KK04 - Dingo Dilemma

by Claire McNab

  "Why would Homeland Security be interested in giving Fran an award?" countered Lonnie. "And were these guys even from Homeland Security?"

  Lonnie had printed out several copies of the photographs of Morgan and Unwin he'd taken with one of his tiny concealed cameras. The quality was excellent. I told Bob and Lonnie how these blokes were almost certainly the ones who'd been snooping around Dingo O'Rourke's place.

  While Lonnie got ready to sweep the building for hidden microphones, I went off to make sure that Melodie, Fran, and Harriet had gone, as we'd agreed it was better to keep the possibility of bugging to ourselves for the moment.

  There was a crowd at the front desk. With sinking heart I saw my cousin Brucie. He'd be wanting to know all about Dingo, and would probably suggest we should have dinner together. When I got closer I became conscious of something different about him. As a rule I didn't pay much attention to men's fashions, but even I could see Brucie was wearing some really nice clothes. And his hair had the latest slightly tousled style.

  I hadn't realized Quip was there, too, until I heard him say, "Since this morning I've got literary agents knocking at the door, fighting over I, Developer. Even had a call from a New York publisher. It was almost worthwhile being beaten up to get this level of interest."

  Quip's voice was his usual light baritone, but his eyes were just slits and his face was so swollen and discolored it was difficult to believe it was really him. He was sitting on one of the new Spanish-themed chairs with Fran standing protectively by his side.

  "You can thank Lonnie's blog for that interest," Harriet declared. "In some circles, he's a must-read every day. Haven't any of you seen it?"

  Lonnie wrote a blog? Because of his job, of necessity he spent a lot of time on the Internet, but somehow I'd never thought of him being a blogger, freely sharing his thoughts and opinions online to a potentially huge audience.

  "I'd write a blog," declared Melodie, "if only I had the time. Like, I have a real interesting life."

  "What name does Lonnie use?" Quip asked.

  Harriet made a face. "Bonnie Lonnie."

  Several people groaned. I did, myself.

  "Cheesy name or not," Harriet said, "Lonnie can really write effectively. Today's blog was a wonderfully satiric piece on how, inexplicably, over the years violent events occurred to individuals or companies who were unwise enough to oppose Norris Blainey in some way. Lonnie coined a term for it—the Blainey Inadvertent Kiss of Death, BIKOD for short. Quip, as the latest victim to be bikodded, was highlighted, with lots of detail about how his book is a thinly disguised expose of a certain real estate mogul's activities."

  Brucie caught sight of me. With a guilty smile, he said, "Sorry, Kylie, I know I've been neglecting you, but I have no idea where the time goes. Every day is just packed with things to do."

  Hallelujah! "I quite understand," I said with a faint, brave smile. "Don't give it a thought."

  "Bonzer," said Brucie. "You don't mind, then?"

  "Of course not. Los Angeles is an exciting city. You do have a lot to cover before your tourist visa expires."

  "No worries on that score," Brucie said. "I'm working on getting a green card. I might be here for good."

  ****

  Once Fran announced she was taking Quip home before he fell off the chair from exhaustion, there was a general move to leave.

  "I didn't know you had a blog," I said to Lonnie when I went back to announce the coast was clear and that he could carry out his electronic sweep for bugs.

  He gave me his best boyish smile. "Lots of things you don't know about me, Kylie." His grin faded. "Pauline's made a big difference to my life."

  "I'm sure she has," I said diplomatically.

  "I'm serious about her. In fact, I love her. Deeply."

  I blinked at him. Lonnie deeply in love with Pauline Feeney? "What does she feel about you?" I inquired.

  Anguish filled his chubby face. "I don't know."

  "You could ask."

  Lonnie shook his head. "No, I can't," he said. "I've tried, and I can't. Kylie, this might be the biggest favor I'll ever ask of you."

  Crikey, I had a fair idea what was coming. I wasn't wrong.

  "I must know. I can't go on with this uncertainty. Woman to woman, would you ask Pauline if she loves me?"

  "Lonnie, I can't just come out with a question like that and expect her to answer it."

