Quokka Question

NINE

Very early next morning I kissed Chantelle goodbye and set out to walk the couple of kilometers to Kendall & Creeling. I'd got into the habit of leaving a set of casual clothes at her place, so if I stayed the night, I could change into shorts, T-shirt and running shoes, bundle whatever I'd been wearing into a shoulder bag and jog-or more likely, briskly walk-back home.

Because I wanted to go through my notes before going to UCLA, I hadn't intended to spend the night at Chantelle's apartment. However, as Bloodblot Horror II had scared the living daylights out of me, the thought of being alone in the dark after what I'd seen on the screen had given me the heebie-jeebies. If I'd had an inkling of how bad it was going to be, I'd have skipped the screening, the way the stars of the movie had.

Last night, after a reception thingo in the lobby of the cinema, people had started to move into the theater. At that point I'd noticed the celebrities drifting in the opposite direction.

"Where are they going?" I'd asked. "Is there special seating for them?"

"They're leaving," said Chantelle. "The stars of Bloodblot II came to be seen by the fans, not to view the movie. They'll slip out the back way, hop into their limos, and beat it."

After enduring the vile, gruesome images of Bloodblot Horror II, I'd wished I'd done the same. Chantelle, of course, had taken the carnage in her stride. I'd clutched her hand and shut my eyes at the worst spots, but even the screams from the audience didn't drown out the ghastly sound effects of slicing, dicing, and disemboweling. One good riling, though-I'd had no opportunity to brood about Ariana and the Natalie sheila.

Later, Chantelle had been warmly appreciative of the effect Bloodbot had had on me. "You're clingy tonight, honey. I like that."

"I wouldn't call it clingy," I protested. "It's just that I'm a bit of a scaredy-cat when it comes to horror movies."

Chantelle's eyes had lit up. "There's some great ones I'd love you to see. For instance, the DVD of Death Gurgle is out next week. And another really good one, Eviscerate, is already in the stores, and-"

"Are you serious? Or are you teasing me?"

Chantelle had given me a ravishing smile. "Both," she'd said.

Now, in the early-morning light, the butchery of Bloodblot Horror II didn't have the same clout. I felt a little embarrassed that I'd allowed a mere movie to frighten me. Hell's bells, there were enough real horrors in the world without worrying about fictional ones.

I turned my thoughts to the major challenge ahead of me. Today I was lobbing into UCLA in my undercover role. Before I left for the campus, I'd just have time to shower, dress, gulp down a bowl of porridge, and do a lightning check of the information any real graduate student would know. I reminded myself I'd have to devote a few minutes to soothing Julia Roberts. It seemed to annoy her intensely when I stayed out all night. It wasn't lack of food, as I always left her ample provisions, so I'd decided it was that she missed me. This gave me a warm feeling.

"Did you miss me, Jules?" I said as soon as I opened Kendall & Creeling's front door.

Julia Roberts, who was reclining on Melodie's reception desk gymnastically washing her nethers, paused with one hind leg high in the air. She considered my question for all of three seconds, then resumed washing.

"Hiding your true emotions, I see. Well done, Jules. It's the way to go these days."

"Good morning, Kylie."

My heart did a rollover. "Crikey! You gave me a fright."

Ariana smiled faintly. "Sorry. I came in early to catch up on some work."

"Are you OK?" This was the question I'd told myself not to ask, but this morning, looking at her white, drawn face, I couldn't stop myself.

I thought Ariana would brush me off, but she didn't. "Yesterday I was-I was taken aback. Penelope Braithwaite stirred up old memories. My apologies for leaving everything in the meeting to you. It wasn't very professional of me."

The impulse to comfort her was almost overwhelming. But if I took two steps and put my arms around her, I was pretty sure she'd freeze me out so fast my head would spin. Instead, I offered the great Aussie restorative, used in situations ranging from a simple case of fatigue right through to the total loss of one's home in a bushfire. "How about a cuppa?"

"Tea? I'd rather have coffee."

I followed Ariana to the kitchen, Julia Roberts bringing up the rear. Once there, Jules parked herself in front of her empty food dish and looked meaningfully at me.

"You ate all the chicken and liver?" I said. Julia Roberts twitched her whiskers impatiently. Last night's dinner was old news. Today was a new gastronomical adventure.

While getting tuna-and-whitefish bites for her breakfast snack, I noticed Fran had posted a diagram on the cupboard door detailing escape routes from the building, TAKE TIME TO CHECK THE LOCATION OF YOUR NEAREST EXIT she had put in large scarlet letters along the bottom. Since, as I'd pointed out to Fran earlier, the choice was the front door or the back door, this information did seem rather unnecessary. I said so to Ariana.

"Visitors to the building may not know the location of the exits," she said with her usual cool logic.

I had to concede she was right. An outraged meow brought my attention back to the most important item on the agenda, breakfast for Jules. She watched intently as I poured a moderate measure of tuna-and-whitefish bites into her bowl. I swear she was counting the little fish-shaped things. Apparently the total wasn't to her liking, because she narrowed her eyes.

