Around the World in 80 Dates (36 page)

Chris was waiting excitedly for us on the tarmac. “Wasn't that knockout?” he said with a huge, excited grin. “Wasn't it exciting? Did you think you were going to crash?” he demanded, hopping from foot to foot in glee.

I felt more than a little irritated: Why would I want to go on a date where I thought I was going to die? (Though God knew, I thought grimly, remembering the date with the wart…the gray men's briefs…moaning Lars in Christiania…there'd been more than one where I'd wanted to kill myself.)

I wanted to take Chris aside and tell him: “Look, that was a boy's date, not a girl's. Girls don't care about going up in planes where it's too loud to talk and all the flipping around makes you want to throw up.” Instead I nodded graciously and told Chris it was wonderful.

It was a shame about Gene, though; from what I could tell, he seemed funny, charming, and definitely the type of person I would enjoy getting to know. But I was saying this based purely on instinct; we hadn't been allowed to fall into a conversation that would have strayed and wandered naturally, opening random windows of our personalities and experiences to each other. If Chris had involved us a little more, or himself a little less, I'm sure we would have got on well, but we'd both held back, waiting patiently for an opportunity to talk that had never presented itself.

“Great,” Chris said, rubbing his hands happily. “So let's move on to the next part. We're running late.”

Late?
Next part?

The date wasn't over.

Gene and I exchanged weary and wary glances as we were bundled into Chris's car and driven halfway up a mountain to the Tohu winery, a local Maori-owned vineyard run according to tribal values.

Parking in a small gravel drive, Chris led Gene and me into a tiny hut that looked out across a dramatic glacial valley. The wind ushered puffy white clouds in and out of the glare of the sun, which alternately shot long shadows and blazed white light across the rocks and hillocks. Chris gestured for us to take a seat at a table facing the view. He brought the head of the winery in to meet us. We all chatted for a while, then were joined by the Wine Master and her assistant for a tasting. After a little while, Chris's chef arrived with his assistant to cook us a gourmet lunch in the corner of the hut while Chris stayed to keep an eye on things. There was standing room only by the time the eight Maori singers squeezed in with their guitars and pom-poms to serenade Gene and me as we self-consciously ate.

I'm sure the intention was that the meal, eaten overlooking this beautiful valley, would be romantic. But the room was so crowded and Gene and I were under such intense scrutiny, it felt more like we were day-release prisoners from a maximum-security penitentiary, expected to escape at any moment.

Gene was an attractive, interesting man, but after five hours in his company, I knew nothing whatsoever about him.

Finally, the busiest date in the world came to an end.

Gene and I shuffled past the singers, the owners, the Wine Master, the chef, and half a dozen other people assembled in the hut, thanking them for their efforts, like the Queen backstage after a performance of
Cats.
Shell-shocked, we climbed into the rear of the car and Chris took off down the track, retracing our route along the roads that twisted back through the vine-strewn countryside to Blenheim.

In the back of the car, finally out from under the tyrannous dating yoke, Gene and I both became giggly and rebellious. We teased Chris for being controling and bossy. Chris, now off-duty and able to relax, rolled his eyes at us in the rearview mirror and joined in the fun.

The whole atmosphere changed and we started enjoying ourselves. And Gene and I, now able to act like adults, chatted easily, getting on with each other every bit as well as I'd suspected we would.

Chris dropped me back at the hotel and we all bade our farewells. I felt fond of them and a little sad it was only now that we were able to enjoy each other's company.

 

Early the next morning I arrived at the airport feeling groggy but with my traveling head firmly on. This was going to be a long day of planes, trains, and minibuses. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw Gene sitting over by the window of the teeny departure lounge reading a newspaper. I went straight over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Apparently he'd been on the 6 a.m. to Wellington, but there'd been a problem with the plane. (“I bet someone turned their cell phone on and messed up the plane's navigation system,” he joked dryly.) “And now I'm wait-listed on your flight,” he told me as he rose to his feet, asking politely if I would care to sit down and join him.

So for the first time since we'd met, and despite all the hours we'd already spent in each other's company, Gene and I were on our own. Unsupervised. We joked how scandalously improper it was; it was as well we were flying in an hour, otherwise we'd be run out of town.

Gene was relaxed and funny. He had a wry sense of humor and made me laugh as he told me all that had been going through his mind the day before. “Chris said you were four foot tall and weighed two hundred eighty pounds,” he said. “It's just as well flying suits are one size only: I'd spent a sleepless night wondering how you were going to fit into the one I'd brought for you, not to mention the cockpit of the plane.”

I laughed and explained that Chris had made a point of giving away nothing whatsoever about him, and how I'd hoped we could have talked over lunch but had just felt too scrutinized. Gene agreed. He'd bumped into Chris's chef later that night, who'd apologized for crashing our date.

Gene suddenly got to his feet. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with mock formality. “My name is Gene and it's my pleasure to meet you. You are…?”

I laughed and got to my feet too. “It's a pleasure to meet you too, Gene,” I said with a little curtsy. “My name is Jennifer and I have traveled far, through the Land of Many Dates. Please tell me how it is that you came to be upon this fair isle.”