  "Please, Kylie. You'll find a way. I'm dying a little each day, not knowing. You're the only person I can trust to do this."

  He looked so hopefully at me, I felt myself weakening. I knew very well what it was like to love someone and not be sure if the love was returned.

  "Right-oh," I said, "I'll give it a go, but don't keep badgering me about it. If an opportunity presents itself, I'll ask. If it doesn't, I won't. Fair enough?"

  Lonnie nodded, sighed, then started lugging the bug detection equipment out of his room. "It's hell," he said, "this loving someone and not knowing. Hell."

  Ariana came in after Lonnie had established that we were, indeed, bugged. He and Bob were in the process of finding each device and neutralizing it. I put my finger to my lips and mouthed, "We're bugged."

  She raised one elegant eyebrow. I grabbed a notepad and scrawled: Lots to tell you. I'm taking you to dinner, Musso & Frank's. Pick you up at seven. OK?

  I held my breath. This was as close as I'd ever been to taking her on a date.

  Ariana gave me a long blue look, then took the pen from me and wrote: OK.

  Fourteen

  Musso & Frank Grill on Hollywood Boulevard first opened its doors, the menu proudly proclaimed, in 1919 and since that date had served generations of celebrities and Hollywood shakers and movers.

  Ariana and I were seated in one of the many dimly lit red leather booths. The place was crowded and red-jacketed waiters with grim expressions moved without much urgency to take orders.

  "They pride themselves on their surly attitude," said Ariana after one gruff waiter had taken our drink order. "It's part of the tradition."

  I looked at the menu, an unpretentious white card packed with comfort food items—no complicated gourmet dishes here. "What are you going to have?" I asked, daunted by the choices available.

  "Their macaroni and cheese always tempts me," Ariana said.

  "Sounds good," I said. And when our brusque waiter finally delivered our food, I found it was better than good—it was addictive.

  I'd already asked Ariana about Natalie. She'd been moved to a rehabilitation facility, and although her physical condition remained the same, Ariana said that she was calmer.

  We discussed the bugging of our building. Lonnie had said that the devices were state-of-the-art. Tiny as a small pea, they were self-adhesive, so it was simple to unobtrusively deposit them under the edge of a desk, in the pot of an indoor plant, on the lintel above a doorway, and so on.

  But who was doing the bugging, and why? It was intriguing that the same two blokes had also been snooping around Dingo's apartment building. We'd left Bob and Lonnie, armed with the photos of Morgan and Unwin, trying to establish whether or not they did work for Homeland Security. Bob was inclined to think Norris Blainey was behind the bugging and it was linked to the attack on Quip, so he was going to visit Quip at home and show him the photos in the hope he might identify the two blokes as the ones who'd bashed him.

  Lonnie's cynical opinion was that Morgan and Unwin had been such clueless amateurs that they probably did belong to Homeland Security or some other government body.

  "We can't decide on any plan of action until Bob and Lonnie find out who these guys work for," Ariana said. "So to change the subject, how was your first day on the Darken set?"

  Soon I had her laughing. I told her about the two opposing rent-a-crowds chanting "Dingo!" and "Collie!" at the entrance to the studios. I recounted my capitulation to Felicity Frobisher on the matter of what constituted an Aussie accent. I gave her a word-for-word of Dustin Jaeger's penchant for referring
to himself in the third person, and I described how I fronted up to Earl Garfield.

  I saved my conversation with Dingo O'Rourke for last. "He didn't want to talk to me, but I said I wasn't going anywhere until he did, so he finally gave in."

  "I know just how he feels," said Ariana dryly.

  I ignored that. "First up," I said, "you have to know Dingo is absolutely devoted to Darken. There are three dingoes playing the part, and he says he's fond of all of them, but the dingo he loves most is the main one, and her name actually is Darleen."

  In my mind's eye I could see Dingo as he talked about Darleen. His drawn face had become animated. Even his droopy mustache had seemed to perk up.

  I went on to explain how he had come to believe the whole dingo napping threat by the Collie Coalition was a set-up to generate publicity for a show that was sliding in the ratings and in danger of cancellation. The idea that Darleen might be the target for abduction had first been mentioned on Internet notice boards where fans of the show exchanged messages. As rumors spread, the story reached critical mass and was broken to the general public by the media.

