Yours Remotely

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

In August, I went on a long-awaited holiday to France with Sinead, Sofie and her sister, Fiona. Although a week’s holiday in the sun was exactly what I needed, the company was not to my liking. During my school years, I had been good friends with Sofie, but Fiona had never warmed to me, and she was constantly in the way. She seemed to downright despise me, and I had no idea why. As far as I knew, I had never stepped on her toes, neither metaphorically nor literally. Fiona just did not believe in our chemistry, and I was not going to waste my entire holiday on trying to befriend someone who had no intention of becoming friends with me.

On Sunday afternoon, I arrived back at the apartment with my suitcase, wrecked from the journey. Travelling was not one of my favourite hobbies even though I did enjoy the occasional trip abroad. I had been pleased when Suse had texted that she was not going to be home before Monday evening. Jonah had taken her away for a long weekend to some swanky new hotel his boss had helped design. Perks of the job, I guess.

I dragged my suitcase into my bedroom and opened the skylight. It was sickeningly hot in the room; it felt hotter than it had in France. I was dressed in denim shorts, a light top and sandals, and still, sweat was pouring off me.

Suse must have been suffering from the temperature too as the fridge was full of cold drinks - and not much else. I grabbed an ice tea and poured the contents of the bottle into a tall glass. I walked over to the dining table where Suse had left my post. Phone bill, two promotional leaflets and the latest news from my pen pal, Anna, in Sweden. Anna was the only one of my pen friends who I still kept in touch with in my adult years.

I walked out to the balcony with Anna’s letter. I sat down on one of the plastic garden chairs and put my glass down on the stool beside me. We had never got around to buying a table, and it wasn’t a question of money.

Anna had written a seven-page letter by hand. We were old-fashioned and preferred to handwrite our letters even if typing would have been faster.

Anna had changed jobs and was now working in the reception of a vet’s surgery. She had met a nice man who had come to the surgery with his Cocker Spaniel, but the relationship ended only a few weeks later when, according to Anna, he turned out to be too weird.

After reading the letter, I stood up and stared out onto the quiet street. A nervous-looking father stood on the footpath keeping an eye on his daughter’s desperate attempt at parallel parking. His arms swung around like a windmill while he tried to tell the girl which way to move and how far. The poor girl’s car stalled three times while I was watching.

I looked up at the opposite building and saw movement on my front-left. The American bloke next door was leaning against his balcony railing, dangling a cigarette from his fingers. When he caught me looking at him, he raised his hand to a greeting, which I reluctantly responded to. Even from this distance, I could see him smiling.

I knew his face from a few months back. Every now and then, he happened to be on the street at the same time as I was going to work and sometimes even when I was coming back from work. Both Suse and Sinead thought that he was an absolute hunk, but I had never paid much attention to him. I wasn’t overly fond of Americans as a nation even though those individuals that I had met had proved to be nice. I had no idea of the origins or intentions of this man and didn’t even know his name. I knew he lived with at least two students much younger than himself. Traditional flat sharing, or so I had always thought. Perhaps he was lonely - it couldn’t be easy for a foreigner to get to know people. Perhaps he deserved a chance? Stupid idea, he was only being polite when he waved at me.

I sat back down and took another gulp of my tea. It was wonderfully cold and refreshing, exactly what I craved.

There were loud, argumentative voices from the street. Clearly, the young driver did not have a high regard for her father’s teaching skills, and likewise, the poor dad stuck with the job of teaching her was not impressed with his daughter’s parking skills. The row went on for a while, then it got quiet and both car doors banged shut in protest. A few seconds later, there was loud revving from the street that soon quieted as the car drove off.

The American must have followed the car to the next junction. Judging by the shake of his head and his laughter, I assumed that the poor girl didn’t do a great job of getting through the traffic lights.

