The Half Life of Stars (16 page)

We wander home together in the early hours: drunk, restless and a little shabby. We’ve eaten cheap bowls of chilli in a diner and danced for a couple of hours in a jazz club. Tess has torn the heel off her high golden sandals and my make-up has slipped down my face. We climb the stairs to Huey’s apartment and head straight to bed without washing. I strip, letting my black dress fall to the floor like a rag, and stumble onto the mattress still wearing the butterfly necklace. Michael seems fascinated by it. He rubs his hand over the rough, paste jewels and strokes his fingers down to my breasts. I like the way he feels; his hands on my body, his mouth on my neck. I like the warmth and the strength.

‘You’re quiet,’ he says.

‘It’s been a long night.’

‘You want to…?’

I do. It’s exactly what I need.

We lie still and quiet on the mattress after we’ve made love. My breathing is quick, I have my arms round Michael’s hips, his body feels clammy and hot. There’s a scar on his thigh, white and hairless. I let my fingers trace its smooth edges.

‘Thank you,’ I say.

‘What? For the sex?’

‘No. For coming with me. For being here. I never really said thank you.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ he says, rubbing my hair roughly. ‘It’s fine, I wanted to come.’

‘It was great.’

‘That I came with you?’

‘No…the dancing. And the
sex
. I’d forgotten how…you know, I’d just forgotten.’

He smiles and kisses my shoulder. I wait a beat before I tell him.

‘Sylvie told me something before we left.’

‘About your brother?’

‘No. About us.’

‘Really,’ he says, getting interested, ‘what did she say?’

I close my eyes. I wonder if I should answer.

‘She said we should have tried harder. Daniel thought…he said that we gave up too easily.’

My lover turns silent. For too long. This is a first for me and Michael, I’m not at all sure what he’s thinking.

‘What is it?’ I say. ‘What’s wrong?’

Michael pulls his hand away and scratches it.

‘Nothing. I’m a little surprised, that’s all. I never thought your brother liked me all that much.’

I lie there waiting for sleep to wash over me but I can’t seem to shut down the engines. It’s four in the morning, there are still shouts and calls from the street: motorbikes, cars, life, arguments, hails of chatter and laughter. I wait a few more minutes, until Michael’s breathing slows, then I make my way towards the kitchen and the phone. It’s only eleven back in London, I doubt Sylvie will be sleeping quiet yet.

‘Hey, it’s me.’

‘
Claire
, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine…has there been any news?’

‘No,’ Sylvie says. ‘There’s no news.’

I’m surprised by the level of urgency in her voice, the warmth and the crisp note of worry. She seems happy to hear from me, relieved.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘I should have called earlier…’

‘No. No, that’s all right. How is it? Are you OK? Have you…have you found anything?’

Maybe it’s because she’s an ocean away, maybe it’s the last edge of the Valium. Either way I feel able to talk to her; confident that
she’s taking it in. I tell her about going to our old apartment. I tell her I saw the door to her old room. I remind her about the red float bands I used to fix to her arms when she was little, and about Mum telling me to make sure she had enough cream rubbed into her skin before she went outside in the sun. I describe the blue hotel: the way it looks, the way it smells, how elegant and beautiful it is. I tell her the story of Daniel’s telescopes and all about the waterfall and the giant slide.
My
slide. Dad’s slide. The one I never even knew existed. My sister is silent. I suddenly realise I must be gabbling.

‘Are you still there?

‘…I’m here.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine.’

I stiffen. I don’t think she is.

‘Did I say something? Did I say something wrong?’

She pauses and sighs.

‘No, you didn’t say anything wrong. It’s just…I don’t remember much of that stuff. I barely remember us being there, in Florida. I hardly…’

She has trouble saying it.

‘I hardly even remember Dad.’

It’s my turn to be silent for a moment, I’m not sure what to say next. Sylvie was so young when it happened, it’s true, she really never knew him. I stutter and run out of steam. It’s stilted. It’s suddenly hard.

‘Well…you loved it out here…you liked the water…you were always such a good baby. You made them feel good, Mum and Dad…you always made everyone feel so much better.’

‘How?’

‘How what?’

‘How did I make people feel better?’

