CIAO BELLO – PART 19

 


CIAO BELLO – PART 19

A car service is picking me up at my apartment. We’re collecting another cast member first, then heading to the airport together. I’ve left emergency phone numbers on the fridge. All the bills are arranged, rent checks pre-written, and I’ve even hired someone to “clean once a week”—though really, he’s just there to make sure my subletters aren’t trashing the place again.

I hug the cats until they push me away with annoyed paws, and I lie down on my dog, whispering promises that I’ll be back. His eyes follow me to the door. It’s harder to leave him than it was to leave the Bahamas.

I close the door behind me. "Wish me luck," I murmur to myself and begin the familiar five-flight descent to the stoop. A cigarette dangles from my fingers. I light it and watch the smoke spin in tight circles above my head.

A car horn blasts twice—jolting me. I look up. It’s the car service. Bags in the trunk, I climb in. On the ride, my castmate and I chat about everything—even though we’ve seen each other every day since returning to New York. There’s a certain energy now, something buzzy and hopeful, maybe even... naive.

At the airport, I swing my legs out of the car and—

"Geoffrey!" someone screams. I turn and get ambushed by hugs and kisses. One of the girls from the cast starts talking at machine-gun speed about her break. I can barely keep up.

As we head toward the terminal doors, cast members start appearing from all directions—flying in from every corner of the country. I spot our new company manager standing off to the side, chain-smoking and gripping a clipboard like it’s a life raft. From now on, I’ll call her Useless.

Useless announces that we were supposed to have a holding room—but someone “forgot” to call. So here we are, clogging the entryway like confused holiday travelers. She doesn’t know what gate we’re at, how many of us there are, if we transfer, when we’ll eat, or how long the layover is. But she’s confident in her ability to inhale an entire carton of menthols before we board.

More cast trickles in. One girl has packed like she’s headed for the Titanic. Steamer trunks, duffels, boxes… “They’re full of wigs and dresses,” she beams proudly to a small crowd of amused strangers.

Someone (not Useless) finally takes the initiative and gets our actual flight info from the counter. Meanwhile, Useless has practically vanished behind a personal fog machine of cigarette smoke.

My body starts responding to the stress like it did in the Bahamas. I keep ducking in and out of the men’s room. My stomach’s staging a protest. Just the sight of everyone together again has triggered something primal. I jokingly ask if anyone sees cocaine on my nose—because it sure feels like I’ve just snorted panic.

Then comes the chaos of boarding.

“I want to sit by the window!”
“You better not snore!”
“Damn girl, is this part of your weave?”

Flight attendants exchange worried glances.

We taxi down the runway and cling to each other like it’s the end of Titanic. After our last harrowing flight with what felt like prehistoric aircraft, we’re all a little scarred.

As the plane takes off, the flight attendants give the safety spiel—completely ignored. “Geoffrey!” a cast member whispers urgently, except she’s got her Walkman on and is basically yelling. “Geoffrey!” she hisses again—louder than the engine now. Everyone turns. I sink into my seat.

“Baby, can you rub my feet? They’re killing me.”

I slap her arm. “Will you please take off those damn headsets? You’ve been screaming at me for ten minutes. And no, I will not rub your feet.”

“I’ve been screaming?” she says, startled.

“Yes!”

“Oh my God, I didn’t know! I’m sorry everyone!” she announces to the entire cabin.

She spends the rest of the flight opening and closing the overhead bin. Luggage rains down. Pillows. Bags. A shoe. “I’m sorry!” she whispers again—still wearing the damn Walkman.

We fly into the night. A silver trail toward Italy, toward uncertainty, toward something new. Something beautiful. Something awful. Probably both.

We’re not just changing time zones.

We’re crossing into another version of reality.

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