Claire McNab: Quokka Question

Her lips trembled. I wished with all my heart I could simply take her in my arms and say everything will be all right. But of course, it wouldn't.

After a moment Ariana continued, "She went without fuss or tears-I was the one who wept. I go to see her at least once every week. Outwardly she's the woman I've loved for so many years, but inwardly there are only flickers of her true self. She only sometimes recognizes me. Often I can see she's puzzled but polite to this stranger who seems to know her so well."

She gave me her direct, cool look. "Now you know."

"Now I know."

"And you see why it's impossible for us-you and me."

A wave of protest rose in my throat. "I don't see why it's impossible at all."

Ariana's face hardened. "I made Natalie two promises: to always love her, and to never leave her. I broke the second promise. The first I'll never break."

Tuesday morning I felt groggy from lack of sleep. Horribly aware that I'd been venturing into an emotional minefield, I'd left Ariana shortly after she had responded so negatively to my protest that a relationship between us was not, as she claimed, impossible. When I'd finally forced myself to go to bed, the whole scene kept replaying over and over in my head. And when I dozed, I dreamed disjointed, disturbing dreams, full of loss and grief.

To finish off a perfect evening, Mum had called me just before I turned out the light.

"Am I disturbing something, darling?"

"No, Mum, of course not."

"Are you sure?"

Sorry for myself, I wanted to snap, Yes, Mum, you're disturbing something - the day I found out I'm doomed to pine forever for a woman I adore so much it hurts. I said, "I'm sure."

"I got your letter today." Her tone was gloomy. "Your handwriting indicates you're not being entirely honest with me, Kylie."

I was short with her. "I don't see how it can, since I was."

"You may not realize you're not telling the whole truth," my mum conceded, "but handwriting never lies."

I didn't say anything but silently cursed the day my mother had decided to do that handwriting analysis course at Wollegudgerie High.

Mum cleared her throat, which usually signaled she was about to embark on a new subject. "I don't know if you realize how very disturbing it is for a mother to have her only child living in a dangerous place like Los Angeles."

Oh, groan!

To counterattack, I said, "Why didn't you tell me I was on an Australian TV show? I had to hear about it from someone else."

"Who?" Mum was obviously playing for time.

"Just someone," I said vaguely. I didn't want to mention Oscar's name, because if I did, I'd be duty bound to tell my mum that he was dead, and worse still, that he'd died violently.

"Frankly, Kylie," said Mum in a confidential tone, "the program was rather an embarrassment, so I didn't mention it."

I recalled that Oscar had thought it was called "Aussie Chicks Make Good." I asked Mum if that was the tide.

"Something along those lines," she said." 'Aussies O.S. Make Good,' I think it was, but it was a trashy show, not worthy of you, darl."

"How did they know about me in the first place?"

"Nephew Brucie," said Mum, obviously disgusted. "He took it upon himself to call the network when they ran an ad asking for stories of ordinary Aussies being successful overseas. And he supplied photos of you too. If I'd have known, I would've stopped him quick smart, but needless to say, Brucie wouldn't dream of checking with me."

Depressed though I was, a spark of interest made me ask, "Did you j record the show?"

Silence. Then, "I might have."

"Will you send it to me, please?"

My mother reluctantly agreed. Now I was definitely interested in what the program contained. "What did it say about me, Mum?"

"Oh, I don't know…something about you going to L.A. to run a private investigation company" she said vaguely.

"Was it complimentary?"

She dodged that question by saying, "It wasn't accurate. For one thing, it said you were taking steps to become a private eye yourself." lam.

Silence. If it was something Mum really didn't want to hear, she ignored it. At last she said, "I have to admit the item about you was very short, like all the others, but it was rather flattering. You know how those TV types like to put a gloss on things."

Now I had an inkling of the devious motive that had kept my mum quiet about the program. "You didn't mention me being on TV because you thought it might influence me to stay in America. Is that right?"

"It may have crossed my mind."

"Crikey, Mum, you must think I'm shallow."

"Not shallow, Kylie darling, but anyone's head can be turned."

Any other time I would have had a bit of a barney with her over this, but last night I'd felt too down in the dumps to bother. We'd chatted for a few minutes longer about what was going on at the pub, then I'd made the excuse I was tired, and we'd rung off.

In the morning I didn't feel much better. I couldn't stomach breakfast, so I skipped my usual kitchen routine. Besides, I couldn't face talking to anyone yet, especially Melodie or Fran, who were no doubt still warring over Quip's play. Showered and dressed, I vowed to myself that today I'd make progress on the case. Ariana might not desire me as a lover, but she was going to admire me as a business partner, or I'd die in the attempt.

Before I left I went to my office to check my e-mail, in the hope that Diana Niptucker had replied to my message, but there was nothing from her. My cell phone rang just as I picked up my things to go out to the car.

"Kylie, it's Quip. I'm outside in the backyard. I need to see you desperately. And for God's sake, don't let Fran know I'm here."

When I pushed open the back door, a perfect morning greeted me, warm but not hot, full of sunshine and joyous nature…and an agitated Quip. "What's up?" I said.

"You know what's up!" He clutched my shoulder. "You've got to help me out, Kylie. Fran and Melodie are at daggers drawn-and I'm in the middle." His handsome face was contorted with anguish. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Casting Fran was a bad idea?"

"Omigod, like, total disaster. What was I thinking!"

"They're both mad as cut snakes," I said, "but it'll blow over."

Quip's wide shoulders drooped-he had a crash-hot body from going to the gym every day. "Fran's upset. Melodie's upset. Casting Laughter Under Luna is at a standstill…" He shook his head. "Being a playwright shouldn't be this much of a hassle. And I thought screenwriting was hard. Hello?"

I was sympathetic but had to get to work. Businesslike, I inquired, "Is there a part for Melodie?"

"Only Ethel/Ethelbert, and Melodie says that's a supporting role, not worthy of her talents."

"And you don't want to move Fran from Lucy/Lucas?"

Quip tossed off a mirthless laugh. "Move Fran? Not if I want to continue living." He gave me an earnest you-can-solve-it look. "I don't mind telling you, I'm tearing my hair out here. Help me, Kylie."

In my head I heard the Beach Boys singing, Help, help, help me, Kylie. I had to admit Rhonda sounded better. "Would you be willing to lie?" I asked Quip.

"Lie? I'd sell my firstborn, if I had one."

Melodie believes she's a bit psychic," I observed.

"Well, wow! That's a tremendous help," Quip said with a sardonic smile and a flip of his wrist. "I can't thank you enough."

Quip really was delightfully gay, but he and Fran seemed to have a happy marriage-if happy was ever a word one could associate with Fran.

I gave a quick glance at my watch. I couldn't be late two days in a row. "I really should go."

"Then leave!" he said, superdramatic, the back of his hand held to his brow. "But remember, my blood will be on your head!"