Good Friends

by Leeanne Moriarty

  Men who drank too much and grew bored, restive and horny in the heat of Mykonos, Malaga or Makarska.

  Men who sat up a little straighter and sucked in their paunches when the hot little blonde drifted into their sightlines and spun a story about waiting for a boyfriend who hadn’t come, and about lost ATM cards or stolen travelers checks.

  Men who thought nothing of parting with a few hundred pounds or euros to spend an hour or two with her in a tawdry hotel room.

  When they’d been shown the video of their sad, lackluster couplings, and threatened with exposure to their bovine wives, they’d been willing to spend a lot more.

  Anxious to protect their assets and their reputations.

  That’s how Charlie and Liz met Jürgen Keller.

  He’d been vacationing with his little iceberg of a wife at a swanky Sardinian resort when they’d chosen him as their next sucker.

  But they’d misjudged Jürgen.

  He’d gone at Liz with the stamina and endurance of a dray horse, leaving her chafed and aching.

  And he’d laughed at the video when they’d confronted him in the almost deserted bar of his hotel.

  “Show the bitch,” he said in his Americanized accent. “I don’t give a shit. I’m divorcing her anyway. And I have a bullet proof fucking prenup.”

  Sneering at Charlie, he laughed even louder and shoved a hand up Liz’s skirt.

  “I have an offer for you, little girl. Dump this faggot loser and come away with me. I’ll show you the time of your fucking life.”

  And she had.

  Just like that, it was auf Wiedersehen Charlie, and off to the land of cuckoo clocks and alpenhorns with Herr Jürgen Keller.

  “He’ll dump you,” Charlie warned her. “He’ll shag you silly and then dump you.”

  But he hadn’t.

  He’d made her Frau Keller and given her mansions and status.

  And Charlie had been tossed away to fend for himself for thirteen long years.

  Of course he’d had the last laugh when Jürgen had lost it all in a series of laughably misguided ventures, and sent himself to Jesus in a waterborne hotrod.

  And here Charlie and Liz were, reunited for a farewell gig in balmy Thailand.

  He slapped away a mosquito and zoomed in even tighter as Liz straddled the clueless American and rode him hard to the finish line.

  53

  Caroline stood at the chipped mirror in the stifling washroom of the police station. She filled the sink with warm water and squirted some liquid soap onto her hands. The soap smelled like gasoline. She washed her hands and looked at herself in the mirror and marveled at the depth of the mess she found herself in.

  She’d tried Michael again and again, the cop staring at her impatiently. She scrolled through her contacts and found Charlie Hepworth’s number. A Thai man answered and when she asked to speak to Charlie he said, “No Charlee! No Charlee!”

  She tried again to be sure and the same man answered and said something about farang that didn’t sound complimentary and hung up.

  Caroline tried Liz Keller.

  Voice mail.

  Bullethead held out his hand for the phone.

  “You give. You give.”

  She handed the phone over and he dumped it back in her bag.

  “I need to use the toilet,” she said.

  He stared at her blankly.

  “Toilet.”

  He’d muttered something and yelled and the pretty boy had entered and led her to this room.

  When she was done washing her hands Caroline looked in vain for something to wipe them on. She used her pants.

  There was a knock at the door and a woman said, “Mrs. Tate?”

  “Yes,” Caroline said, and opened the door to reveal a young Thai woman with cover girl looks, dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt.

  “I am with Tourist Police,” she said. “You call me Captain Vee, okay?”

  “Okay. You speak English, thank God.”

  “A little. Please.”

  She beckoned Caroline and they went back into the room where her bag still lay on the table. There was no sign of Bullethead. Captain Vee sat down and pointed for Caroline to join her.

  “This is all a mistake,” Caroline said.

  The woman held up a perfectly manicured hand. “Please. When you go court you can explain.”

  “Court?”

  “Court. Yes.”

  “But just forgot I had the scarf around my neck. I’m not a shoplifter!”

  Captain Vee shrugged. “Maybe. But Central have policy zero tolerance. You steal they prosecute. Tourist steal too much. Russian steal, steal, steal. Very bad. Russian woman take and put up here.” She widened her legs and gestured between them.

  Caroline almost laughed at this egregious profiling. “I’m not Russian.”

  “No. But because so much steal, Central very strict. And...”

  Caroline stared at her. “And what?”

  “You have problem with drug.”

  Caroline looked at her blankly, then she remembered the vial of OxyContin in her bag. “That is prescription medication.”

  “Yes. But have fifty pill in container.”

  “So?”

  “On label say one tablet per day. Law in Thailand say can only bring quantity thirty day prescribed usage, otherwise you look like drug dealer. You drug dealer?”

  Caroline bugged her eyes and shook her head. “No. God, no!”

  “And you need permit. You have permit?”

  Caroline raised her hands to the ceiling. “I didn’t know I needed one.”

  Captain Vee sighed. “Sorry, Mrs. Tate. Big problem.” She flashed a smile. “No worry. Not death sentence. Just prison. Long time prison.”

