Anybody Out There - Marian Keyes (35 page)

"Weather Channel says there's an eighty percent chance of thunderstorms this afternoon. That's
going to totally up the chances of Aidan talking to you."
"Really?" My insides clenched with almost unendurable excitement.
"Yes, really. Good luck. Call me."
I   was agitated and fidgety. I couldn't work, all I could do was pace and stare out the window.
Late afternoon, the sky abruptly became purple and swollen and the air hot and still.
Teenie looked up from her desk. "Looks like we're going to have a thunderstorm."
I was so overwhelmed, I had to sit down.
The sky got darker and darker and I willed it on, and when the first rumble of thunder rolled over
Manhattan, I let out a sigh of relief. Seconds later the sky cracked with lightning and the heavens
opened.
Listening to the hiss of torrential rain drenching the city, I was trembling with anticipation; even
my lips were. When my phone rang, I could barely talk. "Candy Grrrl publicity. Anna Walsh
speaking."
It was Nicholas again. "Can you believe it?" he exclaimed.
"A full moon and a thunderstorm," I said numbly. "What are the chances of the two happening
together?"
"Actually higher than you might think," he said. "You know how the full moon affects the
tides..."
"Stop, stop! You're killing it for me."
"Sorry."
The next phone call was from Mitch. "Good luck tonight."
"Can you believe the two happening together?" I asked.
"No. It's got to be a sign. Call me later if you want to talk."

E    very cab and car service in Manhattan had been commandeered and I got drenched running
from the subway to my apartment; my bag on my head provided no protection whatsoever. Not
that I cared; I was elated. I paced the floor, drying my hair with a towel and wondering what time
could be officially considered "after sunset."
When the storm had started, day had turned to night, but I worried that just because it looked
dark out there, it didn't necessarily mean it was "after sunset." The sun might have been scared
off by the thunder and lightning but mightn't have actually set.
I wasn't sure how much sense that made but the instructions Nicholas had sent were very
specific--the recording must not start until "after sunset"--and I couldn't afford to cut any
corners because it would be another four weeks until the next full moon.
Waiting to talk to Aidan was killing me but I forced myself to hold out until after ten; under
normal nonstormy circumstances, the sun would have definitely set by then.
I put the tape recorder up in the bedroom because it was far quieter than the front room, which
faced onto the street. The rumbles of thunder had stopped but the rain was still tumbling from the
sky.
To make sure everything was working fine, I said "testing, one, two" a couple of times. I felt like
a roadie but it had to be done, and at least I didn't say it in a stupid roadie way ("Dezdin, wan,
jew"), then I took a deep breath and spoke into the mike. "Aidan, please talk to me. I'm...um...
going to leave for a while, and when I come back, I'm really hoping to hear a message from
you."
Then I tiptoed out and sat in the front room, jiggling my foot, watching the clock. I'd give it an
hour.
When the time was up, I tiptoed back in; the tape had come to an end. I rewound it, then hit play,
all the time praying, Please Aidan, please Aidan, please have left a message, please Aidan,
please.
I jumped when I heard my own voice at the start, but after that came nothing. My ears were
straining to hear anything, anything at all. But all there was, was the hiss of silence.
Suddenly a high-pitched shriek came from the tape; faint but definitely audible. I recoiled with
fright. Oh my God, oh my God, was that Aidan? Why had he screamed?
My heart was thumping as fast as an express train. I put my ear close to the speaker; there were
other sounds, too. A muzzy jumble, but undeniably the sound of a voice. I caught a word that
might have been men then a ghostly oooooooh.

