Page 50 - James Caan - The Real Deal

The Real Deal

was also making a very strong connection between work and fun:
the harder I worked, the more I earned, the more fun I had. It
wasn’t unusual for me to earn £200 a week, and my rent was still
only £11.
That December, Bernie asked me what I was doing for
Christmas, because I obviously wasn’t going to be spending it with
my family. Then as now, Britain shut down over Christmas, so it
had always been a time that we’d spent as a family, having a big
meal and watching TV like the rest of the country.
‘I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it.’
‘Fancy going away? Getting some sun?’
Of course I did, but where?
‘Italy’s hot all year round and the flights are pretty cheap.’
‘Book it,’ I told him.
A couple of days later, he called me up and told me it was
booked. I’d never heard of the resort, but as long as I could ride
round on a Vespa and wear shades, I didn’t mind. I packed my
coolest clothes – we were going to the most stylish country in
Europe, after all – and headed for the airport.
When we landed, we noticed that everyone was getting off the
plane with these big bags, and they were all wearing boots and
jackets. The coach came to transfer us to the resort, and while we
were on the bus I started a conversation with one of the other
travellers.
‘So have you been here before?’
‘We come every year.’
‘What’s there to do here?’
He looked at me as if to say: are you that stupid? ‘We ski.’
I didn’t want to sound like too much of an idiot so I asked: ‘And
once you’ve skied, what do you do then?’
‘We ski again.’
I turned to Bernie. ‘Excuse me, but what exactly are we doing
here?’

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