by Claire McNab
"Mud can stick," she declared darkly. "That's why something has to be done."
What this something might be I was not to discover, as Jack Yarrow himself appeared at her office door. "Kylie?" he said with rather chilly surprise. "I thought you were helping with the symposium arrangements."
"Sorry, Prof. Stopped to chat. Won't do it again."
"Professor," said Yarrow and Georgia in unison.
"Sorry again." I smiled sweetly at Yarrow, who was blocking my exit by standing in the doorway. "It's like you said before, I've got that annoying Aussie tendency to use diminutives."
He didn't look amused, but he did manage to press himself against me as I squeezed past him. Yerks!
By late Friday afternoon I was more than glad to say goodbye to the biology department and head for home. I reached Kendall & Creeling, parked my car, and stopped, as I often did, to admire the courtyard at the front of the building. Its little terra-cotta fountain burbled happily to itself. I'd recently bought a selection of tree ferns to create shade in one corner, and I had my eye on a stone bench I'd seen in one of the zillion catalogs that constantly arrived in the mail. Melodie, who was the catalog queen, was always poring over one or the other and announcing she'd found something she just must have.
Melodie herself appeared, traipsing listlessly across the red terracotta tiles of the courtyard in the direction of the parking area.
"Oh, hello," she said, shoulders drooping. "I left your messages on your desk."
"Whatever's the matter?"
Melodie dumped her voluminous makeup bag on the ground. "Ashlee." Her voice was bitter. "The hush-up didn't work. Ashlee found out Quip is auditioning for LUL all this week." She sighed. "Ashlee says she'll be at tonight's auditions."
"There was a leak in the receptionist network?"
Melodie put heart and soul into a dark scowl. "If I find out who…"
"It'll be curtains? She'll be cast into receptionist outer darkness? Much gnashing of teeth?"
Melodie zapped me with a look. "You can joke, Kylie, but this is serious. Ashlee's heart is set on playing Lucy/Lucas, would you believe? That's my role. I told Quip I was prepared to dye my hair red so I could fully realize the very essence of a redheaded character."
"That makes sense," I said encouragingly. "As a blond, you only know the essence of blondness, like I know the essence of dark brown."
Melodie gave me a very suspicious look. I maintained a bland expression. "Good luck," I said. "I can't imagine Ashlee's got a chance, with you in the running."
She brightened. "It's true Ashlee can't act, but…" Melodie trailed off as gloom took over again.
"What?" I said.
"It isn't fair," Melodie snapped. "Ashlee's a natural redhead."
"Like Fran."
Frowning, Melodie said, "Why are you mentioning Fran? She isn't trying out for the part." A look of alarm spread over her face. "Omigod!
Fran left early today. And I did hear her reading lines to Lonnie in the kitchen. You don't think-"
"Surely Fran would have told you?"
Melodie snatched up her makeup bag. "Gotta go," she said, putting her ankles at risk as she broke into a near run in her extremely high heels.
Melodie's had been the only other car in the parking area, so I knew I was alone in the building except for Julia Roberts. She was waiting for me just inside the front door. I'd been held up at UCLA last night, and Jules had been served her dinner half an hour late. This, she had made plain, was unacceptable. Tonight, the moment she set eyes on me, Jules began lobbying for sustenance. This was more to make a point than to be sure she got fed on time, because she knew that when I was in residence, I was pretty well putty in her paws.
I locked the door, soothed Jules by giving her a quick groom-for a short-haired cat, it was amazing how much she managed to shed-then went to check my messages.
Mum had called to say she'd seen another L.A. freeway shooting on the news, and that I was not, under any circumstances, to take my life in my hands and drive on freeways. Melodie had scrawled on the bottom of the message: "Your mom was real upset."
Lonnie had left a note to advise me he'd installed a pinhole-lens camera linked to a time-lapse VCR at Pen Braithwaite's apartment. The VCR was set to record an image every second, which would catch anyone approaching the front door of the apartment. Like Melodie, Lonnie had added something. In his case it was a smiley face and the words: "Dr. Penny! Cool!"
