Plus One

Part 6 - S.O.S

"Where are you?"

"New York."

"Where's Bobby?"

"LA. What's up? You sound...off."

"I'll tell you when I get there."

"You're coming here? What about..."

"Not now, Suz," I hung up, not strong enough to face an inquisition right now.

"Josh, I need to take a personal day...all the scenes you're shooting tomorrow are set and Pete's looking after my...I'm sorry, it's a...a family thing...I'll be reachable by phone if you need me...okay, thanks; I owe you one...yes, I spoke to Tom...it was a...miscommunication of sorts...you'll have to ask him."

I booked a fare online, packed an overnight bag, took a quick shower and changed then caught the Tube to Heathrow. The only seat I could get last minute was in first class on the last flight out, so I was paying through the nose, but I desperately needed two things: to get away and think and to talk to someone. Susan was my someone; though we suffered the usual sibling trials and tribulations, when the chips were down we were always there for each other and right now my chips were in freefall. Tom had called six times since I'd left his place an hour ago but I ignored every one; the emotional roller coaster I had been through had knocked me on my ass and I knew there was no way I would survive another onslaught.

It turned out I was very grateful for the first class ride; I stretched out in luxurious comfort and availed myself of the free alcohol, deliberately ignoring my internal warning that it was a bad idea. Was falling in love with Tom a good idea? I really didn't know. By the time we landed in the Big Apple almost eight hours later I was virtually floating, feeling no pain and in a considerably better mood than I had been before. Practically skipping through customs and border protection, I wove cheerily around everyone as I made a beeline for the exit, my bag bumping along behind me with both of us occasionally banging into the wall. "Oof!"

Suddenly I was in a huge hall filled with people and I stopped, knowing I had to look for something in particular but unable to remember what. A guy bumped into me from behind and flung a quick apology over his shoulder, but it had the effect of moving my attention to another gentleman standing about ten feet away. He wore a smart dark suit and tie and held up a placard with my name on it in fuzzy writing.

"Sam!" I called, waving enthusiastically and heading his way. His eyes turned towards me. "I'm here! Sam, Sam, Sammy, Sambo the Samwise."

"Samantha Levin?" he asked.

I hiccupped and nodded. "Here I am." Coming to a halt right in front of him, I looked up - and up. "Boy, you sure are big! How tall are you anyway – six ten?"

"I'm six foot four, ma'am. You are Samantha Levin?"

I frowned. "Didn't I already say that?"

"My name is Marcus, ma'am; Mrs Downey asked me to meet you. Is this all your luggage?" He pointed at my overnighter and I shrugged.

"S'all I could find," I told him, slightly cross-eyed.

"This way."

I toddled along behind him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. Damn, tall people walk fast! Bright artificial light seared my eyeballs as we left the terminal and I slammed them shut, reopening cautiously to find purple spots tumbling around my vision and having to peer carefully, lids at half mast, to find where Marcus had run off to. The waiting car was large, sleek and shiny and the plush leather seats welcomed me like my grandma with a crochet blanket. I sank into them and looked at my surroundings, delighted to find a mini bar in front of me. "Oo, more goodies!" Practically bouncing, I stopped quickly when my head went into a spin, clutching the offending appendage until everything was still once more. "Home, James!" I called, giggling as I poured a generous glass of Veuve Clicquot yellow label; when that one went down a real treat, I helped myself to another. "Don't mind if I do," I told no-one in particular.