The Dingo Dilemma

by Claire McNab

  I said goodbye to Eppie, then hurried to keep up with Freddie, who moved with deceptive speed. He took me through a dizzying array of sets then down a long hallway to a green door bearing the stern commandment to keep it closed at all times. "Through here."

  Behind it was a large room fitted with three spacious mesh runs. One of them, I guessed, held the famous Darken.

  Dingo was slumped in a chair, smoking. He looked up as we entered, his face far from welcoming. "What do you want?"

  "Dingo," I said. "G'day."

  Freddie said, "I'll leave you to it," and disappeared.

  "Jesus, Kylie, what are you doing here?"

  "Just dropping in to say hello."

  Dingo dropped the butt of his cigarette on the floor and ground it out under the heel of his boot. "It's not a good time."

  He was thinner and more drawn than I remembered. His sandy hair was lank and lifeless. Even his mustache drooped listlessly. He still had a hard, muscled body, but his usually tanned face was pale and there was a tremor in his hands.

  "Why didn't you answer my calls?" I asked.

  "Christ, can't you leave me alone?"

  "This isn't my idea, Dingo. I'm here as a favor to your mum and dad."

  His face twisted. "Tell them I'm fine."

  "You don't look fine to me."

  "I haven't got time for this."

  He looked relieved when the door opened and a girl stuck her head through. "Darleen's up in fifteen."

  "I can't talk now. Later perhaps, Kylie. I'll call you."

  We both knew he wouldn't.

  I found my way back to the activity by heading towards the noise. I was looking for Freddie to call Eppie Longworth to come and get me, when a balding bloke with a ponytail grabbed me.

  "You're late! Here, take this." He took my arm and guided me over to one of the sets. Shoving pages of script into my hand, he said, "Take it from the top."

  "There's been some mistake-"

  "No mistake. That's the scene I want." He turned away to bellow, "Giles? Where the hell are you? Get some light on this girl."

  Abruptly, blinding lights came on. I blinked through the glare at the pages I was holding, recognizing the first words. It was the appallingly written passage Melodie had delivered in the kitchen this morning.

  Someone yelled, "Quiet on the set!" Silence immediately fell.

  "And action!" snapped the ponytailed bloke, who had to be Earl Garfield.

  Right. I'd give him action. I'd show him how it should have been written. I'd ham it up and have some fun.

  "Timmy?" I cried, hoping my expression conveyed a combo of wonder and desperate hope. "Fair dinkum, is that really you? My baby brother?" I took a deep breath to prolong a dramatic pause, then went on, "You little bobby-dazzler! At last, after all these years, with me in Oz and you here, in Texas, and never a word between us. Ripper!" I dropped my gaze to an imaginary dingo by his side. "And good onya, Darleen, for being true blue."

  "Cut!" Garfield strode into the light. "Your accent needs some work, but you'll do. The part's yours."

  "But-"

  "Giles will look after the details." He raised his voice to yell, "Giles, where the hell are you?"

  "Mr. Garfield-"

  "Don't bother me"-he broke off to peer at me intently- "Name?"

  "Kylie, Kylie Kendall."

  "Don't bother me with piddling trivia, Kylie Kendall. Your agent will handle negotiations."

  "I don't have-"

  "Giles! Get your ass over here!" He turned back to glare at me. "And be on time in future."

  "What just happened?" I said to Giles.

  "You got the part of Olive. Congratulations. You're a TV star.”

  Seven

  I got back to Kendall & Creeling feeling rather like a stunned mullet. I skipped past Melodie at the front desk with a pang of guilt, wondering how to break the news that I was about to play Olive, not her. I found Ariana wasn't in yet, and I required expert advice, fast.

  "Bob," I said, closing Bob Verritt's office door behind me, "I need help. Urgently."

  He looked up from the papers he'd been reading. "What have you done now?"

  "Now?" I said, indignant. "It's not like I make a habit of getting myself into trouble."

  That made Bob laugh immoderately. "Kylie, it's your modus operandi."

  I smiled reluctantly. Unfortunately, there was some truth in the charge.

  Still grinning, Bob leaned his skinny frame back in his chair. "So what's the problem?"

  "I've sort of become an actor, by accident."

  I told Bob the sequence of events that had led to my being offered the role of Olive. He indulged in more unrestrained laughter.

  "Can't tell you how pleased I am that I amuse you so much," I said, rather miffed at his lighthearted attitude.

  Making a real effort to be serious, Bob said, "So why didn't you tell Garfield it was a case of mistaken identity?"

  "I was going to, and then it hit me that this would be a perfect way to spend some time near Dingo O'Rourke and find out what's going on with him. Dingo made it pretty clear he's not intending to see me again, but he won't have any choice if I'm in the cast. And don't worry about me being out of the office. Olive's only scheduled for two episodes, so it won't be a long-term thing."

  Bob's grin broke out again. "You could make a big splash in the part. If that happens, your character will join the permanent cast."

  "There's Buckley's chance of that. What I know about acting could be written on the head of a pin, and in block letters. That's why I need your advice."

  "Were you asked if you had an agent?"

  "I almost said Melodie's Larry-my-agent represented me, but then I thought that might not be wise."

  "Good grief," said Bob, the smile wiped off his face. "Melodie! She's not going to be happy."

  This struck me as quite an understatement. "Melodie's going to be mad as a cut snake. She'd been telling everybody how she aced her audition for Olive and that she's a sure thing for the part."

  "I'd keep out of dark alleys, if I were you."

  There was silence while we both contemplated Melodie's likely reaction. Hostile was probably the best I could hope for under the circumstances. Completely berko was more likely.