Julia Roberts had followed me into my office. I was telling her we could head to the kitchen for her tucker when I heard someone at the front door. Yerks! I was nowhere near my usual protective weapon, a golf club I kept behind my bedroom door.
"Kylie? It's me, Ariana."
My heart gave a delighted jump. I hadn't expected to see Ariana until Monday. I put on a casual expression and went to meet her.
Ariana looked tired. "I'm just calling in to pick up my messages," she said, smothering a yawn. "I'm beat. My plane was delayed two hours, and then we had a rough flight. I hoped to pick up Gussie, but we landed too late for me to make it to the Castle in time."
"The castle?"
Ariana smiled. "Believe it or not, the name of the boarding kennels is Canine Castle. The latest in luxury accommodations for dogs. Gussie seems to enjoy herself there."
Carefully nonchalant, I said, "So there's no one at home waiting for you to arrive?"
"The odd potted plant might pine for my company," said Ariana lightly.
"Stay and have dinner with me." When she seemed about to demur, I added, "Oh, come on, Ariana. There's a local Thai restaurant I've got to know well. Beaut tucker. I can call an order in, and half an hour, tops, it'll be ready to pick up." Before she could say no, I went on, "I'll get the menu. Have a look at it and see what you think."
"Thanks, but I was dreaming of a hot shower and getting into something comfortable. I'll take a rain check, OK?"
"You can have a shower here, while I order. And I'm sure you've got a change of clothes in your luggage. Please. I'd really like the company."
"You have Julia Roberts," said Ariana, indicating Jules, who had chosen this moment to stalk up to us, her ears slanted in a frown. She sat down and glared at me. After all her efforts, I still hadn't provided her dinner on schedule.
"She's lovely," I said, "but just a touch self-centered. Basically, it's Jules, Jules, Jules. I don't get a look-in." I sloped my eyebrows the wrong way and looked hopefully at Ariana.
"I'm too tired to resist," Ariana said with a half laugh. "Where's the menu?"
The Kendall & Creeling Building had originally been a private home, so there were two proper bathrooms. The one the staff used had a bathtub with a showerhead and, of course, a toilet. Mine, off my bedroom, was smaller, but it had a frosted glass shower recess. I'd always considered it dangerous to clamber into a slippery bathtub to have a shower and said so to Ariana. "It's much safer to use my bathroom."
"I'll use the office one," she said, a little too emphatically.
"Are you thinking I'm going to put the hard word on you?" I asked. When she raised one eyebrow fractionally, I translated, although I was certain she knew exactly what I meant. "Make a pass at you, come on to you-whatever it is you Americans say."
"Kylie-"
"Because I won't. Promise."
And I meant it. No way was I going to ruin things between us. I had to admit I'd almost blown it a few weeks back, when I'd said too much, but since then I'd played it cool, and things were again back on an even keel.
"OK." Ariana picked up her things and headed for the staff bathroom. I called the Thai restaurant with our order, then served Julia Roberts with grilled turkey, one of her favorites. Actually, she had a healthy appetite, so pretty well every different dinner was a favorite.
I'd picked up my keys to collect our order when Ariana came into the kitchen barefoot and wearing faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt. "You didn't have black jeans?" I asked, grinning.
"Apparently not," she said
drily. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No, stay here and keep Jules company."
"Then let me pay."
"I asked you to dinner, so it's my shout."
I left her with Jules watching TV in the kitchen and skipped out to my car. I reminded myself not to get too chuffed about having persuaded Ariana to share a meal with me. It was no big deal. She'd eat, stay for a few polite minutes more, then go off to her Hollywood Hills home with its stunning views…and maybe, its memories.
Memories. What was it that made her so sad? Had someone she cared for died? Or was it a love story that had ended badly? But how could anyone fall out of love with Ariana? I suspected I'd find it impossible.
On autopilot, I drove the kilometer or so to the Thai restaurant, rehearsing what I'd say to Ariana when I got back. Maybe she would let her hair down and talk about herself… Oh, that was likely-as likely as me spotting a flock of pink pigs flying along Sunset Boulevard.
