The Half Life of Stars (18 page)

‘He fulfils a need.’

‘Sex?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, you’re not back in love with him?’

‘No, Tess. Really, I’m not.’

‘It’s too soon?’

‘Exactly, it’s too soon.’

‘And the break-up was pretty ugly?’

The break-up. I don’t want to think about the break-up.

‘Is this because of what Orla said? Because in that case, you ought to know, Orla’s good, but she’s not always right.’

‘No. I’m sure she isn’t.’

Tess walks in circles round the kitchen: clicking her heels, swift and agitated.

‘I see the look on your faces. I see how you look at each other.’

What does she want? What does she want me to say?

‘And I think that you like him, I’m pretty sure.’

I am not prepared to answer. For once in my life, this is something I’m not prepared to say.

‘You’re happy, right?’

‘Of course I’m happy. I just found out my brother’s in Miami, that he’s safe.’

‘No, you’re happy with
Michael
? You get goose bumps, right? Your stomach’s all liquid when you kiss.’

‘We’re not teenagers, we’re divorced. We’re practically middle aged. We’re both…we’re just seeing where it goes.’

‘But you’d get your boobs done if he wanted you to? If that’s what would keep him happy, that’s what you’d do?’

It all becomes clear, now; all curiosity was leading to this.

‘No, Tess, I absolutely wouldn’t.’

‘Well that settles it, then,’ she says, crisply, walking out. ‘It’s highly unlikely you’re back in love.’

‘What’s up with her?’

Michael comes into the kitchen, newly showered, still looking pleased with himself.

‘She’s in a mood. Her and Huey…I don’t know. She thinks Huey wants her to get her boobs done. She thinks that’s the way to prove she loves him.’

‘Idiot…as if that makes a difference.’

Good answer. Very good answer.

‘What have you got there?’

I have a map spread out in front of me. I’m looking for Bill Sadowski Park.

‘I thought we’d drive out tomorrow night. The meteor shower isn’t expected until late, but we’ll need as much time as we can get to search the crowd.’

‘Saturday?’

‘Yeah. But it’s not far away, only half an hour or so, I think.’

‘So we’d have to leave, when?’

‘I don’t know, around ten…maybe eleven?’

Michael fixes himself a bowl of cereal. He eats it quickly, he barely lifts his face from the table.

‘Is that OK? You don’t mind coming with me?’

‘Of course not, that’s what I’m here for. There’s no way I’d let you go out there alone.’

He smiles. I smile. He fixes himself another bowl of cereal.

‘Hey, you guys want to come to a party? You guys both ready to go again?’

Huey has emerged from his pit. He looks immaculate: cream silk jacket, pressed linen trousers, brand new Nike trainers, fresh and white. His eyes are sparkling, his smile is on full wattage, he’s carrying three different brightly coloured hats. He looks ever so slightly mad.

‘Where are you headed?’

‘Something going on up at the Delano. Cocktail party…someone important. Thought we’d wander by and check it out.’

‘Gate crash, you mean?’

‘Exactly. So, which hat do you think?’

‘The hunting cap.’

‘Really? The
hunting
cap?’

‘No, I think the cowboy hat looks better.’

Tess is stood in the doorway in another of her showy, low cut dresses. She wears an elaborate push-up bra underneath it, her breasts are almost jutting into her chin.

‘OK, then,…the cowboy hat it is.’

‘You want to go?’ Michael asks. ‘Might be a nice way to celebrate.’

‘We already celebrated.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, grinning. ‘We did.’

Tess tuts. Huey swaps hats and smirks.

I tell Michael to go ahead without me. I still have some things that I want to do. I need to make a list of all the cheap motels near Siesta Pines and I want to get a stack of photos printed. I’m going to hand out photocopies of my brother’s picture with Huey’s phone number on them when we get to Sadowski Park, and I want to put some up in the motel lobbies, if they’ll let me.

‘You don’t mind if I go? You don’t want me to stay here and help?’

‘No. Really, I’m fine.’

Michael bends down and rubs the back of my neck, and I hold his hand still for a moment.

‘I might come on later.’ I say. ‘Let me know if you go on somewhere else.’

