A Mighty Need

The flight from Philadelphia to London lasted just under seven hours. It had been seven hours of resting comfortably in all that first class could offer. Or rather, what spending over seven thousand dollars on a plane seat could buy for a person with the necessary funds. Audrey Woods happened to be one such person, but had not always been. The last three years of her life had been an incredible experience. She went living at home with her parents with not even two pennies to rub together to owning her very own luxury condo in the heart of Philadelphia's Center City with a view of the Delaware River. What caused this elevation in lifestyle, you find yourself asking? The answer is quite simple, really, even if a bit long-winded.

Audrey had always been connoisseur of the written word. She studied at Swarthmore College, getting her degree in English Literature with aspirations of becoming a celebrated author, penning novel after critically acclaimed novel full of poignant prose that made people think. She wanted to rivet the mind and inspire the way her literary heroes inspired her. Of course, like most success stories, no such thing happened right away or exactly in the way one ever plans. Instead, Audrey had to toil away in a minimum wage part-time job to start paying back her student loans while once again living in her childhood bedroom. When no full-time jobs worthy of her degree happened upon her, she grew a bit cynical about life and doubtful she would ever amount to anything. She allowed her passions to slip by her for a time, slaving away to the tune of mediocrity while barely able to save any money for a nest egg so she could find a place of her own. She eventually seemed to find a way to relieve the stress and cesspit of hopelessness that had become her life by returning to what she loved in the wee hours of the morning.

She would write it all down; on random scraps of paper, in a Word file on her laptop, even on her hands with a Sharpie until she could transfer it down elsewhere. Anything that amused her or irritated her, she wrote about. Sometimes they were rants about situations that had happened to her over the course of a day, and sometimes they were comical, little happenstances that brought a smile to her face just recollecting the memories. Sometimes she would even sit there at her childhood desk and stare at a blank piece of paper or her computer screen and force herself to write down something, anything – even if was a commentary on something going on in the world to herself or others; sort of like a social narrative. After almost two years, Audrey realized she had something she could contribute to the literary world. Taking some time to compile her notes and formatting a layout, she was able to piece together all these little stories, rants and commentaries, all of which seemed to be laced with either blatant or subtle humor.

What wound out helping her get her book noticed was not just content. The title was her foot through the door. She sent copies of her manuscript off to the major publishing companies primarily based out of New York City and, after only three months, heard back from not one but almost all of those companies. In the end, she went with the most popular publishing house because why the hell not, right? They offered her more money upfront, and a better book deal which she worked out with a lawyer and her new literary agent, Pamela.

Now, publication didn't happen overnight. Audrey still had to work at her part-time job in the interim. She used what money she was initially allotted by the publishing company to pay off most of her financial debt, though not all. Until she saw profit with her book sales, she needed her day job, even if it was a shitty one.

A little over one year after the book deal negotiations first took place, Audrey received a large and heavy box on her parents’ doorstep by way of a stocky FedEx guy. The return address was that of her publisher and inside was thirty hardcover copies of her book in its sleek, finished entirety.

A month later, her first novel, Girls Fart, Too, was distributed to book sellers nationwide and by that month's end was receiving the critical acclaim she had longed to attain for a book she wrote. It quickly rose to the top five on the bestseller's list and she was sent on a whirlwind book tour that included book readings, signings, radio shows and, not long after, televised talk shows. For the most part, the book was admired by critics; the funny and honest stories mixed with the witty title easily winning them over.

While her life became turned upside in the best way possible, the money began to roll in as did plenty of other offers which even included an option to pen an episode here or there of some popular situation comedy show. Having known what it was like to be on the impoverished side of life, she became rather tightfisted with most of her money. Audrey's biggest purchase was her condo, which she was able to pay off in three large payments within six months. Aside from that, she still drove the same old car she'd driven since her college days and she rarely bought anything new if she didn't need it. She began to feel she was constantly looking over her shoulder; as if she blinked, it would all be gone and more than anything she didn't want to go back to living under her parents' roof with less than three hundred dollars to her name at any given time. After her mother and father sat her down to tell her she didn't need to horde all her money, and instead to give herself a sort of allowance, only then did she seem to get a better handle on her success. Whatever money she received in royalty checks, she banked seventy-five percent of it and used the other twenty-five on herself; whether it was on new clothes, traveling, or frivolous things.

And yes, eventually she bought herself a new car.

That was nearly three years ago.

Audrey was thirty-two years old now, and her second book had just made it to number three on the bestseller's list. The new book was called Life Beyond Size Small and it was a collection of humorous stories of things she'd experienced since her teenage years or that happened to her friends and family, all in regard to what it was like to not be the so-called perfect weight that the media had been shoving down everyone's throats since the inception of Twiggy back in the sixties. Audrey had just come off another whirlwind tour that had ended the previous month over in Europe; in Paris, specifically. Afterward she had returned home to relax and see her friends and family, to escape into her own little world. She used the time to write again, something she hadn't been able to just sit down and do while touring. There had been too many distracting elements; the usual press junkets, readings, signing, radio shows, talk shows. Oprah had just recently added Life Beyond Size Small to Oprah's Book Club 2.0 and Girls Fart, Too was being developed into a television series; the latter was to be renamed for television purposes. Test audiences weren't too keen on a show named Girls Fart, Too.

But, despite all that had changed for Audrey professionally and financially, she had little time to focus on anything truly personal. Any sort of love life had been put on the back-burner. Guys she had attempted to date always seemed to be too intimidated by her wealth and success or were equally wealthy and successful in their own, respective careers but too engrossed in themselves to even give Audrey the time of day she deserved from a potential mate.