I couldn't believe it. It was happening, it was really happening, and was I ready for it? Blood was
pounding in my ears, my palms were drenched, and the follicles of my scalp were tingling. Aidan
had contacted me. All I had to do was listen hard enough to hear what he had to say. Thank you,
sweetheart, oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. The voice sounded more high-pitched than
Aidan's; I'd been told that this could happen and that I should slow the tape down in order to
hear better. However, that made it harder to pick out anything meaningful, so I put it back to
normal speed, every one of my muscles tensed, desperate to hear something that made sense. I
was still only getting a sound or a word here and there, when out of nowhere I caught an entire
sentence. There was no doubt as to what it was. I heard each word with crystal clarity.
It was, "Ab-so-lut-lee soooaaak-ing WET!"
It was Ornesto. Upstairs. Singing "It's Raining Men."
As soon as I knew what it was, all the other muzzy indistinct sounds instantly fell into place.
"Hall-ell-ooooooooooooooh-ya! It's raining men! La la la la la LA."
For a moment I felt nothing. Nothing at all. I'd never been in such a situation before and there
was no precedent.
I sat in the dark room for I couldn't tell you how long, then I went through to the living room and
automatically switched on the telly.
64
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Neris Hemming
I contacted you on July 6 so that I could speak to my husband, Aidan, who died. You confirmed
that I would have an appointment with Neris Hemming in ten to twelve weeks. It has been over
five weeks and I was wondering if it would be possible to have my appointment moved to an
earlier date? Or even if you could tell me what date it'll be on, it would probably make things a
little easier to bear.
Thank you in advance for your help,
Anna Walsh
Impulsively I dashed off a P.S.
I am sorry to badger you, I know Neris is very very busy but I'm in agony here.
A day later I received this reply.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Neris Hemming
It is not possible to move your appointment to an earlier date. At the moment it is not possible to
confirm your appointment date. You will be contacted approximately two weeks before the date.
Thank you for your interest in Neris Hemming.
Mute with frustration, I stared at the screen. I wanted to scream but it wouldn't do any good.
L    et's do something on Saturday night," Jacqui suggested.
"What? No two-personed poker matches lined up?"
"Stop." She giggled.
"You just giggled."
"No, I didn't."
"Jacqui, you did."
She thought about it. "Shit. Anyway, let's do something on Saturday night."
"Can't. I'm doing Super Saturday in the Hamptons."
"Oh! You lucky, lucky bitch."
That's what everyone said when they heard I was going.
"The dirt-cheap designer clothes!" Jacqui said. "The freebies! The parties afterward!"
But I was working at it. Working. And it was very different when you were working.
65
I  n the Friday-afternoon haze, Teenie and I sat on the Long Island Expressway in bumper-to-
bumper traffic. The car was crammed with boxes and boxes of product--in the trunk, on the
floor, on our laps. We had to bring it all ourselves because if we trusted it to couriers there was a
very real chance that it wouldn't arrive on time. (Or if we sent it the day before, there was a very

real chance it would get nicked.) But we weren't complaining: at least we hadn't been made to
go on the jitney like last year.
Mind you, breathing in the exhaust fumes of a million cars wasn't pleasant; one of the windows
had to be open because the three massive Candy Grrrl backdrops were too long to fit inside the
car.
"We'll have contracted lung cancer by the time we get there," Teenie remarked. "Ya ever seen a
smoker's lungs?"
"No."
"Oh, great!" With relish she launched into a gory description, until the driver--a large gentleman
with the yellow fingers of a cigarette lover--said, "Can you please shut up. I'm not feeling too
good."
I t was after nine by the time we got to the Harbor Inn. First we had to check Candace and
George's suite, to ensure that it was sufficiently fabulous and that champagne, a fruit basket,
exotic flowers, and handmade chocolates were awaiting their arrival. We tweaked a few
cushions, smoothed the comforter on the bed--leaving nothing to chance--then Teenie and I had
a late dinner and retired to our single cots for a few hours' sleep.
The following morning we were at the exhibition center by seven. The doors opened to the
public at nine and we needed to have a mini�Candy Grrrl store assembled by then.
Shortly after seven-thirty Brooke arrived; she'd been in the neighborhood since Wednesday,
staying with her parents in their mansion.
"Hey, you guys!" she said. "How can I help?"
Funnily enough, she meant it. Within seconds she was balanced on a stepladder, suspending the
six-foot-by-ten-foot backdrops from the ceiling. Then she figured out how to click together the
separate pieces of the black lacquer display table. Say what you like about rich people with a
sense of entitlement, but Brooke was extraordinarily practical and obliging.
Meanwhile, Teenie and I were unpacking box after box of product. We were promoting
Protection Racket, our new sun-cream range. It came in (fake) glass bottles, with (fake) cut-glass
stoppers, like old-fashioned perfume bottles, and the creams were an array from the pink
spectrum; the highest protection factor, thirty, was a deep burgundy color and the range went
through several, progressively lighter pinks, down to the lowest factor--four--in baby pink.
They were gorgeous.

