The Half Life of Stars (14 page)

I make Michael a cup of strong coffee in an attempt to sober him up, but it’s clear he’s not going to be much good to anyone. The rest of us are severely relaxed, but Michael is mildly catatonic. We deposit him on the red-lip sofa and Tess fetches the rest of us pens and paper. She writes ‘Claire’s Search’ at the top of each page and brings out a ruler and some Post-its so we can make the whole thing look much more professional.

‘So,’ she says, glancing round the dining table. ‘What exactly do we know? We know your brother walked out of his office one evening, last month, and that somehow he never made it home. No trace of him was found–no phone calls, no paper trail, no car crash, no nothing. But your gut instinct is that he wasn’t kidnapped or involved in something criminal, am I right?’

I tell her that she is.

‘He didn’t take his passport or pack any clothes. He didn’t clear out his bank accounts either. But he’s a lawyer, right? He’s wealthy. He could have had some money stashed away, funds the rest of his family didn’t know about.’

It’s highly possible.

‘Michael said your brother had been having an affair. Do you know who she is, this other woman?’

‘All we have is her first name, Annie.’

‘Right. Annie.’

She copies it down.

‘I have the love letter she wrote to him,’ I say. ‘Would you like to take a look at her letter?’

‘
Could I?
You sure you don’t mind?’

I have it in my suitcase, I go and fetch it. Tess is close to tears by the time she’s finished.

‘Don’t you love how she wishes him luck at the end? Even though he’s broken it off with her, don’t you
love
how she still wants him to be happy?’

‘It’s touching,’ Huey says. ‘It’s really touching.’

Tess exhales and straightens up in her chair, signalling she’s ready for us to get back down to business.

‘OK,’ she says. ‘So, it seems like he finished it with this Annie woman. And it couldn’t have been easy, a love as deep as that, it had to have been devastating for him. But he’s a good guy, your brother, he decides to do right by his family. He decides he ought to stick by his wife and his kid.’

‘A son. He and Kay have a baby son, Julian.’

‘Julian,’ she exclaims. ‘What a precious name for a baby.’

She writes down Julian and Kay.

It’s very important to Tess that she learns the names of all the principal players. She’s creating a family tree in her head, tying down all the loose ends. She tells me she buys a lot of thrillers and mystery novels, and that she likes to make detailed notes while she reads them.

‘I keep Post-its in my pocket at all times,’ she says. ‘Just in case I come up with a clue. I underline the best passages with a highlighter pen, then I copy them out into my clue book. I like to try and work out who did it before I get to the reveal at the end. Nine times out of ten I can usually guess.’

‘Tess is meticulous,’ says Huey, proudly, ‘She’s very good at working out this kind of stuff.’

I nod. I tell them I don’t doubt it.

‘OK, then,’ she says, linking her fingers together and cracking her knuckles. ‘So don’t shout me down straight away…but I feel like I ought to go out on a limb here.’

We don’t shout her down, we wait to hear what she’ll say.

‘Because a rich man like your brother, I mean, it doesn’t make much sense…for a person like that to walk out on his life. If
it was me or Huey you could understand it…but a man like that, a success like that…sorry, Claire, but someone’s got to say this. The truth might be way darker then you think.’

She beckons for me and Huey to lean forward.

‘Now, I’m not saying she
did
definitely do it, but I don’t think we should totally rule it out. The thing is, the question we have to ask is…could your brother’s wife have found out about the affair and gone psycho-nuts and killed him? In
Revenge of the Five Foot Cuckold
the wife kills her husband with a frozen leg of pork and buries him underneath the garden patio. Could your brother be under the patio, you think?’

‘Daniel doesn’t have a patio,’ says Michael, from the sofa.

‘What do they have then? A lawn?’

‘Decking.’

‘Well, then,’ says Tess, turning back to me and narrowing her eyes. ‘Could your brother be under the decking?’

