The Half Life of Stars (22 page)

‘You don’t want to buy my hair from me, no more?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘But I cut it all off.
Look
, it’s right here in this bag. It took me hours, the razor was blunt.’

‘You shouldn’t have used a razor, man; chances are you damaged the hair follicle.’

‘So, what are you saying? That you’d have bought it from me if I’d cut it off with scissors?’

‘No. Uh-uh. I wouldn’t even have bought it from you then, I don’t need it any more.’

‘
Oh
, I get it. You decided to go for plugs. Me and my big mouth–why did I even suggest it?’

‘No, man, I’m not getting plugs. I’ve just decided, you know, that it’s time I came to terms with my hair loss. It’s a big step for me, so I’d appreciate it if you’d be a little more supportive.’

‘So, you don’t want what I’ve got in this bag, here?’

‘No, I don’t need it.’

‘You’re not going to give me a thousand dollars?’

‘No. Uh-uh.’

‘What about five hundred? I’ll do you a deal for five hundred.’

‘Sorry, old man. No can do.’

‘Two hundred?’

‘Nope.’

‘
One
hundred.’

‘No.’

‘Come on. Name your price, name your
price
. Think of the
wig you could knit out of this stuff. Have a heart, kid, think about how long it took me.’

Huey knows when he’s beaten. He goes into the liquor store and buys the bum a litre bottle of Thunderbird. Afterwards, he pops next door to the organic grocery and buys him a sandwich of grilled vegetables and purple sprouting broccoli.

‘That’s
it
? That’s all I get? Some cheap wine and some purple sprouting broccoli? It’s not even on pumpernickel toast. I like to have my sandwiches made on pumpernickel.’

‘Hey man, be grateful. That’s all they had.’

The bum can’t decide what to do. His hair is pilled up in a brown paper bag, scrunched up tight in his filthy hand. His scalp has bald patches from where he went too close with the razor; he looks like he’s suffering from mange.

‘Ah…
fuck
it then, give me the sandwich. But if that’s how it’s gonna be, I’ll need some wheat grass juice to wash it down with. I heard it’s good for the immune system.’

‘No, man. It isn’t. It just makes your farts reek.’

‘Look at me, my farts already
reek
.’

‘OK, man. Fair point.’

Huey heads back to the organic deli for a double shot of wheatgrass juice and offers it up to the bum. Belatedly, forlornly, the bum takes the paper cone (recycled) and hands over his prize.

‘You got anything else for me, a smoke or two, maybe?’

‘Smoking’s no good for you, you really ought to stop. Here, wait, take some of these.’

Huey reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick wad of coupons.

‘I think I’ve got some money off Nicorette here somewhere.’

‘Really? I could sure use some of those patches.’

‘Nope. They must be back upstairs.’

The bum looks disappointed.

‘Hey, what the hell though, take ’em. Why don’t you take the whole lot.’

The bum fills his pockets with Huey’s coupons and when
every spare recess is stuffed to the brim he pulls out a handful and flicks through them.

‘Great, that’s just great. Hot wax, douche and extra absorbency tampons–my life just gets better and better.’

Tess is beginning to look uneasy. She doesn’t like the way this day is going; this isn’t how she’d planned it, not one bit.

‘You’d better be throwing that bag away, Huey.’

‘No, Tess, I’m not. I’m going to keep it.’

‘But it’s not sanitary. It’s…
Jesus
,’ she says, sniffing the bag, ‘it
stinks
. It’s probably got lice and ticks and all sorts.’

‘I can’t throw it away, Tess, it’s immoral. You can’t throw away a man’s
hair
.’

‘Well you can’t take it to the
hotel
with us. Huey, don’t ruin this event for me today, this is my special goodbye lunch.’

‘Tess, I’m not going to ruin it.’

‘So, stuff it inside your pants pocket.’

‘I can’t, it’ll stink up my suit.’

‘Huey.’

‘Fuck, man, this is a thousand-dollar suit.’

Tess has arranged a celebration for the four of us. It’s the day before her operation, the day before I head up to Cape Canaveral, the week before they vacate the flat. Huey and Tess are planning a recuperative holiday after Tess gets out of the hospital and the two of them have decided to give up the apartment. Tess wants this day to be nice, to be special, so we’re going to eat lunch at the Blue Hotel.

