Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [80]
‘I thought we were going to PizzaExpress,’ I said.
‘No, I thought we’d meet here. We’re going to Odette’s in Primrose Hill, you’ll like it.’
OK, fine. We’re going to another restaurant. I, of course, hadn’t heard of Odette’s, mainly because I was not a multimillionaire. I thought twenty-year-olds went out for pizza – not this one, she went to Odette’s. She was sophisticated and classy. The bill was more than my rent.
I had never been to a restaurant like this before. The waiter offered me ‘an apéritif’.
I had no idea what he was talking about, so I said, ‘No, we’ll just have a drink to start.’ Kitty asked for a gin and tonic, so I asked for the same.
The waiter said, ‘Would you like it on the rocks?’
‘No,’ I replied, ‘I think we’ll have it here at the table.’ After the meal started, the waiter gave us each a sorbet. How was I to know it was to clear our palate? My palate had survived for twenty years without being cleansed between courses. I didn’t even know what a sorbet was. ‘I’m sorry, we haven’t had our main course yet, this is dessert,’ I said quite firmly, ‘and anyway we didn’t order ice cream!’
When I wasn’t being naïve, we hit it off. She was wild and fun. I was relaxed with her. We talked easily to each other, we laughed and flirted. We didn’t mention the script, the script was history. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life; she had fallen into acting because of her family. She wasn’t really an actress, and I wasn’t really a writer. I had tried to write another film and couldn’t. My writing started me on the road in comedy and led me to her.
After dinner, we got into her Mini and I kissed her. I think the size of the car helped. I was practically sitting on her lap as it was. I think if she’d had another car, like an American-style station wagon, I might not have been so bold. We shared our first kiss on Regent’s Park Road outside Odette’s restaurant. She dropped me home, and I watched her chug off as only the old Minis can.
It was the perfect night. I was smitten.
She liked me. We had had a wonderful night sealed with a kiss. If I played the right moves now, she would be mine. I needed to be cool, mysterious, maybe not call for a few days. But I didn’t know anything about playing it cool. I didn’t even know ‘playing it cool’ was an option, it never crossed my mind. I didn’t want to waste any time whatsoever. In my opinion, we had found each other – let’s go, let’s start making a life together. So over the following days, I phoned her so many times that my behaviour could only be described as ‘creepy’.
I didn’t know it, but I was undoing all the good work of our night together. After days of harassing her for another dinner, Kitty suggested we meet for coffee. I was being downgraded. I was expecting an upgrade to the bedroom of my studio flat (which also happened to be the living room and kitchen), but only coffee was on offer. So we met for coffee, which served to add hyperactivity to my stalker-like behaviour. She seemed so different. I didn’t understand it. I continued to smother her, making things worse for myself. She didn’t even finish her coffee before making an excuse to leave. I tried to kiss her again and rather than turning her cheek she actually pulled away.
I went home devastated. My sister explained to me how I had played it all wrong and that I absolutely had to leave her alone for a while otherwise risk losing her for good. I felt sick. She left her hairclip on the table of the café in her haste to get away from me and I sat in my bedroom/living room/kitchen holding it, pining for her.
I followed my sister’s advice and waited, for nearly an hour, before calling Kitty. I had already installed her number as Memory Preset 1 on my new BT phone. It rang and rang but went to the machine. After several times of calling, I started to withhold my number. I was now officially a stalker. How did this happen? A week ago we were relaxed, giggling and flirting in Odette’s, and now