Back at the flat, after the rain, Huey and Tess have made it up again. I was expecting them to be in a state of depression or madness but everything appears to be OK. The snake is safe, the apartment is quiet, cla.s.sical music plays softly from the radio. The two of them are curled up on the sofa and Huey is feeding Tess green grapes. Huey is talking about an acting cla.s.s he used to take in New York City and Tess is reminiscing about her days at cookery school: she was top of her cla.s.s, she was a natural, she was learning to cook cordon bleu.

'You two get wet? What about that storm, wasn't it amazing?'

'Yeah,' I say. 'It really was.'

The sky is perfectly clear now. The sun came out the second the rain stopped, and all the clouds rolled away like a heavy curtain.

'Tropical storms, that's what they're like,' Tess says. 'Sudden, short and intense. Don't you love how they clean up the atmosphere?'

'Yeah,' says Huey. 'I do.'

They're so relaxed together the two of them, they don't seem tense or anxious in the least. The shape of them, all loose and liquid, it makes me and Michael look stiff. Tess oozes out of the cushions and sits up and Huey rests his chin on her shoulder.

'So,' she coughs. 'There's something I wanted to tell you both. I've booked myself in. This Monday. I'm going into the hospital with Orla.'

'For the surgery?'

She nods.

'Huey's right behind me, aren't you Huey?'

Huey smiles and strokes Tess's b.o.o.bs.

'Well...if that's what you've decided.'

'I have.'

'If you think it'll make you happy?'

'I do. Plus, it'll help with my career. If you've got a singing voice as weak and screechy as I have, you need all the help you can get to be a star.'

Huey smiles. Tess gets into her stride.

'The thing with plastic surgery,' Tess says, knowingly. 'Is that you have to be sure you're doing it for the all right reasons. You can't do it to please someone else, and I'm not. I'm having this operation for me me.'

I scowl at her. I gesture towards Huey.

'No Claire, you're wrong, I was too. I'm not doing it for Huey, any more. We talked about it, didn't we, baby? And he couldn't care less what I look like. He appreciates me just the way I am. It's just something I want to do all for myself. To make me feel more...um...'

'Confident?'

'Right, Huey, exactly. That's right.'

'You're not worried about the risks?'

'What risks?'

'They could burst, they could look bad. They could leak out from under your armpit and poison you.'

'They don't do that any more, that's all hype. And Doctor Roland is an amazing plastic surgeon.'

'Dr Roland?'

'He does s.e.x changes mostly. But if he can make t.i.ts for a guy then he has to be able to do a good job on me, right? I already have them in place.'

'How much is it costing?'

'A thousand dollars.'

'Isn't that...a bit cheap?'

'Uh...I'm getting a deal. Through Orla. It's sort of...uh...at a discount.'

I squat down on a cushion; I don't know what to say. Tess switches her attention to someone else.

'What do you think Michael? You're awful quiet.'

'Me?' says Michael, not bothering to look at her. 'I think it will hurt.'

'I'm good with pain. I have a high tolerance threshold.'

'Well, then I'm sure you'll do OK.'

He stretches his arms above his head and begins to peel off his damp shirt.

'That's it? That's all you're going to say to her?'

'What do you want me to say? It's only a b.o.o.b job. Thousands of women get b.o.o.b jobs every day.'

'She doesn't need it, she's fine as she is.'

Michael holds up his hands; he doesn't want to get into it.

'So, Monday at noon,' says Tess, definitively. 'If you're wondering where we are, that's where we'll be. Huey too, he's going to come along with me.'

'That's right. On Monday. The both of us. We'll both be at the hospital. That's where we'll be.'

'You're sure about this?'

'We're sure.'

'I can't say anything to change your mind?'

'Nope. We have it all booked.'

There's nothing to be done. There's nothing more I can say. Huey and Tess go back to their grapes; Michael and I go and take a shower.

'So, do you want to grab some food before we drive out to the park?'

'Definitely, definitely. And then I need to stop off at the Wheel for an hour or so.'

'The Wheel? What's the Wheel?'

'That jazz club we ended up at, after we'd checked out your dad's hotel.'

I stop. I barely remember it. I was lost that evening, I can't even picture what it looked like.

'But it's a late place isn't it, and we'd have to be out of there by ten?'

'You said we didn't need to leave until eleven.'

'Well, at a push. But I'd rather get there early. It's...important.'

Michael scrubs himself down with a towel: thinking, thinking; spending a long time on his toes.

'Michael, is something wrong?'

'No. Nothing's wrong.'

'What's going on? Is there something going on?'

'I have an audition tonight.'

He says it out straight; just like that.

'It might not be anything, but it might be something. Paid work. Out here. A month or two's residency. At this club and a couple of others.'

His toes. He's still drying his toes.

'When did you...when was it arranged?'

'Huey introduced me to the music booker when we were down there. I just ran into him on the beach. We talked, I bought him a cigar.'

'Why didn't you say anything? You never said.'

'I'm saying it now.'

'Well...can't you audition for him tomorrow?'

'Can't do it...it has to be tonight.'

'Why?'

'Claire...it just does.'

His voice is terse, the beginnings of angry. He notices, he tries to calm down.

'I'm sorry,' he says. 'But this guy, he's quite important. I can't p.i.s.s him off now, it's all been put in place.'

I want to ask how the music booker in a dingy Miami night club can be important to someone like Michael. I want to ask him why he arranged to audition tonight and why he can't put things off for one more day. But I don't, because he's looking at me like I shouldn't.

'So...how long will it take?'

'An hour, tops. I have to be in there by nine.'

It's cutting it fine. We both know it's cutting it fine.

'If it takes any longer, I'll come on and meet you later at the park. You take the car, I'll ride up later in a taxi.'

Is this what he wants? Is this what he's angling for? Does he want me to do this without him? I feel clammy from the shower and flushed from the heat. I don't want to go out to that park all alone. I don't want to be the one wandering around the grounds with the smudged photocopies tucked under my arm while everyone else has their eyes glued on the sky. It feels foolish all of a sudden. Difficult. Unlikely.

'Michael, I don't want to f.u.c.k this up.'

'You won't. Why would you f.u.c.k this up?'

'I have to bring him home.'

'You will. You will will.'

'People are depending on me.'

'And so they should.'

He puts an arm around me. Ruffles my hair.

'Come on now. This is a long shot. It'll probably come to nothing. Who knows?'

I realise he's talking about the audition.

'So why bother going, then? It's just another club gig, you can get one of those any time.'

He frowns.

'I know it's bad timing, but it had to be tonight, and I promise I'll be as quick as I can.'

'You'll come on afterwards, if you're late?'

'Absolutely. No question. Where would be a good place to meet, do you think?'

Ten past ten, I'm sitting in a coffee shop two blocks down from the Wheel. If I'm not back by ten go without me, he said. I'll meet you by the entrance at midnight. There's going to be a lecture before the meteors start. There will probably be a stage or a lectern. Good, so we'll meet at the lectern. Or the entrance. Or the biggest telescope we can find. The central place, whatever that turns out to be. Don't worry. He'll find me. Relax.

Twenty past ten. Why can't I get up? I've finished my coffee. I should pay.