Claire McNab - Quokka Question

"We did?"

He used his dimples to advantage. "Come on, Kylie," he said persuasively, "you know I can't work in anything but this organized chaos. Besides, it's excellent security-no one but me can find anything." He made a sudden dive at a pile of manila folders on the floor, seized one and thrust one into my hands. "See! You wouldn't know to look for info on this Jack Yarrow guy down there, but I did."

My vision of storage cupboards shimmered, then disappeared. Lonnie could be awfully stubborn. I might be biting off more than I could chew here. It was a shortcoming of mine Mum had pointed out countless times. "Let's discuss it later," I said.

Lonnie swung himself back to his computer. "Let's never discuss it."

Back in my office, I gave the Yarrow folder a quick flick-through, then checked my watch. I wanted to arrive at the UCLA campus early so that I could have a good look around and establish the lay of the land. I opened my copy of The Thomas Guide for Los Angeles County.

This street directory had been my salvation more than once. Each weekend, I'd ventured out alone, often driving Dad's red Mustang, to familiarize myself with freeways and surface streets. Each excursion, I'd managed to get more or less lost. But, I assured myself, I was getting better, although last weekend I'd found myself in the wilds of Chatsworth, and taken hours to find the way home. And even then I wasn't quite sure how I did it.

After much narrow-eyed study, I thought I had the route mapped out. Pen had advised me to dress like a student, so I changed into jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt with a koala on the front waving a flag that said: LAND OF oz, tucked The Thomas Guide under one arm, and headed for the front desk to tell Melodie I'd be out until mid-afternoon.

She was on the phone. "And, Chloe, you'll never guess!" Melodie was saying, "Dr. Penny herself-What? Yes, that Dr. Penny. Anyway, she was real interested in me-What?" Melodie giggled. "Not interested that way, though she did ask me about my sex life-oh, hold on, I've got another call. Kendall & Creeling-Ashlee! You'll never guess who was here this morning-Dr. Penny!"

I cleared my throat. Melodie glanced back over her shoulder. "Ashlee? Gotta go. Call you back… Chloe? Gotta go. Call you back."

"So Ashlee of the snap-on teeth is a receptionist," I said.

Melodie looked surprised. "How did you know?"

I didn't explain how now I always recognized the receptionist network in action. "Must be that I'm psychic," I said.

Melodie's surprise changed to keen interest. "Are you, Kylie? Me too."

"You're psychic?" I tried to hide my skepticism but obviously didn't do a crash-hot job, since an expression of deep hurt appeared on Melodie's face.

"Just because I never mention it doesn't mean I don't have the power. It's real personal, this sixth sense."

"How does this sixth sense manifest itself?"

Melodie looked at me distrustfully. I raised my eyebrows in an encouraging tell-me manner.

"Not that I see dead people or anything gruesome like that," she confided. "Mine's more in the premonition area. Knowing things ahead of time. For instance, I just knew the Refulgent commercial was to be mine. Somehow, I was aware through all the setbacks I endured, that it was my destiny to be a Refulgent girl."

Melodie paused to look at the ceiling, as though her inspiration was being beamed from above. "Sometimes I just creep myself out, when I have these flashes from the future."

"Crikey," I said, "this could be dynamite in the wrong hands."

"What could be?" said Lonnie, sauntering into view.

"Melodie's psychic powers."

Lonnie gave a great shout of laughter. This did not go down well with Melodie. "Oh, go ahead and laugh, Lonnie," she snapped, "but it's true that sometimes-often-I can see the future."

"It's called precognition," I added helpfully.

"OK, Melodie," said Lonnie in a challenging tone. "You go right ahead and predict something that will happen in my future." Before she could respond, he continued, "You can't, can you? 'Cause it's all bullshit."

Melodie shot out her lower lip in a pout. When I did this, I looked pathetic. Predictably, Melodie looked bonzer. "I can predict something in your future, Lonnie," she said. "Something that will definitely come true."

Lonnie folded his arms. "I'm waiting."

"Let me concentrate," said Melodie, closing her eyes and swaying a little in her chair.

"It's bullshit," said Lonnie to me.

"I see Julia Roberts," said Melodie, opening her eyes. "I see Julia Roberts greeting you in your office every morning."

Lonnie gave a cry of pain. "Not the cat!"

Melodie gazed heavenward as she intoned, "Sometimes Julia Roberts will be in your chair-sometimes she'll be hiding. But she'll be there, somewhere."

"You know I'm allergic," said Lonnie, a pleading note in his voice. "Melodie, you wouldn't do it to me, would you?"

"Ah, Lonnie," said Melodie with a brilliant smile, "you can't escape your destiny."

I had a rather shabby canvas backpack that I thought might be what a uni student would be likely to have. In it I put my cell phone, a pair of binoculars, a digital camera, and a miniature recorder Lonnie had given me. I intended to keep spoken notes of anything important I observed on the campus of the University of California, Los Angeles. That title was quite a mouthful, but it sounded so impressive. UCLA didn't have quite the same aura.

Fully prepared for the task ahead, I set off in my gray Camry with a feeling of confidence. The Thomas Guide made it clear that getting to UCLA was going to be child's play, even for a directory-challenged Aussie like me. All I had to do was head west on Sunset Boulevard toward the ocean. First I'd go through the Sunset Strip, a narrow canyon of billboards and buildings pressed close against the roadway. Night and day, crowds of sightseers filled the narrow footpaths, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous, or, failing that, to be somewhere where the famous had previously been.

Sunset Boulevard changed dramatically as it entered Beverly Hills. Here it became a broad road with a wide grassy strip down the middle. The buildings were imposing mansions set back from the traffic so that everything felt more spacious and less hurried.

I'd pass the famous pink bulk of the Beverly Hills Hotel on my right, then Sunset would take a series of sharp curves. I'd have to keep a lookout as soon as I entered Westwood, because I needed to turn left into Hilgard Avenue. At that point I'd be at the northeast corner of UCLA.

Everything went to plan, although I almost missed the signpost for Hilgard Avenue, and had to execute a left turn in haste, which was never wise, as left turns were a challenge for me. It was at moments like this that I tended to revert to driving on the other side of the road, as we did in Australia. Fortunately, this time I stayed on the correct side, and drove sedately down to the Westholme Avenue entrance of the campus.

Safely parked in Parking Structure 2, my one-day permit displayed prominently as required-the guy in the entrance booth had warned me that UCLA parking people were pitiless when it came to infringements of the rules-I set off to explore.

UCLA has a huge, beautiful campus, shaped rather like Australia's island state, Tasmania. Pen Braithwaite had given me a map with all the buildings marked, but she hadn't said how elegant many of them were, or how the landscaped grounds were full of trees and bushes, a lot of them Australian natives. I felt a pang of homesickness when I saw a spreading Morten Bay fig, its huge roots spreading out above the ground like gigantic claws hooking the tree into the earth.

The place was teeming with people of all ages and races. Most of them were walking in small groups, chattering like starlings, or talking with animation into phones. A few strode along alone, their intent expressions possibly showing they were contemplating some arcane scientific problem-or maybe the meaning of life in general. I'd given that one a bit of thought myself.