And sitting back down, we settled into our chairs and talked. Gene was in his late thirties, divorced, and a pilot from New York. He lived in Blenheim for about six months of the year, designing flying sequences for the blockbuster films everyone seemed to be shooting in New Zealand these days. The rest of the time he traveled around the world restoring and flying planes, catching up with friends, and hanging out.

It was ridiculously glamorous, but the way he described it was more self-deprecating and down-to-earth. “Besides,” he said, “flying is not to everyone's liking, as I think you demonstrated yesterday?”

I grinned ruefully, remembering the motion sickness. I explained to Gene that—although I had appreciated it—I thought the plane had been a bit of a
guy date.

Gene agreed. “If it had been down to me, I would have taken you to a gorgeous old lodge I know on that lake we flew over, the other side of Nelson. I would have brought some great wine and made you lunch by the water.”

Mmmmm,
I agreed that sounded far more appealing.

We talked about travel and relationships, jobs and friends.

“You know,” Gene said suddenly, looking at me very seriously. “I wish I'd organized the date yesterday.”

“Yes, I do too,” I agreed wistfully, instantly feeling a twinge of guilt about Garry.

I hadn't actually told Gene about Garry. Yesterday, I'd barely had the chance to tell him my name; going into details about the minutiae of my love life would have felt completely incongruous.

But then I heard the boarding call for my flight. Although it seemed like only five minutes, Gene and I had been sitting there deep in conversation for over an hour. Gene got up and went to confirm at the check-in desk that he had a seat as well, but he returned minutes later with a grim expression.

“The flight's full,” he told me flatly, sitting back down next to me.

“Oh no,” I said, dismayed, instinctively putting my hand on his arm. Gene took my hand in his and looked equally distraught. It was as if after all the false starts, we'd finally begun our date, only to have it stop just as it was getting going.

But even in the middle of all this, I thought of Garry, and felt I had to tell Gene.

“You know I've met my Soul Mate, don't you?” I told him gently.

Gene looked away for a moment, then, moving closer and making eye contact again, said gruffly: “Well, I heard you were spoken for.”

“He's an American too,” I said, as if by way of consolation.

Gene looked very serious. “How do you know when you've met your Soul Mate?” he asked, watching my reaction very closely.

“You just know,” I replied evenly.

It's a trite, annoying answer and it's what people always say, but it's true. You do just know. Like a key fitting in a lock, it feels right and natural, you don't have to force it.

“This is an announcement for Miss Jennifer Cox. If Miss Jennifer Cox is in the airport, can she please make her way as quickly as possible to gate number one, where flight 2454 to Wellington is boarded and ready to depart.”

“Gene,” I said, startled out of the intensity of our conversation, realizing I hadn't even heard them give the final call, “I'm going to miss my plane, I have to go.”

I felt like a World War II soldier's sweetheart; I knew that once I got on that plane, I was never going to see Gene again. And in that moment, the reality of it seemed both intense and tragic, with an underlying sense of loss and sadness.

It was also confusing: I could hardly wait to be with Garry, but at the same time, and out of nowhere, something was happening with Gene. I felt I had to say something.

“Gene, apart from Garry, you're the only man on my entire journey that I've really connected with,” I told him truthfully. “I know this has all been very strange, but I want you to know I'm really glad I met you.”

We rose to our feet together, looking into each other's eyes the entire time. “I'll be in touch,” Gene said, pulling me toward him and holding me tightly. “You can count on it,” he whispered. Then he kissed me.

He kissed me on the cheek. Which was probably just as well; the tension between us was so electric by now that if he'd kissed me on the lips, the release of pressure would probably have taken out the coffee shop, if not the entire air-traffic-control navigation system for a week.

But even in the eye of the storm, I thought of Garry. I pulled back and looked into Gene's eyes. I felt torn: knowing nothing could happen, but at the same time sensing something already was. And liking it.

I gently broke away from the embrace. I had to go. Now.

I didn't even say good-bye to Gene. Picking up my bags, half walking, half sprinting, I stumbled away from him and out of the building across the tarmac to the tiny aircraft waiting on the runway.

I felt light-headed, like I was in a film where every moment and action was charged with purpose and significance. As I handed my pass to the
so there you are
attendant, I paused at the bottom of the aircraft steps and looked back across the runway to the airport building. Gene was standing where I'd left him, meeting my gaze head-on.

We stared at each other, steadily and unflinchingly, neither of us looking away even for a second. Then we smiled. It was an intimate and private smile, acknowledging the deep, still waters we had both dipped our toes into, and on whose bank Gene still stood, holding a towel out for me to join him.

I blew him a kiss and boarded the plane.

 

As we taxied down the runway, I felt thrilled and excited at the intense and romantic scene that had just unfolded. And at the unexpectedness of it, too. Yesterday I was thanking my stars that my dating days were nearly at an end; today a handsome pilot had waved me off from a tiny airstrip in a remote part of New Zealand.

It seemed the only two who had a handle on the big picture of my Dating Odyssey were Fate and Chris. Dammit.

So I flew to Wellington, made my connection, and flew on to Dunedin, where I was going to pick up the Taieri Gorge steam train. This would take me as far as Pukerangi, from where I would travel a further two hours by bus to Middlemarch. I was dating Bachelor of the Year there tomorrow but having dinner with one of the judges at the Kissing Gate Café tonight.