Claire McNab - The Dingo Dilemma

The sigh stung. Feeling defensive, I'd said, "I'm not trying to be a pest. I'm worried about you."

"Don't be."

Fair dinkum, loving someone could be a real downer at times!

Meeting Brucie for dinner was somewhat of an anti-climax, as I was distracted because of my conversation with Ariana, and Brucie, despite his protestations, had been hit hard by jetlag and could barely keep his eyes open. I picked him up at the seriously seedy Gateway to the Stars Inn and took him to a nearby Italian restaurant.

He'd changed since I'd last seen him, but I couldn't immediately put my finger on how. For one thing, I hadn't remembered Brucie as being particularly good-looking; however, a dispassionate assessment of his physical self-dark curly hair; smooth coffee skin like his mother; a lean, taut body-added up to something quite close to handsome.

Handsome or not, as far as I was concerned, Brucie's character had always been the problem, although my mum always said it was a two-way street, with the clash of our personalities fueling the fire.

Over dinner Brucie-I had to fight to call him Bruce-chatted in a desultory way about family news. Astonishingly, we didn't get into an argument, which was a first for us. In the past we'd be at daggers drawn within minutes of running into each other.

He asked me about Dingo O'Rourke, and I told him I was hoping to get onto the Darken Come Home soundstage the next morning. Naturally, Brucie wanted to come too, which caused our first disagreement of the evening.

I finally conceded that if he turned up at Kendall & Creeling tomorrow afternoon he could meet everyone, plus I would undertake to fill him in on my hoped-for face-to-face with Dingo at Bellina Studios.

While I was having my breakfast of porridge, toast, and tea, Melodie came bouncing into the kitchen. "I know I'm early," she announced to my raised eyebrows. She added virtuously, "Like, I'm making up time, since I had a can't-miss audition yesterday afternoon."

"That's ambiguous," I observed. "Is it a can't-miss audition because it's important? Or is it a can't-miss audition meaning you've aced it and you can't miss out on the role?"

Melodie frowned at me. "You can be real puzzling at times, Kylie." Her face cleared as she went on, "But since you ask, Larry-my-agent says I'm a sure thing for Olive."

Abruptly, her expression changed to one of emotional overload and she began to wring her hands. "Oh, Timmy," she cried with an excruciating nasal accent, "is that really you? Strike me lucky! Leaping lizards, it's my fair dinkum baby brother! Whoops-a-daisy! By gum, to think we've been torn asunder all these yonks, with me Down Under and you here, in Texas, and never a cooee between us. And Darken, how chuffed I am that you've been dinky-di faithful to Timmy."

"Hell's bells, is that a good example of the show's dialogue? Sounds crook to me."

The frown was back on Melodie's face. "What do you mean, crook?"

"It's no good. In fact, it's laughably bad."

"You're in no position to judge these things, Kylie. Screen dialogue is an artistic rendition of conversation. Like, it's not real!'

"It certainly isn't. No Aussie wrote that rubbish."

My scathing tone seriously irked Melodie. "You being a total outsider and all, I don't suppose you've even heard of the writer/ director of Darken Come Home, Earl Garfield. He's had so many successful series, he's like, a god in this town. Quip says he's a scriptwriter's scriptwriter. The best."

I knew who Earl Garfield was, having done some online research into the show yesterday. Years ago Garfield had been the TV industry's boy wonder. Now I guessed he'd be the industry's middle-aged wonder. "This Garfield bloke writes every script, does he?"

"He wouldn't have time to do that and direct," said Melodie with the tone of one talking to someone terminally dim, "so he employs a team of writers. But he'd read every word. There's nothing gets by him. He's famous for controlling every facet of his show."

"Crikey, he's not controlling the quality of the scripts if what I just heard is any indication."

A dreamy look appeared on Melodie's face. "It was one of my best auditions, Kylie. I shone! Although it's only for two episodes at the moment, I'm hoping once they see me in action, the character will be written into further episodes. Larry-my-agent told me the casting director was just bowled over by my Olive, so I expect to be meeting Earl Garfield soon. Of course, he has the final word on the cast."

She mused on this happy event for a moment, then said, "I mean, not just anybody meets him. Garfield's a famous recluse, who won't give interviews or socialize. Like Bette Davis."

"I think you mean Greta Garbo."

Melodie flapped a hand. "Whatever."

"There's a fair chance I'll be seeing Mr. Garfield this morning."

That got Melodie's wide-eyed attention. "You're visiting your dingo wrangling relative today? On the set of Darken Come Home?"

"I'll give it a burl."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "Like it'd be nice if you spoke plain English for a change."

"I said I'm going to attempt to see Dingo."

"Don't move." Melodie rushed off, her high heels beating a rhythm down the hall. A couple of moments she was back, a large photo in her hand. "It's my best headshot," she said, shoving it at me. "If you could just get Timmy to sign it, or failing that, anyone else in the cast, that would be awesome!"

The first time I'd been asked to do this I'd been working undercover at a celebrity doctor's offices. At the time I'd thought it very odd to ask for a star's autograph on someone else's photograph. Now I knew nothing was too strange for the entertainment industry.

"I'll try," I said, "but no guarantees."

Melodie gave me a quick hug. "You're the best, Kylie. Of course, the chances are I'll soon be on the set myself as Olive, Timmy's sister. Still, I never like to miss an opportunity, just in case."

"Too true," I said, "some sheila might snatch the part from you.

Melodie smiled complacently. "Larry-my-agent says I'm the closest he's ever seen to a sure thing."

I drove my unexciting, anonymous wheels to Bellina Studios. The address was in a semi-industrial part of Los Angeles and I got lost a couple of times while avoiding huge trucks that seemed determined to squash my car like a tin can.

Finally I located my destination. Bellina Studios covered a considerable area, and comprised a collection of industrial buildings, all slightly shabby but serviceable. Huge billboards advertised the shows made there. Darlene Come Home held pride of place, with the Hardestie family grouped together, their smiles impossibly warm, while Darken-more sleek than any dingo I'd seen in the wild-sat beside them staring nobly into the distance.

I turned through the entrance gates and obediently rolled to a stop at a Stop Here sign. The truculent guard in a pale gray uniform stepped out of the booth and eyeballed me. "Name?"

"Kylie Kendall." His first name appeared on his chest, so I said, "G'day, Desmond."

"Trunk."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Trunk." When I stared at him, puzzled, he said, each word distinct, "Open your trunk."

Now it was clear to me what Desmond meant. "Oh, you mean the boot"

He didn't reply, but marched to the back of my car. I pressed the release. After a moment he slammed down the lid. He came back to me, squinted at his list, ticked off my name, handed me a clip-on that proclaimed Authorized Visitor, and directed me to the furthest corner of the parking lot.

Before I set off, he pointed to nearby sliding glass doors. "Park and lock your vehicle, then come back here and go through those doors to security, where you'll collect your host."