by Dave Warner
The train of thought derailed. O'Regan was staring at the one horse who wasn't spooked. A pretty bay filly seemed to be perfectly happy to soak up the sun. There was something about the horse that was familiar. The grubby, stumpy fingers of O'Regan's memory flicked through the filing cabinet of his brain. Given his limited background and the tendencies of his lifestyle, he'd either seen that horse at a carnival or ... on DVD!!!!
It couldn't be. Could it? The memory was edging forward. A freckle-faced girl, Sarah-Jane somebody or other. Yeah, he had it: Dressage to Kill. Big in the States, not much of a release here. This was the same horse, he was certain of it.
Leila had nothing but contempt for her fellow quadrupeds. The sight of a golf-buggy and they'd gone galloping off to the four corners of the paddock screaming 'Aliens are coming!' in horse. Having been around studio carts her whole life, Leila hadn't budged an inch. She'd found a really nice patch of sunlight and she wasn't moving for nothing or nobody. An odour reached her on the wind. Old fried chicken grease. Hmm. She cocked an eye. A grubby-looking loser was standing at the fence staring her way.
'Leila!' The guy snapped his fingers as he said it and Leila couldn't help but look over and smile at the recognition. Maybe the guy, clearly a fan, wasn't a loser, just a little down on his luck.
When O'Regan saw the horse look over at the mention of her name he nearly wet himself. Here was a genuine Hollywood attraction standing in a paddock in the middle of nowhere. Wow, maybe all his bad luck was about to be wiped out in one go? No, he couldn't be that lucky. There must be a catch. He noticed the dweeb climb off his buggy and head towards him.
'Can I help you?'
The way the guy said it was more like, 'you'd better have a good excuse for being here or I'll charge you with trespassing'. It was a tone O'Regan had heard many times in his life.
'Matter of fact you can. Mark O'Regan. This your establishment?'
Chadwick puffed himself up.
'My family's.' Well, it wasn't a lie.
'I'm in the horse business too,' said O'Regan.
'Equestrian?'
'Multi-faceted.'
Chadwick choked down a chortle. The guy was obviously angling for a job.
'I need a horse,' said O'Regan. 'And I'm prepared to pay.'
Chadwick's mind immediately engaged at the word 'pay'.
'Any of these nags for sale?'
Chadwick made a dubious sound. Of course anything was for sale anytime. It was just a matter of price. There were four more horses than JOES competitors here so why waste money feeding them? He didn't, however, want to sound too keen.
'Not really. Course I could help out a fellow horse person ... for the right price.'
'How much would you be looking at?'
Chadwick was calculating quickly. One of these horses must be worth about three thousand but to sell it you'd be looking at paying for advertising. If you could get two and half thousand, cash in hand, you'd be doing okay. The guy didn't look as though he had much money, and Thornton Downs did have excess horses that were costing him money to feed.
'Two thousand two hundred.'
O'Regan knew this bozo would take less.
'Let's say eighteen hundred.'
'Two thousand.'
'Done.'
That would clean him right out but if he had 'Leila the Hollywood Horse' he could charge ten bucks a ride instead of the usual five.
'Any particular horse?' asked Chadwick, pleased at the dollars he'd just earned.
O'Regan was too smart to give a hint of his excitement. This guy might be dumb but if he sensed O'Regan was keen, he could get difficult. O'Regan shrugged casually.
'No preference. How about that one? It's close.'
Leila saw the fan pointing at her but she was too far away to hear what was being said. He was probably telling the accountant how much he'd enjoyed her movies. Good. It was time that idiot realised what he had right under his nose. Maybe he'd even feed her something better than chaff? Leila watched the fan go to his car and emerge with a lead rope. Then he began counting moolah into Chadwick's greedy paw. Maybe he was paying for a photo with Leila? When the fan moved through the gate Leila assumed that must be the case but she didn't like the way he was swinging that lead rope.
What the ...?
Before she could react it was over her head and a bit was in her mouth.
'Come on, Leila. You're going to make me a fortune.'