  Caroline fought panic. “What is going to happen to me now?”

  “You stay here in cell. Wait go court. Maybe two day. Three.”

  Caroline could not speak.

  “You have lawyer, Mrs. Tate?”

  Caroline was about to shake her head, then something nudged her memory.

  “Yes. Yes, I do. Please can I have my wallet?”

  The woman found the wallet in her bag and handed it to her.

  Caroline silently prayed that she still had the card Michael had given her weeks ago, saying, “Worth hanging on to this in case you ever have a problem and I’m unavailable. He’s a good guy.”

  She found the card. Read the unpronounceable Thai name, followed by Tin in parenthesis.

  “Could I have my phone please?”

  Captain Vee handed it to her and Caroline dialed.

  54

  Michael lay prone on the sand, as if he had plunged from a height. He opened his eyes and for a terrifying few seconds had no idea where he was. Then he saw the curve of the beach and the towering cliff tinted orange by the light of the sagging sun and it all came back to him.

  But there was no sign of Liz Keller’s speedboat.

  Panicking, he sat up, scanning the horizon, and found the boat behind him, bobbing on the swelling tide.

  Dumbass.

  A warm wave lapped at Michael’s foot. He was still naked, and felt exposed and defenseless.

  He looked around for his trunks but couldn’t see them.

  “Hey nature boy!”

  He turned. Liz Keller walked toward him, dressed in her swimsuit, wrapped in the cloth. She slung something wet and sandy at him.

  “Looking for these?”

  He caught the trunks and stood and pulled them on. She watched him without expression.

  “I’d better get you home,” she said.

  She walked back to the trees and gathered the champagne bottle and glasses and remains of their meal and put them into the cooler box.

  As Michael followed her some dark dread ambushed him from out of the lengthening shadows and he shivered despite the heat.

  “You okay?” Liz asked.

  He felt hollow, spent and joyless, but he said, “Yeah. Sure.”

  She stared at him
with cold eyes and he thought of the woo-woo story the Thais told about the succubus.

  Liz frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Michael said and dressed in his rumpled shirt and shorts.

  He pulled on his cap and hid his eyes behind his sunglasses.

  Lifting the cooler box he carried it out to the speedboat. He climbed aboard and took his seat. He’d left his phone on the boat. He swiped its face and saw eleven missed calls from Caroline.

  Liz was boarding and he pocketed the phone. She raised the anchor and started the outboards. She worked the throttle, taking them away from the island, toward the sun that was drowning itself in the Andaman Sea.

  55

  The handsome Thai man drove the Porsche with a casual disregard for anyone else on the road, and mere mortals in cramped sedans or on whiny scooters gave way like flotsam.

  Caroline glugged at the bottle of chilled Perrier Tin had given her when they’d left the police station.

  He’d also given her a little pack of wet wipes.

  He was some kind of Siamese angel.

  Tin looked at her, “Feeling better, Mrs. Tate?”

  “Caroline, please,” she said, “And yes, I’m feeling much better. Thanks to you.”

  “Ah, no biggie.”

  “Your accent,” she said. “Australian?”

  “Nah, the other one.”

  “New Zealand?”

  “Yeah. Boarding school and uni in Auckland.”

  “That must’ve been nice,” she said.

  He laughed.

  “Not at first. Try being a skinny little yellow kid who speaks like an Asian Kermit amongst all those Kiwi bruisers. But I assimilated fast. And I grew. I even played a bit of footie.” He saw her expression. “Rugby. A very distant relative of your football.”

  She grunted and stared out the window, not sure if she should relax too much lest a cop car cut them off and Bullethead take her in at gunpoint.

  But they drove on unmolested, and Tin let her be.

  He’d answered her call on the third ring and when she’d said who she was he’d asked, “What do you need, Mrs. Tate?”

  Caroline sketched the details and he wanted to know which police station she was at.

  She had no idea and passed the phone to Captain Vee who sat up a little straighter and spoke quickly in Thai and then handed the phone back to Caroline.

  “Your lawyer is Tin?” she said, wide-eyed.

  “Well, my husband’s. They’re friends.”

  “Tin he good. He very, very good,” the Thai beauty said, a little breathlessly.

  And so he’d proved to be.

  He breezed into the room, shook hands with Caroline, said, “Just a mo,” and took Captain Vee out for a conversation.

  A few minutes later he was back.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “I’m free?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Everyone’s on the same page of the bloody hymn book. It was all just a silly misunderstanding. Apologies all round.”

  They’d left the room and Captain Vee had waid and wished her a happy stay in Thailand.

  There was no sign of Bullethead.

  Caroline finished her water and turned to Tin as he shifted gear and sped past a tour bus.

  “What really happened back there?” she said.

  He laughed.

  “There are a couple of old and influential Phuket families. Mine’s one of them. So’s Captain Vee’s. I vouched for you and Bob’s your uncle.”

  “That simple?”

  “Yep.”

  “And the drug thing?”

  He snorted.