‘I don’t know…but you just, you always did.’

The sound of a girl shaking her head.

‘So, what do you think?’ she says, after a while. ‘Do you really think Daniel might be out there?’

I tell her that I do. I tell her why.

‘Did he ever mention it to you?’ I say, when I’m done. ‘The second shuttle crash? Did he ever talk to you about it?’

‘He mentioned it,’ she says. ‘But it wasn’t a big deal…he didn’t seem upset by it or anything.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I don’t think so…but…I don’t know. I’d been working so hard. I wasn’t hanging out with him all that much.’

There’s a noise in the background: a man’s voice.

‘Sylvie, is someone there?’

‘Yes,’ she’s says, hesitantly. ‘It’s Gabe.’

‘Right. So how…how’s that all going?’

‘It’s good. It’s, you know…it’s good. How are things with you and Michael?’

‘Great,’ I say, quickly. ‘They’re great.’

‘Well…as long as you’re sure.’

‘Absolutely, he’s being a rock.’

A rock? What kind of a phrase is that? In what way is Michael a rock?

‘I’m pleased,’ says Sylvie, kindly. ‘I’m glad.’

The two of us talk a while longer. I give her my number, she gives me the numbers for Mum and Kay.

‘Have they asked where I am yet?’

‘No, not really. I told them you were hanging out with Michael.’

‘They don’t know I’m in Miami?’

‘No. Should I tell them?’

I can’t believe she’s asking. Sylvie’s never once asked me what she should do.

‘I’ll call them tomorrow, it’s late now,’ I say. ‘Just tell them I’ll call them both tomorrow.’

‘Claire…
wait
. Don’t hang up yet. I have to…I
want
to say sorry. For how I behaved when you left.’

An apology. Is this an apology?

‘It was the shock, you know, of you leaving like that. It was all so sudden…I was upset.’

‘Forget it.’ I say. ‘It’s fine.’

‘So, we’re OK?’

‘Yeah, Sylv. Don’t worry. We’re OK.’

She sounds a little happier. She wishes me good luck and I wait for the phone to click dead. Maybe it’s just that she’s too tired to fight, maybe it’s just the late hour, but something is having a good effect on her.

On my way back to bed I realise I’m not the only one up. Away down the hallway a television plays and a bald head shines brightly in the lamp light. Huey is sat on the sofa all alone, a remote control clutched tightly in his hand. The screen flickers brightly in front of him, the sound turned down so low I can hardly make out the voices. The man on the screen is driving a police car. His face is edgy, expressive and full of life. He has wonderful hair: lush, thick and black, that gives a childish warmth to his sculpted features. I hear the chattering of teeth, then muttering under his breath, Huey says: ‘Where did you go to? Was that really me? Man, where the fuck did you go?’

‘I’m a little worried about Huey.’

‘Why? What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘He’s gone silent on me. Morose or something. It’s not a good sign when he gets like this.’

Tess slumps on the sofa, shoves her fingers in her mouth and starts to chew down on her nails. She looks thin in her white tank top and baggy jogging pants; she doesn’t look like she’s slept.

‘You notice anything weird about him last night?’ she says, quizzing me. ‘You notice anything funny while we were out?’

I tell her that I noticed he was up late, that I caught him watching himself on TV.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I think so. He was rewinding the same scene over and over.’

‘That’s how it starts,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘I tell you, it doesn’t look so good.’

Tess chews harder on her fingers, she’s clearly anxious about him.

‘He can’t stand it,’ she says. ‘He really can’t. Most of the time he seems to cope OK, but some days I know it eats him up inside. He’s wanted to be a star for so long. And it’s not just a vanity or a money thing with Huey, because he really is a super talented actor. You can tell, right? Soon as you meet him. You can tell what kind of actor he’d be.’

I nod. I think that I can.

‘I wish I knew what’d set him off so bad. He hasn’t been like this for months.’

‘Maybe it’s because of…you know, uh, that thing with the snake.’

‘No. No. I don’t think so. I think this all has to do with your brother.’

I frown. I don’t know what she means.

‘He’s left his life behind him, right? Thrown his whole past in the dumper. I think Huey finds that sort of attractive.’

She sits up and leans forward on her knees.

