‘A pair of lyrebirds, having mated, select a nesting site. Neither will wander. They’re monogamous creatures, once they’ve chosen; they do not change their mates and matehood involves each mated pair in life companionship.’
Solomon purses his lips to hide the growing smile on his face. He turns briefly to Laura and she’s staring at him, green eyes gazing at him intently.
It’s ten p.m. Early for Bo and Solomon to be in bed, even earlier to have already made love, but with Laura sharing the same tiny living space it’s easier to say good night and for everybody to retreat to their rooms for privacy.
They had made love as silently as possible again, particularly after their experience in the hotel. Solomon seemed distracted, and that was okay; Bo was too, with formulating and planning of the documentary taking shape in her head. Now they both lie on their backs, staring at the ceiling and listening to Laura’s nightly song. Bo enjoys this, she finds it relaxing. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger and closes her eyes.
‘She’s going through her day,’ she whispers.
‘That’s the ATM,’ Solomon says, smiling. ‘She came with me while you and Rachel were finishing breakfast. She’d never seen one before.’
Laura beeps through the ATM. Cash is dispensed.
‘I wish she’d dispense real cash,’ Bo jokes. ‘If this documentary ends up being as good as I think it is, she will.’
‘She could probably help decipher people’s codes, by memorising those sounds,’ Solomon says. ‘She could be hired by some secret government agency with skills like that.’
Bo chuckles quietly. ‘Now that I want to film.’ Pause to listen. ‘It’s like she’s flicking through her memories of the day, like I do with the pictures on my phone.’
They listen some more. Relaxed. Calm. Peaceful.
Then they hear Solomon’s laugh. A rare hearty laugh.
‘Is that you?’ She looks at him.
‘Yeah,’ he avoids her stare. ‘Can’t remember what was so funny,’ he lies, remembering as they’d both clung to each other, unable to stop laughing, his stomach hurting, his eyes streaming. While he was getting dressed he thought Laura was cooking bacon, from the sounds coming from the kitchen, the beautiful sound of a sizzling pan, the fat as it popped and hissed. When he stepped out to the living room, Laura was standing alone in front of an empty fridge mimicking the sounds. Laura was hungry. He’d been so confused by the empty hobs, and kitchen table, then so disappointed, she couldn’t stop laughing at the look on his face. When he’d realised what happened he’d joined in with her laughter.
When finished mimicking his laughter, Laura mimics his cough with the hidden word, ‘Lie.’
Solomon cringes.
She contrasts this with the laugh. Back to the lie, then to the laugh. She does this a few times.
‘She’s trying to decide something,’ Bo says, looking at him, her heart racing now that she has understood what Laura is doing. ‘She’s trying to figure you out.’
Laura mimics his laugh again.
‘Sol,’ Bo says, concern in her voice.
‘Mmm?’ He can’t look at her. His heart is pounding in his chest, he hopes Bo can’t feel it next to her, his entire body feels like it’s thudding.
‘Sol.’
Lie. His laugh. Lie. His laugh. Back and forth she goes.
He looks at her. He sits up finally, head in his hands. ‘I know. Fuck.’
19
The following morning Laura is on the balcony, her hands cupped around a mug of tea. She’s making whistling sounds.
‘What’s she doing?’ Solomon asks, fresh out of the shower and joining Bo in the kitchen. He kisses her. He makes it his business to kiss her, no hiding it any more. Last night, he and Bo had decided that it was best he step back from Laura for the time being, try to allow Bo and Laura to bond. He has to work anyway, filming Grotesque Bodies, which requires he travel to Switzerland tomorrow for a few days to film an operation on a man they had been following for a year. And while he and Bo had decided it was healthier for Laura’s sake and the sake of the documentary that he disappear for a while, Solomon knows it’s also better for himself. He’s losing himself, he doesn’t like what he’s becoming, somebody who thinks about another woman when he’s in bed with his own girlfriend. It’s not him. Not who he wants to be. He needs to withdraw from the situation.
‘She’s talking to the bird next door,’ Bo replies. ‘Want scrambled eggs and bacon?’ she asks, placing a plate down in front of him. ‘Laura made them. She keeps asking for things I’ve never heard of. Herbs and things.’
