by Isabel Wolff
‘What’s his father called?’ she enquired.
‘I don’t know, and Bridges is quite a common name.’
‘Why don’t you ask the people on the Nice Factor course if they have a number for Joe?’
‘I already have,’ I replied. ‘But the only numbers they have are the two I’ve already got.’
I rang Helen too, but she didn’t know. So I drew nothing but blanks. Then I hit a busy patch at work and by now it was the third week of April. The daffodils had been superseded by tulips; the lilies of the valley were almost in bloom, and the magnolia trees had already shed their great waxy pink petals. Time was passing. Another season in full swing; there was even a whiff of summer in the air. And I thought maybe he’ll ring, or write. But he didn’t. Because a) he was obviously extremely busy and b) I’d told him I never wanted to see him again. He was six thousand miles away. And eight time zones. He obviously wasn’t thinking of me, but I was thinking of him. I thought of him sitting in the Californian sunshine. I thought of him walking on the beach. I thought of him going to parties and film premières. I thought of him meeting new people. More significantly, I thought of him meeting new women. And I was filled with regret and dismay.
‘Oh, bugger it!’ I said to Amber as we sat in the Engineer on Friday evening with Laurie. ‘Bugger and buggery bollocks.’
‘Minty!’ said Amber, ‘I’m so flattered. You normally only swear at people you really like.’
‘I’m pissed off,’ I said as I distractedly mangled a beer mat. ‘All my attempts to trace Joe have failed.’
‘Interpol?’ said Amber facetiously. ‘MI5?’
‘I’ve missed the bus,’ I said dismally. ‘I’ve missed the bloody bus.’
‘You’ve missed the bus?’ said Laurie. His beer glass stopped in mid air.
‘Yes. I’ve missed it. I’ve buggered things up. I’m consumed with regret.’
‘Well, why don’t you …you know …’ Laurie began.
‘What?’
‘Catch the bus.’
‘Catch the bus? What do you mean? How can I? It’s gone.’
‘Go to LA,’ he said.
‘Go to LA? Are you mad?’
‘No, I’m serious. I mean, you’re not getting very far here.’
‘How can I just get up and go to Los Angeles, Laurie? I’m working.’
‘Oh, well then,’ he said with a shrug, ‘that settles it.’
‘Yes, she’s working,’ said Amber. ‘On the other hand, Minty,’ she added judiciously, ‘you must have masses of leave left.’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘I’ve got four weeks.’
‘Well, go to LA and find Joe,’ said Laurie. ‘It’s not that big. Everyone knows everyone and you’re a journalist, Minty – I’m sure you could track him down.’
‘How? What would I do? Just wander around asking people to point me in the direction of Joe Bridges? It’s impossible.’
‘Well then, don’t go,’ said Laurie. ‘There’s no need, because, at the end of the day, Joe can’t be that important to you. Otherwise you would.’
‘Joe is important to me. He’s very important. But there are practical considerations to …consider.’
‘If I’d worried too much about practical considerations I’d still be a frustrated surveyor,’ said Laurie. ‘Instead of which I’m about to become a vet. If I qualify. On which note, I really must get back to my revision. Canine Endocrinology. It’s my pet hate – ha ha. Anyway, that’s my diagnosis today.’
‘Thanks,’ I said miserably.
‘Take a risk, Minty,’ said Laurie, as he stood up to go. ‘I mean it – life’s too short.’
‘Go to LA? How ridiculous!’ I said to Amber as we walked back to the flat in the late evening sun.
‘Well, why don’t you?’ she said. ‘Just tell Sophie you want some time off.’
‘I’d have to ask Jack,’ I said.
‘Do you want to go?’ she asked.
Did I want to go? Good question.
‘Yes,’ I said carefully, ‘ …if I thought I’d find him and if I thought I could put things right. But I’m not going to go,’ I said, ‘because, to be honest, I really can’t afford it.’
‘Can’t you?’
‘Well, no. It would cost a bomb, and I don’t have much put by.’
‘I’ll pay,’ said Amber, suddenly.
‘What?’ She opened the front door, and I stepped inside.
