Kookaburra Gambit

by Claire McNab

  "My girlfriend, Chantelle," I said, with a strong emphasis on girlfriend. "Alf knows," I added hastily. "He understands."

  "Alf?" said Chantelle.

  "I'll explain later," I said.

  Alarmingly, a speculative smile had appeared on Tami's face. "I wouldn't have pegged him for a three-way kind of guy, but hey! Why not?"

  As Tami was short, I was able to look hopefully over her head. "Surely you're not alone tonight, Tami?"

  "I've come alone, but I don't intend to leave alone," said Tami, raising goose bumps on my skin as she stroked my arm.

  "Hands off," said Chantelle.

  Tami bounced on her toes, sizing up Chantelle. I had a horrifying vision of Tami seizing Chantelle and tossing her over the bar. The mirror would break, bottles would shatter, all in slow motion, in the appropriate movie fashion. It was my duty to shield Chantelle with my body. Surely Tami wouldn't throw me over the bar. That would be no way to win my love. Love! I shuddered.

  "Later, sweetheart," Tami said, I'm not sure to which one of us. "I'll see you later."

  "Where did she come from?" Chantelle asked, watching Tami swagger toward a knot of women at the other end of the bar. "She looks familiar. Is she in the industry?"

  "Lamb White."

  "Lamb White! She's a lesbian!"

  "In the closet. Deep."

  Chantelle nodded slowly. "I guess."

  I was praying Tami would hook up with someone much more promising than me and wouldn't notice as Chantelle, Aunt Millie, and I slipped away. Fat chance.

  "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…"

  Nineteen

  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."

  I wasn't sure whether she was referring to the building or the crowd around us. I'd thought Aunt Millie's dress rather over-the-top, but it had nothing on the outfits surrounding us. And blonds. There were more blonds than I'd seen in my life. Many were attached to the arms of older men, and all seemed to be laughing and tossing their heads with delight. Could all these people be that pleased to be here tonight?

  Brother Owen himself led the welcoming committee at the entrance to the ballroom. After the ceremonial greeting, a bevy of young assistants were on hand to lead guests to their tables.

  Aunt Millie and I joined the line and waited to be acknowledged by the great man himself. As we got closer, I heard a recorded celestial chorus singing softly. Concentrating, I could just make out the words. The music obviously ran in a continuous loop, repeating endlessly, "Brother Owen! Brother Owen! All things are possible! Possible! Possible! Only believe. Only believe."

  Brother Owen was a smooth operator, indeed. He had every name on his lips, greeting each individual as a close personal friend. We reached the top of the line. "Kylie." Brother Owen smiled into my eyes while massaging my hand. He turned his incandescent smile on my aunt. "And this must be Aunt Millie."

  While we'd been waiting, I'd been observing two sleek young men, each holding what seemed to be an electronic organizer. They watched guests approach the top of the line, and one or the other would check the screen they held, then murmur into a lapel microphone. I reckoned Brother Owen had a wireless device in his ear and was being told each name before the person reached him.

  The system was efficient. A quick, warm greeting, and then we were passed to a young woman who would guide us to our table.

  The banquet room was immense. At one end a broad, shallow stage was floodlit, although at present it was empty, except for a grand piano. I was impressed, in spite of myself, to discover the walls were hung with gigantic tapestries, depicting many separate scenes. Possibly they were biblical, although most figures seemed to be wearing modern dress.

  Many round tables filled the area, each glittering with crystal and silver table settings. The room was already crowded, buzzing with conversation, punctuated by bursts of loud laughter.

  "Don't like that Owen bloke," said Aunt Millie as we followed the young woman to our table. "Those glib, fast-talking types are all bad news. Watch out for yourself, my girl. He'll be after you like a rat up a drainpipe."

  "Thank you for that alluring picture."

  "You can laugh all you like. That one's trouble, mark my words."

  She halted. "Is that Alf Hartnidge?"

  Alf and Chicka were already sitting at the table, but for an instant I didn't recognize them. Both were formally dressed in tuxedos and looked sensational.

  "Aunt, I told you he and Chicka would be at our table, remember?"

  "I'm leaving it up to you, Kylie, to make sure I don't sit next to either of them. All they talk about is the Hartnidge clan, and a more boring bunch you'd go a long way to find. I'm related to the Hartnidges by marriage, and I've had to endure the family stories for more years than I care to remember."

  The woman who'd been guiding us came back to collect us. She had a flat, expressionless face. "You're at Brother Owen's table," she said in tones of awe. "You'll find your place indicated by your name. Brother Owen asks that you not change your place. Each position has been carefully chosen for harmonious vibrations."

  Aunt Millie snorted. "Harmonious vibrations, is it?"

  Wisely, the young woman didn't engage Aunt Millie in conversation, murmuring, "Blessings," and then hurrying away.