"A larger helping, Jules? Of course. What could I have been thinking of?"

Ariana gave a small laugh. "You need to acquire a dog, Kylie. Gussie treats me with great respect, firmly convinced I'm the head of the household."

Ariana's German shepherd was the perfect combination of strength, intelligence, and grace. Gussie was fiercely protective of Ariana, but to those she knew and trusted, there couldn't be a sweeter, more even-tempered dog. And Gussie had a bonzer sense of humor. I'd seen her grin when she found something amusing.

"What's that saying about dogs and cats?" I remarked, filling my kettle at the tap. "To dogs, humans are absolute monarchs, but to cats, they're servants?"

"Something like that." Ariana looked at me over the rim of her coffee mug. Her face was so pale that her eyes, if it were possible, seemed even bluer than usual. "You must be curious."

She didn't need to elaborate. "I confess I am," I said.

Ariana grimaced. "I don't blame you. I overreacted and made it seem more significant than it really was."

I didn't say anything.

Ariana said, "Would you do something for me?"

I looked at her warily. "Possibly. What?"

"Don't pursue it, Kylie, please. It's better for both of us if you forget the whole thing."

I gazed at her for a long moment. "I didn't Google her name. I didn't do anything to find out who she was."

"Thank you for that."

"But I'd be lying if I said I'd forget. Obviously whoever Natalie is, she's important to you. That makes her important to me."

I was jolted to see tears in Ariana's eyes. She blinked rapidly, then took a breath. Whatever she might have been about to say was lost when Melodie bounced into the kitchen, having arrived at work astonishingly early by her standards.

"Quip's written a play!" she announced. "It's going to be staged in a little theater on La Cienega Boulevard. That's just the beginning. Quip's thinking off-Broadway." She paused, smiling, to let us absorb this, then added, "Fran's coming in before work with audition scripts so I can go over them before tonight!"

Melodie fanned her blond hair fetchingly in a head toss she'd got down to a fine art. "The stage is real acting," she declared. "You and the audience magically bond in a profound dramatic relationship. Live theater challenges an actor to dig deep, to reveal the hidden depths of her craft."

"Good morning, Melodie," I said.

"Oh, hi, Kylie. Hi, Ariana. Isn't it great news?"

"Very exciting," said Ariana, picking up her mug from the counter. She turned at the doorway to say, "Kylie, when you get back from your first day at UCLA I'd like to hear how it went."

"Right-oh," I said, offhand.

I wanted to follow her to her office. I wanted to say, "Tell me, Ariana. Tell me what it is that makes you cry." I wanted to, but I wouldn't because pushing her that way could destroy the tentative relationship that was growing up between us.

"You're going undercover today?" Melodie clasped her hands as if in prayer. "College types are real smart, Kylie."

"You mean they'll see through me?"

Melodie considered this for a moment. "You're not born to act, like me. Larry, my agent, says it's in the blood."

"Acting is genetic?"

"Well, there's natural talent, of course. Fortunately I have that in spades. But it's not enough. Talent has to be honed, techniques perfected. Dance classes, speech classes, movement classes…" She shook her head." 'Fraid you're behind the eight ball, Kylie, before you even start."

"Hardly seems worthwhile to even try," I said, shaking my head in turn.

Melodie patted my arm consolingly. "It's real lucky you're an Aussie," she said. "Like, you're foreign, and you talk funny."

"That's exactly what Snap-on Ashlee said to me last night."

"Ashlee was at the Bloodblot premiere?" Melodie seemed seriously irked.

"She was. Accosted Chantelle and me on the red carpet."

A scowl darkened Melodie's face. "Ashlee swore to me she couldn't get passes. She lied. And she knew how much I wanted to go."

Wondering how Ashlee would have access to these prized tickets to premieres, I asked where she worked.

"She's a receptionist at Crucial Casting, Incorporated," said Melodie moodily. "Ashlee knows I'm a major fan of Sigfried Smithey's. She could have helped a sister receptionist out-but no!" Melodie sagged against the kitchen counter. "Why? I ask myself, why?"

"Bad apple," I said, adding with a grin, "Probably rotten to the core."

"Damn," Melodie said, suddenly invigorated. "I'd do anything to stop her hearing about the auditions for Quip's play." She stamped her foot in vexation. "It's too late to put a gag order out."

"The receptionist network can censor information?"

Melodie tsk-tsked. "It's not censorship. That would be un-American. It's more a selective hush-up."

"What does it matter if Ashlee hears about the auditions anyway?" I inquired.

"She thinks she can act," said Melodie with deep derision. "Act! Even you'd be better than Ashlee."

"Thank you, Melodie."

Melodie ignored my sarcastic tone. "It may not be too late after all," she said thoughtfully. "A careless-with-the-truth strategy might still work."

"Receptionists lie?"

"Oh, please," said Melodie. "It's a basic requirement. You don't think it's always a good morning or a good afternoon, do you? And when we say someone's in a meeting, do you really believe that's always true?"

While I was digesting this, Melodie caught sight of Jules, who was washing her whiskers. Fastidious things, cats. Melodie put both her hands to her head in a dramatic gesture. "I feel a psychic moment coming on."

