The Half Life Of Stars Part 24

'You're up?'

'What time is it?'

'Almost five.'

's.h.i.+t, I slept all day. What's happened?'

I look down at Michael: mouth full and wide, body naked in thin sheets, eyes low and lazy from sleep. He already has the start of a suntan, just from our one day in the sun. Freckles have broken out on the bridge of his nose and the pastiness has gone from his cheeks. He kisses me on the neck, then the lips. He pulls me into bed with him, sour and sticky from sleep. He asks me how I am, how I'm feeling. He pushes his hands under my T-s.h.i.+rt and strokes his hands over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

'Who were you speaking to?'

'My mum.'

He recoils, as if he's just spotted the snake.

'She on your back, Shorty? She want you to come home? Just say the word and I'll take her out.'

He puts up his hands and makes comedy fists like he's going to box her.

'No,' I say. 'Quite the opposite, she actually wants me to stay.'

A smile breaks out on Michael's face as I explain it. He hugs me. We stand up. He holds out his hands and dances me up and down on the mattress.

'f.u.c.k...are you sure sure? This guy really saw him...I mean, there's no no words, this is great.' words, this is great.'

He wraps his warm fingers round my waist and offers to take me anywhere I want: a restaurant, a bar, to the ends of the earth, anywhere at all that I'd like to celebrate. I feel close to him, near to him, happy to be with him, he cares about me still: I think he does. You have to take Michael in doses; he can't be like this all the time. Other people are safer, st.u.r.dier, more supportive, but that's not the way Michael is. You wouldn't want to rely on him in a moment of crisis but when things are going well there's no one bolder; more playful, more full of life. He thinks we should spend the day dancing. He thinks we should hire a plane: one of those aircraft that fly up and down the sh.o.r.eline trailing advertis.e.m.e.nts behind their wings like giant ribbons.

'We'll do our own advert for Daniel,' he says, spreading his arms out. 'A big red banner with Huey's phone number on it: Has anyone seen Daniel Ronson? Has anyone seen Daniel Ronson?'

I like it. I sort of want to do it. But it might scare him off and the last thing I want to do is scare him.

'Of course, you're right. You're totally right.'

Maybe it's just the elation, maybe it's just the relief, but here in this tiny, hot windowless room I feel my guard starting to drop. I reach in and kiss Michael differently: briefly, intensely, from the heart. He feels it and kisses me back.

'G.o.d...you're f.u.c.king great, Claire,' he says, as we start. 'Really, you're pretty f.u.c.king great.'

We collapse down onto the sheets like our bones are made out of sand. I'm already half undressed as we fall. Michael pulls me out of the rest of my clothes, stretching my arms above my head. My skirt is unzipped, my underwear is gone. I'm underneath his body and I'm lost. And really, this is the question: what does a man in gaudy earrings and a dress know about the subtleties of love?

I'm Not In Love.

'He fulfils a need.'

's.e.x?'

'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 Michael? You get goose b.u.mps, 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 b.o.o.bs 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 b.o.o.bs 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.'

'Sat.u.r.day?'

'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. c.o.c.ktail 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 hunting cap?' 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 pa.s.s 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 b.u.t.ton, 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 t.i.tles scroll and here comes the film's name: The Outsiders; The Outsiders; starring Huey Roberts Junior. Bad name. Bad t.i.tles. Bad film. I know exactly what this is going to be like. starring Huey Roberts Junior. Bad name. Bad t.i.tles. 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 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 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 bed?'

'I swear, so help me G.o.d. You go to bed right this second or I'm calling the police.'

'Where's the snake? Where's that s.h.i.+tty snake? I'm going to strangle the s.h.i.+tty f.u.c.king snake.'

'Michael...do something.' something.'

'I don't know what to do.'

'Michael, he's going for the tank.'