‘You know what’s been going through my head all night?’ she says. ‘You know what’s been driving me crazy? I’ve been worrying Huey might want to run away, too. Maybe he thinks that’s what he needs. To walk away from it all, to pretend like his big chance never happened. Sometimes I think he can’t stand to live with it any more. He was
this
close, Claire, you know what I’m saying? He was this close to having it all.’

Tess presses her index finger into her thumb to show me just how close Huey was.

‘It’s serious this time…I’m can feel it. Something’s not right…I’m sort of scared.’

I tell Tess she ought to go and talk to him, but she shakes her head and says it’s no good. She thinks Huey stayed up all night and that he’ll probably be crashed out for hours.

‘Michael sleeping, too, huh?’

‘Yeah, he is. He’s wiped out.’

‘OK then. So, I know what we should do. I need to find out where this whole thing is headed now with Huey, and there’s only one person who’ll know. Pass me the phone, I’m going to call Madam Orla. She’ll know exactly what to do.’

Madam Orla twists, turns and fidgets like a puppy getting used to its leash. She has hoops in her ears the size of donuts, and chunky silver rings on her broad fingers. Madam Orla is a preop transsexual. Tess and her met at their plastic surgeon’s office.

‘Hola, no tits.’

‘Hola, man hands, how’s it hanging?’

‘Still hanging, yes, but not for long.’

Madam Orla tries to make a girlish giggle, but it comes out a gruff, mannish laugh.

‘They pencilled me in, did I tell you?’

‘For your
surgery
, no
way
?’

‘They start work on me on the sixth. Next week I lose the dick and balls and get bosoms, I’m going to look just like Selma Hayek.’

Tess and Madam Orla start to scream: one high, one low; one deep, one screechy. They stand up and embrace across the table.

‘You should come in with me,’ says Orla, excitedly. ‘They could do the two of us together.’

‘You think? But I don’t know, though. I can still only afford to get tits.’

‘What difference? It’s a start. They can fix your ugly nose and suck out your lumpy ass fat another time.’

Tess laughs along with Madam Orla but I’m not sure either one finds it funny.

‘So who’s your new friend here, the one with the face like lemons?’

‘This is Claire,’ says Tess, introducing me. ‘She’s staying with me and Huey for a while; she’s over from England.’

‘Welcome then, English. Charmed, I’m sure.’

Pleasantries exchanged, introductions made, the three of us get down to business. Orla rolls her eyes in preparation and as she lays out her tarot cards and fiddles with her crystals, it becomes clear Tess is in awe of her psychic. She hangs on every word, stares hard into her face and visibly shivers at her predictions.

‘He is suffering inside. I feel it, I feel this in my chest.’

‘I know it. He is, he really is.’

‘Pain, I see pain. His past is like malevolent spirit…draining all happiness from his heart.’

‘See,’ says Tess, turning to face me. ‘I told you Huey was in trouble.’

‘You must be strong for him now. Very strong,’ Orla, says.

‘What is it? What can I do?’

‘If you don’t want bad things to happen, then—’

‘
Bad
things…what kind of bad things?’

‘Perhaps…no…I can’t see it. All is out of balance…but it’s difficult…he might—’

‘
Leave
me? You think Huey might leave for good?’

Madam Orla holds up her hands, she won’t answer.

‘Please, you have to tell me,’ says Tess, getting agitated. ‘I don’t care how bad it is, I have to know.’

Madam Orla puts her fingers to her temples like she’s struggling to pull out her thoughts.

‘Maybe…no. Maybe…ah, yes. You need to do something for your lover, something to help rebuild his confidence.’

‘What can I do? I’ll do anything.’

‘Not for me to say. I’m just a stupid woman. Only listen to the predictions of the cards.’

‘Turn it, then.
Fast
. Turn the next one.’

Orla flips it over with great ceremony.

‘Venus…card of love, right? Card of love?’

‘Yes, of love, or maybe,’ Orla pauses, ‘card for
beauty
.’

‘Is that
it
, is that what the cards are saying? That I need to be more beautiful for Huey?’

I can’t take much more of this, it’s upsetting. I’m feeling deeply uncomfortable.

‘Copy down your operation dates and I’ll see what I can do. You’re right, Or, I should get my tits done now.’

