The Heartbreak Cafe (9 page)

To think
that for years she had pictured this moment; her glorious
homecoming, stepping off the plane to meet a swarm of Irish media,
who all wanted to take her picture and shower her with compliments.
She had always pictured herself looking ultra-glamorous but chic 
the way Gwyneth always did when getting off of a plane after ten
hours.

Now,
looking down at her wrinkled silk Dolce & Gabbana top over
Seven for All Mankind jeans, she wondered how Gwyneth always looked
so pristine and unrumpled. Maybe it had to do with the fact that
she probably flew on a private jet, got actual sleep because the
aircraft had a bed, and was able to shower and change?

While
Ruth didn’t have the option to do any of those things, being
hungover for the majority of the flight probably didn’t help
either, and Gwyneth likely also never flew anywhere without a team
of stylists. Ruth immediately regretted not bringing Chloe on this
trip, because not only did she miss the constant flattery that her
assistant provided, but her organizational and PR skills too. She
knew that upon arrival she would be met by a driver, but it just
wasn’t the same.

The
flight attendants were preparing the cabin to be opened and Ruth
started to gather her things. She checked her makeup one more time
in her compact, and made sure that the amount of lipstick she had
on was acceptable. She also noted that tell-tale bags under her
eyes were indeed present. Damn! Ruth put a stick of chewing gum in
her mouth and chewed it intensely for a moment, trying to rid
herself of the dreaded hangover breath. Ugh. Forget her triumphant
homecoming, all Ruth wanted at that moment was to get to the
nearest hotel room and sleep for days. But there would be little
time for rest as the following afternoon she was due at the TV
studios for her long-awaited appearance on the Late Tonight
show.

Her brain
full of cobwebs, she shook her head and tried to regain that
feeling of excitement that she’d had all week in the run-up to
this, but found it was hard coming.

Eventually she exited the plane, but instead of descending
the steps movie-star-like to a greeting swarm of media, she was
instead shunted through a narrow passenger gangway tunnel with the
rest of the hordes.

She
exited the tunnel and made her way through to passport control.
Looking around, she found that quite a lot had changed since the
last time she had been here. The airport looked all shiny and
modern, not too unlike LAX. Where were all the diddly-aye Guinness
and Aran sweater shops? From what she could see they were even
selling MAC here now. OK, so it had been a while since she was last
here, and she knew Ireland had improved somewhat, but hell, was
that a caviar bar?

She
really hadn’t expected this at all, this glossy, urbane first
glimpse of her home country. She tried to alter the confused
expression on her face and replace it with a carefree smile. After
all, she reminded herself, no matter how sophisticated things
seemed here now, people would still be excited by her visit,
wouldn’t they?

Best foot
forward and all that…

Regardless of how miserable she was feeling, Ruth reminded
herself that no one knew about what happened last night, no one
knew about her and Troy so really she’d be better off putting it to
the back of her mind for now and hope that the pill did its thing.
It was her secret and she could deal with anything that she had to
in her own time. So for the moment, why not soak up the platitudes
and the magic of her big moment? She was allowed be happy today;
she was returning home to Ireland as a huge success, would see her
family soon, and would be appearing on the highest rating TV
chat-show tomorrow night so what was there to be glum about? Lifted
by these thoughts, a wave of optimism flooded through her, and she
straightened her shoulders as she approached the line for passport
control.

She
glanced tentatively around at the other travellers waiting in line,
wondering if anyone recognized her and was vaguely disappointed to
see that no one seemed to bat an eyelid at the glamorous woman in
oversized sunglasses; they were all too interested in making it to
the top of the queue. Didn’t they realise that she was not only one
of the hottest actresses around, but one of their own? Moving
along, Ruth shivered, wondering if her homecoming would be the big
fuss she’d hoped it would be. OK so Irish people were famed for
their down-to-earth attitude towards celebrities, but she was Ruth
Seymour, for goodness sake!

Suddenly
missing LA’s star mania, she reached the booth and held out her
passport for inspection. The name would no doubt mean nothing to
this bored middle-aged immigration officer, who sure enough, waved
her through without a second glance.

Having
collected her baggage she went through to the arrivals area, and
immediately spied the man who would be her driver. He was holding a
small sign with the name ‘R. Seymour’ printed on it, and she
approached him with a smile that could melt titanium.

‘
Hello there,’ she cooed. ‘I think you’re waiting for
me?’

The man
smiled and gave her a brief once-over, and while she knew Chloe had
arranged a respected Dublin chauffeur service to collect her, Ruth
wondered just how often this guy got to meet stars of her calibre.
Her ego gradually began to swell and she felt giddy at the thought
of him regally leading her through the arrivals area.

But
rather than greeting her profusely and offering to take her Louis
Vuitton carrier, the man just consulted his clipboard and motioned
for Ruth to follow him.

‘
I should let you know that there are a load of photographers
outside – apparently they found out you would be arriving today
somehow.’

Ruth
smiled to herself. Well of course the press knew about her arrival,
thanks to a ‘leak’ about her schedule. Good job Chloe.

‘
That’s no problem, it’s to be expected,’ she
sighed.

‘
Yes, well … there are a lot of them, and they seem very eager
to talk to you,’ the driver said, and immediately Ruth felt the
hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

The Irish
press were clambering to see her. Yes! For most of her life Ruth
had been dreaming of this moment, and through every crappy
commercial, every embarrassing gombeen bit-part she’d been reduced
to, she’d known this was her destiny. Now it was happening, it was
really happening and Ruth felt more exhilarated than she’d ever
been in her life.