‘I’ll pay,’ she repeated. ‘I’ve lived here for ten months, and I haven’t given you any rent. And you’ve never said a word about it. Let me pay, Mint. It’s the least I can do.’
‘Would you?’ I said, wonderingly.
‘Yes,’ she beamed. ‘But only on one condition.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That I get to come along too!’
And so the decision was made. But I’d have to clear it with Jack, and as soon as possible, so I called him at home the next morning, but one of the girls picked up the phone.
‘Oh, hello,’ I said. ‘This is Minty Malone. Er …is that …?’
‘Iolanthe.’
‘Oh, Iolanthe, hi. I remember. The, er …’
‘Party,’ she said.
‘Yes, that’s right. The party.’
‘Everything’s fixed now,’ she said.
‘Oh good …And, er, how are you all?’
‘Pregnant,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Pregnant,’ she repeated. My God. But judging by the way those girls carried on in January it wasn’t entirely surprising.
‘Well …’ I didn’t know what to say’ …that’s pretty serious news.’
‘It’s OK, actually,’ she said quietly.
‘What do your folks think?’
‘They don’t mind. It was a bit of a shock, obviously. But they’re cool.’
‘Oh. Well …good,’ I said. I didn’t know what else to say.
‘Anyway, do you want to speak to Jack?’ she enquired.
‘Yes. Yes I do. Please. Thanks.’
‘Hang on, I’ll just get him – he’s mending my bike.’
‘Jack, hi,’ I said. And then I blurted out, ‘Iolanthe’s just told me the news.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit shattering.’
‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, though I know I shouldn’t have done.
‘Have it, of course.’
‘God. But what about her …age.’
‘Look, this kind of thing happens,’ he said. ‘She won’t be the first, and I’m sure we’ll cope somehow, though we’ll need a bigger house. But I think we can deal with it all.’
‘Good. Anyway, sorry, it’s none of my damn business. Can I have some urgent leave?’
‘What?’
‘I need to take some leave.’
‘When?’
‘Next week.’
‘That’s very short notice, Minty.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m ringing you at home. I’m sorry to spring it on you, but I need to go to LA.’
‘Is it vital?’
‘Yes, I think it is.’
‘Can I ask why you’re going?’
‘Well, it’s sort of personal.’ I didn’t want to tell anyone. I wanted to keep it to myself. ‘Please, can I go, Jack?’
‘OK,’ he said after a few seconds. ‘But you’ll have to be back by the seventh because we’ve got such a lot on in May.’
‘I know.’
‘So I’m afraid I can only spare you for five days.’
‘Five days?’ I sighed. It was so short.
‘I’m sorry, but it’s five days or nothing, Minty. Do you want to take it?’
Five days? Oh my God.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I do.’
‘You see, Mum, we’d need you to come in twice a day at least to look after the animals,’ I said the following evening. ‘It’s only for a long weekend. Five days. That’s all I can take.’
‘Five days? Los Angeles is an awfully long way to
go for five days, Minty,’ she said.
‘I know, but that’s the maximum I can have, because of the short notice.’
‘Minty, why are you going to Los Angeles for five days?’
‘To meet someone.’
‘Who?’
‘A man.’
‘But there must be lots of nice men you can meet in London.’
‘No, this is one I’ve already met. He’s called Joe. But he ran off.’
‘Not another one,’ said Mum.
‘Well, he was due to go anyway, but because we’d had an argument and I was horrible to him, he didn’t tell me a) when he was going and b) where he was staying. But he’s terribly nice and Laurie –’
‘Who’s Laurie?’
‘Oh, Laurie’s a vet and part-time male escort who’s keen on Amber.’
‘Oh, darling, I can’t keep up with all these changes in your life.’
‘Yes but, Mum, you never ask, that’s why. Anyway, Joe’s gone to the States, quite possibly for months, and I just wanted to …’ What? What did I want to do? ‘ …I just wanted to try and put it right,’ I said. And when I said that, a lump came to my throat, and I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. ‘Oh, Mummy, he’s the nicest man I’ve ever met.’
‘Darling, you said that about Dominic to begin with.’