  “What drug thing? I know about your accident, Caroline. Commiserations, by the way. Must’ve been really horrible. So, you have a couple of painkillers. And you were unaware of some petty permit nonsense. Listen, your husband’s making a whopping great contribution to the Phuket economy. Captain Vee’s not a bloody idiot.”

  They drove on and Caroline allowed herself to sink into her seat.

  “Anyway, thanks again.”

  “Forget it. Mike’s a mate.”

  Caroline moved a strand of hair from her face.

  “About Michael...”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is awkward...”

  He squinted at her. “You’d rather he didn’t know, huh?”

  “I’m just so embarrassed.”

  “Sure.”

  “And he’d start worrying about me. Needlessly.”

  “I get it, Caroline. I won’t breathe a word. Call it client privilege.”

  “Thank you, Tin.”

  “No worries.” He shrugged. “So, tell me about the earrings? They do the trick?”

  She stared at him. “What earrings?”

  He grimaced. “Oh shit. Sorry. Ouch.”

  “Michael bought me earrings?”

  He hesitated before nodding. “Yep.”

  “And you know this how?

  “I took him to the jeweler.”

  “You really do run a full service shop, now don’t you?”

  The spike of acid in her voice got his head turning. She softened things with a smile. “Well, he hasn’t given them to me.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for a special occasion.”

  “Or,” she said, “maybe they weren’t for me.”

  He gaped at her. “Steady on now, Caroline. Mike’s not that kind of bloke.”

  She laughed. “I’m just teasing, Tin. You’re right, he’s probably just waiting for the perfect moment.”

  “Yeah. But don’t tell him, okay? That I ruined the bloody surprise?”

  “Let’s call it a quid pro quo.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, let’s.”

  They were at her house.

  “You going to be okay?” he asked.

  “Just fine.”

  “Want me to come in and wait until Mike gets home?”

  “Absolutely not. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

  “It’s been a pleasure,” he said.

  She put out a hand and he shook it and she went inside, hearing the growl of his Porsche as it headed back to the road.

  Caroline walked upstairs, dragging her leg a little. She was exhausted.

  She crossed into the en-suite and stood under the shower and soaped and scrubbed herself until her skin was pink and stinging.

  56

  A necklace of lights winked at them as they drew closer to Phuket. They had not spoken since they’d left the island.

  Liz stared straight ahead as she steered the boat, her face made green by the glow of the cockpit instruments.

  Michael drank from a lukewarm bottle of water and said, “Liz?”

  By way of reply she rested her right hand high on his thigh. He recoiled and she snorted and put her hand back on the wheel.

  “I’m not going to tell Caroline that I was with you today,” Michael said.

  Liz laughed the kind of laugh that got women slapped. “I bet you aren’t, Slick.”

  “I’ll say I was on a building site.”

  “Okay.”

  He looked at her. “So, if you speak to her...”

  “I’ve been to the circus and I’ve seen the clowns, Michael,” Liz said. “I won’t breathe a fucking word.”

  57

  Caroline floated slowly to wakefulness. The only light came from the hallway, spilling across the tiled floor of the bedroom.

  She heard the creak of the closet door and said, “Michael?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “That’s okay.” She reached over and switched on the bedside lamp.

  Michael was buttoning a white cotton shirt. He wore clean chinos and was barefoot. There were drops of water in his hair.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Around seven thirty,” he said.

  She sat up and looked at him.

  “You’ve been in the sun,” she said.

  “Yeah, I was on site all day. Down in Patong
.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine. The principal investor flew in from Singapore with his wife in tow. She tottered around on her kitten heels giving him hell. My hunch is that he was being punished for some transgression back home. Anyway, I had to pay lip service to her absurd suggestions until she got bored and wanted to go to the mall.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yes, ouch.” He stood over her with his hands in his pockets. “And you? How was your day?”

  “Fine. I got bored too and went to the mall.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Maybe I need to get me a pair of them kitten heels.”

  “Nah. You don’t have legs like tenpins.”

  She laughed because she knew she was required to laugh.

  It was as if they were exchanging lines of scripted dialogue, waiting for a director to shout cut.

  “You hungry?” he said.

  “A bit,” she said, even though she wasn't.

  “In the mood for the old signature dish?” Michael said with jocularity so forced it almost locked his jaw.

  “Always.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  He left and she stood and did her very best not to think about what had happened to her that day. She failed miserably.

  A pill would help.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  Before she weakened she shrugged off the robe and dressed in a T-shirt and drawstring pants. Her limp was less pronounced when she walked downstairs.

  Michael was stirring a steaming pot in the kitchen, playing Radiohead too loudly. She wasn’t a fan, but it meant they wouldn’t have to talk, which suited her.

  Caroline would rather eat mold, but when he put the plate of pasta before her she thanked him sweetly and twirled spaghetti onto a fork.

  58

  Liz sat in her living room in the dark smoking a joint, listening to Portishead. She tried to tell herself that she felt nothing. But that wasn’t true and she felt the thing she felt plus a little stab of anger and anger was not what she needed now.

  Anger was not productive.

  Especially when it was directed at herself.