thirsty, yes,” I croaked. “Hungry, no.”
“I’m starving, come and get some food with me.”
“Yes, you can. Meet me in the lobby in thirty minutes.”
She greeted me with, “You look rough,” which prompted me to flash my fake smile and ask, “Are we going shopping for Primrose Oil?”
She ignored me and headed for the revolving door.
I turned to see Richard walking quickly in our direction. “Morning ladies,” he said, bowing ever so slightly, which I found amusing. “How are you?”
“Suffering from throbbing noggin syndrome,” I groaned.
“Me too,” he nodded. “Millie?”
“My head is fine,” she said curtly. “You two obviously had too much to drink.”
“You’re not by any chance heading out for some nosh, are you?” Richard asked in the same way I’d ask someone if they need medical assistance.
“Millie’s on the hunt for food. Me, I just need liquid.”
“I’m in dire need of both,” he said, after which there followed an awkward pause where the three of us shuffled about in an effort to avoid the hotel guests coming and going.
“So, ehm,” he continued, clearing his throat. “May I join you?”
Millie’s face flashed a look that said, Go away and leave us alone, which Richard clearly understood. “On second thoughts,” he said, “I might be better off grabbing something from the coffee shop.”
“Don’t be silly,” Millie said, looking coy. “Come with us. I’m sure Karen would love your company.”
I felt my cheeks flush and somehow managed to restrain myself from pushing her head first into the revolving door!
We ended up in some pseudo Italian place in the mall, where I ate heaps of disgusting fettucine, swimming in Alfredo sauce but as awful as it was, I felt so much better. Millie flirted with Richard throughout lunch and she kept touching his arm and responded to pretty much everything he said with a toss of her hair.
When Millie went to the loo, Richard rolled his eyes and pretended to slump over the table. “I find the whole thing rather tiring,” he commented. “I have a few bits of shopping to do after this, would you care to join me?”
“I need to get some sleep, otherwise I’ll never make it through the night.”
“Understandable,” he said, in a tone I imagine he uses in the cockpit in response to a request from the ground. “Perhaps we can share a cup of tea during the flight. It’s a short flight time so if we’re not too busy I’ll pop down and say hello.”
I was about to respond when Millie reappeared. “What are you two talking about?”
“The food,” Richard quipped, kicking my foot under the table. “We’re talking about how dreadful the food is here.”
“Awful,” Millie agreed, with a toss of her hair, as I excused myself to go to the loo, the only place I was free to crack up laughing.