‘No. There’s no way Kay could have done that.’

‘She’s not the violent type?’

‘No…no. Quite the opposite.’

‘Might she have hired someone?’

‘A
hit
man?’

‘Don’t rule it out. It’s not out of the question. I once knew a woman that did it. The cousin of my neighbour’s manicurist back in Tampa. She hired some Colombian guy to kill her dentist.’

‘Why?’

‘Dunno. He messed up her veneers, or something.’

‘Christ.’

‘I know. My cousin said her smile was totally ruined.’

Tess shudders. Huey pulls his hat tighter over his head.

‘So, where does that leave us?’ Tess says, a little disheartened. ‘If you don’t think his wife had him smoked, then where does that leave us, exactly?’

I tell them everything else I know. All about the sushi waitress and the Japanese secret agency. All about the docks and the Russian sailor. I run through the coincidence of the shipping
schedules and the freighters and Tess listens closely, totally rapt. She pumps me for information on the Russian. She wants to know if he was good-looking, if he looked anything like Omar Sharif. She’s disappointed when I tell her that he didn’t.

‘So, you figure he came out here on a cruise ship?’

‘Well, not a cruise ship exactly, more like a…yeah…exactly, he took a cruise.’

Tess is happy with this; she writes down Russian, Miami, cruise.

‘So the big question has to be, why’d he decide to come back here? If we can work out why he came, we can probably work out where he is, am I right?’

I hope she is.

‘We need to think of it like an acting class,’ says Huey. ‘We need to get deep inside your brother’s head. Was he happy when you lived out here, when you were kids?’

I shift in my seat.

‘I don’t…it’s hard to say. The whole thing…well, it ended pretty badly. My father died out here, he had a heart attack.’

‘I’m sorry,’ says, Huey, taking his hat off. ‘Really, I’m sorry to hear that. How did it happen, exactly?’

This isn’t a story that I care to tell often, but the details seem to spill from my mouth; the Valium has made me talkative, confessional.

‘It was the day the space shuttle exploded, the Challenger,’ I say. ‘Daniel and my dad had driven up to Cape Canaveral to watch the launch…they saw it go down right in front of them. He collapsed on the drive home. They got stuck in the traffic, these terrible jams…they couldn’t get an ambulance to him in time. Daniel was all on his own.’

I close my eyes for a moment.

‘He ended up running through the traffic to get help. He ran until his feet bled, till he’d damaged both of his legs. And I can’t…I can’t imagine how he felt.’

Tess and Huey look at one another.

‘Jesus,’ says Huey, ‘poor kid.’

‘So, where were you when all this happened? Were you waiting for your dad, back at home?’

‘No…I was out. On the beach.’

‘And your mom?’

‘At the apartment, with my little sister. Mum says Sylvie woke up and started to cry seconds before the police knocked at our door. She thinks my sister must have sensed that something was wrong.’

‘Wow,’ says Huey.

‘Amazing,’ says Tess.

Tess writes down, Sylvie, sixth sense.

‘I remember that day really well,’ she says, ‘the day that the Challenger blew. All of us watching it on the TV set. All the neighbours in and out of each other’s houses. The look on that poor woman’s face, that teacher’s mother. Christ,’ she shakes her head, ‘I’ll never forget that woman’s face.’

‘Where were you when the last one went down?’ says Huey.

‘Columbia?’ says Tess. ‘I’m not sure. You remember that one Claire, the Columbia?’

I do, it’s at the back of my mind. I know that it happened, that it exploded on re-entry but I can’t for the life of me remember when it was. This is something I should know. I wonder why I never spoke to Daniel about it? It must have been hard for him to see the pictures on the news, to read about it in the papers: it must have brought that first time right back to him.

‘It was early last year,’ says Huey.

‘When exactly? Do either of you know which month?’

‘January, I think.’

‘No,’ says Tess. ‘It wasn’t. I remember it now, it was February. Right before my first consultation with the plastic surgeon.’

