Claire McNab - Kookaburra Gambit

"You're leaving?" she said, materializing by my side.

"It appears so."

Tami raked Chantelle with a contemptuous glance. "I'll see you tomorrow, when you're not otherwise engaged."

"Tomorrow?" I said faintly.

"At the gala dinner. I've arranged it so we'll be sitting together." Meaningful smile. "Until then…"

On Saturday morning I called Aunt Millie, hoping her strenuous time at Claudene's would have dampened her enthusiasm for shopping. No such luck. I was to pick her up and take her to Beverly Hills immediately.

Shopping with Aunt Millie was a life challenge that up to this point I'd been able to avoid, so I wasn't quite prepared for the experience. I soon found nothing much was required of me, other than to follow in Aunt Millie's wake.

She shopped like a small tank, mowing down obsequious or haughty salespeople alike. We did Rodeo Drive, up one side and down the other. Aunt Millie proclaimed it, "Unbelievably overrated!"

Then we moved on to the Wilshire Boulevard department stores. Here Aunt Millie fell in love with Neiman Marcus. We had a light lunch in their restaurant, then my aunt hit the evening wear department.

"May ah help Modom?"

Aunt Millie gazed suspiciously at the superthin saleswoman. "Modom?"

"Yairs. May ah help Modom?"

Aunt Millie gave a cackle of laughter. "I don't know about Modom, but you can help me."

"Yairs," said the saleswoman, not at all amused.

My feet were hurting and my temper fraying, when, praise be, my aunt found an outfit she deemed satisfactory. It was red and sparkly, with a scoop neckline and a sort of floating train affair.

"It's made for Modom," breathed the saleswoman, clasping her hands in counterfeit joy. "The color suits Modom so."

If you'd asked me to pick something absolutely unsuitable for my aunt, this would have been it. However, Aunt Millie was smitten, and only staggered a little when she spied the discreet price tag.

I took Aunt Millie back to her hotel to rest up for the evening and went home to call Alf. When I told him Aunt Millie was definitely coming to the gala, he gave a muffled cry of pain. "She'll be sitting at our table?"

"Of course she will, Alf. She's Brother Owen's guest."

"Kylie, love, please do me a favor. I'm begging you, mate. Begging you. Don't make me chauffeur Millie Haggety to the gala tonight. It's my driving, see. That's the bone of contention between us."

"You had a collision?"

"Not exactly. See, it happened outside the family do at Christmas last. Vehicles everywhere, you understand. The Hartnidges are a big family. I was just parking under a gum tree by the gate, when I somehow ran over Millie Haggety's foot. She should have got out of the way, of course, but she didn't."

"You crushed my aunt's foot?"

Come to think, I dimly remembered hearing something about this but had paid little attention, as to hear her tell it, Aunt Millie's life was a series of near disasters brought about by a malignant fate.

"It wasn't serious," Alf assured me. "Muddy, soft ground. Nothing broken. She only limped for a few months."

"That's a relief. Not permanently crippled then?"

Oblivious to my sarcasm, Alf went on, "But she's holding a grudge against me. Impalpable, she is."

"I think you mean implacable."

"Yeah, that too."

I agreed I'd pick up my aunt and we would all meet at the table of honor at the gala. "Alf, promise me you won't get into a blue with Aunt Millie." I could just imagine the two of them yelling at each other in the middle of the assembled socialite multitude.

"Fair crack of the whip, Kylie! If there's a blue, it'll be Millie Haggety what started it."

Knowing Ariana was going to be at the gala, I took special care with my appearance. My new hairdo was holding up well, and I chose a simple black dress that was cut to flare a little when I moved. Looking at myself in the full-length mirror I'd attached to the back of my bedroom door, I had to admit I didn't look too bad.

Odds were Ariana would be wearing black too, but as Mum said, it's what you wear with a little black dress that matters. Mum favored wearing a happy face-she claimed that added oomph to any outfit-but as happy faces and Aunt Millie didn't often go together, I settled for opal earrings, and a gold and opal bracelet.

When I got to my aunt's hotel, I called up from the lobby to say I was there to collect her. The place was full of tourists, most wearing shorts and T-shirts, so it wasn't surprising there was a murmur when the lift door opened and my aunt's stout figure swept out arrayed in her new evening dress and sparkling paste diamond drop earrings and necklace.

"See those heads turn?" she said to me.

"I saw, aunt."

She looked at me critically. "You'll never turn heads with what you're wearing, Kylie. Color's what does it. Color and personality."

We arrived at the charity gala for cancer-stricken children a little early, as Aunt Millie hated to be late. I'd carefully mapped out the route in my Thomas Guide and was pleased with myself when I drove straight to the Church of Possibilities Cathedral in Culver City. It was hard to miss. Humongous, its gleaming white walls floodlit, it loomed like a feverish view of a maddened architect who'd been given zillions of dollars and told to create a monument to bad taste.

A huge illuminated sign proclaimed: church of possibilities

CATHEDRAL AND CONVENTION CENTER-"OUR PROMISE IS YOUR POTENTIALITY!"

The building had everything-tall imposing columns, golden domes, a wall entirely made of stained glass, lit from within. Rows of fountains spurted water illuminated in changing colors, all garish. Huge angelic statues, some holding swords, others harps, stared down at us mere mortals.

My car was snatched away, and a ticket was shoved in my hand by one of many men in tight white uniforms who were scurrying around opening doors and then whipping vehicles away down into a subterranean area.

A row of stern guards with handheld computers barred the way. Our names were punched in, and we were found worthy to join the ever-thickening parade of guests heading for the main entrance along a wide red carpet. Gems sparkled, teeth sparkled, cries of greeting probably sparkled too. It was a sparkling occasion all round.

"Sparkling occasion," I said to Aunt Millie.

She didn't answer, her attention on the activities of several photographers snapping smiling groups, who'd stop and pose with practiced ease. Each photographer had an assistant who hurried to jot down the names of those photographed in the correct order, left to right. I'd seen photos like these in the social pages.

One of the photographers suddenly popped up in front of us. Aunt Millie grabbed my arm and bared her teeth in a smile more enthusiastic than I'd ever seen before. To the assistant, she said, "Millie Haggety from Australia. Brother Owen's special guest. And this is my niece, Kylie."

As the photographer moved on to another group, Aunt Millie said to me, "Wait until they see this in Wollegudgerie!"

"It is a bit like the Academy Awards," I observed.

She wasn't listening. "Is that George Clooney over there?"

Before I could stop her, my aunt had rushed into the crowd and disappeared. I hurried after her, now and then catching sight of her sturdy, red-swathed figure.

In the end, she found me. "Where have you been, Kylie? I've been looking for you everywhere."

"You took off after George Clooney."

"Lovely man. We had a nice chat."

We were approaching the entrance to the edifice-the word building was hardly worthy of the structure. Two gigantic stone sphinxes guarded the tall, beaten copper doors through which the crowd was streaming.

"Nice," said Aunt Millie. "I like a bit of glam."