Claire McNab: Kookaburra Gambit

"Right-oh." I'd inwardly smiled. Somewhere along the line, Fran had bestowed the title of office manager upon herself, even though her job was more general assistant, or, as I'd had it explained to me, a gofer.

I took a deep breath. Enough of this shilly-shallying around. I made for the front door.

"Awesome!" exclaimed Melodie, examining me from behind the reception desk. "I love your bangs."

"My what?"

"Bangs." When I still didn't comprehend, she added, "The hair hanging over your forehead, Kylie. Bangs."

"You mean my fringe?" I guess so.

I grinned at her. "Back home, you wouldn't say that."

"You Aussies talk real funny," Melodie observed. "So what's a bang? I'd like to know, in case Chicka says it."

That made me laugh. "You'd better know what he means if he uses the word."

"Well? What does it mean?"

"How to put this delicately?" I said. "A bang is…doing it."

Melodie looked at me with delighted astonishment. "You mean…?"

"Yes, going all the way."

"No! So every time someone mentions your bangs to you…" She dissolved into giggles.

"I'm afraid so," I said.

Melodie's amusement faded as she noticed my hands. She frowned accusingly at my naked fingernails. "Where's the Dark Desire?"

"Where indeed?" said Lonnie Moore, on his way out. "I ask myself that all the time."

"Oh, funny," muttered Melodie. I knew she was down on Lonnie at the moment, because I'd overheard him refusing to cover the phone for her tomorrow morning, when Melodie planned to be off on what seemed to be her ten-thousandth audition.

"Whoa," said Lonnie, getting a gander at my new hairstyle. "What have we here?" He put down his things and circled me with a critical expression on his chubby face. Then he gave me the full blast of his little-boy smile, dimples and all. "Not bad," he said.

I felt myself blush. "Thanks."

My heart gave a skip when I heard the cadence of Ariana's footsteps. She had a graceful, loose-hipped stride that was absolutely unmistakable. She was carrying a briefcase and was obviously in a hurry. She didn't pause, but as she passed me, she put out a finger and brushed my cheek. "Looking good," she said. Then she was gone.

I knew I was blushing even more. "This is embarrassing," I announced, hoping to hide the effect just one light touch had had on me. Hell's bells, if one fingertip could do this, what would…

My imagination short-circuited. Suddenly I became aware that Melodie was flashing a particularly ingratiating smile in my direction.

"Can't do it. Sorry," I said.

Melodie's lower lip shot out. "I haven't asked you for anything yet.

"Oh, but you will," said Lonnie, with the weariness of one who knew this from long experience. He was usually sunny-natured, but Melodie had the knack of bringing out his dark side. "Don't fall for it, Kylie. You've been here long enough to know Melodie always says this audition's her One Big Chance." He glared at her. "And you're away for hours and hours, but it never pans out."

"Is this the audition you've been practicing your laugh for?" I asked.

"That's the one." Melodie tinkled a giggle to demonstrate.

"Oh, Jesus!" Lonnie muttered.

"I'll look after the phone for you," I said with a noble expression, "but only if you swear never to laugh that laugh again."

Put out, Melodie said, "But, Kylie, it's part of my laughter repertoire. An actor must have the full range. Run the gamut- guffaw, chuckle, snigger-"

"Oh, Lord!" Lonnie looked at the ceiling. "Take me now."

"Laughter's real subtle," snapped Melodie. "Not that you'd appreciate that, Lonnie. There's a world of difference between a snicker and a hoot, you know."

Lonnie didn't hear her, having caught sight of Julia Roberts, who, tail erect, was making a beeline for him. "Get away from me, cat!"

I was convinced it amused Jules to inflame Lonnie's allergies. "You're only encouraging her," I said. It was obvious Lonnie didn't understand feline psychology. "The more you reject Julia Roberts, the more she wants to be with you."

"I'm outta here," said Lonnie, grabbing his things and skipping through the front door before Julia Roberts could get to him.

"Don't worry, Jules," I said, stroking her. "I love you."

"I was wondering about that," said Melodie. "See, Kylie, it's like this. Lexus has asked me to move in with her permanently. And you know her apartment building has a rule against pets. Do you mind if Julia Roberts stays here with you?"

"You mean for good?"

Melodie nodded hopefully. "Uh-huh."

"All right," I said, secretly chuffed. I get on well with cats because I acknowledge their superiority immediately. They like that. "You're flatting with someone called Lexus? I thought her name was Cathy."

"Cathy's so commonplace. She decided to change it to something more exclusive."

"Rather like a luxury car?" I said.

"Well, yes."

"You're not thinking of changing your name to Mercedes, are you?" I had a bit of a grin at that. "Or what about Porsche or Ferrari?"

She didn't smile. "Larry, my agent, says Melodie Davenport is the perfect name for me."

I found it quite endearing that Melodie always referred to Larry Argent as "Larry, my agent." It was obviously a point of pride for an actor to have an agent, even if she never got any acting work. I'd never set eyes on the man. Maybe he didn't even exist, but if he did, he'd be pleased to know his name was constantly on Melodie's lips.

"This agent of yours," I said. "Has anyone here ever met him?"

"Quip knows Larry, my agent," Melodie said. Quip was Fran's husband, a top bloke.

I was going to ask more, but Melodie was feverishly gathering up various shopping bags she had hidden under the desk. "Gotta go, Kylie. I'm running late. Thanks for looking after things tomorrow morning. I'll be in as soon as I can."

She paused at the door. "Oh, there was a message for you. Your mom called."

"Did she say why?"

Melodie gave an airy wave. "Something about a wombat in crisis." She looked back over her shoulder as she opened the door. "She sounded real upset. Said it was urgent."

"Then why did you wait till now to tell me?" I demanded, but Melodie had gone.

I checked my watch. Back in the 'Gudge it would be late morning of the next day. Before calling, I locked the front door and checked that everything in the building was secure. Julia Roberts came with me on my safety patrol. "Looks like it's you and me, Jules," I said to her. "Melodie practically said you were mine."

Julia Roberts gave me a cool look. Cats don't belong to anyone but themselves. "Sorry," I said.

Satisfied we were secure, I headed back to my room to call Mum. Jules came too, although she did linger for a moment or two outside the kitchen. Her philosophy about food was to eat early and often, and it was a source of annoyance to her that I didn't share her views.

"You don't want to be a fat cat," I said. With a vexed snap of her tail she stalked after me.

Along with the fountain and the installation of a laundry alcove off the kitchen, I'd spent a fair amount of money on my bedroom. The cartons of papers and the odd assortment of sports equipment I'd found there had been relocated. I'd kept the queen-size bed with its beaut carved headboard, but I'd got rid of the humongous dresser, which took up too much space, and replaced it with something smaller.

The original bedspread and curtains had had an identical pattern of garish geometric shapes. My new bedspread had soothing shades of blue. The deepest hue was picked up in the thick throw rugs on the polished dark flooring. I'd ditched the curtains altogether and gone for wooden slat blinds.

When I'd first arrived, the television and DVD player in the room had been housed in ugly metal shelving. Now they sat in an elegant wall unit that included a music setup and flat-screen computer. I love books, so I'd had shelves built in. Because I'd left Wollegudgerie with the minimum of luggage, the shelves were pretty well bare, except for a street directory and a how-to book I'd bought, Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook. Once Mum calmed down about me living in L.A., I was going to ask her to ship over all my favorite books.