‘Isn’t February when he started on the antidepressants?’ says Michael, sleepily, shuffling over to join us.

And, of course. That’s exactly when it was.

We spend the next half-hour on the Internet looking up details of the Columbia explosion. A few clicks of the mouse and suddenly
the pages are full of it. Shuttle bursts into flames over Texas. Seven astronauts never had a chance. Observers report seeing two white streaks in the sky. Witnesses claim their front doors rumbled and hummed. The explosion was caused by giant lightning, some say. Nonsense, it was nothing of the sort. A small fault. Of course, just a tiny random blip, like that failed rubber washer on the Challenger. In the midst of all this clarity, this scientific excellence, a small but significant factor failed. A slice of foam broke off and tore away from the fuel tank, causing damage to an insulation tile. The shuttle was left unprotected, vulnerable to the searing heat of re-entry. There was no way out. Not for anyone. There was no possible escape.

I turn off the computer, it fizzes and dies, and Tess lays her hand on my shoulder.

‘It’s the worst,’ she says. ‘I know what that’s like, when they start taking the antidepressants in secret. What was it, do you think? Was he ashamed or something?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, quietly. ‘Daniel’s hard to get close to, he’s very…’

‘Keeps it all locked inside, am I right? Doesn’t share his problems with anyone?’

‘No, I…not really.’

‘You feel lousy, I bet? Wish you’d tried to get more out of him while you could?’

I don’t answer. All of a sudden, I can’t. It’s criminal that I didn’t pick up on this or notice this. I wonder if Kay did, or Mum. Why did no one speak about it? Why did no one say anything at the time? What a talented family we’ve become, to bury all this stuff away so neatly.

‘Hey,’ says Tess, noticing the look on my face. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. I mean, you’re here now, aren’t you? Doing the best you can to look out for him. You got on that plane right away, the second you thought he might be out here. And I’ll tell you one thing for absolute certain. We’re not going to let you leave until you find him. Isn’t that right, Huey?’

‘Yeah, man,’ says Huey. ‘That’s totally right.’

‘The best thing you can do now is relax for the night. It’s been a tough month for you, tough couple of days. We should get ourselves pumped up, let off a little steam, we can start up fresh again in the morning.’

‘I don’t know, Tess. I’m not sure.’

‘Come on now, trust me, it’s exactly what you need. And we’ve done well tonight,’ she says holding up her note-pad. ‘We already found out something important. If you ask me your brother’s suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome. Chances are, he’s got amnesia or something like that.’

‘Amnesia?’

‘Yeah, amnesia. Maybe the Columbia crash set him off, sort of a delayed reaction kind of a thing. What with that and the affair and the break-up, I doubt he even knew what he was doing. I’ll bet all he could remember when he left his office that night was his time as a kid out here in Miami.’

‘I’m guessing this happened in a book that you read?’

‘Yeah, it did. How d’you know? It’s a great story, actually,
The Forget-Me-Not Bride
. I’ll tell you all about it while we get changed to go out.’

‘What about…what about Michael?’

Michael has his head on the table. He can hardly keep his eyes open any more.

‘You leave Michael to me,’ says Tess, mischievously. ‘I have just the thing to wake him up.’

Tess fixes Michael a
special recipe
energy drink, which seems to perk him up again in seconds. I have a suspicion there’s more than caffeine in the syrupy brew she makes, but the truth is, I’m too relaxed to care. On Tess’s insistence I’ve had a touch more of the margarita salt mix in preparation for our special night out. I’m grateful not to feel anxious or worried for a while, I’m looking forward to us being outside. We’re all going to change into party outfits. We’re going to drink more cocktails and eat spicy Cuban food, and finish the night off at a jazz club. Michael and I didn’t have time to pack much more than T-shirts and shorts before getting on the plane, so Huey and Tess are going to lend us clothes. We let our hosts get ready first. The two of them emerge hand in hand, some minutes later, looking like they’re going to a film premier. Huey is decked out in a silver-grey suit with a vintage
‘I
cannabis’
T-shirt underneath it. The outfit is nicely topped off by a pair of crocodile-skin loafers and a khaki hunting cap with bendy ear flaps. Tess’s look is marginally more traditional. She wears a short white mini-dress with sequins down the front, and gold stiletto slingbacks that make her look almost a foot taller. It’s Versace, she says, giving us all a twirl. Of course it is, what else would it be?

