At the same time, Mo came out of the next room, a cigar in his mouth, patting the pockets of his vest in the time-honored gesture of a man looking for a light.
‘Look at us,’ said Frank. ‘I never realized that we used to be so young.’
Mo frowned at the photograph and said, ‘I never realized that I used to be so handsome.’
‘That’s me. You’re the ugly one standing on the right.’
Mo picked a book of matches from Daphne’s desk and lit his cigar. ‘So that’s it? You came all the way into the office today just to make me feel grotesque? You could have made me feel equally bad by email. Hey, Daphne, who wrote Forty Years as a Lion-Tamer?’
‘I don’t know, Mo. Who wrote Forty Years as a Lion-Tamer?’
‘Claude Bottom.’
‘Is Lizzie in, too?’ Frank interrupted.
‘Sure . . . we’re both dedicated wage slaves; where else did you expect to find us? Actually, Lizzie’s come up with a great scenario for Dusty and Henry’s first gig. They start singing “Your Heating Chart” but the audience hate them so much they hook the entire dance hall up to a tractor and tow it into the river, so that it floats off downstream.’
‘You want some coffee, Mr Bell?’ asked Daphne.
In their main office, Lizzie was sitting at her PC with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth, typing wildly. Today she was wearing a bright-green satin pants suit with a frilly scarlet blouse. ‘Hi, Frank. How’s things? How’s the anonymous Astrid?’
‘“Nameless here for evermore,”’ said Mo, quoting Edgar Allan Poe.
‘You told Mo about Astrid?’ Frank asked Lizzie.
‘Of course she told me,’ said Mo. ‘Lizzie and me, we’re like brother and sister, except that we can’t be, because my parents had excellent taste and they would have drowned her at birth. I mean, look at her. Green suit, red blouse. Kermit the Frog cuts his carotid artery.’
Frank sat down at his desk. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but Astrid still refuses to tell me what her second name is, and when she leaves me in the morning she still won’t tell me where she’s going or how she’s going to be spending her time.’
‘You should thank the Lord,’ said Mo. ‘Every morning Naomi gives me a detailed breakdown of every store she’s going to hit, and just how much she’s going to hammer my credit cards.’
Frank sorted through his mail, but there was nothing particularly interesting, only promotional leaflets and bills. ‘Lizzie . . . Mo tells me you’ve sketched out something for Dusty and Henry’s first concert. Want to run it by me?’
Mo relit his cigar. ‘Great idea. But when it comes to the singing bits, sweetheart, don’t actually sing. Remember the last time you tried? The super thought we were gelding a warthog and called for the ASPCA.’
‘Shut up, Mo.’ Lizzie scrolled back on her PC screen, one eye closed against the smoke from her dangling cigarette. ‘By the way, Frank, I did your cards last night, like I promised.’
‘Oh, yes? When do I get my first Emmy?’
‘Actually, your cards were very strange. I tried the Tarot, but they refused to tell me anything. The Tarot can behave like that – not often, but now and then. They’re very huffy, as cards go. If they can’t work out what your future’s going to be, they come out all muddled and contradictory.’
Mo coughed and waved away a dense cloud of smoke. ‘Did it occur to you that they might have come out muddled and contradictory because Frank has a muddled and contradictory life in store for him?’
‘I know what you have in store for you, if you don’t put a sock in it.’
‘No,’ said Frank, ‘maybe Mo’s right. Maybe I am muddled. Maybe it’s time I made some clear decisions.’
‘You’re still grieving, Frank. Don’t forget that. This isn’t the right time to be making decisions. This is the time to be taking stock.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mo. ‘Go to Kansas and rustle some steers.’
Lizzie said, ‘I used the Garga cards in the end. They’re much more philosophical, not so grand guignol.’
‘The Garga cards, what are they?’
‘A deck of sixty-three cards devised by Garga, who was the father of Indian astrology. Each card is based on a different aspect of your star sign, so they can tell your fortune like a horoscope.’
‘I never heard of them.’
‘Well, they’re quite rare. But you must have heard of the Eighteen Fates. The Garga deck has eighteen destiny cards; nine that tell you the best that you can expect, and nine that tell you the worst.’
‘All right then, how did I make out? I know, I get a huge demand for unpaid tax and I win a date with Madonna.’
Mo shook his head. ‘Nobody deserves a date with Madonna.’
‘Actually,’ said Lizzie, ‘I brought your destiny cards into the office. I thought you might be interested to see them.’ She bent down and rummaged in her large red woven bag. Eventually she produced two oversized playing cards and laid them face-down on her desk. On the reverse side they were decorated with purple lotus flowers entwined with serpents and stars.
‘I didn’t bring the whole deck, but the minor cards said that you would be happy in your life and prosperous in your work, although you would have to go through many months of argument with somebody close to you – somebody you once loved but love no longer.’
‘That sounds like Margot.’
‘Well, it could be. But it could also mean the end of a business relationship.’
Mo clapped his hand to his head. ‘You’re going to fire me – I knew it! Well, don’t think for a moment that I won’t expect custody of your John Denver albums! Or weekend visitation rights, at least.’
‘What about the destiny cards?’ asked Frank.
Lizzie turned over the first one. ‘This is the best that can happen to you.’ It showed a walled garden, with rose bushes and a sundial. A smiling man was sitting on a bench, with a smiling woman sitting close to him. At their feet a child was kneeling, playing diabolo with two sticks and a top. The man was wearing an extraordinary hat with spiral horns, which made him look like a demon. His suit was embroidered with wide-open eyes. The woman was very calm and beautiful, draped in a sari that bared her right breast.
‘So what does this mean?’
‘This is the card of family reunion and forgiveness. Quite soon you are going to have all of your loved ones around you, and your life will be sheltered and sunny.’
‘Your dress sense will border on the hysterical,’ added Mo, ‘but you will be well supplied with Oriental poontang.’
Lizzie turned over the second card. This showed two warriors struggling with each other, so closely entwined that it was difficult to tell whose arms belonged to whom. One was handsome and stern, with a winged helmet. The other was scowling, with demonic eyes and a helmet in the shape of a giant beetle. The men were surrounded by tongues of flame, and the sky was filled with jagged flashes of lightning. It was only on closer inspection that Frank could see that both men were skewered by the same spear.
‘This is the worst that can happen to you,’ said Lizzie. ‘You will defeat the man you hate the most, but at a terrible cost to yourself.’
‘Either that,’ put in Mo, ‘or you will have a nasty accident at a gay pride cook-out.’
‘Mo,’ said Lizzie, ‘this is serious. The Garga cards are always very accurate. The only reason I don’t use them very often is because they take such a long time to lay out.’
‘Well, they may be accurate, but neither of these destiny cards means very much,’ Frank said. ‘I’m separated from Margot, Danny’s dead, and Pigs is postponed. So much for having all my loved ones around me and a prosperous life.’