I leaned my head against the cool wall and let my thoughts run free. I found myself thinking about Gary, which was all too common recently. It’s hard to bury memories when they re-surface at the most inappropriate moments. It wasn’t the first time a one-night stand gnawed away at my mind, but usually, I forgot about them quickly. Either the man didn’t remember, wasn’t interested, was in a relationship or never showed up again. With Gary, everything was more complicated. I didn’t even know if he remembered me, let alone if he was interested. Why would he be? Musicians generally went out with and shagged models, not ordinary women like me. Gary claimed not to be going out with anybody… Well, not really, he had said he had been in a relationship when he first met me but had not mentioned his current situation. I hadn’t seen him since May, but on the other hand, it was hard not to see him. The Remotes’ album, ‘Rushing Forward’, had sold well, and every music store had shelves full of it. I was relieved to see the album cover. It was a black-and-white photo of an old-fashioned convertible on a winding country road. It was taken in such a way that the driver could not be seen through the reflection on the windscreen. I had once opened the CD case and looked at the booklet inside. It had been a mistake that I was not about to repeat anytime soon. The album was not my only problem either because there were the songs on the radio, the videos on TV, the posters in the shops, the interviews in the press, on the radio, on the internet and on TV… The Remotes was the success story of the year, and that also applied to Gary. Forgetting was not possible or permissible. It was what the record company wanted. The band was referred to as being the new U2, the new Green Day, the new The Killers and the new The Clash, among others, even though I couldn’t see what all these bands had in common. Being the singer in the band, Gary was constantly in the spotlight, and it was becoming quite a problem for me. I didn’t want to become a pathetic groupie, but it looked like I didn’t have much choice.

I let out a sigh. The American had left his balcony, and the evening was starting to cool down while my ice tea started to get warmer. I grabbed my glass and letter and went inside. I would have to get my laundry in the washing machine and try to get back into my daily routine. I was back to work in the morning.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, one Friday evening, I was comfortably sitting on the sofa. Suse was busying herself at the dining table, checking her hair in the glass of the balcony door. Jonah was taking her to the opening of some major project from his work, and Suse had been looking forward to the event for weeks.

“Lea, how do I look?” she interrupted my thoughts and stepped towards the sofa.

I turned to look at her. Suse looked pretty in her red, ruffled dress with her long, curly hair gathered on the left side of her head. She had bought a new pair of silver sandals and a matching handbag.

“Really good,” I said, meaning it. Instead of jeans and a cardigan, I might as well have been wrapped up in a bin bag, that’s how scruffy I felt in comparison to her.

“Is my hair OK? And what about these earrings, should I wear the other ones?” Suse nervously pulled down the hem of her dress.

“Everything’s fine, Suse. Don’t change anything. If you change the earrings, you’ll have to change the shoes and then the bag…”

“OK, OK.” Suse laughed and grabbed her bag from the dining table.

The doorbell rang.

“That must be Jonah. I’ve got to go.”

Five seconds later, Suse was out the front door, pulling on a jacket as she went.

I exhaled deeply and leaned back on the sofa. Suse had turned off the ceiling lamp on her way out, and apart from the TV, the only light in the room was from a little table lamp on the bookshelf. It was comfortably dusky in the room, and the Friday night family show was back from an ad break. For the next 15 minutes, I listened to some politician talk about the smoking ban, petrol prices and everything in between. I wasn’t the least interested in politics, and I soon lost track. When Mr Politician finally shut up, the presenter thanked him for the interview and announced that in the final section of the show, after the break, he would be interviewing The Remotes. In the jumble of emotions that followed his announcement, I jumped off the couch and froze when I realised that I should sit down and wait. I didn’t even consider switching over to another channel while the ad break was on. I waited impatiently for it to end, not paying attention to upcoming movies any more than to the newest perfumes.

After the break, the presenter asked the question for that night’s contest. I couldn’t even take a guess at it although I had watched the entire show. The camera then turned to the group sitting on the sofa and went on to focus on Mick. Next to him, closer to the camera, sat Alex, and next to him, Gary. Jamie sat at the end of the sofa. Gary naturally stole my attention, but his presence also seemed to fascinate the cameraman - or possibly camerawoman. In a close-up, I realised that Gary had grown his hair longer this time. It was unevenly and asymmetrically cut so that it looked like a random mess even though it must have been a carefully chosen shape that made Gary look like the young, promising rocker that he was. He was dressed in a black, short-sleeved shirt and a red tie with a black pattern. I was overwhelmed by the desire to rip that shirt off him and send those buttons flying around the room. Of course, that was impossible because I was watching a live broadcast from London, several hours away. Then I was overcome by another strange feeling; at that very moment, Gary looked exactly like that, said those exact words, sat in that studio… And did not even remember my existence while I was watching him and squeezing my hands into fists so hard that my nails dug into my flesh.

The interview went on for just under ten minutes, and the presenter hadn’t thought of anything new to ask. Mick talked about the filming of their latest video and how none of them had liked standing on top of a tall apartment block, Gary talked about their upcoming tour and mentioned that tickets were on sale, and Alex and Jamie mostly remained quiet. The presenter then announced that the band would perform their latest single. The band members stood up, and the camera focused on the presenter who went on to phone that night’s lucky competition winner while the band was getting ready. A young woman from Bristol was over-joyed when she won a holiday to Italy and a signed copy of The Remotes’ album. The presenter ended the call and then the show by introducing The Remotes and their latest single, ‘A Series of Unfortunate Misunderstandings”.