Tess drags me into her bedroom, tottering over the lino in her narrow heels. The room is decked out like a bordello–pink satin sheets, mock velvet curtains, a red bulb in the overhead light.

‘You’re so lucky,’ she says, watching me strip down to my underwear. ‘I wish I had long legs like you. And your boobs are awesome, Claire, if you don’t mind me saying so. Thirty-four C, am I right? I hope mine look that good after the operation. I
want them to look natural. I don’t want them to end up too tight, too rigid, you know what I mean?’

Tess takes her time choosing a dress for me. She picks out something slinky and black, not too showy, and decides to perk it up with some choice accessories. Her wardrobe is crammed tight with extras: shoes, lingerie, handbags, belts and drawer after drawer of costume jewellery.

‘You’ll need a necklace,’ she says, narrowing her eyes. ‘Definitely a necklace with that dress. Something discreet, something classy.’

Tess’s idea of classy and discreet is a butterfly pendant the size of my fist, covered in multi-coloured gemstones and pale pink seed pearls.

‘It’s my favourite, but I’d love for you to borrow it,’ she says. ‘And don’t worry about damaging it or nothing, it’s not worth nearly as much as you’d think. The gems are totally fake.’

‘Really? I’d never have guessed.’

‘I know. Because they’re pretty realistic, right? You want to try it?’

How can I say no? I put it on. It hangs heavily from its chain (thick and gold) and nestles in my cleavage like a bird of paradise

‘That’s it. That’s precious on you. Now we need to do something about your make-up. You definitely need lips, and eyes.’

‘I have lips and eyes.’

‘Not like these, you don’t. Check this out.’

Tess’s make-up box is the size of my suitcase: brimming with glosses, varnishes and powders, and bottles of mysterious scents and unguents. She applies false eyelashes to my scrubby ones. She paints a thick goo on my lips. She layers on bronzer, blusher and mascara and, just to be sure, she sweeps some glittery shadow over my eyelids.

‘Wow, that’s quite a transformation. You look so Miami now, take a look.’

I don’t dare.

‘Come on,’ she says, excitedly. ‘Open your eyes.’

I look like someone completely different. I don’t recognise the woman staring back at me. I’m a cross between Jane Seymour
and Alice Cooper. I’m a ballroom dancer and a synchronised swimmer. I’m the kind of woman who’d be eliminated first in a local seaside beauty page ant; my special talent would be baton twirling or advanced dog grooming.

‘You look just like J-Lo, don’t you think so? That’s what I was going for, that kind of a look. Your hiney looks just like J-Lo’s in that dress.’

‘Tess, are you saying I’ve got a fat arse?’

‘No, not at
all
. But for Christ’s sake don’t point it at Huey, that’s all I’m saying. He’s like a dog on heat in this humidity. When we go out in a little bit, we ought to make sure that you walk behind him.’

‘You’re
serious
?’

‘Deadly.’

‘I see.’

Michael looks almost as uncomfortable as I do. My scruffy ex-husband, come boyfriend, is wearing a fringed suede jacket and leather trousers. He smells like an abattoir. He squeaks as he walks. His pupils are fixed and dilated.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’m good. My vision’s a little blurry that’s all. Do I look…I mean, is this OK?’

It’s the way that he asks me–gently, a little vulnerable–it makes me reach out and stroke his face.