‘Yes, yes, I know I did. But it was a lie. I was kidding myself. Mum, I’m so glad I didn’t marry Dominic.’
‘Well, so am I, darling. I always thought he was a rotter, and he’d have been the most useless spouse!’
‘And Joe’s just …lovely,’ I said. ‘He’s real. And I’ve made such a mess of it with him. That’s why I need to go to the States. So will you look after the animals? There’s loads of cat food – Perdita’s pregnant, by the way.’
‘Oh, heavens!’
‘But they’re not due until mid May so you don’t have to worry. And we’ll put a litter-tray down for her and we’ll leave out a comprehensive selection of CDs for Pedro.’
‘Minty, if I’m going to do this, I’d rather stay in the flat, if you don’t mind. It’ll be much easier than all the to-ing and fro-ing,’ she went on. ‘And, to be frank, cat litter is so disgusting. I just don’t think I could face it, so I’d rather be there to let her out.’
‘Of course you can stay here, Mum. That’s fine. If Dad doesn’t mind.’
‘I don’t think he’ll even notice,’ Mum replied. ‘We hardly ever see each other these days.’
‘Well, whose fault’s that?’
‘But I have so many commitments, darling. Do you know we raised £14,000 for the Blue Cross last night.’
‘That’s great, Mum, but you have a commitment to Dad too.’
‘These charities are depending on me, you know.’
‘Are they, Mum?’ I said, wearily.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘In any case your father seems so distracted these days.’
‘Does he?’
‘We rarely get to talk to one another.’
‘Still, you went to the ballet together not long ago, didn’t you?’ I said. ‘That must have been nice.’
There was an odd silence. It lasted for about three or four seconds. And then Mum said, ‘Did you say ballet?’
‘Yes, ballet. I saw Dad waiting for you outside Sadler’s Wells.’
‘Minty,’ said Mum very slowly, ‘I haven’t been to Sadler’s Wells for years.’
May
‘This is outrageous!’ said Amber to the woman at the Virgin Atlantic check-in two days later. ‘I shall write to Richard Branson personally on my return.’
‘I’m sorry, madam,’ the woman replied, ‘but I’m afraid we don’t give complimentary upgrades to Upper Class on request.’
‘But I guarantee to give Virgin Airlines a very prominent and favourable mention in my new novel,’ Amber went on. The woman smiled as she fastened labels to our luggage, but said nothing. ‘However,’ Amber continued with an air of slight menace, ‘if you don’t oblige, I shall have no choice but to mention some other carrier instead. Pan Am, for example. It’s up to you,’ she added with a shrug.
‘Thank you, madam. But I’m afraid Pan Am no longer exists. I do hope you have a good flight,’ she added pleasantly. ‘Here’s your boarding card.’
‘Now look here –’
‘Please, Amber,’ I said, dragging her away. ‘Economy class is fine. It’s an eleven-hour flight, so we can just watch a film. Or three. Or you could read a few books, or work on your new plot.’
‘Yes,’ said Amber, ‘that’s what I’ll do. I’ll work on my synopsis.’ Which is partly why she wanted to come to LA with me – to do some research for her tenth novel.
‘This one’s going to be a new departure,’ she said enthusiastically as we waited for our own departure in Duty Free. She sprayed a tester of First on to her wrist. ‘It’ll be unlike anything I’ve ever done before.’
‘I thought all your books are unlike anything you’d ever done before?’
‘No – this one’s going to be really different: detective fiction.’
‘Isn’t that a little bit …commercial, Amber?’ I ventured as we wandered through the dizzyingly long glass corridors towards Gate 2.
‘Oh no, it’s going to be literary detective fiction, Minty. It’s going to be tough. Terse. Ironic. Realistic. Think Raymond Chandler. Think Dashiell Hammett. Think Philip K. Dick.’
‘Quite hard-boiled, then.’
‘Yes,’ she said animatedly, ‘hard-boiled, that’s it.’
It’ll probably be roasted too.
‘It’s going to be very noirish,’ she added, as we found our seats on the plane. ‘It’ll look at the seamy side of Los Angeles, the gritty underbelly of a city racked by riots and earthquakes, forest fires and droughts. It’s going to be about life on the fault line. Life on the teetering edge.’