‘You should bring her to the supermarket,’ he says, trying not to look at Laura. ‘She’d like that.’
‘Yeah,’ she says, uncertain of how she’s going to manage the next four days with Laura on her own. She’d almost change her mind about Solomon’s closeness to Laura if it meant he stayed.
Laura chirps on the balcony.
‘What bird next door?’ Solomon asks suddenly, digging in, enjoying the quality of cooking in their home since Laura has arrived.
‘The kid next door has a bird in a cage, a budgie or something. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard it.’
‘What kid?’ he asks.
She laughs and hits him playfully with a tea towel. Then she joins him with an espresso and a grapefruit and keeps her voice low.
‘Do you want to sit with me while I brief her about the audition?’
‘We talked about this last night,’ he says, concentrating on his scrambled eggs, ‘It’s time for you to get to know her better. She needs to start trusting you too.’ Laura made his breakfast, they’re the tastiest scrambled eggs he’s ever eaten. He practically licks the plate. He needs to get out of this apartment fast.
‘Yes, I know, but you really are better at handling her.’
He looks up at her, sees her nervousness. ‘You’ll be fine. Don’t think of it as “briefing” her. Talk to her as you would a friend.’
‘Probably too early for a bottle of wine at eight a.m.,’ she jokes, but her uncertainty is obvious.
He looks at Laura properly for the first time since he sat down. It had taken her a few days after the incident in Galway at the shooting range to come out of her shell again. They’d had fun, he’d enjoyed showing her new things, he’d enjoyed watching her, listening to her, hearing everyday sounds that he had long stopped hearing. The hiss of a bus as it pulled in at a stop, the whistle of the postman, the shutters being lifted on a shop beneath them, the rattle of the keys, a motorbike, the ring of a bicycle bell, high heels against the ground. Her sounds were endless and they flowed from her effortlessly, without her even noticing. Bo’s fears about Laura’s sounds disappearing over the weekend were in vain; if anything, they are more frequent. He’d had fun with Laura. He’d laughed more with her in a few days than he can remember having done in a long time. But then he kept catching himself feeling like that and he’d close up. Laura was right to question his character last night, what was he doing, who was he? One moment he was open with her, the next moment he’d shut down, hot and cold. For Laura’s good, for him and Bo, he’d have to stay away.
Through the open sliding door, Laura’s chirping drifts into the apartment.
‘She’s not talking to the bird, by the way,’ Solomon says, washing the plates in the sink.
‘Hmm?’
‘You said she was talking to the bird.’
‘Yeah. She is.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Sounds like a full-blown convo to me.’
‘No.’ He laughs, but he feels the familiar agitation rising, or maybe it’s heartburn, a burning in the centre of his chest. Is it that which causes him to pick at Bo, or is it Bo that causes the burning? He’s not sure, but he knows the two are closely related.
‘The bird thinks they’re having a chat,’ she says easily, picking up her phone to check her emails again.
‘Well I don’t know what the bird thinks. I only understa
nd humans.’ And not so heavily disguised in that statement is the accusation that she doesn’t understand humans.
‘Fine, Solomon, she’s not having a conversation with the bird.’ Bo laughs. ‘You tell me what’s going on. You seem to have so much more understanding of her than I do.’
She’s not being sarcastic, or cynical, there’s no judgement in her tone.
‘Okay, we’re going to have a “conversation” like the one they’re having now. Right now. Starting now.’
‘You want me to whistle?’ she giggles.
‘You want me to whistle?’ he repeats and giggles too, as much like her as he can.
She laughs.
He imitates her.
‘Maybe I should chirp.’
‘Maybe I should chirp.’
Her smile starts to fade. ‘Okay, Sol, I get the idea.’
‘Okay, Sol, I get the idea.’
‘She’s not having a conversation with the bird.’
‘She’s not having a conversation with the bird.’
‘She’s mimicking the bird.’
‘She’s mimicking the bird.’
She stops talking altogether.
Outside on the balcony, though neither of them can see her, Laura smiles into her mug of tea.
Solomon stares at Bo, waiting for her to speak again, feeling like a child deliberately annoying his brothers.