What? NOOOOOO. Leila would have screamed for help but that would have made matters worse. She tried to pull away but the man was strong. He began dragging her towards the gate and his grotty vehicle. Ugh. Leila had partied with heavy metal road crews who took more pride in their trucks than fatso here. She tried to hit the skids but the man jabbed her butt.
'You wanna play rough, Leila, I'll give you rough.'
The guy looked like he could deliver on the threat. Leila glared at Chadwick but he was too busy counting money. She was being pushed towards the horse float when she heard the voice of Bevans.
'What's going on?'
Leila breathed a sigh of relief. Bevans wasn't exactly a movie star in the looks department but today he was her saviour and she'd gladly plant a big carrot-stained kiss on his chops. Bevans interposed himself between her and the float.
O'Regan sized up the intruder. The guy was maybe fifty but wiry and tough. Best to act nice.
'Would you mind moving out of the way? I've just bought this horse.'
'From who?'
O'Regan pointed at Chadwick who was hustling over.
'You can't sell Miss Strudworth's horses,' said Bevan angrily.
'I'm in charge here, Bevans, not you.'
'The horses aren't yours to sell.'
'I'm running the business. Now step aside and let the gentleman load his horse.'
Leila was impressed as Bevans stood firm, crossing his arms.
'No.'
Chadwick smiled.
'Then you're fired. Pack your bags and go.'
Bevans looked confused.
'You can't fire me.'
'I just did. Now if you don't want me to call the police and have you arrested, you had better step aside.'
Leila watched, terrified, as Bevans grudgingly moved aside. The next thing she knew she was being shunted up into a rusty old horse float. The gate banged shut behind her.
What was this man going to do with her? Leila panicked. She tried to bash the gate down behind her but it wouldn't budge. She wanted to cry. This was horrible. She was all alone with not even another horse for company. And worst of all, she might never see Charlie again.
On the whole, Charlotte would rather have been tied over a fire-ants' nest and sprinkled in sugar. This deportment business was excruciating. And embarrassing. A copy of Lady Naomi Harker-Cowes' The Importance of Deportment perched precariously on her head, her eyes fixed dead ahead, Charlotte stepped forward gingerly over polished wooden boards, her arms splayed like penguin wings, trying to aid her balance.
'It's not a minefield, it's a carpet. Don't pick, girl! Stride.'
The voice of Mrs Cooper, the deportment and grooming advisor, boomed behind Charlotte's head. This was the ninth time Charlotte had attempted to cross the room.
Hannah, fists clenched by her side with the tension, grimaced, sweating on every step, silently encouraging Charlotte forward the way a rescuer might egg a fleeing evacuee on to safety. The Evil Three were on the periphery, also tense, hoping Charlotte would muck up again. Just a few more steps, Charlotte told herself, just two more and ... NO! She felt the book slip.
Thud.
The book hit the floor. The Evil Three smiled. Hannah's face fell. Mrs Cooper let loose a long sigh. Her head poked around in front of Charlotte. There was something very odd about Mrs Cooper's face. Thick, wavy blonde hair perched atop the thinnest eyebrows Charlotte had ever seen. The eyebrows danced whenever Mrs Cooper spoke but that was the only part of her face that did. The rest of it was like a sheet of stone.
&nbs
p; 'Young lady, we do not have all day.'
Mrs Cooper had that horribly snooty way of talking that Charlotte had heard on occasion while manning fundraising tables outside the Goondowi Country Club.
'Perhaps you could nail the book to her head,' offered Emma.
Charlotte swung around and glared at her.
Mrs Cooper seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment but then the head shook and the eyebrows rattled and rolled.
'No. You girls must learn to walk with poise. Now let's try it again.'
It was the fourteenth attempt when Charlotte finally made it across the studio, a large room sparsely furnished and dominated by a chandelier. Her legs wanted to collapse, her neck ached, she wanted to just jump on Leila and ride into the sunset. Unfortunately, Table Manners was no less intimidating. Charlotte found herself staring down at her plate on which resided some evil prehistoric creature that looked like a massive cockroach. She had no idea what she was supposed to do with the array of instruments placed next to the plate. It reminded her of the dentist.
