Alexandra, Gone (14 page)

Rose was standing outside when she passed.

“You look like a whore,” she said.

“I plan to act like one,” Elle said.

“Well, at least no one can say you’re a tease,” Rose said, and she headed indoors.

Leslie had spent the week in and out of the hospital having tests to ensure that she was healthy enough to have her breasts and womb removed. She remarked on the irony of the situation to one of the nurses who, having been on her feet for twelve hours straight, wasn’t interested in irony—all she cared about was getting the necessary bloods so that she could move on to the next patient and so on until her shift was over.

Jim had asked Leslie if she wanted him to go with her, but she had politely and firmly told him no. He had a job and a life of his own, and it wasn’t as though she hadn’t been going to medical checkups on her own for the past eighteen years. She was in the waiting area reading a pamphlet on reconstructive surgery and picking at some trail mix when a tall, bald man in his late forties sat down beside her. He nodded hello and opened a newspaper. They both sat reading for ten minutes or so before he closed his newspaper and asked her if she had the time.

She looked at her watch. “Just after three,” she said.

He sighed. “I’ve been here since seven this morning.”

“Hell,” she said.

“Hell,” he agreed, and he smiled at her a big wide smile and she wondered how he could smile with such warmth and how he could carry himself with such cheer when it was obvious he had cancer and was going through chemotherapy.

“I’m Mark,” he said, and he put out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Leslie,” she said, and she shook his hand.

“Are you a patient or family/friend?”

“Patient. Are you starting chemo or near the end?”

“That obvious?” he said, rubbing his freshly shaved head.

“It’s not the bald head—it’s the color of your skin.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “Off-putting.”

“Familiar,” she said.

“Do you mind me asking why you’re here, seeing as your hair is your own and your skin looks good too?”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Leslie thought about lying or at the very least avoiding the question, but she didn’t know the man, and aside from Jim she hadn’t spoken to anyone about her radical plans, and so she was honest.

“I’m having my breasts and womb removed in a few months to avoid getting cancer.”

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“To avoid getting cancer?”

“I have the gene.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’ll get it.”

“I’ve lost my entire family and my youth to cancer. I’m not willing to lose any more.”

“Except your breasts and womb.”

She laughed. “Except for them.”

“Well,” he said, “I’ve lost both balls.”

Leslie was as taken aback by his honesty as he had been by hers. “Ouch,” she said.

He grinned at her. “Could be worse. I could have my balls and no penis.”

“True,” she said. “That would suck.”

They both laughed.

“Yes, it would,” he said.

“So how does that work?”

“You mean sex?”

She couldn’t believe that she was engaging in such an intimate conversation with a stranger, but she nodded her head to indicate that yes, she did mean sex.

“I can still orgasm, apparently, haven’t tried it yet. Obviously I can’t get anyone pregnant, and I’ll need to inject hormones every few weeks.”

“Ah, it’ll be pretty much the same for me.”

“I see you’re thinking about reconstruction,” he said, looking at the pamphlet.

She nodded.

“They offered me fake balls.”

“Really? Did you take them?”

“No, too weird.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she said.

“Then just take one step at a time,” he said.

After a pause she said, “Mark?”

“Yes?”

“Are you married?”

“Divorced.”

“Kids?”

“Two boys, twelve and ten.”

“Is the cancer gone?”

“That’s what they tell me,” he said.

“Would you like to go to an art exhibition with me tomorrow night?”

“I’d love to,” he said.

“Good,” she said, “excellent.”

They swapped numbers and soon after that she was called into her doctor’s office, and the doctor couldn’t help but wonder why she had a stupid grin on her face while he was talking her through the radical procedures she was facing.

Tom fought with Jeanette on the phone in his car. She was pissed off that he wouldn’t allow her to attend the Missing Exhibition, and he couldn’t understand why on earth she’d want to be there or how she thought her presence would be appropriate.

“It’s appropriate because I’m the one sleeping beside you in bed.”

“That is why it is so very inappropriate, Jeanette.”