‘Michael,’ I whisper, smiling at him, ‘You look…ridiculous.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, but we both do, it’s fine.’

‘I can’t tell what you’ve got on,’ he says, squinting at me. ‘Is that a…is there something on your chest?’

‘Butterfly.’

He looks confused.

‘Not a duck? It looks just like a duck.’

‘Oh, man, you look wild,’ says Huey, coming over to join us. ‘Turn around. Let’s take a proper look at you in that dress.’

Tess frowns at me. She mouths
no way
with her lips.

‘Uh…you know what, Huey? Better not. It’s getting late. I think we should probably just get going.’

Huey shrugs, pulls down his ear flaps, and off we go.

The air feels warm on my skin. We parade with the other peacocks to our starting position on Ocean Drive and shimmy through the sleek, shiny bodies. I’m enjoying my clothes; I feel like I’m wearing a costume, like I’ve walked onto the pages of a comic book. Tess says hello to a lot of different people. She knows the cigar girls peddling fake Cubans; she knows the other snake charmers with their writhing boas. She knows the happy hour waiters in their hot pink thongs and the drag queens in their ten-dollar dresses. The flash and the trash, the camp and the curious, the college kids and the pudgy, fat-faced tourists. Tess points out two guys from a famous hip hop band that I’ve never heard of, Huey points out an actor from a film I’ve never seen. Their chatter is filled with who goes where and who stays here, and who knows anyone important. They find out who’s in town from the cigar girls, they find out where the best gigs and pool parties are from the hotel concierge. Tess wants to know if any cool record producers are in town, she thinks we might hook up with her manager later. From time to time she asks if anyone’s seen a love-sick English guy wandering the streets who looks like he might have amnesia. The answer is always no, but I never get the feeling that they think it’s a ludicrous question.

Halfway down the street we settle in at a bar, cooled by the soft ocean breezes. We order a pitcher of Majitos and a bowl of conch fritters that we can share. From time to time a clutch of fashion models sweep past the bar on their way to some fabulous party; freakish-looking women, genetic mutants: long limbed, tanned, and blonde as fairies. Tess checks out every single one. As the rest of us dig into our greasy bar snacks, Tess calculates a beauty rating in her head for each and every woman that walks past us. In an instant she has it all down–age, attractiveness, breast size, slimness, nose shape, who has and hasn’t had plastic surgery. I imagine her marking them out of ten. The
low scorers seem to keep her happy, the high ones leave her reaching for her make-up compact. She dabs at her nose repeatedly–she’s not powdering it exactly, it’s more like she’s trying to make it smaller or shapelier just by touching it.

‘So,’ she says, putting her mirror away for the twentieth time. ‘This is some cool music, huh?’

Salsa is playing in the hotel bar next door, and beyond that, somewhere in the distance Phil Collins is singing ‘Another Day in Paradise’. It has a strange effect on me, this odd musical mix. It begins to make me feel dizzy. The noise the colour, the intensity, the heat, I suddenly feel overloaded. I sit back to catch my breath, close my eyes for a while, try to focus through my Valium haze. When I open my eyes I’m looking upward, staring at the hotel behind us; a pretty white building, deco and elegant, whose façade reminds me of the bow of a ship. Deep inside the lobby, a party blossoms. Wild, chatty voices, light with expensive drink, echo off the walls of the foyer. Upstairs bright bulbs glint on and off in the guest rooms, and up in the penthouses something strange protrudes from the balconies; long, black and phallic, their ends tipped up to the night sky. It takes me a moment to work out what they are.

‘Are they…?’

‘Telescopes? Yeah. Cute, huh?’

‘What are they…what are they for?’

‘Beats me…so the guests can look at the cruise ships, I guess.’

‘Have they always been there, these telescopes?’

‘Ever since I can remember,’ says Tess. ‘That hotel has always had telescopes. Only difference from when I first moved here, is that this hotel used to be bright blue.’