Kookaburra Gambit

Fourteen

Fran leaned her diminutive form against the kitchen counter in an identical pose to yesterday's, when she'd been talking to my aunt. Her china-doll face with its creamy skin was really very appealing, I decided, at least when she wasn't scowling. At the moment she looked quite pleasant.

She chewed reflectively on the health-food bar she habitually ate for breakfast. "There's something about your aunt I like."

I looked moodily at my porridge. "Her worldview, perhaps."

"There's that," said Fran, "but there's something more. Something almost inexpressible." She paused to consider the matter, then said, "I have the same quality myself. No one's ever been able to define it."

"I'll have a lash at defining it," I said. "Any of these words strike a bell? Bleak, gloomy, doom-laden-"

"You never get it, Kylie," Fran snapped, a scowl darkening her face. "Frankly, you're not sensitive enough."

Melodie entered the kitchen in time to hear Fran's last words. "Speaking for myself, I feel particularly sensitive today," Melodie declared. "It's the final Refulgent callback." She shot a look at me. "In my lunchtime." I didn't comment.

"Jesus," said Fran, "if I hear the name Refulgent again, I'll scream." She pointed the remains of her health-food bar at Melodic "With you it's Refulgent this, Refulgent that. Get over it!"

"Larry, my agent, says I've got nothing to worry about," said Melodie, blithely ignoring Fran's outburst, "that my Date With Destiny is secure, but the artist in me can't help sense the texture of the situation."

"The texture of the situation? What the hell does that mean?" Fran barked.

"Only an actor would understand, but I'll try to explain," said Melodie. "In layman's terms, it's the quality of the moment, the essential thisness, if you like, the being there."

Fran gave her a long, disgusted look, then said to me, "She's all yours, Kylie," and strode out of the room.

Melodie gazed after her. "You'd think Fran would be more perceptive, wouldn't you, being married to a writer." She shook her head. "I don't know how Quip puts up with her." I didn't either.

"Oh," said Melodie, "before I forget, the answering service had a message for you from your aunt."

I braced myself. I really, really didn't want to see her today. I had my excuses ready but knew only too well how difficult Aunt Millie was to deflect.

"She's going to Disneyland," said Melodie.

"Disneyland?" This was astonishing. My Aunt Millie in the Happiest Place on Earth? Surely there'd be cosmic consequences when ultimate angst met ultimate gladness.

"She's taking a tour arranged through the hotel," said Melodie. "Be gone all day."

Hallelujah!

"Right-oh," I said.

Melodie helped herself to coffee then left me alone with my porridge. I looked over to where Ariana and I had been sitting at the counter last night. Where I'd kissed her.

I could re-create vividly the texture of that situation, the quality of that moment. I'd kissed Ariana, and she'd kissed me back. Her lips had opened beneath mine. About this there was no doubt. I grew warm at the thought.

But then, as I had known she would, Ariana had pulled back. It seemed to me she'd broken our kiss with the same reluctance as I had. How I had wanted more, much more. And surely, so did she.

At some level I knew with absolute certainty that if I revealed the depth of my feelings, I'd irrevocably drive Ariana away. So I'd said nothing as she slid off the stool and stood beside me, her hand still on my shoulder, inquiring in a friendly tone if I were all right. It was as if the kiss had never happened. I'd nodded yes.

Ariana had paused, irresolute, and for a moment I believed she'd take me in her arms. But then she'd said we'd discuss my aunt in the morning, wished me good night, and left.

I hadn't thought I'd be able to sleep, that I'd lie awake, reliving the burning memory. Instead I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed. Dreamed of Ariana in my bed, until I awoke in the early morning, cold with disappointment to find myself alone.

"Your Aunt Millie," said Ariana, "actually believes I have the power to persuade you to sell me your share of Kendall & Creeling."

We were sitting opposite each other in Ariana's office, the wide black surface of her desk between us. She was, as usual, cool and controlled. "What did you say?" I asked.

"I pointed out there was no way I could persuade you to do anything you didn't want to do, and as you were determined not to sell, that was the way it was going to be. Then I observed it seemed to run in the family, this admirable intractability."

I had to smile. "You actually said admirable intractability?"

"I did, and your aunt seemed pleased to hear it. She admitted it was a quality she'd noticed in you before, and agreed it was, indeed, a family trait."

I knew what was coming next. "Then Aunt Millie mentioned my mother, didn't she?"

Ariana steepled her fingers and looked over them at me. "Your aunt maintains you're urgently needed to help run your mother's hotel. She mentioned duty more than once."

I winced. Aunt Millie knew the strings to pull for maximum effect. Her aim was to make me feel guilty for leaving Mum in the lurch. And it was working. I had qualms about staying away.

Ariana had been watching my face. "Be resolute, Kylie," she said. "Do what you want to do, not what others think you should."

"You don't think I'm resolute?"

"I think the family card is being played." Her tone was dry. "It's the high card in the pack, and it's a difficult one to resist."

We looked at each other across the desk. I said, flatly, "I'm staying in L.A."

Was that a quick flash of pleasure on Ariana's face? Perhaps I'd imagined it, because I was yearning to see it.

"Now the hard part," said Ariana, "is convincing Aunt Millie you really do mean what you say."

I nodded soberly.

I'd reported to Bob the details of my visit to Burbank, and we had agreed the time had come to have a strategy meeting with the Hartnidge twins and tell them everything we knew so far, which wasn't all that much.

Lonnie came in to our mini conference chomping on a fat cream bun. He finished it, leaving a trail of powdered sugar down his front. Licking his fingers, he reported he'd run into a dead end with his detailed background search for Ira Jacobs and Ron Udell. "This shouldn't happen," he told Bob and me. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to clean up these guys. It makes me wonder why."

