Claire McNab - Wombat Strategy

Fred wasn't listening. He'd gotten Randy sitting up and had a solicitous arm around his shoulders.

"Jesus Christ," Fred muttered. "These bloody Aussies."

As soon as he realized what had happened, Dave Deer was on the phone in a flash. If I wanted a lesson in the power of the celebrity in L.A., I got it now. Almost simultaneously, it seemed to me, the following arrived: four Beverly Hills cops, two to arrest Randy Romaine for assault and two to hang around asking questions; two lawyers, one representing Dave Deer and Deerdoc, the other to look after the interests of Lorelei Stevens; one high-powered RR. person for Ms. Stevens-Kristi Jane Russo took over this role for Deerdoc; one physician to the stars, called in urgently by Dave Deer, who immediately announced I was too traumatized to be interviewed by the police at the moment.

This wasn't true. Granted, I had a pounding headache, a rapidly blackening eye, and my nose was throbbing like the billy-oh, but I could have answered questions. "No way are you speaking to the cops!" exclaimed Dave Deer, who'd taken Fred and me into his office to consult with his lawyer. "Miles? What's your take on this?"

Miles, a soft, gray man, steepled his lawyerly hands, sent us all a grave look, and said, "At this stage, the less said the better. In that vein, it would be wise, I believe, to provide Mr. Romaine with legal representation. We don't want him to drag any of your clients into a publicity morass."

Dave went quite white at the thought. "Jesus Christ, Miles. Do it! Do it now!"

The lawyer slid neatly out of the office, hardly disturbing the air as he moved. Creepy!

Considering the lengths I'd gone to on Dave Deer's behalf, he was rather low on the gratitude scale. "Lorelei won't be happy if her name's dragged into this."

"It's not my fault Randy Romaine took that particular file," I protested.

Dave Deer switched his displeasure to Fred Mills. "Why weren't you on the spot? Kylie called for assistance. Where were you?"

Fred, with a mean look in my direction, said, "If she hadn't viciously attacked that guy, I could have kept a lid on the whole thing."

"You'll be next, if you keep that up," I said. It was pleasing to me when a nervous expression crossed his flabby face.

Miles slid back into the room. "Too late. Romaine's singing," he said to Dave. "Warbling like a canary." The hard-boiled language sounded ludicrous in his precise little voice.

"Oh, fuck !"

"I suggest we get Ms. Kendall out of here. Keep her incommunicado."

Irritated because I was in pain, I snapped, "I'm here, right here in the room. You can talk directly to me."

Miles's smile was as sincere as a saltwater crocodile's. "So sorry. I didn't mean to offend. You do fully comprehend, I trust, that it would be unwise to speak with the authorities without the presence of an attorney."

"Why not just tell them the truth?"

Miles seemed shocked. "I don't believe you understand the ramifications of what you've just said."

My bedroom at Kendall & Creeling glowed in my mind like a warm and welcoming refuge. I stood up. "I've got a headache and I'm going home."

After argument about whether or not I should drive, I won out and went down to level three, the scene of my confrontation with Randy. I thought maybe I'd see police tape around the scene, but there was nothing but Randy's white Toyota, waiting patiently for him to return.

Outside the Deerdoc building media vans were already congregating. I zipped by, dark glasses perched on my swollen nose. At times like this I saw the benefits of having a generic vehicle that attracted little attention.

I made the Kendall & Creeling car park with a sense of great relief. The high-powered doctor Dave Deer had called in to see me had prescribed a painkiller and rest. Both sounded good to me.

Melodie shrieked when she saw my face. "Oh, my God! It's worse than Chantelle said! Think you'll need plastic surgery?"

Attracted by the commotion, Fran and Lonnie appeared. "Jeez," said Lonnie. "Do you want a cold pack? There's one in the fridge."

"I'm fine."

For Melodie, that was enough about me. "Kylie, I've got a call-back!"

"That's wonderful news." She didn't notice my lack of enthusiasm.

"It's Angel Rejects"

"I can't hear this again," said Lonnie, throwing up his hands. As he walked off, he muttered, "I've had it up to here with angels."

"Run it by us again," said Fran, with a wicked smile.

Melodie took her at her word. "It's like this, see. These angels have been thrown out of heaven. Like, they're in human bodies, and they don't remember they're angels, they think they're contestants in a talent quest. The trick is, no one knows which are angels and which are ordinary people. Angelique-that's me-is sort of the angel liaison between heaven and earth. Isn't a big part yet, but Larry says he's sure Angelique will get more air time later in the series."

"I don't get it."

Melodie sighed. "Oh, it's simple, Fran. Listen up. There's some angels and there's some wanna-bes all mixed together and no one knows who's from heaven and who's from earth. At the end of the show the viewers vote for Angel of the Week. If the one they pick isn't an angel, the person loses and goes to hell. If the person is an angel, they get fifty thousand dollars and a chance to compete another week. See?"

"Never mind," said Fran. "It'll be canceled anyway."

Really stung, Melodie snapped, "It will not. And who are you to criticize? I suppose Quip's going to be a big success. Like, how many scripts has he sold, huh?" She stuck out her fingers and pantomimed counting them off. "Let's see. One script? Two scripts? What's that you say? Oh. No scripts."

"Let me at her," said Fran.

For the first time I was sitting behind the desk in Dad's office, now my office. I'd turned on the computer and was busy checking the zillions of e-mails that had piled up. I hadn't checked my messages since I'd left Australia, and they numbered in the hundreds. A fair portion I instantly deleted, as they were spam. I'd just got rid of the last offer to increase the size of my penis when Ariana knocked at the door.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fair to middling," I said.

"Headache?"

"It's better. I've taken something."

It was a change, having her come into my office, rather than the other way around. "Take a seat?" I said, feeling for once I had the advantage.

"Sure. I've come to report on the situation, but first, you did a great job nailing that guy. Congratulations."

I felt ridiculously pleased. "Thanks."

"Dave Deer's done his best to contain the damage, and so far he's been successful. The wild card in the pack is Randy Romaine. He's still in custody, but he'll make bail tomorrow. The line he's taking with the cops is that he's a great fan of Lorelei Stevens and on an impulse borrowed the file. You attacked him quite unjustifiably, he says, and he was only defending himself when he hit you."

"That bastard."

Ariana half smiled. "The cops didn't buy it. Someone with his record of celebrity stalking is behind the eight ball before he even opens his mouth."

"So what happens now?"

"Bob Verritt found his missing teenager last night in Las Vegas. That means he's available to run a fine-tooth comb over Randy Romaine's life. If Romaine's the blackmailer, which I doubt, he's not about to do anything at the moment, now that the cops have taken an interest in him. It's more likely, however, that Romaine was working for somebody else. Bob's following up on that angle."

She looked at me sympathetically. "That's got to be hurting. Why don't you take it easy, lie down?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."