‘Won’t that be quite hard to research, in five days, from a luxury hotel in Beverly Hills?’
‘No. We’ll hire a car, Minty, and explore. Now, don’t worry,’ she added quickly. ‘I don’t mind driving.’
‘Oh great!’ I said. Oh God.
‘Yes, we’ll cruise around town like Philip Marlowe in The Long Goodbye.’ More like James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. ‘And I’m sure we’ll find Joe,’ she added reassuringly. ‘I’ll practise my detective skills and help you sleuth him down.’
I didn’t think Amber could sleuth down a missing skyscraper, but I didn’t like to say. It was very nice of her to come with me to the States and to pay for the whole thing too. And when I’d said we could just stay somewhere fairly modest, she had emitted a derisive snort.
‘We shall stay at the Four Seasons,’ she announced.
‘The Four $ea$on$,’ I repeated incredulously.
‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’ve just had a good little run with the stock market. Some rather nice divi-cheques. Anyone who’s anyone stays there,’ she added. ‘It’ll be stuffed with film people, and they might help you find Joe.’
‘We don’t have any leads,’ I said miserably as the stewardess brought us two trays of good plane food.
‘What about his mobile phone?’
‘I’ve tried to ring him on it, but it doesn’t seem to work.’
‘How odd.’
‘Maybe it’s not connected for the States.’
‘Why would he bother to take it with him if it wasn’t? Did you ask his editor where he is?’
‘Yes – he doesn’t know. This is going to be a wild-goose chase,’ I added with a bitter sigh.
‘Don’t worry, Minty,’ said Amber yet again. ‘I just know we’re going to find him. It’s nice of Auntie Dympna to look after Perdita and Pedro,’ she added happily as she sipped her wine.
Yes, it was. But I couldn’t help wondering who was ‘looking after’ Dad. Some other woman, no doubt. Oh, fuck. Now I understood why he’d been behaving so shiftily outside Sadler’s Wells.
‘I’m really looking forward to this trip,’ Amber declared. �
�And you know, Minty, I’ve got a funny feeling that it’s going to be money well spent.’
Hadn’t I heard that somewhere before? I wondered, as I put on my eye mask and dropped off to sleep.
The setting sun glanced off the wing of our 747 as the plane banked steeply into LA. We staggered, exhausted, into the airport, grabbed our bags off the carousel and joined the long queue for Immigration. And we waited. And waited. And then we waited some more.
‘My God!’ said Amber after we’d been standing there for forty minutes. ‘It took us eleven hours to get here and it’s going to take us another eleven to get in.’
‘Purpose of visit, ma’am?’ enquired the uniformed woman customs officer, twenty-five minutes later.
‘I’m looking for a man,’ I replied crisply. Jet-lag and the interminable delay had made me sharp.
‘Well, I hope you find one, ma’am,’ she replied as she stamped my passport. ‘Have a nice day, now.’
‘Thank you, and I hope you have a pleasant and successful day yourself.’
Then we stepped into a yellow taxi, drove to the hotel in the gathering dusk, and slept. Because of the time difference, it was dawn when I woke. I stood on the balcony and watched the sun come up in a scarlet blaze of underlit cloud. Now I could see the city spread before me, in a shallow bowl, enclosed by a mountainous ridge. The tall feathery palms stood up like swizzle sticks in a glass of Martini, and the distant cars glittered in the rising sun as though they were waves in a shining sea. Out there, somewhere, was Joe. I didn’t know where. I hadn’t a clue. But he was there. ‘To disappear enhances,’ wrote Emily Dickinson. And it was true – Joe’s disappearance made him seem all the more desirable. He’d upped and he’d gone. And he hadn’t told me that he was going, because I’d been such a beast. It’s all my fault, I said to myself, again. And I had five days in which to put things right.
‘Contacts,’ said Amber, as we locked our room and headed down the corridor to the lift. ‘That’s what we need – contacts.’
‘Well, have you got any?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she said, pressing the ‘Down’ button. ‘But I’ve got a plan. What we do is go to all the places in LA where the scriptwriters and movie people go.’