“It’s not like I’m going to advertise myself. I’ll stay quiet; I’ll bring Davey and I’ll pretend you’re my friend and he’s my boyfriend.”

“No.”

“So that’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Don’t expect me to be waiting for you when you get home.”

“Okay.”

“Bastard!”

She hung up and Tom drove on, wondering how he had allowed himself to get into such a stupid and dangerous situation with a young woman who had a schoolgirl crush on him.
I’m so sorry, Alexandra. If only you’d come home to me, this nightmare would end.

He pulled up outside his mother-in-law’s house and beeped. She appeared at the door, and he ran up the path and put his arm around her shoulders.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

She smiled at him. “You’re a liar but I appreciate it.”

Alexandra’s father had decided not to attend the exhibition. He didn’t feel comfortable in arty circles. Instead he would spend the evening as he always did, with his friends in the pub avoiding his new reality. Alexandra’s sister, Kate, and brother, Eamonn, were attending with their spouses and traveling separately.

Tom helped Breda into the car and walked around to his side, got in, and took off down the road.

“It’s very exciting,” Breda said, “all this good work in Alexandra’s name.”

Tom agreed. Jane had been very pleased with the media interest, and when Elle had insisted that any proceeds earned would go to the National Missing Persons Bureau, it had been a major coup for them and a news story worthy of reporting. The fact that Jack Lukeman was taking time out of his busy touring schedule to come and play led to further interest, including a TV magazine show that wished to film a song from Jack and an interview with Tom. He was pretty sick at the notion of having to talk to a camera, but Breda assured him he would be great and that Alexandra would be so proud.

Jane was waiting at the door. She greeted Tom and Breda with hugs and ushered them inside. They were early enough to see the pieces hanging from the wall without interruption. Breda stood in front of the painting of her daughter for the longest time. Silent tears rolled down her hollow cheeks. Tom took her hand.

“I still feel her,” she said. “She’s still with us.”

“I know,” Tom said, but he didn’t know, and every time he ventured into the dark place, he left it hoping she was gone rather than enduring ongoing torture.

Leslie appeared with Mark a few minutes later. Jane welcomed them both and then asked Mark to excuse Leslie for a minute.

Leslie followed her into the back room.

“What is it with you and bald men?” Jane said.

“Is that why I’m back here?”

“No. Elle’s missing. I was hoping you had talked to her today.”

“No. I haven’t. I don’t believe it.”

“The press is relying on her being here.” Jane was starting to freak out. “I can’t let everybody down now.”

“You’re not letting anyone down, bloody Elle is. I’ll kill her.”

Just then Elle appeared in her short dress and high heels. “Kill who?”

Jane let out a sigh of relief. “Where were you?”

“I have no idea. On a boat and a long way from land, if that helps.”

“You nearly gave Jane a heart attack,” Leslie said.

“Sorry, Jane. Sorry, Leslie.”

“Don’t be smart,” Leslie said.

Elle hugged her. “I met a boy and I liked him. Of course he’s gone now, sailing away on the high seas as we speak.”

“Well, good,” Leslie said, “good for you. Now go home, change out of the dominatrix gear, and have a wash while you’re at it.”

Elle saluted, and Tom was given the job of driving her home to wash and change before the exhibition.

Jane introduced Breda to Leslie and explained who she was and what she had done to help them find Alexandra. Breda was very grateful, Leslie humbled, and Mark incredibly impressed by his altruistic new friend.

Then Eamonn, Kate, and their spouses arrived, and Jane welcomed them and offered them wine and watched as they migrated toward the picture of their sister. Eamonn and Kate stood together, shoulders touching, looking into Alexandra’s eyes. When they turned to face the crowd, Kate’s eyes were damp and Eamonn looked like he was in physical pain.

Mark wasn’t drinking, so Leslie merely sipped on a glass of wine. She asked him if he felt well enough to stay, and he said that he did. She told him she wouldn’t ask him again so if he wanted to go he had a mouth and he could tell her. He liked that she didn’t fuss over him. Dominic appeared with Kurt and Irene in tow. Jane was delighted to see her son and wondered what had brought about his sudden interest in one of Elle’s exhibitions.

