Claire McNab - Wombat Strategy

With a forbearing smile, Melodie explained, "You don't get how the biz works. Hardly any scripts get made. It's the writing of them that's important."

She broke off as the delivery bloke in the daggy brown outfit-who'd made me feel a real galah yesterday-came in with a pile of boxes. While Melodie was sorting through them, the bloke nudged me in the ribs.

"Well, well," he said, grinning. "Solved any big crimes lately?" He looked me up and down, noted my tailored dress, and chuckled some more. "Dressing for success, are we?"

"I am," I said, "but jeez, look at you."

"What?"

"It's hard to look good in brown. Especially that brown." I added, as my exit line, "It's cruel, really, making you wear that uniform."

"Hey, wait a minute…"

I strode off, mad as a cut snake. This blasted bloke would tell Melodie how he found me reading Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook. This news would hit the receptionists' telegraph. Soon everyone would know. Including Ariana.

There were four people in the kitchen: Lonnie, clutching his ever-present mug of coffee; Rich Westholme, lounging against the counter; Fran, frowning; and someone who must be Quip.

His handsome face lit with amusement, he was saying, "Oh, my God, I saw Molly Ringwald the other day. I mean, hi, can we say blast from the past? I mean, what has she done since Pretty in Pink? Hello!"

This bloke had to be gay. He was everything I loved in a man: humorous, delightful, and homosexual.

A hot glare from Fran caught my attention. "He's mine," she said. "Keep your paws off him. I won't say it twice."

Early next morning I was explaining to Julia Roberts how she'd have to keep a stiff upper lip because I'd be gone again today, when Ariana knocked on my door. Fortunately I'd made the bed and everything was tidy.

Ariana stood in the doorway, wearing her signature black. Her pale hair was as smooth as her expressionless face. It mystified me how she projected that aura of cool, contained authority without appearing to do anything at all. My imagination skittered around, trying to visualize her in the depths of passion. Before I got to the point of short-circuiting, Ariana said, "I tried to get you on your cell phone, but no luck."

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone knew the number to ring me, so I didn't turn it on." I went over to my bag, retrieved the phone, and activated it. "Hey, now that I know you have the number, it'll be on twenty-four-seven, no worries."

"Tell me about yesterday."

I gave her a complete rundown, including my assessment of how crook the security at Deerdoc was.

She listened without comment, then said, "Dave Deer called last night. He wants to know when you're moving in."

"I'm not."

"Why? Is it leaving Julia Roberts that's holding you back?"

"It's that Dave Deer's a lech. If I move in there, sooner or later Elise is going to catch him putting the hard word on me. It'd be a nasty sitch."

"What makes you think you won't face the same situation in the office?"

"Look, Ariana, I know he's our client, and he's an important one. I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't happen, but he can't cop a free feel and not have me get snarky about it."

"Just so long as you don't throw him over your shoulder, as I recall you did the captain of the football team."

I blushed a bit, remembering how I'd boasted about that the first day we'd met. "Hell's bells," I said. "Do you remember everything?"

"Everything."

"I'd better be careful what I say."

When a ringing sound started, I looked around, puzzled. "Your cell phone," said Ariana.

It was Chantelle. "Have you decided about Friday?"

I didn't ask how she'd got my number. I knew. "You could have asked me at work," I said, aware Ariana, who'd moved to stroke Jules, couldn't help overhearing my end of the conversation.

Chantelle's chuckle was warm and promising. "I couldn't wait."

"Okay, I accept."

"Terrific. See you soon."

The mobile gave a discreet burp when I ended the call. "Someone from work has tickets for a play," I said, feeling the need to explain.

"I hope not on Saturday night."

"No, Friday. Why?"

"You mentioned you'd like to see my sister's work. The gallery has a private showing of Janette's new exhibition this Saturday night."

Now, this wasn't a date, not really, but I still felt a tingle of excitement. "That'd be great, Ariana."

Crikey, I was even getting a charge out of saying Ariana's name. I mentally tried Chantelle. Bit of a jolt, but not as much. I frowned to myself. This was rebound stuff. I couldn't say, or even think, Raylene's name without a pang. Overcompensating, that's what it was. I was trying to fill the void she'd left with other women. Maybe I needed some Slap! Slap! Get On With It therapy. Or maybe I just needed some good, healthy, uncomplicated sex.

"What in the world are you thinking about?" Ariana asked.

"Nothing in particular. Why?"

She shook her head, smiled at me, said, "Again, Kylie, you find me lost for words."

She went off, still shaking her head, bemused. I consoled myself with the thought that I had some effect on Ariana, even if it wasn't quite the one I would have hoped.

My mobile rang again. This time it was Melodic "Kylie, I've got a favor to ask, and you'll probably be gone before I get to work."

"I can't look after the phone."

"It's not the phone. It's something else…a big favor, actually. I'll understand if you say no."

She wouldn't, of course. "What is it?"

"In the top drawer of my desk there's an envelope with head and shoulders."

"Yes?" I said doubtfully.

"You know what I mean. My publicity shots. I want you to take one to Deerdoc with you."

"Why?"

"Chantelle called and said Lorelei Stevens has an appointment with Dr. Deer this morning. I'm sure you'll be seeing her. I'm only asking a little thing. All I want you to do is ask her to autograph my photo."

I didn't bother inquiring how she knew about the appointment. The world of spies could learn a lot from receptionists. "Let me get this straight. You want me to ask Lorelei Stevens to put her autograph on your photo?"

"If it isn't too much trouble. It's the recognition factor, you see. When Lorelei and I meet in the future, my face will be familiar to her."

"And are you likely to meet Lorelei Stevens in the future?"

"Oh, yes," said Melodic "I've got an audition. It's a movie where she's the lead, Heart of Pain. Larry says I'm just made for the role…"

Fair dinkum, I was astonished. My mum would say gobsmacked. Lorelei Stevens signed Melodie's photo! She didn't even blink or ask who the hell this dame was. She just scrawled her signature right across Melodie's face. And she smiled while she did it.

Of course, she'd been smiling since she came out of the therapy room, both cheeks a bit pink and eyes a bit watery.

A couple of minutes later Dave Deer appeared, his white medical coat so starched it practically crackled. He purred, "Lorelei, we've achieved so much today. You've been very brave. Very brave. But a wise soul like yours knows pleasure comes through pain."

This sounded like S/M to me, but I reckoned neither of them would thank me for sharing that thought, so I didn't. Instead I'd whipped out Melodie's photo and asked the film star to sign it.

This particular celebrity was the exception to the blond rule. She was a sultry brunet with aquamarine eyes-I suspected tinted contact lenses-and an astonishing cleavage.

"Alert Ms. Stevens's limo driver she's on the way down," commanded Dave. I called Jim, the doorman, who would signal the limousine driver. If all went according to plan, her luxury transport would draw up just as Dr. Deer and his famous patient exited the building through a special side entrance reserved for celebrities.