Miraculously, I snaffled a parking spot after driving around the block only once, chatted with the sweet little daughter of the Thai family who owned the shop, collected my order, and, feeling supercheerful, left a large tip. Before starting my car, I hesitated. Should I pick up a bottle of wine to have with our food? Would it look as though I had an ulterior motive? That I was plying her with alcohol to have my way with her?
My way with her: I had to grin at the old-fashioned phrase. I resolutely ignored a frisson of desire. I'd promised, hadn't I? So, no wine. No hidden agenda. Just a pleasant meal together.
Speeding back to Ariana, I resolved to be a relaxed, agreeable dinner companion. As I drove through our gate, I glanced at our names: Kendall & Creeling. Our business relationship: crash-hot if it could be our personal relationship too. I sternly reminded myself not to be impetuous. My mother had often pointed out how often I got myself in hot water because I acted without first thinking it through. Tonight I would be caution personified.
I found Ariana perched on a high stool in the kitchen, Julia Roberts rather precariously situated on her lap. "Gussie will smell Jules on your clothes," I said, dumping the plastic bag containing our dinner on the counter.
"She won't mind. Gussie loves cats. She's very respectful, probably because she had a cat of her own for quite a few years: Priscilla."
I was eager to glean any personal details. "What happened to Priscilla?" I asked.
"She was nineteen," said Ariana, "so I believe one can say old age happened to Priscilla."
"You had her from a kitten?"
Ariana smiled. "She was an incredibly soft, furry little ball of energy."
I would have kept this conversation going, just to see where it would lead, but Ariana gently deposited Julia Roberts on the floor and headed for the food.
We sat companionably across from each other at the kitchen bench, open containers of many different Thai delicacies between us. I particularly liked that about Thai food-the mixture of many flavors to compliment and contrast. As she served herself, I noticed she'd removed her signet ring.
We didn't talk much, just concentrated on eating. Afterward, over coffee (Ariana) and tea (me), I brought Ariana up to speed on what had been happening while she'd been away in Sacramento. "What with the Global Marsupial Symposium starting on Thursday next week, everyone in the biology department is flat out like a lizard drinking," I said, "so I haven't had much chance to chat up Erin Fogarty about Oscar's quokka research. Monday morning, first thing, I'm going to turn on the charm full bore."
"Difficult to see how she can resist," said Ariana in a dry tone.
I gave her a cheeky grin. "End of the day, I practically guarantee that I'll be her second best friend."
"I don't doubt it. But why aim so low? Why not be Erin Fogarty's first best friend?"
Crikey, I loved her cool, astringent wit. More than that, I loved her. "You know I said I wasn't going to put the hard word on you?"
Ariana looked at me mutely, her eyes so blue they glowed.
I took a deep breath. "I lied. I want you to stay the night. Here. With me."
She shook her head. "Bad idea."
"Be a devil, Ariana. Throw caution to the winds."
Her mouth quirked, just a little. "It's not in my character." She slid off the kitchen stool. "Kylie, this isn't going to work. There are so many things you don't know."
"Then tell me."
"I can't."
"Or won't?"
"Both."
"Blimey," I said, "you don't make things easy, do you?" We were standing toe-to-toe. I leaned forward and kissed her wonderful mouth. Her heart was beating hard against me. "Come to bed."
She stood within the circle of my arms, unresisting, her head bent. Barefoot, she was a bit shorter man me, but I'd reckon more than my match. I could feel the taut muscles in her back, sense the tensile strength of her.
Ariana's breath had quickened; there was a faint tremor in her body. I knew she desired me-or desired someone-to hold her, make love to her. Perhaps any warm body would do. Perhaps she saw the image of someone else when she looked at me. Perhaps…
She looked up. "All right," she said. "I'll stay."
"Thank you."
"Thank you?"
I felt myself blushing. "I didn't expect you to agree," I added hastily, "and I'm really chuffed you have, Ariana. You won't change your mind, will you?"
Suddenly, she looked terribly sad. "No," she said, "I won't change my mind. I should-but I won't."