Jules halted the whisker cleaning to look at her with a quizzical expression. "Julia Roberts!" Melodie exclaimed. "I sense Lonnie's door is open. Why don't you mosey down the hall and make yourself comfortable in his chair? He'll really appreciate it." "You opened Lonnie's door?" Melodie smiled meltingly.

"Could you doubt it?"

"You're dinky-di evil," I said.

I'd sussed out exactly where the biology department was on my first visit to UCLA, so I didn't have to wander around looking lost but could make a beeline straight to the building. The interior was what I mentally labeled "institution decor." The long corridors were lined with anonymous doors, each with a glass panel of frosted glass. The flooring was that grayish composite stuff everyone knows has been selected because it doesn't show the dirt that much and is easy to clean.

Every now and then there was a notice board on the wall. I stopped at one to read instructions for actions to take in the event of a major earthquake. Thoroughly unsettled by this information, I made for Dr. Rubin Wasinsky's office.

I don't mind admitting my nerves were snapping like old rubber bands, but Rube smoothed the way. He introduced me to the people in the biology department as someone fresh off the plane from Western Australia and quite jet-lagged. This gave me a reasonable excuse if I made some awful slipup, such as making a total hash of a biological term, or giving some marsupial the wrong Latin name.

Actually, I was aiming to steer clear of scientific names as much as possible, as my Latin was pretty well limited to nil desperandum, tempus fugit, caveat emptor, and carpe diem. Although I could imagine there might be opportunities to casually comment on not despairing, the tendency of time to fly, the warning for buyers to beware, and the philosophy of seizing the day, I sensed that occasion was not now.

Yesterday, Rube had given me a rundown on who was who in the department, so my main role today was to try to fit names to faces. One person with whom Rube said it was vital I cultivate a working relationship was administrative assistant, Georgia Tapp. She was a plump, motherly woman with faded brown hair, a cloyingly sweet expression, and dimples to rival Lonnie's. Then I met Zoran Pestle, thin and intense, a colleague of Rube's who was on the committee running the symposium.

"And this is Erin Fogarty," said Rube. "Erin, meet Kylie Kendall, visiting doctoral student from Australia."

"G'day," I said, regarding her with interest. This was the graduate assistant who had upped and shot through on Oscar Braithwaite, only to turn up later here at UCLA, working with Jack Yarrow.

Erin Fogarty was a gangling young woman with a weak chin and high color. Her best feature seemed to be her short, curly hair, which shone with copper highlights.

"Hi," she said, eyeing me narrowly. "Will you be working with Professor Yarrow?"

"Kylie is here for ten weeks to work on a research paper with me," said Rube.

"Great," Erin said, visibly perking up. It was clear she wanted no competition as far as Professor Yarrow was concerned.

I'd assumed Erin would be an Aussie, since she'd been working out in the field with Oscar in Western Australia, but obviously I was wrong, as this sheila had a twangy American accent.

Rube resumed the introductions to the members of the faculty, with me trotting along compliantly the way I thought a jet-lagged overseas student would. Professor Yarrow himself I glimpsed from afar, rushing along as though on very important business.

"Always in a hurry, like the White Rabbit in Alice," Rube remarked disparagingly.

"Probably not as lovable," I said.

"Whoa. Bonus person," said Rube, catching sight of someone down the hall. I was beginning to really appreciate his wit. "You're in luck, Kylie. Here comes Winona Worsack, Yarrow's wife, paying an unannounced connubial visit."

"Unannounced? She doesn't trust the bloke?"

Rube's smile had a touch of malice. "Not as far as she can throw him. She routinely nurses dark suspicions about any young woman with proximity to her husband."

As befitting a medievalist, Winona Worsack wore a floor length, flowing dress and had her dark hair loose on her shoulders. She sort of glided along, hands clasped at waist level, as though on hidden wheels. When she got close to us, she switched on a brief smile. "Rubin."

"Winona."

She gave me an appraising once-over and put the brakes on. "Hello," she said, "I don't believe we've met."

"G'day. Kylie Kendall's the name."

"Just visiting?"

"For ten weeks," I said, "working with Dr. Wasinsky."

"With Rubin? Excellent."

"But I hope to learn so much from Professor Yarrow too," I said with warmth. "He's such a wonderful man."

Winona Worsack raised her eyebrows. "Indeed?"

It's possible some of Melodie's evil had rubbed off on me, because I found myself continuing in the same breathless tone, "It's a dinkum honor to meet such a world-renowned authority on marsupials. I can hardly believe it's happening to me, a little sheila from Oz."

"Kylie's seriously jet-lagged," said Rube, giving me a warning glance. "Arrived from Australia this morning."

Yarrow's wife looked as if something decidedly rotten had been thrust under her nostrils. She got herself in gear and started to move off. "Delightful to meet you, Kylie," she murmured, not meaning a single word of it.

"It was bonzer meeting you too," I called after her.

Rube gave me a severe look, then broke into a wide grin. "Bad Kylie," he said.