  "Does he know who's behind the scheme?" Ariana asked.

  "Earl Garfield and Norris Blainey."

  "It makes sense for Blainey to be involved. He needs Darleen Come Home to be renewed by the network as he's in an ongoing financial crunch. Kenneth Smithson called me this morning to say rumors are circulating that Blainey is close to bankruptcy."

  "Ripper! That means he won't be trying to buy our building.

  "I wouldn't get too elated," said Ariana. "Blainey's a financial Houdini. He's been close to ruin many times, but always managed to survive and prosper."

  I went on with Dingo's story. "He says that until recently Blainey's only occasionally turned up at the studios, but now he's there every second day. And he's taken a big interest in the whereabouts of the dingoes. They're in their kennels at night, but during the day they're taken to different places for their exercise regimen, training sessions, and grooming. They have their own vet, and when a dingo's involved in a scene, a representative from animal welfare has to be present."

  "What about on-location shoots?" Ariana asked. "Surely it'd be easier to carry out a snatch when there's no studio security to worry about."

  "Dingo says all location work has been canceled. He doesn't believe it's a case of snatching Darleen, anyway. He's got the idea in his head that one of the dingoes will be killed. That's why he's taken to sleeping at the studios."

  Ariana frowned. "Does it make sense to kill Darleen? She's the star of the show."

  "There's three of them. As long as one dingo is left alive, the show can go on. Dingo thinks the story will be that Darkens stunt double has been murdered in mistake for her."

  "If he's so sure this is going to happen," Ariana said, "why doesn't he blow the whistle on the scheme?"

  "I asked him that. He says he can't because he'll be deported and have to leave Darleen to her fate. He's here on a working visa—dingo wrangling's a rare skill, so Dingo's not displacing any American—and he's applied for a green card. He passed the background check to get the visa, but any serious investigation will turn up Aussie drug convictions under another name. Blainey dropped a hint that he knows about Dingo's criminal record, so Dingo's sure Blainey will dob him in if he blabs."

  Ariana asked what Dingo had to say about the blokes Phyllis Blake had chased off.

  "He said he had no idea who they were, but I didn't believe him. He clammed up then and I couldn't get another word out of him, so I left."

  "Quite a full day," she said.

  "You're not wrong! And to top it off, a bugging. And Lonnie."

  "Lonnie? There's a problem?"

  He hadn't sworn me to secrecy, but I didn't feel right revealing he'd specifically asked me to quiz Pauline about her love—or otherwise—for him, so I said, "From the way Lonnie talks, he's very serious about his relationship with Pauline Feeney. I just wonder if he's riding for a fall."

  "They do seem to make an odd couple," said Ariana, "but there've been stranger combinations that have worked. Unfortunately Pauline does have a reputation for loving and leaving, and she usually dates much younger men."

  "Eye candy?"

  Ariana grinned. "You're getting more LA every day."

  "It's just that I overheard Melodie and Harriet talking about Pauline giving Brucie a job as a party motivator, and Harriet said something about eye candy."

  "To provide glitz and glamour, event coordinators like Pauline provide A-list functions with a cast of beautiful people, usually models or actors. Sometimes they're paid, sometimes they do it for free drinks and the chance to rub shoulders with celebrities."

  "If you ask me, Ariana, Brucie would be way out of his depth."

  "Don't be so sure. You Aussies are endlessly entertaining."

  "Do I entertain you?"

  Her smile faded. "You do much more," she said quietly.

  We looked at each other. "Can we go?" I asked.

  ****

  I was silent as I drove up the winding streets to her house. When I stopped the car outside her front door, she said, "You're coming in?"

  I nodded, then got out of the car feeling giddy with desire, but terrified I'd say or do something that would destroy the fragile link between us. Surely Natalie was in Ariana's thoughts. She was in mine.

  Gussie greeted us with well-mannered enthusiasm. Ariana let her outside for a run, and stood with me at the front door watching Gussie ricochet around picking up scents.

  After a while, Ariana said, "She has such an uncomplicated delight in simply living."