I couldn't help feeling a bit hurt. At least she could pretend a degree of enthusiasm. "Stone the crows," I said, "that's a bit less than a ringing endorsement for my company. I mean, I'm not expecting for you to fall over yourself, but…"
A small smile touched the corners of her mouth. "Kylie, you're one of a kind," she said. "You really are."
I left her sitting on my bed communing with Julia Roberts, and went to have a shower myself, but not before I said to Ariana, "You won't choof off the moment I get under the shower, will you?"
"I guess that means skip out on you. I'm exhausted, Kylie. I'm too tired to even think about getting up and leaving."
She wasn't kidding. Sparkling clean, wrapped in a terry toweling robe, I bounded out of the bathroom to find Julia Roberts and Ariana curled up on my bed, both sound asleep.
Still in her jeans and T-shirt, her blond hair spread across the pillow, she slept like a child, relaxed and vulnerable. I didn't want to disturb her, so I turned out the light and, still wrapped in my robe, eased myself onto the bed beside her. Julia Roberts sighed, leaped gracefully to the floor, and left us. Three, apparently, was a crowd.
I may have dozed a little, but the delight of having Ariana's sleeping self beside me kept me pretty much alert. Her breathing was slow and easy. There was enough reflected light in the room for me to discern her unguarded face. I thought there was a real possibility my heart would melt with tenderness.
Ages passed. The world spun on its axis, unheeding. She lay within the crook of my arm. I didn't wish for morning, even though my arm had a severe case of pins and needles. I heard the cadence of her breathing change, and realized she was awake. After a few moments, she said, "Hi."
"G'day."
In the silence, I was conscious of the faint rumble of traffic on Sunset Boulevard. I eased my arm out from under her and flexed my fingers. "Pins and needles," I said. "You're heavier than you look."
Ariana gave a soft laugh.
"Crikey," I said, "that wasn't very romantic, was it?"
"Not very." Her voice was husky.
Leaning on my elbow, I looked down at Ariana's face. In the near darkness the devastating blueness of her eyes was masked. My heart was hammering so hard I thought she must hear it. Perhaps she did. She slid her hand under my robe, encircled my shoulders, and pulled me down into a kiss, slow and deep.
The touch of her clothes against my bare skin was intoxicating. I felt her reach for her waistband. "Don't undress, Ariana. Not yet."
She made a soft, l
anguorous sound as I ran my fingers down the seam of her jeans. I pushed up her T-shirt, kissed her stomach, stroked her nipples with my tongue.
"Kylie," she said.
My name in her mouth ignited such longing, such passion that I heard myself moan. I'd reached the zenith. Afire, I knew I couldn't feel more, couldn't desire more. Then Ariana touched me, and I found I'd only brushed the edges of ecstasy. I muffled my cries against her throat.
Ariana-cool, controlled Ariana-had vanished in an incendiary flash. She ripped the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She lifted her hips as I peeled her jeans down, quivered as I tasted her.
She was lightning; she was quicksilver; she was my Ariana.
FIFTEEN
After making love with Ariana, anything else was set to be an anticlimax. On Saturday evening I arrived at the radio station at the appointed time. I'd been quite looking forward to sitting in the studio watching Pen, as Dr. Penny, dispensing advice to callers, but now my thoughts were fixed on something far more disturbing-and exciting.
As I parked my car in the lot beside the khaki-colored building that had seen better times, I reminded myself I had to collect a compilation of the suspicious calls that Pen had had made up from the master recordings of her show. My name had been given to security, so after I'd been thoroughly checked to make sure I was who I said I was and then provided with a badge reading VISITOR, Pen was summoned to collect me from the reception area.
Bubbling with enthusiasm, she punched the button to summon the lift at least ten times. "That Lonnie of yours, he's quite a ladies' man," she said. "Sexy as all get-out."
"Lonnie?" Chubby, dimpled Lonnie-sexy? Pen had to be referring to someone else.
"He did a great job installing the pinhole camera," Pen continued. "And he stayed for quite a while. We found we had so much in common."
I visualized Lonnie next to the Amazonian Pen Braithwaite. He was shorter than me, so he'd probably be about her breast level. And Lonnie was a total technology freak, who didn't seem to have a private life at all. What could he and Pen possibly have in common?