'People eat this?' she asked Hannah in disbelief.
'Not your sort of people,' chimed in Lucinda.
Hannah whispered behind her hand, 'It's lobster.'
Charlotte had often wondered what lobster looked like. When she'd been burned from staying too long in the sun her father had often told her she was as red as a lobster.
Mrs Cooper dinged the rim of a crystal glass with a fork.
'Ladies, begin.'
Charlotte was dimly aware of those around her selecting from the steel implements. Suddenly the air was alive with the sound of cracking and sucking. She got the gist. You had to get into the shell for the meat.
'Do not suck, ladies. A plughole sucks. We place the lobster meat delicately on our tongues.'
Charlotte was fretting. She felt Mrs Cooper's shadow fall over her. With no better idea Charlotte reached for a fork and one of the lobster legs. It was like trying to grab hold of a rosebush.
'Yow,' she yelped as the horny shell pricked her in several places. She tried a different angle with no better result. Her thumb began to bleed.
Emma laughed, 'Careful, Charlotte, the lobster might bite off your nose.'
Charlotte turned as red as a lobster without even venturing into the sun.
'Come on, Richards, get cracking,' urged Mrs Cooper.
Seeing Charlotte's predicament, Hannah slid across a lobster leg which she had already broken open. Charlotte thanked her with her eyes and attacked it with a fork. Even though the shell had been cracked it was still tough. She levered hard, applying increasing pressure.
'No, Charlotte, you do not use the fork ...'
That's as far as Mrs Cooper got. There was a mighty crack like a rifle shot and lobster meat sprayed everywhere, including all over Mrs Cooper's dress, and worse, in her perfectly coiffured hair.
Charlotte would have gladly crawled under the table but she caught sight of Rebecca signing a big 'L' for loser on her forehead for Charlie's benefit. She had been befuddled by what the long thin skewer in front of her was for but she figured she knew now. It must be to poke out the eyes of people who made fun of you trying to eat lobster. She gripped it ready to inflict pain. Hannah's hand landed on top of hers and her eyes urged her to desist. Charlotte let the impulse fade. Mrs Cooper took herself off to clean up and Charlotte was forced to endure the loser signs from The Evil Three. Her fingers had begun to sting from the many pricks they had suffered. She prayed this torture would soon be over.
Not knowing where she was headed terrified Leila. The only thought that kept her going was that Charlotte would find her, if she were still alive to be found. Who knew what this guy was planning? When they finally stopped, Leila waited in the float, legs trembling. She heard the bolt pulled back, the door opened and there he was, staring at her.
'Hello, meal ticket.'
Leila's head was buzzing too loud for her to hear properly. Did he just say 'meal'? Was he going to eat her?
A fat, grubby hand reached for her. She tried to bite it but he was too quick. A bridle slipped over her.
'Spiteful little minx, aren't you?'
Next thing she was being reefed out of the float. She tried to put on the brakes but the steel bit into her mouth and she had no choice but to comply. She found herself staring at a run-down farmhouse. Some of the planks on the outside had fallen off, and what paint there was had flaked. Rusting car bodies littered the paddock where they had pulled up.
'Come on. Plenty of food for you.'
Food? That perked her up. But only for an instant. She found herself in a paddock infested with weeds, surrounded by a rusty barbed wire fence. One prick from that wire and you could get tetanus. Gross. She wondered where the food was that the guy had mentioned. Then she realised he expected her to eat grass. She wasn't a sheep!
The guy smiled through chipped teeth.
'I'm Mark, Leila. You are going to make me a lot of money.'
Buster, you're going to earn every cent, thought Leila as O'Regan headed towards the farmhouse humming 'Hooray for Hollywood'. As he reached the house's verandah he gave a little skip and his belly wobbled. Choice, thought Leila. Come on, Charlotte, come and find me.