The doorman gives a suspicious sniff as we walk past him, but he can’t quite work out where the smell is coming from. Tess has sprayed Huey’s suit trousers with her perfume–most of the bottle–but there’s still a high note of urine in the musky bouquet.

‘You think it would be better if we ate outside by the pool?’

The restaurant manager thinks that it would.

Things pick up once we’re out in the open again and the four of us settle into deep comfy sun chairs, shaded by a tall cream
umbrella. Half a dozen palms tree tower over us, their long leaves fussing in the breeze. A waiter has taken our food order; another is bringing us drinks.

‘It’s perfect isn’t it?’

I have to admit, it very nearly is.

‘It’s been a stressful few days, hasn’t it? I hadn’t realised how stressed out I was. I feel good now, though. Really good.’

‘You’re not nervous?’

‘About the operation? Yeah, a little bit, but in a good way.’

‘What time do you go in?

‘Uh…early, around six. I want to make sure they load me up with plenty of those premeds first.’

Huey shoots an odd wink at Tess. Tess shoots an odd wink at Huey.

‘You still think we…I mean that
I
shouldn’t go through with it.’

‘Tess, I think it’s your life, it’s up to you.’

She looks pleased. She and Huey look happy.

‘I’m
so
glad I met you guys. Really, the both of you…you’ve both meant an awful lot to me.’

‘Hey, Tess, come on now. Don’t go getting all emotional.’

‘I mean it. I wish we could all have hung out for longer, I think the four of us would have become great friends.’

‘We’ll keep in touch.’

‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Of course we will.’

‘We’ll meet up when you’re back from your holiday. If I’m in London by then, you’ll have to come over for a visit.’

‘England? I’d like that, all those tiny streets, all that fog. And I could let my moustache grow out, right?’

‘Yeah…exactly. You could.’

We smile, we both know she’s joking.

‘A toast, then?’

‘Absolutely, a toast.’

‘To old friends, to new friends, to progress.’

We raise up our glasses, we clink.

‘To all of us, good luck.’

‘Good luck,’ we say. ‘To all of us good luck.’

‘Here’s to Claire finding her brother and here’s to me and Huey, and my new boobs.’

‘To Tess’s boobs.’

‘And Huey’s head.’

‘To Huey’s head.’

‘To New Horizons.’

‘New Horizons.’

‘New plans.’

‘New plans.’

‘And here’s to my gig at the Wheel…’

We stop. We seem to have run out of drink.

‘Huey, why don’t you take Michael to the bar for a minute, see what’s happened to our champagne.’

‘The waiter will bring it.’

‘I know, but I’d sort of like it now.’

She nudges him until he catches on.

‘Right, I get you. Come on Michael, let’s give these two a minute.’

‘So then?’

‘So?’

‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Come on, how are you, really? You’ve fallen out with Michael, am I right?’

I lift up my wine glass and try to squeeze some extra alcohol from its empty shell.

‘You two are barely talking, what’s going on?’

‘Tess, it’s just…things are difficult.’

She mulls things over, leaning back in her sun chair.

‘He’s cute, Claire. I’ll give you that, he’s cute. I wouldn’t turf him out of bed, that’s for sure.’

Come on glass. One more drop.

‘He has this way with women, am I right?
Quite
the charmer, that boy. Charmed you right out of your heart?’

‘Tess, really, I don’t feel like talking about this now.’

She sits up and leans into me; she can’t be bothered to play games.

‘Come on, I know about what happened. Huey told me what you talked about last night. Michael came out here to audition, right? Just as much as he came out here to be with you?’

A lump in the throat; what use is a lump in the throat?

‘Tess, he never made me any promises.’

‘Right. Sure. Of course not.’

‘It was nothing, it probably never was…this trip, us…I wasn’t under any illusions.’

‘But it still hurts, doesn’t it?’

I nod.

‘Oh Baby.’ she says, reaching for my hand. ‘You deserve so much better than him. That’s our problem all over, we always think we can change them.’

‘No, I never tried to change him.’

‘So what did you think, that he’s was going to change all by himself? Shit, Claire, do you have a lot to learn.’