We also had hundreds of Candy Grrrl T-shirts and beach bags to give away, countless goody bags
of trial sizes, plus every item of cosmetics we carried, for Candace to do her makeovers.
Just as we'd got the last lip gloss slotted into place on the display table, Lauryn arrived.
"Hey," she said, her poppy eyes moving in a restless quest to find something to criticize.
Disappointed, she could find nothing wrong, so she turned her attention to the crowds, scanning
like a hungry hunter.
"I'm just going to..."
"Yeah," Teenie muttered, when she'd gone. "You just go find some famous butt to suck."
This made Brooke squeal with laughter. "You guys are so funny!"
By ten o'clock, the place was thronged. There was a lot of interest in Protection Racket but the
question everyone asked was "Will it make my skin look pink?"
"Oh no," we said, again and again and again, "The color disappears on the skin."
"The color disappears on the skin."
"The color disappears on the skin."
"The color disappears on the skin."
Every now and then you'd hear a surprised posh voice say, "Oh, hello, Brooke! You're working,
how adorable! How's your mother?"
Trade was brisk in the giveaway beach bags (not so brisk in the T-shirts, but never mind) and all
three of us conducted dozens of miniconsultations: skin type, favorite colors, etc., before
pressing a load of suitable trial sizes on the woman in question.
We were smiling, smiling, smiling, and I was getting a horrible crampy feeling in my mouth, at
the hinge of my gums.
"Buildup of lactic acid," Teenie said. "Happens when a muscle is overworked."
I didn't feel the time passing until Teenie said, "Shit! It's nearly twelve. Where's the line of
women crazy to meet Candace?"
Candace was due at noon. We had advertised in the local press and it had been announced every
fifteen minutes on the P.A. system, but so far no one had shown.
"We gotta start badgering people," Teenie said. She loved the word badger. "If we don't have a
long line, our ass is grass."

"Okay, let's badger--" The words died in my mouth as over the chatter of the crowd came a
sudden shriek. It sounded like it came from a small child.
The three of us looked at one another. What was that?
"I think Dr. De Groot has just arrived," Teenie said.
66
L    auryn reappeared.
"To pretend to Candace and George she's been here all morning," Teenie said quietly.
"So what's happening?" Lauryn asked, roaming restlessly. She picked up a bottle of Protection
Racket, then asked as if it was the first time she'd ever seen it, "But won't it make people look
pink?"
In unison, Brooke, Teenie, and I chanted, "The color disappears on the skin."
"Jeez," she said, affronted. "No need to yell at me. Omigod!" She'd just noticed the lack of
queue. "Where are all the people?"
"We're just rounding them up."
"It's okay. Here they come."
I looked. Four women were approaching the stand. But instinctively I knew they hadn't come for
a Candy Grrrl makeover. They all had excellent cheekbones and jaw-length bobs, and were
dressed in sun-bleached shades of stone and sand. They looked like they'd stepped straight out of
a Ralph Lauren ad and turned out to be Brooke's mother, Brooke's two older sisters, and
Brooke's sister-in-law.
Then through the crowds I saw someone I knew, but for a moment I couldn't remember who she
was or where I knew her from. Then it clicked: it was Mackenzie! Wearing clean-faded blue
jeans and a man's white shirt, quite different from the glam rig-outs she'd worn to the spiritualist
place every Sunday, but definitely her. I hadn't seen her for three or four weeks now.
"Anna!" she said. "You look adorable! All that pink!"
It was strange, I barely knew her, but she felt like my long-lost sister. I flung myself into her
arms and we hugged tightly.
Naturally, being posh, Mackenzie knew all the Edisons, so there was a flurry of kisses and
inquiries after parents and uncles.

"How do you two guys know each other?" Lauryn asked, her eyes bulging suspiciously from me
to Mackenzie.
Mackenzie's eyes flashed a desperate signal. Don't tell them, please don't tell them.
Don't worry, I flashed back. I'm saying nothing.
We were saved from a mortifying "How do we know each other Anna?" "I don't know,
Mackenzie, how do we know each other?" shtick by the arrival of Queen Candace and King
George.
Candace--dressed in downbeat black--thought the Edison women and Mackenzie were the
crowd waiting to be made over by her.
"Well, hey." She almost smiled. "Better get started." She picked the obvious alpha female and
extended her hand. "Candace Biggly."
"Martha Edison."
"Well, Martha, would you care to take a seat for your makeover?" Candace indicated the silver-
and-pink vinyl stool. "You other ladies will just have to wait."
"Makeover?" Mrs. Edison sounded aghast. "But I only use soap and water on my skin."
Confused, Candace looked at an Edison sister, then at another one, then at the sister-in-law, and
seemed to notice that they were all clones of Martha.
"Soap and water," they parroted, shrinking away. "Yes, soap and water. Bye, Brooke, see you at
the Save the Moose picnic."
"Mackenzie," I said brightly. "How about you?"
"Hey, why not?" Obligingly she got up on the stool and introduced herself to Candace as
"Mackenzie McIntyre Hamilton."
George said to Candace, "Okay, babes, seeing as you're all set, I'll just take a stroll."
Teenie and I made steady eye contact, silently saying, "He's off to suck Donna Karan's butt."
Brooke intercepted the look and got a massive fit of the giggles. "You guys!"
"Shaddup," Lauryn hissed. "And start rounding up a crowd."
But it proved impossible: a high proportion of passersby were planning to attend the Save the
Moose picnic and didn't want to look overly made up for it. They were happy to accept a Candy
Grrrl beach bag and free samples but not to "take the chair."