Chapter 5
Charmsworth might have been one of the worst experiences of Charlotte's life but the horror was diminished by her concern for Leila. Okay, so Charlotte had people laughing at her because she couldn't balance a book or eat lobster the right way. Big deal. She'd prefer a steak to lobster any day and as long as you could balance on a horse, what did it matter what you looked like crossing a room in high heels? What did matter was Leila, who'd given up so much to be with her. Instead of the two of them having adventures together, here she was having to listen to the strange looking Mrs Cooper.
'Have you noticed how weird Mrs Cooper's face is?' Charlotte asked Hannah as they shared a sandwich during afternoon tea in the grounds of Charmsworth. 'The only things that move are her eyeballs and eyebrows. It's like a mask.'
'Botox,' said Hannah authoritatively.
'What's that?'
'You get needles in your face, which stop wrinkles.'
'Needles in your face? How disgusting.'
Charlotte hated needles of any description, let alone in your face.
'Lots of women get them so they don't look so old. And they get facelifts too. They stretch the skin up from here.' Hannah reached under her chin. Charlotte put up her hands in horror.
'Please. That's enough, you're putting me off my food.'
'Trouble is, when they have too many facelifts, they can't move their face at all. Have you ever seen Japanese theatre?'
Charlotte hadn't even seen Australian theatre. Well, apart from the Christmas pantomime with her father and two other stockmen dressing up as women and playing ugly sisters. The panto was always held in the church hall and the story never varied.
Hannah explained. 'In Japanese theatre the actors have these white, blank faces. We lived in Tokyo for six months.'
'Until I came to Thornton Downs I'd only ever been out of Snake Hills once.'
Charlotte didn't have too many good memories of that one time. Her mother had been in the hospital at Rockhampton.
Hannah's brow furrowed. 'Well, I've travelled a lot and I haven't come across anyone as horrible as The Evil Three. We have to do something.'
'I'm way ahead of you on that.'
'Any ideas?'
'We need to get to the kitchen.'
'I'm not really hungry.'
'Me either.' Charlotte moved her eyebrows just as animatedly as Mrs Cooper but her mouth showed a lot more smile lines. 'It's time for payback.'
With Hannah in tow, Charlotte moved around the outside of the building to the back door of the kitchen. The cook was sitting outside, enjoying the sun and reading the newspaper. She didn't even look up as the girls slid in like shadows.
'What are we doing?' whispered Hannah, confused but excited.
'Getting ready fo
r the next lesson,' replied Charlotte. She then whispered her plans to Hannah, who clapped her hands in delight.
'That's fantastic. You should be with embassy security.'
Charlotte quickly located the pantry. She searched around taking this and that until she was satisfied. Hannah found what she wanted too. They left the kitchen without being noticed. The Evil Three were still occupied listening to their iPods and reading magazines. Charlotte and Hannah stepped through a side door back into the main building and down a hall to the classroom. The schedule pinned to the door showed the next course that afternoon to be 'Make- Up: A Dangerous Weapon in the Wrong Hands'.
Charlotte knew Lucinda, Emma and Rebecca well enough to know that they would dote on themselves in front of the mirror for as long as possible during that lesson. Charlotte and Hannah snuck into the empty classroom. A long table had been set up with a name tag for each of the JOES. Each girl had her own mirror and make-up kit. Charlotte moved quickly to Lucinda's place and opened up what she had hidden in her top.
'Instant coffee?'
Charlotte grinned and put it in the foundation. It was almost the same colour and blended in. Nobody could tell.
'That will perk her up,' she joked. Lucinda had long dark hair which she loved to brush, over and over, while gazing at her reflection. Hannah pulled out the tube of molasses that she'd found in the pantry. She squeezed the sticky goo down into the base of the bristles where it couldn't be seen. Charlotte's dad had told her how the stockmen had played this trick on a particularly annoying new chum.
Next, Emma. Charlotte revealed her ammunition. Three fat, red chillies. She pulled out a spoon and crushed them up.
'One thing about Emma. She likes a lot of red lipstick.'
Hannah was excited at the prospect of Emma's discomfort.