Page 118 of Dirty Ink

“Aurnia!” I shouted, shouted so loud a theatre assistant poked her head inside the room.

I quickly assured her I was fine and then whispered into the phone, “Aurnia, are you listening to me?”

“I mean, yeah,” she said with a tone of voice that reminded me she was just eighteen years old. “You kind of yelled my head off, Rach.”

“Aurnia,” I said as calmly as possible. “I need you to tell me what Mason is doing.”

“But it’s like I was saying, I’ll ruin it and—”

“Aurnia, where is he?”

“But Rach—”

“Aurnia, you tell me right now or I’ll come over there right this second and shake it out of you!”

Aurnia snorted. “Right, I’ll see you in twenty hours,” she said. “Real threatening, Rachel.”

“I’m in Dublin,” I said. “Aurnia, I’m in Dublin.”

I heard the shock in her voice as she said, “You’re in Dublin? You’re in Dublin?! But— Rachel, Mason’s going to New York! He’s on his way to the airport right now.”

“Aurnia—”

“Oh my God, if you miss him by like however many seconds it took me to tell you I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Aurnia—”

“I’m such an eejit!” Aurnia wailed as I gathered up my purse and bag.

Conor comforted her in the background and I tried again to get her attention.

“Aurnia, I—”

“How many years is it going to take this time?” she moaned. “Because I screwed it all up and you missed each other again.”

“Aurnia—”

“Why couldn’t I just shut up for two minutes? Just like two minutes!”

“Aurnia!”

“Yeah?”

I laughed, smiling from ear to ear as I said, already running out the door, “I have to go!”

“Yes, yes, oh my God, I almost did it again!” she said. “Go, Rachel! Go!”

Running through the airport already draws plenty of unwanted attention. I mean, it’s practically all set up like a theatre anyway. People with nothing to do, sitting around waiting. Lines of seats just like a theatre. Tickets drummed against knees just like a theatre. Eyes seeking any form of entertainment, any entertainment at all, just like a theatre.

I can’t say I blamed anyone who gawked openly at me running past. I’d certainly done my fair share of watching. At the single mom trying to drag a screaming child along as she juggled three suitcases and screamed ahead for them to hold the gate. At the businessman in his clearly uncomfortable shoes, slipping and sliding on his leather soles as he tried not to pant into his Bluetooth because he’s on a conference call with Tokyo. At the teenage backpackers who left a trail of dust and body odour in their towering wake as they sprinted through the crowd on scrawny legs. I’d looked. Shamelessly. Everyone had.

So it was only fair that they got their turn, the single moms, the businessmen, the globetrotting kids. The airport theatre. Row upon row.

And boy did I give them a show.

At the very least I was a woman in high heels, a full face of dramatic makeup streaked with happy tears, and a feathery sequined burlesque costume running past. At the worst (or perhaps best), my tits had bounced out since I didn’t have time to worry and I was a hooker chasing after my bill-skipping John. Either way, I had the whole airport at the edge of their seats.

And I loved it.

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