  She called Gussie inside. Closing the front door behind us, she said, "You haven't spoken a word since we left the restaurant."

  I gave her a rueful smile. "It's safer that way."

  "Kylie, you can say anything to me."

  "That I love you with all my heart? Can I say that?"

  Ariana leaned forward and kissed me gently on the lips, then stood, pliant, within the circle of my arms. "I trust you," she said.

  When we'd made love before, Ariana's cool persona had vanished in a scorching passion that set us both ablaze. Tonight was different, and even more intoxicating. She was tender, gentle, unrelenting. I was drunk with sensation. A climax that would have exploded in minutes seemed to take hours—a spring coiled tighter and tighter until it seemed the sweetest agony I had ever felt.

  As she played the music of my body, I played hers. We rose together in flight, a glorious culmination that went on and on, until I believed together we would die from joy.

  We shared mind and body and spirit that night. Ariana said many things, but never once that she loved me. Still, it was enough.

  Fifteen

  "Giles! Where the hell are you?"

  It was no fun being Giles, Earl Garfield's assistant director. In fact, it was no fun being anything around this poor excuse for a human being. His balding head shining and his gray ponytail flying, he whirled around to berate some underling. Garfield was the embodiment of every arrogant, dictatorial despot portrayed in fiction. In movies behavior like his was often funny. In reality it was teeth-grindingly unpleasant.

  Darken was on the set, as in this scene she was to leap heroically through a window, sum up our perilous situation with one glance, then hurry to gnaw through the ropes that bound me to the chair. Next she was to rush to Timmy and release him from similar bondage.

  She had a full entourage in attendance—Dingo O'Rourke, of course, but also a stunt trainer and his assistant, plus a groomer, who hurried forward after every take to brush Darleen's coat to gleaming perfection.

  I had to admit that Darken was the most handsome dingo I'd encountered. In the wild they were thin and scruffy, with rough coats and mean expressions. Darken was sleek and seemed quite cheerful, although she did keep a wary eye on Earl Garfield as he stamped around swearing.

  Between takes, I'd tried to strike up a conversation with Dingo, but all he said was,
"Can't talk now."

  Although it sounded glamorous, I was finding acting consisted of a lot of waiting around and not much action. I wished I'd brought a book to read. I'd also discovered that scenes were often shot out of order, so although Olive hadn't yet met Timmy after their decade-long separation, here she was tied up with her brother in a remote mountain cabin. I was a bit hazy about who the villains in the story were, but they had no hope against Darken, anyway.

  With Julia Roberts as an audience, I'd dutifully learnt my lines. Although no one watching was likely to call me a crash-hot actor, I thought I did a fair job under the circumstances, which were trying to say the least. First, it was fiendishly hot under the glare of the lights; second, Earl Garfield was a truly detestable creature; and third, Dustin Jaeger was deeply unhappy with the script.

  We got ready for yet another take. I was tied to the chair with trick ropes which would release when Darken rushed behind me to apparently gnaw through them. A couple of meters away, a woman in a pink smock was dabbing at a shine on Dustin's nose.

  A voice shouted for quiet on the set. It was almost unnerving the way one moment people were dashing around, adjusting equipment and calling out to each other, then the next everyone was frozen in place and absolutely silent.

  We had several lines of dialogue before Darken came to our rescue. The script had Olive speaking first. "Stone the crows, Timmy!" I cried. "What will happen to us? Fair dinkum, I'm scared!"

  "Is it healthy fear you feel, or primal, blind panic?" Timmy inquired.

  "Cut!" screamed the director. "Jesus, Dustin, stick to the script! Your line is 'Don't be frightened. Darken will find a way to help us.'"

  Dustin looked aggrieved. "That's not how Timmy would express himself. It's not psychologically true to the existential element in his nature."

  Earl Garfield made a crude suggestion as to where Timmy could put his existential element.

  "Dustin's got a good vocabulary for a twelve-year-old," I said to the pink-smocked woman who had appeared with powder puff primed to eliminate any shiny spots on my face.

  "Twelve? Dustin's fifteen if he's a day."

  "Dinkum? He doesn't look that old."