The Half Life Of Stars Part 22

'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 surgery, no way way?'

'They start work on me on the sixth. Next week I lose the d.i.c.k and b.a.l.l.s 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 t.i.ts.'

'What difference? It's a start. They can fix your ugly nose and suck out your lumpy a.s.s 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 s.h.i.+vers 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?' 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?' 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 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 beauty.'

'Is that it 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 t.i.ts 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 say I should do it. Thanks Or, thank you I should do it. Thanks Or, thank you so so much.' 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 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 bulls.h.i.+t?'

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 bulls.h.i.+t 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? f.u.c.k,' 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?' 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 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.'

A Nice Polite Fella.

I drop Tess back at the flat and go for a drive on my own. The hours have been full of other people since I've been here and I need some time for myself. I end up back at the apartment building where we used to live; it wasn't intentional, it drew me here.

I find myself staring out to sea on the old wooden boardwalk, the same spot where I used to stop and chat with Mr Kazman. The pelicans are still doing their thing, flapping back and forth along the seash.o.r.epouches swayinguntil one of them folds its wings back and dives. There's an ungainly splash as it enters the water; shallow and awkward, like a child thrown into the deep end without its arm bands. Down it goes, and up it comes, nothing in its beak but sand and salt. Its feathers are heavy and slick, and I watch as it flaps hard and burns its wing muscles, struggling to break free of the waves.

How many dives does it make in a day? How long before it strikes gold and gets to eat? Does it ever get tired, disconsolate? Does it ever wish life was easier than this? It doesn't seem so. Minutes later the same bird is ready again, its keen eyes focused on the water. It turns and dips its body, deft on the ocean breezes, harvesting the merest scent of wind. This time it stops before its belly hits the surf, aborting its dive and lurching up again. It doesn't seem the least bit disappointed, not that you'd ever know.

'You like to watch the birds?'

'The pelicans? Yes. I used to watch them here when I was a kid.'

'You born here? You don't sound to me like you were born round here.'

Tess is right. There are less pensioners in Miami Beach than there used to be, but the old people haven't all fled. The man standing next to meknuckles stiff with arthritis, left eye ripe with milky cataractsmust be ninety if he's a day. He s.h.i.+fts from one foot to another in his plastic sandals and breathes in through wide open nostrils, sniffing for moisture in the air. He watches the pelicans while I stare at the ocean, scanning back and forth along the sh.o.r.eline for the spot where I once swam with Julio. The slim shallow inlet where we tore off our clothes; the smooth crop of rocks where we rested. The point where I sprang from the waves filled with warmth, and collided with that cold, heavy air.

'Mint Caramel?'

'Thank you.'

'They're chewy, so watch out for your teeth. The caramel can stick round your gums if you're not careful. My gums aren't so good now, they've receded.'

'Like the beach?' I say.

'Yep,' he says. 'Just like the beach.'

The sand bar is given to erosion up here, narrow and sc.r.a.ppy, fighting a battle with the sea. Further down the coast they restock it with finely milled rocksoft and whitebut up here, they don't seem to bother. Nature takes its course: unaffected, undaunted, unstoppable.

'Lots of people from England living here,' the old man says. 'Florida's a magnet for the English.'