Who was this guy?
Evelyn decided to find out, swung her legs over her lounger and walked to the balustrade of her terrace. Deep below her glittered the enormous pool of the Stellar Island Hotel. Some people were already diving into the turquoise-coloured water, and Heidrun Ögi and Finn O’Keefe were arriving at that very moment. Evelyn wondered whether she should go down and join them, but suddenly the very thought of conversation made her feel ill, and she turned away.
That was happening to her more and more often. A talk-show queen who was allergic to talking. She fetched herself a drink and waited for the attack to pass. O’Keefe followed Heidrun to the pool bar, where a stout man of about sixty was explaining something, waving his arms around as he did so. He was enjoying the attention of a sporty-looking couple who were listening agog, laughing comfortably as one, saying ‘Good heavens!’ at the same time and looking like the kind of people who rode around on tandems.
‘It was extreme, of course,’ the older man said, and laughed. ‘Completely over the top. And that’s exactly why it was good!’
There was something craggily sublime about his features, powerful Roman nose, chiselled chin. His wiry dark hair, run through with silver, was greased back, his tousled moustache matched his finger-thick eyebrows.
‘What was over the top?’ Heidrun asked, giving him a kiss.
‘The musical,’ the man said, and looked at O’Keefe. ‘And who is this, mein Schatz?’
Unlike Heidrun he spoke smooth, almost unaccented English. The odd thing was that he said ‘my darling’ in German. Heidrun came and stood next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.
‘Don’t you ever go to the cinema?’ she said. ‘This is Finn O’Keefe.’
‘Finn – O’Keefe—’ The wrinkles on his high forehead formed into question marks. ‘Sorry, but I—’
‘He played Kurt Cobain.’
‘Oh! Ah! Brilliant! Great to meet you. I’m Walo. Heidrun’s seen all your films. I haven’t, but I remember Hyperactive. Incredible achievement!’
‘I’m delighted.’ O’Keefe smiled. He had no particular problems meeting people, except that he always found the rigmarole of mutual introductions horribly tiring. Shaking hands. Telling someone you’d never seen before how brilliant it was to meet them here. Ögi introduced the blonde at his side as Mimi Parker, a tanned all-American girl with dark eyebrows and perfect teeth. Presumably Californian, O’Keefe thought. California seemed to have registered a patent on this kind of girl who smelled of the sun.
‘Mimi designs incredible clothes,’ Ögi raved. ‘If you wear one of her pullovers you’ll never need to see a doctor again.’
‘Really! How come?’
‘Very simple.’ Mimi was about to say something, but Ögi talked over her. ‘It measures your bodily functions! Let’s say you have a heart attack, it sends your medical records to the nearest hospital and calls the ambulance.’
‘But it can’t perform the operation itself?’
‘It has transistors woven into it,’ Mimi explained seriously. ‘The item of clothing is effectively a computer with a million sensors. They form connections with the wearer’s body, but they can also be connected to any external system.’
‘Sounds scratchy.’
‘We weave Marc’s quantum chips into them. They don’t scratch at all.’
‘May I take the opportunity,’ the fair-haired man said and held out his right hand. ‘Marc Edwards.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Look.’ Mimi pointed to her bathing costume. ‘Even in this there are about two million sensors. Among other things they absorb my body heat and turn it into electricity. Of course you only get very small amounts of usable energy from a human power station, but it’s enough to warm the costume up if necessary. The sensors react to the temperature of the air and water.’
‘Interesting.’
‘I’ve seen Hyperactive, by the way,’ Heidrun said in a bored voice. ‘Finn grew up with guitars and pianos. He even has his own band.’
‘Had.’ O’Keefe raised his hands. ‘I had a band. We don’t meet up that much these days.’
‘I thought the film was great,’ said Edwards. ‘You’re one of my favourite actors.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Your singing was great in it. What was your band called again?’
‘The Black Sheep.’
Edwards pulled a face as if he was inches away from remembering the Black Sheep and all their hits. O’Keefe smiled.
‘Believe me, you’ve never heard of us.’
‘He hasn’t either.’ Ögi put his arm around his shoulders and lowered his voice. ‘Between ourselves, young man, they’re all kids. Bet you they don’t even know who Kurt Cobain was.’
Mimi Parker looked uncertainly from one to the other.
‘To be quite honest—’
‘You mean he really existed?’ Edwards said in amazement.
‘A historical figure.’ Ögi took out a cigar, cut it and set the tip thoughtfully alight. ‘Tragic hero of a generation infatuated with suicide. A romantic in nihilist’s clothing. Weltschmerz, a latent longing for death, nothing you wouldn’t find in Schubert and Schumann as well. Brilliant exit. How did you prepare for the part, Finn?’
‘Well—’
‘Did you try to be him?’
‘He’d have had to pump himself full of drugs,’ said Edwards. ‘That guy Cobain was permanently stoned.’
‘Perhaps he did,’ said Ögi. ‘Did you?’
O’Keefe shook his head with a laugh. How could he explain in a few words to a pool party how you played Kurt Cobain? Or anyone else?
‘Isn’t that called method acting?’ Mimi asked. ‘The actor gives up his identity for his character in the film, weeks and months before filming. He basically subjects himself to a kind of brainwashing.’
‘No, it’s not quite like that. I have a different way of working.’
‘How’s that?’
‘More mundanely. It’s a job, you understand. Just a job.’
Mimi looked disappointed. O’Keefe felt Heidrun’s violet gaze settling on him. He began to feel uncomfortable. Everyone was staring at him.
‘You were talking about a musical,’ he said to Ögi, to creep away from the focus of interest. ‘Which one would that be?’
‘Nine Eleven,’ said Ögi. ‘We saw it in New York last week. You?’
‘Not yet.’
‘We’re thinking of going,’ said Edwards.
‘Do that.’ Ögi gave off swirls of smoke. ‘As I said, extreme stuff! They could have let it drown in piety, but of course the material needs a powerful production.’
‘The set’s supposed to be amazing,’ Mimi raved.
‘Holographic. You think you’re sitting in the middle of it.’
‘I like the tune with the cop and the girl. It’s always on the radio. “Into Death, My Child”…’
She started humming a tune. O’Keefe hoped he wouldn’t have to express an opinion on the matter. He hadn’t seen Nine Eleven, and had no intention of doing so.
‘The slushy numbers on their own don’t justify a visit,’ Ögi snorted. ‘Yes, Jimeno and McLoughlin are constantly busy, and so are their wives, but it’s mostly worth it for the effects. When the planes come, you can’t believe it! And the guy who sings Osama bin Laden. He’s really OTT.’