The song was up-tempo and in places aggressive, but it mainly had a sarcastic tone. Gary had explained during the interview that the song was about how silly misunderstandings cause trouble in relationships, be it between friends, family or lovers. The band played the song flawlessly and gave it 100%, clearly enjoying the performance. I may have been biased, but Gary was a fantastic singer and he had a great voice.

When the credits rolled on the screen, I took a deep breath and buried my head in my hands. I was the hero of all fools. I would have to grow up. It was fine to develop crushes on celebrities as a teenager, but not at 23, not even if following a series of unfortunate misunderstandings, one had ended up in bed with the said celebrity.

In a sudden burst of self-pity, I got up and hurried to get my wallet and keys. I half-ran down the stairs and crossed the street diagonally towards the nearest shop, making a driver slam on the brakes and wave an angry fist at me.

The shop was quiet - besides me, only two people were in there. Behind the counter, a bored-looking staff member was re-stocking the cigarettes. I made my way towards the crisps and grabbed a large bag. Then I moved on to the chocolate section which was right in front of the counter. I picked up a big, nutty bar and had just grabbed a bag of chocolate sweets as well when somebody stopped beside me and said hello.

It was the American from next door. He smiled and asked if I was going to have a quiet night in, nodding towards my shopping. I blushed and said I was.

“Same as,” he replied, raising a big tub of ice-cream and two big bags of peanuts. After a short silence, he held out his hand. I awkwardly balanced some of my items between my elbow and side and the rest in my left hand.

“Josh,” he said with a warm smile. He had kind eyes. He was good-looking, but his small, thin moustache bothered me. I had never been a fan.

I introduced myself, and soon, we were deep in conversation about that night’s film selection on TV. Josh tried to convince me that Rebel Without a Cause would be much better and more enlightening than Notting Hill and that I should watch it even though it was on an hour later.

Josh was funny and easy to talk to. I was disappointed when he realised his ice-cream was melting and he would have to go.

After Josh disappeared through the door, I added a fizzy drink to my shopping. For some reason, I thought I should listen to his advice on that night’s film choices.

* * *

I ran into Josh a lot after that - when I left for work, when I was coming back from work, when I went to the shop, when I went out. Those few times I was out on the balcony - not very often in September - I saw him out smoking on his. Whenever it was possible, he stopped to talk to me. A few weeks later, he picked up the courage to ask me out. I had no reason to refuse, and one Thursday night in October, we went out on a date.

Suse and Sinead - excited that I was about to bag this handsome foreigner - had helped me pick my clothes. I was dressed in a blue-chequered, knee-length baby doll dress, so I didn’t need to worry about how my tummy looked. I had found a matching pair of blue shoes, and I had to admit that although I had initially been against buying the dress, let alone wearing it, I felt comfortable in it.

Josh arrived three minutes early. He rang the bell and asked to come in. When I opened the door for him, he handed me a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. It was so sweet, so old-fashioned and so American that I felt my eyes well up. I thanked him and almost expected him to ask to meet my parents before going out.

Josh proved to be a real gentleman. He took me to an Italian restaurant and insisted on paying for everything. He held every door open for me, and when we went to a bar after the meal, he walked around the whole place just to find me a seat. He liked to talk about his job in a laboratory, which, as far as I could gather, mainly examined water samples. He was into old films and liked almost everything made up to the ’60s. Yet he listened intently when I described my average day in the phone store and explained that most of my spare time consisted of some nights out but mainly of watching TV at home. He didn’t even seem disappointed when I announced that I had never seen a full black-and-white movie and that my favourite was Legends of the Fall. He laughed when I told him that I had never personally known any Americans before.

At the end of our date, Josh walked me home - no big effort - and kissed me on the cheek without further expectations.

* * *

After that night, I started seeing Josh about once a week. We went to the cinema, out to lunch, for drinks, we even went to the theatre, and he paid every time. He carried on with his gentlemanly behaviour, and by mid-December, when he announced that he was going home to Houston for three weeks, we hadn’t proceeded past the kissing stage. He said he’d miss me, but I dismissed it with a wave of my hand and kissed him on the lips before he left the apartment. His taxi was waiting downstairs, ready to take him to the airport.

I should have known that three weeks is a long time.