‘But only if you want to,’ says Orla scribbling her dates down on the back of a newspaper. ‘I don’t want you to do this just for me.’

‘No, it’s the right time. The cards think…they
say
I should do it. Thanks Or, thank you
so
much.’

‘You’re welcome, Baby, and don’t worry now. Huey, he’s going to be OK.’

The psychic strokes Tess’s face with both hands like a mother might comfort a child. Tess is emotional, she’s close to tears.

‘OK…so, you have to do Claire now,’ she says, reaching into her bag for a tissue.

‘No, Tess. Really…I’d rather not.’

‘But you have to. My treat. Orla, wait till you hear this, Claire has the most amazing story.’

Madam Orla tries not to yawn. Tess blows hard into her tissue.

‘I’m going to go wash my face and freshen up, but I’ll be back in just a minute. Don’t finish without me, you
swear
?’

We both swear.

The psychic takes her time before she speaks. She leans back in her chair, eyeing me up and knitting her thick fingers behind her head. She leans forward and shuffles her tarot cards, keeps her eyes glued to my face.

‘You’re not buying it, English, am I right? You don’t buy into all this voodoo bullshit?’

She takes me off guard. I wasn’t expecting a pre-emptive strike.

‘Don’t worry, you’re not going to hurt my feelings. But if you don’t believe in the future, then I’d just as soon not bother making something up. That OK by you?’

‘It’s fine by me,’ I say, crisply. ‘But it’s cruel what you just did to Tess.’

She curls her lip.

‘What did I do? She comes once a month, I spin her some new bullshit story. She gives me some money, I give her some comfort, everyone goes away happy.’

‘Surgery won’t make her happy.’

‘She’s going to do it anyway, what’s the difference? This is a big operation for me, you understand? Next week I change from man into woman. Is it a crime to want a good friend like Tessa by my side? Is it bad of me to need a hand to hold? I have no family here, they are all back in Cuba, they have no control over how they live their lives. I owe it to my mother, to my father, to my brother, to live my life exactly how I should. I do what I need to get through it. If I need to take a friend…I’ll take a friend.’

Her face creases up, heavy and lined, and I realise that she’s anxious and scared.

‘When I’m bandaged and bleeding who knows how I will feel?
Who knows how it will all work out for me? Fuck,’ she says, dejectedly, leaning, back in her chair. ‘If only I were psychic.’

‘How you kids doing? Am I interrupting?’

‘No, Baby, don’t worry. We’re almost done.’

‘Orla saw a journey over water.’

‘She did?’

‘I saw her brother right here in Miami.’

‘
Where?
Did you see him somewhere specific?’

‘No, alas, he moves around too much. But he misses his sister and his family. He wishes he was with them, he wishes they were here. He thinks of them and misses them every day.’

Orla smiles wanly at Tess. This is the story we decided to tell.

‘So…OK, well that’s good news, right? At least we know he’s definitely out here.’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It is. It’s good to know.’

‘And what about your love life, you and Michael? Did you deal up the tarot cards for that?’

Orla looks at me. I shake my head.

‘Really, Tess, I don’t think I want to—’

‘No…you
must
…it’s important. She’s sort of getting back with her ex-husband,’ Tess explains. ‘And he’s cute, it’s so romantic. I mean, it has to work out between the two of them.’

Orla says she’ll try to read it in my palm. She runs her fingers over my life line and my love line as if she’s examining them for calluses.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, finally, laying down my hand. ‘I don’t see a good ending for you. This man does not care for you, he treats you badly.’

‘No,’ says Tess. ‘He doesn’t. He treats her well.’

‘In the future he will use you like he used you before. Your lines tell me this man is bad news for you.’

Tess looks forlorn; she’d hoped for a better ending than this.

‘Thanks for the fortune,’ I say, in Spanish. ‘Pity you had to make up something bad.’

‘No, lemon face,’ says Orla, frowning at me. ‘I didn’t make it
up, I bet I’m right. You have feelings for a man who doesn’t love you, who never really loved you, am I right? This is your failing. I sense this in you, I’m the same. You love men who cannot love you back. I give you this for free, as a favour. I don’t need to be psychic to see that.’