‘My girlfriend Bo,’ she begins slowly, thoughtfully, ‘Is the hottest producer in the world.’
He repeats it, moving his chair closer to hers, drawing her closer, eyeball to eyeball. ‘With the hottest tits.’
She laughs. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
Happy, fun. Them at their best. And then Bo ruins it.
‘I’m going to marry my girlfriend, Bo.’
He pauses. Stares at her, pulls away a little from her face to see her properly, to get the whole picture, to see if she’s joking. Her smile is gone, as is his. The tension between them is heavy. Why did she have to say that? Ruin what was a good moment, make it so intense?
‘Is that what you want?’ he asks.
She studies his face, it’s obviously not what he wants, he couldn’t even say it, not even as part of a dumb game. It’s actually not something she wanted. It wasn’t theobjective of this relationship. It had been once, with Jack, but she was younger and liked a project, and that man was a project. The ironic thing is she probably could have walked down the aisle quicker with Jack than she ever could with Solomon. It’s upsetting, not because she especially wanted it, but because it’s clear that he doesn’t. She’s not sure if being with someone who doesn’t want to marry her is an insult even if it’s not what she wants. Double standards. She has a few more of them.
She can hear Solomon’s argument without him saying a word, merely looking at her in a panic, skin shiny as though he’s broken out in a nervous sweat. She can hear his argument loud and clear; in fact, she is using it against herself, but she’d said the sentence for him to repeat nonetheless, to test him, which was unfair really.
‘Now, that’s a conversation,’ she says, standing up. ‘You should go, you’ll be late for work.’
On the balcony, Laura exhales slowly, overhearing the tail end of their conversation.
The bird in the cage on the balcony next to her chirps noisily, rattling around his cage, leaping from a swing to the floor, pecking at his food, pecking at the bars. A little boy sits on the balcony beside it, crashing red cars into each other, making sound effects of the cars and the crashes. Laura mimics his childish sounds.
The past two mornings she has enjoyed sitting on this balcony and thinking. At least she has all the noise with fresh air. It makes it easier to handle, it seems to blow the headache away.
Bo joins her on the balcony. Laura gives her a quick glance. Everything about Bo is precise, neat, tidy, perfect. Not a wrinkle or crinkle on her clothes, her skin is smooth and flawless, her eyes a chocolate brown, her olive skin blemish-free. Her short chestnut hair is always tied up in a high ponytail, though there’s barely enough hair to form it, two front pieces of hair fall down and are tucked behind her ears. Her hair is always glossy. When she smiles and forms certain words, two deep dimples appear in her cheeks. She wears tightly cropped jeans and loafers, a polo T-shirt with the neck pulled up. The fabrics look expensive, everything is well made. A pearl necklace sits on her collarbone. She looks like she should be in a photoshoot for a yachting magazine. She never seems to fumble, be flustered or out of control. She always seems to Laura to know exactly where she’s going. She feels to Laura to be the exact opposite of her.
‘Making friends out here?’ Bo asks.
Laura looks at her, feeling confused. She’s been on the balcony alone.
‘The … never mind.’ Bo’s smile fades and she concentrates on the laptop she has placed on the table. ‘I brought this to show you StarrQuest. It’s important that you go in there fully aware of what’s going on – I don’t want you to do it if you’re not comfortable with any aspect of it.’
Butterflies battle in her belly at the mention. The audition is this afternoon.
‘That’s Jack,’ Bo says, pointing to the screen, and the soft way that Bo says his name makes Laura glance up at her quickly.
‘What?’ Bo’s cheeks pink.
‘Nothing,’ Laura says gently.
‘I’ll, um, get you some more green tea,’ Bo says, and hurries inside.
Laura concentrates on the screen. Bo has lined up a list of YouTube viewings for her. StarrQuest contestants have two minutes to showcase their talent. Incredible acrobats, singers, musicians, magicians, all kinds of talents she never knew existed.
Bo returns and places the mug of tea in front of her. It has practically been filled to the brim with boiling water, water drips from the side. Bo obviously isn’t a regular tea-maker. Laura questions why she’s seeking out her flaws, but she’s never met someone so seemingly perfect before, so self-assured.