It all takes much longer than I thought. I get photocopies printed, I make lists of appropriate hotels, I get tired and have to stop for food. I have to get some sleep. I’ve been running on adrenalin for four days straight, and at eight o’clock precisely, it runs right out. I feel like I’ve been slapped with a hammer; I have an
overwhelming need to lie down. I trudge back to the flat, collapse on the red lip sofa, and pass out for a couple of hours with the photocopies scattered across my chest like giant confetti. I wake feeling achy and sore, my limbs stiff and bent out of shape. My body wants to go straight back to sleep again, but even laid out on the mattress in the bedroom, my mind is alert and wide awake.

I get up, it’s almost midnight. I wonder where the guys are, if they’re still at the same hotel, the same party. No one has phoned, at least I don’t think they have: perhaps I just didn’t hear it. I begin to feel lonely and low so I switch on the TV for company. Nothing, just re-runs and endless stupefying adverts: adverts before the programme starts, adverts before it ends, adverts after every single scene. It makes my eyes sore so I reach for the remote.

I didn’t mean to switch the video recorder on, but somehow or another, as I press another button, Huey’s feature film starts to play. I wonder if it’s OK for me to watch it. I wonder if he’ll mind me taking a look. The titles scroll and here comes the film’s name:
The Outsiders;
starring Huey Roberts Junior. Bad name. Bad titles. Bad film. I know exactly what this is going to be like.

In the fifteen years of my fully adult life, I’ve not been surprised all that often. Maybe it’s because I look on the black side of things, maybe it’s because I don’t expect too much. Things are rarely much better than you think they’re going to be, the best you can hope for is that they’re not measurably worse.

I let the tape crackle and roll. The film stopped just over two minutes ago but I can’t bring myself to turn it off. The plot was OK, the set-ups were fine, but the lead held the whole thing together. The actor I saw on the screen was nothing at all like the man: a little bit Brando a little bit Penn and, weirdly, a little bit Monroe. Some performers imitate other human beings when they act, some simply imitate themselves. But where was Huey? I couldn’t see him, hear him or feel him; his physical being was altered. None of his emotional ticks or physical mannerisms were on show, he was some person utterly other. His performance was
spot on, sure-footed and real; forceful and compellingly spare. This means one of two things: either Huey has changed out of all recognition since this film was made, or Huey Roberts Junior is a genius.

The commotion starts in the early hours. In my head I’m half dreaming, half asleep and I think it’s the sound of my parents arguing. I smell the perfume of my mother’s hand-rolled cigarettes, I see her reading a battered copy of
The Woman’s Room
. Dad says she’s changed. Mum says she thought that’s what he wanted. Dad says he doesn’t know what he wants. Well you’d better decide. You better decide. Do it
now
.

‘Decide what?’

‘Are you going to bed by yourself or are we going to have to call the police?’

‘You’re gonna call the police, to put me to
bed
?’

‘I swear, so help me God. You go to bed right this second or I’m calling the police.’

‘Where’s the snake? Where’s that shitty snake? I’m going to strangle the shitty fucking snake.’

‘Michael…
do
something.’

‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Michael, he’s going for the tank.’

The sound of glass breaking; my mother throwing a plate.

‘He
has
him. Oh no…oh no. Please Huey, please Huey.
Stop!
’

The sound of…what? Something being hit against a fridge? A body, an arm. A coil of snake flesh.

‘Jesus Christ…you knocked him out…you actually knocked him right out.’

‘Shit, I didn’t mean to…is it dead?’

‘I…yes. Yes, I think so.’

I stand at the kitchen door. The scene is bleak. Huey laid out on the table, blood dripping off Michael’s fist. Tess’s party outfit is ripped up and torn, and a dead boa constrictor is laid out on the floor, it’s long body lifeless and limp; it’s head bowed and half strangled off. Tess is heaving in between sobs. I think she
will throw up soon. Michael looks like he’s in shock. I don’t know what to say, who to comfort. I don’t know who it is I’m meant to hug. I feel like anything could happen. The violence might erupt again, it’s there in the room; atoms of it racing to four corners of the wall that might snap back together at any second. I’m crying. I’m crying out. Tess is picking up a knife and holding it to her breasts. I shout at her to stop but she doesn’t hear me.