“What you and Elle are doing for your friend, well, it’s really cool, Mum,” he said.

“Yeah, Jane,” Irene said. “Every girl could do with a friend like you.”

Jane was taken aback. “Thank you.”

She was still a little miffed, as Kurt had known about the show for months and he’d never seemed particularly interested or impressed before.

“Dad showed us pictures of you and Alexandra when you were our age,” Kurt said.

“Can’t believe you were a Megadeth fan,” Irene said. “I love Megadeth.”

Jane looked at Dominic. “What’s this?” she asked, feigning a smile.

“Your mother wasn’t half sexy in her day,” said Dominic.

“Too much, Dad,” Kurt said, “seriously, too, too much.”

Irene explained that Dominic had shown them the pictures of the Megadeth concert in Antrim that they’d gone to one year before Kurt was born. Jane remembered the pictures: she was smoking and straddling Dominic, and Alexandra was drinking from a bottle of cider and giving the camera the finger.

Kurt nudged his mother and grinned at her and followed Irene to the drinks counter. They picked up a glass of wine each and raised them to her. She turned to Dominic and shook her head.

“What were you thinking?” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Showing them those pictures.”

“Why wouldn’t I? They are part of our past.”

“Kurt sees me and you and cigarettes and booze and—”

“And he’ll run off and get his girlfriend pregnant?”

“Don’t make fun of me!”

“I would never do that. Look, all I’m saying is your life isn’t his life, so just relax.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about.” Jane pointed to Irene, who was rubbing the back of Kurt’s neck and whispering in his ear. “It’s her.”

“What will be, will be, Janey.”

“Easy for you to say,” she said, and went to talk to a representative of the National Missing Persons Bureau.

Jack Lukeman arrived on schedule. He was dressed head to toe in black and his long coat swung behind him. Leslie greeted him with a hug and introduced him to Jane.

He put his hand out and she shook it. He cupped her hand, tipped his head to the side, and viewed her as though he was viewing a painting. She blushed. He grinned and let her hand go. “Nice to meet you, Jane.”

Jane told him how lovely it was to meet him and about the many times she’d seen him play, the where and when, how she had gotten there, whom she had gone with, and how fantastic each show had been. Jack nodded as though he cared.

Leslie sighed and shook her head. “Jesus, Jane, as if he gives a shit.”

Jack laughed a giddy, dirty laugh and put his arm around Leslie.

“Sorry,” Jane said.

“You’ll have to excuse her,” he said. “She doesn’t mix well.”

Later Jack and his guitarist played an acoustic set, surrounded by paintings of the Missing, to a captivated crowd. They sat on chairs under a painting of Alexandra. The guitar player strummed gently and Jack leaned forward, closed his eyes, and sang “Metropolis Blue” into his microphone.

Sometimes I ask myself how did I get here?

Country boy with no change for his fares and city girls are so expensive.

I wanna go back to the girl that I love, I would go back there if I could.

I know I should. I need you. My lips ache for your kiss.

I need you and not this hungriness.

I just spend my time hanging around here with the boys, drinking whiskey drinking beer,

Fool I was thought adventure was near, those easy thrills are so elusive I fear.

My heart sings for the one that I love. I would go back there if I could, I know I should.

I need you, my tune lacks your melody.

I need you, my eyes no longer see.

I am floating like an autumn leaf, on the whim of a breeze I float

I would give almost anything, a thousand jewels, an enchanted view, a billion poems but I’m a fool.

I can barely write a note but we live in hope. I need you for all eternity.

I need you, you are you my destiny. I need you. I need you.

The audience was silent as though in church and clapped and cheered only when Jack opened his eyes and smiled. Tom wiped tears from his eyes. The TV cameras rolled. Elle was back, clean and in a subdued black outfit, standing quietly and respectfully to the side with Jane. When Jack had finished his set and the photographers were snapping and the crowd was clapping, she leaned in toward Jane and whispered, “We’ve done well, Janey.”