Forget LA
and what had happened last night; it was a blip, a tiny blot on an
otherwise perfect week. Now, today this was her shot, her
opportunity. And she was going to soak up every last minute of
it.

‘
Anyway,’ he continued. ‘When we go through, just stay close to
me and I’ll make sure you get into the car safely.’

‘
Of course, thank you for your concern.’

She duly
followed the driver through the pair of automatic doors to where
the limo was parked. At least Ruth assumed it was towards the limo
because once the doors opened, she couldn’t see anything but a wall
of blinding white light. Hundreds of camera flashes exploded in
unison, and a throng of people surged towards her. Whoa, this was
one hell of a welcome!

Ruth
looked up and assumed her best superstar smile, courtesy of her six
hundred dollar an hour orthodontist.

‘
Ruth, is it true you spent last night with Troy Valentine?’
she heard one of them say, and all of a sudden her smile
froze.

Her
initial elation immediately turned to full blown panic as she was
met with the yells and questions of a hundred people, yet all of
the voices were asking the same question. ‘Ruth, can you confirm
that you left Chateau Marmont yesterday morning after spending the
night with your co-star? Ruth, did you and Troy sleep together?
Ruth, can you confirm this picture is you? Ruth, can you comment on
what happened last night? Ruth, how long have you and Troy been
sleeping together? Ruth, have you been having a secret relationship
with Troy? Does your assistant always turn up with clean clothes
the day after? Is Troy the reason for your recent
success?’

Oh my
word … Ruth screamed internally, her feet still immobile, until the
driver caught her arm and began to carefully guide her forward
through a crowd that was getting more demanding and chaotic by the
second. They all know, she thought horrified, they all know what
happened! And what was all that about a picture?

She
thanked heaven that she’d had the good sense to keep her sunglasses
on so she could hide her eyes, because at that moment she knew she
must resemble a deer caught in the headlights. While she was of
course used to media interest, she had never before met press that
demanded answers; had never met photographers that seemed intent on
embarrassing her; no one had been this vicious to her before. This
is certainly not how she imagined her homecoming.

Guided by
the driver, she tried to push her own way through the crowd; she
needed to get out of here and safely into that car, she needed to
talk to Chloe … to her agent and –

Suddenly,
a photographer pushed his way right into her line of sight, and
stopped in front of her. Ruth stepped back quickly, sending her
sunglasses flying in the process. As she tried to catch them, the
guy snapped a picture. ‘Ruth, how does it feel to be Hollywood’s
newest good-time girl?’

A fresh
wave of horror overtook her, followed closely by shame. Hollywood’s
newest good-time girl? Is that how people were thinking of her here
– in her own country! It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since
she’d been lauded as Hollywood’s newest golden girl…

Finally,
she reached the waiting car and as the driver held open the door,
she tried to get past a new crush of bodies that threatened to
separate her from salvation. In doing so, she elbowed someone who
was way too close and had shoved an 8 x 10 glossy photograph under
her nose. Eyes widening, Ruth grabbed it and dove into the interior
of the Mercedes.

The
driver shut the door with a bang. Ruth let out a sigh and rested
her head against the back of the seat. Tears began to fill in her
eyes, but she was scared to show emotion, afraid that the people
outside the car could see in. What if the tinting on the windows
didn’t work the way it was supposed to?

Outside
the car, the throng of people continued to pound on the windows,
and ask their relentless questions. Ruth realised she was
dangerously close to a full-blown panic attack and thought she was
going to lose it.

‘
Can we please go?’ she said to the driver.

‘
I’m trying my best to get away, love but I don’t want to hit
anyone.’

Finally,
airport security got involved and helped navigate the mobbed car
away from the kerb. Ruth let a single tear escape and was trying to
slow down her breathing when she realised she was clutching
something in her hand. It was the picture she’d grabbed.

Breathing
deeply, she gave herself time to examine it. It looked like footage
taken from a security camera and while the image was a little
grainy, you could see it of was a man and a woman pictured beside a
couple of public phones.

The woman
was pressed up against the wall and had one leg wrapped around the
man with the hem of the dress pushed up almost to her hip. They
were in the throes of a very passionate kiss and looked like they
didn’t care who saw them.

Oh
no…

No matter
that at the time it had felt like one of the most romantic moments
of her life, from this perspective, and for anyone who didn’t know
the details it could be considered lewd and even trashy, especially
with the poor picture quality.

Still
despite the grainy pixilation there was no mistaking that the woman
in the picture was her.

Ruth, how
does it feel to be Hollywood’s newest good-time girl? Is Troy the
reason for your recent success?

Ruth
wanted to die.

Nina
studied her appearance in the bedroom mirror. She didn’t feel any
different, and was having a hard time believing that she was in
fact different – except for the test that had come up positive, and
the recent scan she’d had back in Galway that very much confirmed
that yes, she was indeed pregnant.

She stood
sideways to look at her profile. Nope, definitely no bump yet. As
her build was small, she worried that the slightest change would be
noticeable, but still nothing. Thank goodness, she thought to
herself. When she did start showing, she had no idea what she was
going to tell people, least of all her mother.

Suddenly,
as if on cue, Nina’s mobile phone began ringing from inside her
handbag, and when she checked the display she saw it was
Cathy.

‘
Hi!’ she answered, thrilled to be able to hear her mother’s
voice.

‘
Hey sweetheart, how are you doing?’

The line
sounded broken-up so Nina moved to the window of the bedroom in the
hope of improving the reception.

But it
seemed the problem was on Cathy’s end. ‘I’m in Vietnam, calling
from some crazy excuse for a phone box. Our mobiles won’t work
here. I’ll keep pumping money in for as long as I can but I might
not be on for long –’