She smiles, but her mind is ticking fast. Going over it, working it out.

‘Oh, right, now I get it, you’re one of
those
type of girls.’

I don’t need to ask what type, it’s obvious she’s going to tell me.

‘You didn’t
want
to change him, right? You liked him just exactly how he was. Knew where you stood with him, knew how to read him, knew he’d fuck it all up eventually.’

I’m going to cry. How does she do this to me, someone like Tess? Sometimes she seems to see right through me.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I know how it is, I didn’t get on with my family either. What with my sister and her emus, and my mum and the arson and everything. And her husbands,
fuck
, don’t even get me started on her husbands. But an upbringing like that, it’s sort of classic. You go for what you know, what you’re familiar with. You look for love in all the wrong places. You don’t think you deserve to be loved.’

I stare at the floor. I can’t speak.

‘So Madame Orla was right, huh?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Looks like she was.’

‘What a bitch. I hate it when she’s right.’

A tear trickles down onto my lip.

‘Hey,
hey
,’ says Tess, squeezing my hand. ‘I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but one day you’ll find a guy who loves you the same exact way you love him. Look at me and Huey. Who the fuck else would love me as much as he does?’

I blow my nose.

‘Exactly, no one. And what I mean is…what I’m trying to say is…Claire,
your
Huey, he’s out there somewhere.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, I do.’

‘Fuck, I was only trying to make you feel better. I didn’t expect that you’d go for it.’

She smiles.

‘I mean, he’s cured of the coupons, he’s better about his head. Now…if I could
only
get him cured of the anal.’

‘I’ll miss you, Tess.’

‘Thanks Babe, I know. Give me a hug, I’ll miss you too.’

We laze by the pool for the rest of the afternoon, until a rain shower forces us inside. We don’t want it to end. One more drink, one more hour, one more story.

‘What about the Rose Room? We should go and drink in there. We never got to see it. I’d like to see it.’

I’d like to see it too.

‘Wow, this is nice, right? It’s so romantic, so pretty.’

It’s a small space, intimate and delicate, its walls lined with antiques and Venetian mirrors. The panelling on the bar is a pale shade of walnut, the marble on the floor is shot through with veins of rose-coloured quartz. Thick velvet curtains line the windows and teardrop chandeliers–Murano, crystal–sparkle from the high, painted ceilings. It could look old-fashioned, overdone but it’s all so well chosen, so finely balanced.

‘I love this room. I just
love
it. If I was ever going to marry, I’d get married in here. What do you think Michael, do you love it?’

‘Yeah…I suppose so. It’s OK.’

‘No. It’s not right, though. I don’t think this place is right for you.’

‘Well, it’s not really my taste.’

‘I know what you mean, Mike.’

No one ever calls him Mike.

‘It’s got history this place, it’s got depth. For me, that’s what
makes
a room, its depth, its complexity. That’s why it lasts. That’s the whole reason you stay with it.’

He shrugs. He doesn’t realise that she’s having a dig at him.

‘Waiter, sir? Do you mind if we talk to you a second?’

The waiter comes over, an older guy.

‘We love this room,’ says Tess. ‘We think it’s got something special, a special kind of atmosphere, am I right?’

‘Well, people seem to like it.’

‘They kept it just the same, isn’t that true? They didn’t redecorate in here during the refit?’

The waiter looks round, studying the décor. He wants to be sure of his answer.

‘The curtains are new, a deeper shade of red than the originals. The rest of it was largely untouched. It’s all much as it was, except for the name.’

‘The name?’

‘It didn’t used to be called the Rose Room. They named it that much later, on account of the pink quartz that runs through the marble. For the first few years they called it something different.’

‘Oh? What did they call it?’

‘Someone that worked on the refurbishment, a British guy, he had the owners name it after his wife. He filled it with all the things he thought that she’d like. Apparently, he had some artist from London pick out all the key pieces: the chaise, the prints. The antiques, the crystal chandeliers.’

Tess nods at me, I pipe up.

‘My dad…he worked on this place when it was restored. He’s…he’s British.’

‘Maybe it was him, then. Did your mother know he named the bar after her? Tell her, I’m sure she’d love to know.’

‘What’s your mum’s name?’ says Huey.