‘What do you think?’ she asks.
‘The talent is incredible,’ Laura says. ‘I’d feel out of place joining their ranks.’
‘Laura, you’re more unique than all of them put together,’ Bo says. ‘And Jack Starr, the show’s judge, has asked to see you himself.’
‘And you trust him,’ Laura says. It’s not a question, she has heard how Bo has spoken his name. With warmth. Trust. Love.
Bo freezes a little. ‘Do I … yeah, I mean, he’s … he’s a talent spotter. He’s a musician too. He’s very talented himself, more than people know. He plays the guitar, the piano, the harmonica. He’s known for a handful of hit songs, but there’s a lot more to him. He has so many songs that people have never heard. Better songs. He has a lot of experience and recognises talent in others, and he’s looking for something truly unique.’
Twice Bo said ‘unique’; is Laura being entered because she’s unique or talented? She’s afraid to ask. She’s not sure she wants to hear the answer. She clicks on another link to a video. The show changes people’s lives, the deep-voiced male narrator announces dramatically. Does Laura want her life to change? Laura’s life has already changed, she can’t stop it. She’s trying to keep up.
‘What do you think I should do?’ Laura asks.
Bo doesn’t even take a second to think about it. ‘Do it. Ultimately, it comes down to this: we can do the documentary without you taking part in StarrQuest, of course – this is not a documentary about a talent show – but I think you gaining a profile would not only add to the content of the documentary it would also help the documentary. You don’t need to worry about things like that, but for me as the producer it makes it easier to sell. A successful documentary would give you more options, more directions where you can go with your life. That in itself is a gift. Opportunity, options. Which is what I know you’re searching for right now.’
Laura nods. Bo seems to know her so well. She says all the right things at these moments when she’s con
fused.
‘Do it,’ Bo says perkily, with a grin, and her energy is infectious. ‘Go on an adventure. What have you got to lose?’
‘Nothing.’ Laura throws her hands up and smiles.
20
Solomon and Rachel arrive at the Slaughter House, the venue for StarrQuest’s live auditions, at noon.
‘Lambs to the slaughter,’ Rachel says, viewing it distastefully.
The venue is famous for hosting gigs with big-name acts; small and intimate, it previously served as a slaughterhouse and was renovated as a live venue. The audition process is different to most talent shows: there are no queues of auditionees snaking around railings for hours on end, instead everybody has already faced a panel of judges and has been selected for the live auditions. It’s a selection process driven by entertainment requirements as much as seeking out raw talent. The format of StarrQuest is that during the live, one-hour show, ten contestants are given two minutes to perform. Jack Starr sits on a throne, the audience sits around the stage like it’s a gladiator arena. After each two-minute performance, Jack hits a button to reveal either an enormous gold thumb up or a thumb down for ‘execution’. The format was devised by Jack Starr and his production company, StarrGaze – a throwback to his band days, when he was lead singer of the Starr Gazers. Last year, after a lengthy court battle, he won the right to resume using StarrGaze as the title of his production company, record company and talent agency, after an unhappy ex-band member raised his dishevelled head to fight him on it.
The StarrQuest franchise has been bought by twelve other countries around the world and is fronted by various presenters with Starr-like qualities and similar histories in entertainment. But the elusive US market still hasn’t bitten, and it’s a target he’s chasing more vigorously now that American Idol has ended its run. As Ireland has become his second home, and the only English-speaking territory that has bought the format, he chooses to appear as a judge on the Irish show. Winners are signed up to his record label and entertainment agency, StarrGaze. It is his moment to shine before the next talent show music don comes along, and he’s enjoying the revival of success almost twenty years after his debut album won Grammys and led him to tour all around the world. He’s making money again, due to the show and the re-release of his debut album. He’s enjoyed the return to playing live gigs, his first love, and tries to include as much of his new material as possible to an audience that has only come to hear their favourite hits. His wish is for his new material to chart; it’s far better than anything he produced in his alcohol-and-drug-fuelled twenties, but his popularity on the show has not spilled into his music career. Since StarrQuest aired, he’s released one song that failed to reach the top forty.
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