  Both Alf and Chicka leapt up as we approached. Alf made an awkward little bow in Aunt Millie's direction. "Millie, you're looking good."

  "Not so bad yourself, Alf. Formal wear looks OK on you boys."

  I blinked. This was the equivalent of a flowery compliment from anyone else.

  "Change the place cards," hissed my aunt out of the corner of her mouth.

  "Your wish is my command."

  There were ten places at our table. Four names I didn't recognize. Brother Owen had the seat of honor, facing the stage, and a raised high-backed chair, superior to other seating, so I could hardly move his place card. Alf and Chicka were seated to his right and left. I was next to Alf, and then came Tami, who indeed had managed to arrange to sit next to me. Then came the four strange names, with Aunt Millie in the middle of them. I grabbed Tami's place card and switched it with Aunt Millie's. If I had to choose between the two, it'd be Aunt Millie all the way.

  The tables around us were filling up fast. A string quartet had appeared on the stage and was vainly attempting to be heard above the sounds of social conversations, which seemed to include the need to shriek people's names upon each first sighting. Waiters appeared with French champagne.

  My heart leapt as I caught sight of Ariana. This romantic stuff about seeing someone across a crowded room was right-where she was concerned, I had tunnel vision. She was wearing black, her pale hair swept up in a more elaborate style than usual. As she came closer, I saw her sapphire earrings were almost the same color as her eyes.

  Ariana was with Nanette Poynter, who was doing her model-walking routine on the arm of a portly, older guy with a brick-red complexion and only a few strands of remaining hair. He seemed to be on his last legs-I heard him wheezing as he passed by our table on the way to one adjacent. With delight I realized I was positioned so I could see Ariana quite easily. Not that I'd be looking at her, of course…

  Ariana had assured me that Nanette Poynter would not acknowledge that she'd ever met me before. The trophy wife of Vernon Poynter was wearing a very tight scarlet dress that showed her ribs and razor-sharp hipbones. She was also bedecked with what I was sure was a fortune in diamonds.

  The four people I didn't know arrived at our table and turned out to be two couples, both ancient and both clearly very rich.

  Tami Eckholdt still hadn't appeared when Brother Owen made his way to the stage. The noise died down, the lights dimmed in the body of the banquet room, and an even brighter spotlight illuminated him as he raised his hands.

  "My friends. The Church of Possibilities is honored, deeply honored, and humble, deeply humble, to have the blessing of your wonderful presences here tonight. You are vibrant examples of the truth, the truth only glimpsed by some, that great success in life is possible. Yet even each of you, in your heart of hearts, must acknowledge that you are still not fully appreciated. You must be aware of God-given talents hidden deep within you that people would marvel at if they only knew."

  I saw several people around me unconsciously nodding. Beside me, Aunt Millie hissed, "Load of old codswallop."

  Brother
Owen began touching hearts with descriptions of children with cancer. I was convinced he was an extraordinary hypocrite but hoped that a fair portion of the money raised tonight would indeed go to help those poor kids.

  "She's in my seat!" was whispered fiercely in my ear. Tami was leaning over me, her cheek practically touching mine. "Your aunt is in my seat."

  Trying not too obviously to recoil from her, I whispered back, "There's a spare seat over there, between the two couples."

  "That's where she's supposed to be. Your aunt must have switched the place cards."

  "Shhh!" said someone.

  With a muffled oath, my thwarted suitor barged around the table and flung herself in the empty chair. "Nasty bit of work," observed Aunt Millie.

  Brother Owen, to thunderous applause, finished his speech and came down to take his seat, on the way stopping at several tables for a personal word with a favored few-doubtless those who contributed generously to the church. I noticed Vernon Poynter gained an especially warm response.

  Then things followed the same routine as such functions everywhere. There was food, there was drink, there was totally forgettable conversation. I suspected some people were covertly checking their watches and wondering when they could get out of there.

  During the main course someone, no doubt famous, played the grand piano, although nobody paid much attention. After dessert and coffee, a turn by a comedian who wasn't very funny, and a truly heartfelt plea by a female oncologist who specialized in treating children with cancer, the real business of the evening began: table-hopping.

  I'd been watching Ariana-I couldn't help myself-and had noticed she'd been knocking back the champagne. I didn't drink much at the best of times, so I'd just sipped mine, but every time a waiter offered, Ariana had her glass refilled.

  Brother Owen asked Alf to change places with me. When I was seated next to him, he leaned over confidentially. "Kylie, you're a lovely young woman."

  "Thank you, Brother Owen." I couldn't resist adding, "It's not to my credit. It's God given, as you, of all people, appreciate."

  He looked rather taken aback. "Of course it is, Kylie. The Guiding Spirit's hand is in all creation."