We were sitting in Bob's office, which was rather messy, though not in Lonnie's clutter league. There was an old jukebox in one corner-I'd tried it and it worked-files all over the place, and a wall full of old movie posters. I admired the one for Laura. Gene Tierney had been a major babe.

"I'd like to know if either of these blokes have traveled to Australia recently," I said. "And would you check out Brother Owen at the same time? He told me he'd been Down Under in the past few months. If you could find out where he traveled internally, that'd be bonzer."

"Consider it done," said Lonnie.

After he'd brushed powdered sugar all over the place, Lonnie took himself off. I said to Bob, "Something's worrying me."

"Lonnie's diet?"

"Alarming though it is, no. We're breaking the law, aren't we, by not reporting those smuggled opals we've got in the safe to Customs, or to whatever other authorities should be involved?"

"We don't know they're smuggled. Not for sure," said Bob blandly.

"I thought ignorance was no defense in law."

Bob shrugged his narrow shoulders. "It'll fly."

"But-"

"Think this through, Kylie. There's absolutely no way the story will be kept quiet if the opals are reported. The Feds will be on it, some bright spark in Homeland Security will come up with the theory it's got something to do with terrorism, and so on. Alf and Chicka get to kiss the Lamb White movie goodbye, and worse, because of the draconian morals clause in their contract, they'll almost certainly be sued by the studio. Lonnie's already pointed out the Hartnidges are in a precarious financial position. This will ruin them. Get the picture?"

"I see what you mean," I said. "Our clients come first."

"Atta girl."

Alf and Chicka were due at ten, and as they were usually early for appointments, when ten came and went, I wondered what had happened. I went out to reception, thinking Melodie might have received a message and forgotten, in the excitement of her lunchtime Date With Destiny, to pass it on to me.

Chicka was there, in khaki shorts and shirt, both sporting multiple pockets. He was leaning over, talking to Melodie in agitated tones.

"What's up?" I said.

He turned an agonized face in my direction. "I walked here from the accident. It's down a block or so on Sunset Boulevard. Alf s still there."

"Is anyone hurt?"

"Just the pink Cadillac. It's got a pretty big ding. And so has the Hummer."

"The Hummer ran into the Cadillac?"

Chicka looked doleful. "The Cadillac ran into the Hummer. I told Alf, watch out for that hoon in the Hummer, driving like a maniac. Alf didn't watch out." He sighed. "He never takes my advice."

"So Alf's waiting for the car to be towed?"

Chicka shook his head. "It's drivable. Fact is, Alf got into a blue with the Hummer driver, and then the cops turned up."

"A blue is a fight," I translated for Melodie's benefit.

Eyes wide, she clasped her hands in entreaty. "Chicka! Your brother's been arrested?" I could imagine her as a character witness pleading with a judge for Alf's release.

"Dunno, love. Hope not. Alf's doing his best to talk his way out of it. I got a bit toey with the cops, so Alf told me to come here."

"Toey means excitable," I said to Melodie.

The front door was flung open, and Alf stomped in. "Stone the bloody crows!" he exclaimed. "Did Chicka tell you what happened? That arsehole driving the bloody Hummer deliberately bloody stopped in front of me. Then the cops give me a ticket." He took a deep breath. "Damn-bugger-bitch-bum!"

Chicka bit his lip. "Alf, not in front of the ladies."

"Oh, sorry," said Alf. "But it's bloody maddening. No one knows how to drive in this town."

A quarter of an hour later, calmed by several cups of tea, Alf and Chicka sat in Bob's office as we went over our investigation so far.

"Not Ira Jacobs," said Alf, clearly wounded. "He's a top bloke. You sure he's suss?"

"You sure?" repeated Chicka. "I never saw anything wrong."

"And it's Chicka's area, the financial side," said Alf, "so you'd think he'd notice."

I resisted rolling my eyes.

"Jacobs is more than suspicious," said Bob, "but we'll need an audit, both at the Aussie end and here in L.A. before we can be sure. And remember, Alf, Chicka, you can't act any differently toward him. OK?"

Alf wasn't happy. "All right, we'll try."

Chicka was woebegone about something else. "And Paula Slade's really Tami Eckholdt's sister, put there to spy on us? You sure about that?"

"Absolutely," I said. I trusted Lonnie to get it right.

"Don't breathe a word to Melodie," said Chicka, "but I was dead-set on asking Paula for a date. Suppose that's got the kibosh now."

"Chicka's a sheila magnet," said Alf with a touch of pride.

Chicka and Melodie had raised my eyebrows, but I could see what Chicka might see in her. Chicka and Paula/Patsy! Blimey!

"I almost forgot," said Alf, "but Tami's taken a real liking to you, Kylie. We've got a script conference at Lamb White this afternoon. Tami said if you were free, she'd love to see you."

I had serious misgivings about Tami Eckholdt, but this was another chance to get in with the Lamb White people, so how could I turn it down?

"I'm not tottering around in those high heels again," I said.

Alf looked quite disappointed. "No? You looked bonzer yesterday."

"Have you tried wearing them?" I said. "The really, really high ones? Instruments of torture."

"I know all about it," said Alf, with a world-weary manner.

Looking at his jumbo brown leather ankle boots, I said, "I very much doubt it."

"Alf's fair dinkum," said Chicka, grinning. "You should have seen him onstage in the chorus line at the Wollegudgerie Footy League Celebration Dinner. He was all got up in green chiffon and high heels. Laugh? I near wet myself!"