‘Hey.
Hey
. Claire, it’s all right…you’re having a bad dream…come on, wake up.’

I sit bolt upright on the mattress; my limbs are sticky with perspiration. I try hard to focus in the dark.

‘Is it OK? Is everyone…are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. I’m fine…try and relax now. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.’

‘I heard…I thought…did I hear fighting?’

‘Huey, he’s pretty mashed. He had another go at the snake.’

‘It’s dead.’

‘No. It isn’t, it’s alive. Tess calmed Huey down, he’s gone to bed.’

I lay back down on the mattress. I still feel a little panicked, disorientated.

‘I watched him,’ I say, ‘while you were out. On the video…I watched Huey’s film.’

‘Did you,’ says Michael, yawning and stroking my head. ‘How was it?’

‘It was…it was good.’

Michael curls up beside me, holding me tight until my heart slows.

‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ I say, quietly. ‘It got so late. You never called.’

‘I’m here now,’ he tells me. ‘I’m here now.’

Huey is sat in the living room, sorting through his drawer full of coupons: money off burgers and wine boxes, and discounts on whitening toothpaste and fungicidal sprays for athlete’s foot. A visit to the Everglades; discount entry to the zoo; a free guided tour of the deco district.

‘You want this?’

I shake my head.

‘You sure? It’s a pretty cool tour. If you want to know about the history, the architecture of this place, this tour is a good place to start.’

I thank him. I take the coupon. Huey goes back to his sorting.

‘Aren’t you going to throw any of them away?’

‘Maybe the lice powder. I don’t think I’m likely to get hair lice.’

He stops. He thinks. He runs his hand over his trousers.

‘Unless I get them in my pubic hair. I might need this if I ever get them in my pubes.’

He folds the lice powder coupon neatly back into the centre of the pile. Just in case.

‘So, did we wake you last night? I’m sorry about that…I was in an odd sort of mood when we got home.’

‘That’s OK. This is your place…it’s good of you to let us stay here. You don’t have to keep quiet for me.’

‘You think I’m weird, though, I suppose? You heard me try to get at the snake?’

‘I was half asleep. I thought…maybe I dreamt it?’

‘No, you didn’t dream it. I was wasted last night. I drank far too much at that party.’

I try hard to look sympathetic. Huey decides to change the subject.

‘So, who’s your favourite actor?’ he says, testing me. ‘In films. Who’s your favourite actor of all time?’

‘I don’t know…Brando, De Niro…Nicholson maybe?’

Huey looks disappointed, he shakes his head.

‘No,
no
. You’re saying that because you think you ought to. You’re saying that because somebody else told you they were good. Think for yourself. Who do
you
really like. When you see them on the screen, who really moves you?’

I try to think of a good film I’ve seen recently. I try to come up with a great performance. I still think I like Jack Nicholson. But nothing he’s done lately. I wonder if I should tell Huey that.

‘Well, I don’t know, it’s difficult…I’d need some more time to think about it.’

‘You should know just like that,’ says Huey, snapping his fingers. ‘If they’re great you should know just like that. My favourite actor is Eduardo Garcia. He’s new, he’s Peruvian. Peruvian cinema is up and coming.’

‘Really…well…’

‘You’ve never heard of him, right?’

I shake my head.

‘Amazing.
Amazing
. This guy’s got everything going on. It’s like he’s mainlining emotion when he’s up there. He’s not done all that much yet, nothing commercial anyway, but man, he’s going to be huge. Integrity, that’s what he’s got. He’s not in it for the money, not for the fame game. He’s in it for the passion, for the art.’

Huey visibly relaxes in his chair; just thinking about this actor cheers him up.

‘That’s what Tess said about you,’ I say, gently, as Huey reshuffles his coupons.

‘Really?’

‘Well, not in so many words, but I think that’s what she meant. She said it wasn’t about vanity or ego with you; she said it was all about the acting.’

‘Tess doesn’t know shit about acting,’ he says. ‘She just wants the big house and the pool. She want the position, the status, the money. Tess just wants the dresses and the tits.’