It's not that she was unattractive. She considered herself to be an average beauty if she took the time and effort into her appearance. Of course, everyone is their own worst critic, but even then she knew she wasn't some sort of sea monster. Her hair was a bit on the thin side and she couldn't seem to get it to do anything for her, but that's where hairdressers and extensions came in. She wasn't thin by societal standards, nor was she obese. She averaged one hundred and sixty-five pounds on a good day and stood at five feet and five inches, and while she loathed having hazel eyes, what she considered the mutt of the eye colors, she had to admit they held a certain je ne sais quoi. When she stared closely at her eyes in the mirror, they would appear almost green, and some days gray. In photographs they looked dark brown. They always seemed to be changing, just like her hair color, which was currently dyed a vibrant shade of auburn. Her brown eyebrows gave away her true hair color, however.

Also, currently, her hair was piled atop her head in the most disheveled bun known to mankind with brown Aviator sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose as she waded through the crowd of passengers walking through Heathrow's Terminal 3, who had recently arrived like Audrey and were now on their way to Customs, or were headed toward their departure gate. After reaching Customs with her carry-on bag slung over her arms, she pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and handed over her passport to the Customs officer.

"How long do you plan on staying in England?" the officer asked her, scanning over the passport.

"Two weeks." Short and sweet was always the best way to answer, Audrey had come to find over the last few years of international travel.

"What's the purpose of your visit?"

“I'm here on business and pleasure."

"What's your line of work?"

"I'm a writer, here to head a lecture at King's College, make an appearance on a television show, and see the sights on my downtime." Okay, so that was a bit more descriptive than it needed to be.

"Do you have anything to declare?" the officer eyed Audrey.

Audrey shook her head with a light smile, "Nope."

Looking down at the passport, the officer grabbed a stamper and pressed it to paper. "Welcome to London, Ms. Woods. Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," Audrey replied civilly. "Have a nice night." She took her passport back and shoved it deep into her purse before switching her carry-on bag to her other shoulder and pushing her glasses back down onto her nose. After making her way to baggage reclaim, she headed out into the open air where she found a hired car and a driver holding up a sign with her last name on it. She walked up to the guy and nodded, introducing herself and he went about putting her suitcase in the trunk of his car after opening the door so she could slide into the backseat with just her purse; she was leaving the carry-on with her suitcase as well.

The driver wasn't at all talkative, which was fine with Audrey even though she was wide awake and open to conversation. Even though it was almost eleven at night here in England, she was still on Philadelphia time, which would only be going on six in the evening. It was a forty-five minute drive, give or take, on the M4 from Heathrow into the heart of London to the Savoy Hotel, located on the banks of the Thames. She didn't normally opt for such luxurious lodgings while staying anywhere, as it was only ever her, but this was one of those times where she splurged a little.

After checking in and having her bags brought up, she tipped the bellboy ten quid and he left very happily while she closed the door behind her to her hotel suite. She looked around at how elegantly it was decorated in the Edwardian style and accentuated with purple bedding and chairs as well as floral patterns on the drapery. And that was her next step. Like a child, Audrey ran to the windows to peer out at the unparalleled panoramic view of the Thames before her, which glittered with the city’s nightlife on the water. If she looked to her right she could see a very nearby London Eye, Westminster Palace and the Elizabeth Tower (which contained the bell Big Ben), just to name a few landmarks.

She had been to London several times over the last couple years since her first book was published and every time in the city was like the first time. It held so much history and there was always something new to see or do. Sometimes even doing the same things seemed different each time. She never got tired of riding the London Eye, for starters. She tried to go at different times of day when in town; morning, noon, dusk, night. Audrey would take it all in, visually, like a kid in a candy store as if she could somehow absorb everything by way of osmosis. In all the occasions she'd had to visit, Audrey had only been on vacation there once, for a week, after her first ever book tour had ended. All other times she was primarily there on part of her European book tours, making stops at book stores or stuck doing interviews in the sitting room of her hotel suite while her personal assistant hovered in the background. During those limited visits, she only had a few hours here or there to go and sight see or get some shopping and a meal in.

On this particular trip to London, she had two weeks to fill. It was a Friday night at the moment and in three days' time, on Monday, she was going to be part of a lecture series at King's College London and then, not the next day, but the Tuesday following, she was going to be a guest panelist on a popular British pop quiz show, Never Mind The Buzzcocks. She was looking forward to the latter, primarily because she loved how sardonic British humor was and how much more people could get away with saying on British television; i.e., profanity. It consisted of a different celebrity guest host every week and there were always four celebrity guests, split into two teams which were "captained" by the only regulars on the show, stand-up comic Phill Jupitus and Noel Fielding, a surrealist comedian and actor. At the end of the show, whatever points each team racked up didn't really matter. There was nothing to win. It reminded Audrey of Whose Line Is It Anyway? in that respect.

The rest of her time in London was open for anything. She had several day trips planned, tours to landmarks she had already been but wanted to see again, tours she hadn't taken yet, shopping, one of the days she even planned to set aside for immersing herself into London and speaking only with a British accent to see how long she could go pretending to be just another Londoner. For now, though, Audrey was wide awake, but it was midnight even though her internal clock was saying it was seven. She contemplated taking a quick shower and changing into something dressier to head out to some club for a drink, but by the time she would be ready and get anywhere, the day she'd spent traveling would have caught up with her and jet lag would soon set in. She was better off calling for room service and being a lazy bum for the rest of the night, and getting a good night's sleep so she could start off fresh faced and bushy-tailed for the next day.

A half hour later, Audrey was in her pajamas, curled up in bed watching American Dad, of all things, on BBC Three while eating a carton of Häagen-Dazs' Chunky Monkey ice cream with a spoon she was almost certain was real silver.

Oh, how she loved room service in luxury hotels.