Free Superstar by T C Southwell

night?
She regretted not speaking to him then, but she had not known that
it would be her last chance. John carried her case through to
customs, where the conveyer belt swallowed it. As she paused at the
door to the departure lounge, he doffed his cap and held out a
hand.
    "Have a good
trip, Miss York. It was a pleasure having you visit."
    "Did Mark tell
you to say that?" she asked, desperate for some last message.
    He frowned.
"No."
    "Where is
he?"
    "He went out
early this morning, Miss York." John lowered the hand that she had
neglected to shake.
    "Does he
usually fail to say goodbye to his guests?" Anger made her tone
sharp.
    "No."
    She held out
her hand, and he shook it. "Goodbye John, it was nice to meet
you."
    John replaced
his cap, looking confused. Carrin spun on her heel and marched into
the departure lounge, where she turned in time to see him vanish
into the crowd. Well, that was that. She was on her way. She
settled on a seat and stared into space, listening to the constant
bonging and soft-voiced announcements. When her flight number was
called, she rose and wandered over to join the queue that formed at
the boarding gate. The queue shuffled forward, and she was jostled
out. Not caring whether she was at the front or the back, she
allowed more eager passengers to push past. A touch on her elbow
made her jump, and she swung around in surprise. There he stood.
Mark Lord, superstar. He wore sunglasses and a baseball cap, which
disguised him somewhat. She gasped, glancing around to see if
anyone had recognised him, but the people were too intent on
boarding their flight.
    "Did you think
I wouldn't say goodbye, Carrin?" he murmured.
    "It didn't
seem like it."
    "I had a
problem getting past the paparazzi. Someone tipped them off
again."
    She gazed at
him, unable to read his expression behind the dark glasses. "Well,
thanks for making the effort."
    His brows
rose. "Why do you dislike me so much?"
    "I don't. It's
just... well, you're a movie star, and I'm a hick writer from
Africa. We have nothing in common."
    "I disagree."
He paused, looking around. "Carrin... "
    A balding,
middle-aged man clad in a loud Hawaiian shirt pushed between them.
"Mr Lord? It is Mark Lord, isn't it?"
    Mark frowned.
"Excuse me, I'm busy."
    The man held
out his boarding pass. "Oh please, will you autograph this for me?
It's for my daughter Kelly, she's mad about you."
    Mark took the
boarding pass, and the man hunted through his pockets for a pen.
Carrin gazed at Mark sadly, noticing that her queue was almost
gone. The flight attendant waited, looking expectant. A woman
spotted Mark and hurried over, armed with a magazine and a pen. The
man got his autograph and hastened into the gate. Mark tried to
avoid the woman and failed. Carrin backed away towards the boarding
gate.
    Two more
people came over to hamper the star, and others, who waited for
later flights, saw that something was happening and joined the
growing crowd. Two security men noticed the commotion and
approached. An eager throng surrounded Mark, who tried to excuse
himself, but they would not let him go. The security men tried to
extricate him, and the final call for Carrin's flight echoed around
the terminal. She raised a hand as she gave her pass to the
attendant.
    Mark was still
trying to push through the fans when she turned to leave, her heart
filled with sadness. How terrible it must be to be a star, she
reflected, unable to go anywhere without being mobbed. She caught a
final glimpse of him in the centre of the throng, gazing after her
while the security men tried to rescue him.
    Carrin spent
the flight immersed in memories, burning his image into her mind
forever. His every glance and touch were precious to her now, and
she relived them in the safe sanctuary of her imagination, where
reality did not intrude. Her dreams made the long flight more
bearable, even though she had again neglected to bring a book to
read. When the woman in the neighbouring seat tried to strike up