‘Huey, I don’t think that’s fair.’

‘No,’ he says, softly. ‘I know it’s not.’

I stare right at him. He looks tired. He has no hat on this morning, and his head, when you see it naked, it sort of shocks you. Some men look OK bald, but Huey doesn’t. His cranium is all out of shape. It’s bumpy, rough and asymmetrical, it’s hard to believe he looked so good with hair.

‘I watched your film last night. I’m sorry…if I wasn’t supposed to.’

‘What did you think?’ he says, not bothering to look up.

‘Well…I mean, I don’t know all that much about it…perhaps I’m not the best one to judge. I don’t even know who my favourite actor is.’

‘Don’t vacillate, Claire. Give it to me straight. You’re the audience, you’re the real people. You’re not an expert so you’re the best kind of judge, man. It’s all about someone like you.’

I take a breath.

‘I thought you were brilliant. I thought you were bold and spare and absolutely real and I should say, before I watched it…I didn’t think you had anything like that in you. When your wife closed the door at the end of the film and you walked away, I felt like you might die from pain.’

Huey looks floored.

‘You’re being honest? You’re not just spinning me a line?’

‘No. I promise you. I’m not.’

Huey digs to the bottom of his empty coupons bag and pulls out a creased clipping from the
LA Times
.

‘It wasn’t a big budget feature,’ he says. ‘We didn’t get all that much press. But they thought I was OK, the critics that saw it. They seemed to think I did OK.’

He did more than OK, the reviewer loved him.

‘I lose myself in front of the camera,’ he says, rubbing his head. ‘I’m like a blank canvas, or something. I don’t know…it’s hard
to work out. I’m not so great at expressing myself, not in real life but it’s like the camera, it gives me permission. I don’t have to put on any front. I don’t feel choked up or self-conscious. It’s some weird fucked-up alchemy…it’s exquisite. I just…I become someone else.’

He trails off. He sighs.

‘Now all I get offered is these stereotyped roles. Bad man number three. Young thug with chainsaw. Unhinged psychopath with sword. Tess had all these dreams for us, you know? She had the whole thing planned right out. She wanted us to be a celebrity couple or some crap like that, she was fixing up all these interviews for me to do. It was…I don’t know…the publicity part, I always hated it. I never knew what they expected me to be. Then the hair went, then the confidence, then…well, you know the rest of the story. If I could just have done that film, man. If they’d only let me wear that wig. They wouldn’t even have had to have paid me.’

Huey gets back to his sorting. He finds a coupon for oven-ready turkey: fifteen per cent off at Heartland supermarkets.

‘Do you like turkey?’

‘Not really.’

‘No, me neither.’

He folds the coupon back into his pile, rubs at his temples and apologises for being so morose.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘It’s this hangover, it’s fierce.’

‘Sure…don’t worry. I understand.’

‘Great news about your brother though, huh? I meant to say something before…it really is great news.’

‘Thanks, Huey, it is. All I have to do now is find him.’

Huey stares at his hands.

‘You ever think…I mean, did you ever wonder? What if he doesn’t want to be found?’

‘It’s funny, someone else said that. But that’s not the point.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No. It’s really not. People miss him, Huey. People really miss him.’

I wake Michael up for the second time in two days. Again he pulls me down into bed.

‘Where were you? I missed you.’

‘I got up. I was talking to Huey.’

‘Is he OK? Did he tell you?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘About last night.’

‘He said he got drunk. He said that he tried to attack the snake again.’

Michael sniggers and stretches his legs.

‘He didn’t tell you about the cocktail party? He didn’t tell you who was there?’

‘No.’

‘Guess who it was?’

‘I don’t know Michael, who was it?’

‘Guess.’

I frown; I’m done with guessing.

‘His nemesis, Shorty, that’s who. The party was only thrown by Harvey Weinstein.’

‘He was
there
?’

‘Yes.’

‘Huey saw him?’

‘For a second.’

‘What did he…what did Huey say?’

Michael smiles and yawns.

‘He couldn’t get over how small he was. He kept saying it over and over, while he drank. How could this man be so small?’