Claire McNab: Wombat Strategy

On my way along the side of the house I peered through one window and found the room contained a bed and dresser. Pressing my nose to the glass, I saw the open door of what looked like a bathroom with a shower recess. Right then I imagined what bliss it would be to stand under a spray of hot water.

I made it to the front, where the taxi had dropped me off. "Sunset Boulevard," I'd announced when I'd got in at LAX, a bit thrilled to be saying such a famous name. The driver, a sour bloke with a droopy mustache, twisted round and gave me the hairy eyeball. "Sunset's a long boulevard. Where?" I'd passed him Kendall & Creeling's address, and he just grunted and took off like a startled kangaroo. Never said another word, even though I tried a couple of friendly comments.

What would have been the front garden had been turned into a parking area, then there was a courtyard leading to the entrance of the building. The courtyard had a red terra-cotta floor and a fountain in the middle dribbling water in a halfhearted sort of way.

I wandered around the parking area trying to match a car with Ariana Creeling. The most impressive vehicle was a white Rolls Royce convertible with the license plate deerdoc. It hadn't been in the lot when I'd arrived, so there was no way it was Ariana's. Actually, I had her pegged for the dark blue BMW. The Beemer wasn't new, but whoever owned it kept it looking sharp.

As I was standing there, feeling totally bushed and in desperate need of that coffee, a bright red convertible came roaring through the gates and nearly skittled me. "Watch it!" I said.

The driver was the missing Melodie. I wasn't psychic. Her license plate said melodie and had musical notes dotted all over it.

"Oh, sorry," she said, whipping off her sunglasses and unfolding herself from the cramped driver's seat. "Didn't see you."

I'd thought Ariana a bit on the light side, but this one was famine thin. She had masses of blond hair, high cheekbones, wide green eyes, and teeth so white they reflected sunlight.

"How did the audition go? You ace it?"

Melodie looked startled for a moment, but she didn't mind talking about herself, even if she had no idea who the hell I was. She lugged a huge makeup bag from behind the seat. "Real well," she said. "Going for the second lead. I'll get a call-back, I just know it."

She had a silvery voice to go with her name. And terrific legs-on display, as she was wearing a miniscule skirt and high heels that would've hobbled me permanently. We set off across the parking area, Melodie trotting along quite nimbly, considering her heels, and going on about her audition.

When she paused, I said, "I'm Kylie Kendall."

Melodie flashed me another smile. She seemed to have more teeth than most people. "Hi, Kylie." Then she did a sort of double-take. Halting at the front door of the building, she stared hard at me. "Kendall? Like, Colin Kendall?"

"My dad."

Melodie looked at me more closely. "You're from Australia. That's why you talk funny."

"Too true."

"I've always wanted to go to Australia, but it's such a long way." She tapped her forefinger against her lips thoughtfully. "Although, they are making a lot of movies there now." She had a set of perfect fingernails that couldn't be real, painted an odd sort of murky red.

The brass-studded front door opened into a tiled area embellished with more cactus plants in large earthenware pots. Lonnie was sitting behind the reception desk, and he didn't look pleased. "About time," he said to Melodie. "You said you'd be back an hour ago."

"Oh, sorry, but you know how it is." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You're such a sweetie to cover for me."

He rolled his eyes.

"This could be the one, Lonnie. My big break."

"You say that every time."

"This is different. I nailed the part, I really did. They loved me!"

"You say that every time too."

Melodie gave the kind of airy laugh I've never been able to pull off. "Don't worry, I'll still talk to you when I'm famous," she said.

Lonnie sneezed, then glowered at her. "Julia Roberts has been in my room again."

Melodie turned to me. "My cat," she said. "She loves Lonnie, which is real sad, because Lonnie hates her."

"I don't hate Julia Roberts, I'm allergic to her."

I blinked as it suddenly occurred to me that these two were my employees. After all, I did own fifty-one percent of the company, so fifty-one percent of the staff was mine. "Anyone else work here?" I said.

They both looked at me, obviously wondering why I wanted to know. "There's Bob Verritt," said Lonnie, "and Harriet Porter, part-time."

"And Fran," Melodie added.

I would have asked more, but Lonnie said, "Ariana told me to tell you she'd like to see you in her office."

"Right-oh."

I felt a surge of enthusiasm. Maybe she was warming to the idea of having me as her business partner. I bounded down the hall and flung open her door. The handle slipped out of my hand, the door whacking hard against the white wall. It made quite a racket, so I had the undivided attention of the two people in the room-Ariana and the bloke in the pale gray suit I'd caught a glimpse of before. They were sitting opposite each other in the comfortable chairs.

"Sorry to barge in like this." Jeez, I felt like a galah. I knew I was blushing.

The gray-suited bloke hauled himself out of the depths of the black leather chair. "Ariana's been telling me all about you, Kylie Kendall. When I heard you were a fellow Aussie, I just had to say g'day."

He was quite a specimen-tall, well-built, and handsome in a weather-beaten, squinting-at-the-horizon sort of way. His fair hair was thick, and he wore it in a casual windblown style that probably took quite a lot of effort to get just right.

"G'day," I said back, wondering why I knew his face. A celebrity of some sort? It was L.A., after all. Then it struck me. The deer-doc on the white Rolls Royce convertible in the car park was the clue. This was Dr. Dave Deer, famous as the Aussie psychiatrist to the stars.

Dr. Deer was flashing an electric smile. "Maybe you've heard of me," he said. "I'm Dave Deer."

"I may have," I said.

Of course I'd heard of him. The whole of Oz had. Even in remote Wollegudgerie we knew all about Dave Deer's success story-how he'd become a media star in Australia by treating everyone who was anyone when they went bonkers with his Slap! Slap! Get On With It therapy. Then he decided to help superstars overseas. I reckon he'd settled on California as a base because celebrities there seemed to suffer more than ordinary people. And they had money-lots of it.

"Ariana tells me you're thinking of getting involved in the RI. business."

I slid a glance in her direction. Why would Ariana be telling Dave Deer about my plans? Her face didn't show anything, but she was drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair. Nice hands, I thought.

"Thought I might give it a bash," I said.

"Good on you, mate! Then I'll be seeing you around." Checking his heavy gold watch, he said, "Gotta go. It's patients wall-to-wall this afternoon." He made a rueful face. "And you know how celebrities hate to be kept waiting."

Thinking Dave Deer was a bit up himself, I said, "Is that so?"

"They're not like ordinary mortals, I'm afraid. But they come to me for help, so what can I do?"

I just looked at him. Dave Deer was a lot up himself, I decided.

"I'll see you out," said Ariana, shepherding the doctor in the direction of the door. "Be back in a moment," she told me.

My stomach growled. The airline breakfast I'd eaten somewhere off the coast of California was now a distant memory. In fact, the whole flight seemed remote. I put this down to jet lag, smothered a yawn, and decided I really did need a mug of coffee or I'd keel over any minute and fall asleep on the floor.