  "Bob, I'm a babe in the woods about this acting stuff," I said, "and I can hardly ask Melodie's advice."

  "Let's give this some serious thought. OK, first you need an agent or an entertainment lawyer to represent you and negotiate your contract. Since you've already got the job, I'm thinking a lawyer's the way to go. Ask Harriet-she'll recommend someone first-class. And you need to join SAG or AFTRA, whichever has jurisdiction over Darleen Come Home." He added helpfully, "That's the Screen Actors Guild and the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists."

  I sighed. "This acting lark's more complicated than I bargained for."

  "Just wait until you get a taste of Earl Garfield as autocratic director," said Bob with a wry smile. "He's been known to make grown men cry."

  ****

  Harriet was as amused as Bob had been, but she did manage to stifle her giggles long enough to call an entertainment lawyer friend, and set up an appointment for later that afternoon. Swearing her to silence, as I had yet to tell Melodie the bad news, I went looking for Julia Roberts. At times like this Jules was an excellent sounding board. I'd use her to trial a few different ways to introduce the inconvenient fact that I'd inadvertently stolen the part Melodie coveted.

  I couldn't locate Jules, and as she had any number of hidey holes where she could be lurking, I gave up the idea of using her as a test audience. I knew I had no excuse to put off the awful moment any longer. My mother's oft-repeated advice echoed in my ears: "Strike while the iron is hot. She who hesitates is lost. Bite the bullet…"

  Mum. Of course she'd be anxious to hear what was going on with Dingo. I persuaded myself I'd give her a quick call and catch her early before things got hectic at The Wombat's Retreat. Then I'd dash Melodie'
s hopes.

  Jack O'Connell, my mum's fiancé, answered the phone. "Jeez, Kylie, you've rung at a bad time. We've got a bloody emergency, no two ways about it."

  He put the phone down before I could ask what sort of emergency it was. After a long delay, Mum came on the line. "Can't talk, darl. The kitchen staff's just walked off the job. There's no one to cook breakfast, and wouldn't you know it, we've got a full complement of guests. I've got everyone pitching in, including Millie."

  "What upset the kitchen staff?"

  "Jack upset them, that's who. Rubbing them up the wrong way, telling them how to do their jobs…"

  I could see where this was heading. "I'll let you go, Mum, and call later, when-"

  "I need you here at the Wombat, Kylie. I can't run the place on my own, and Jack's no help, as you can see. So when are you coming home?"

  I was saved from answering by a hubbub at the other end of the line. "Gotta go, love. Jack says they're coming to blows in the kitchen."

  Right. Now I'd speak with Melodie. Before I was out my office door, the phone on my desk rang.

  "Is that you, Kylie? The nice young woman I met yesterday?"

  "Mrs. Blake?"

  "Phyllis, please." She dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper. "Something odd. I thought you should know."

  When silence indicated a prompt was needed, I said, "Know what, Phyllis?"

  "This morning I just happened to be getting a bit of air out the front of our building, when these two men turned up. Asking questions about Dingo. Shifty-eyed. Very suspicious."

  "Do you have any idea who they were?"

  "Naturally, as a matter of course I asked for ID," said Phyllis, sounding a little hurt that I hadn't realized this. "I've watched enough shows on television to know you ask for ID. So I did. 'Show me some ID,' I said."

  "And did they?"

  "That panicked them a bit." Phyllis had a note of satisfaction in her voice. "Looked at each other, then the one who seemed to be the leader told me that they were just friends of Douglas O'Rourke's. I knew immediately they were up to no good. I said, 'You're no friends of his if you're calling him Douglas. He's Dingo to his friends. So who are you?' And they said not to worry, and left. I thought it best to follow them. You've got to be proactive about crime these days."

  I had a vision of Mrs. Blake in her slippers and housecoat trotting along behind these two slippery-looking blokes. "Stone the crows, Phyllis, that sounds like a dangerous thing to do."

  "Not at all. I always carry my personal alarm in my pocket. A touch of a finger and an ear-splitting noise gets everyone's attention. I had my hand on it the whole time. One of them looked over his shoulder and saw me, then the two of them rushed to get into a big black limo."

  "You didn't get the number, did you?"

  Phyllis sighed. "Sorry, dearie, no. My eyes aren't as good as they used to be."

  I grabbed a pen. "Could you describe them to me?"

  This took some time, as Phyllis was nothing if not thorough. As I jotted the last detail down, she said, "At first I thought they might be mafia, you know, like in the movies. But these two weren't good enough for that. And they weren't bill collectors. Bill collectors come straight out with it and don't beat around the bush like these bozos."

  I wasn't quite sure what a bozo was, but it didn't sound flattering. "Maybe you should call the cops if you see these two blokes again."

  "The cops?" said Phyllis with scorn. "I can look after myself. Tell you what, if they turn up again, I'll call you."

  I got her to promise to be careful, and said goodbye. Excuses over. I stiffened my upper lip and headed for the front desk.

  Melodie had company.

  "G'day, Kylie," said Cousin Brucie. "You never told me someone as beaut-looking as Melodie worked here. If I'd known, I'd have lobbed in even sooner." He gave her a big smile. "I can see it's true what they say about California girls."

  Melodie beamed. To me she said, "And you never told me your cousin Bruce was so handsome."

  "Must have slipped my mind."

  Looking at them, I had to admit they made an attractive couple. Melodie obviously agreed, because she said, "I've just been telling Bruce I'd love to show him around some of our night spots."

  "Terrif idea," I said with enthusiasm. Anything to get Brucie off my hands. I cleared my throat. "Melodie, I need to talk to you about something, in private."

  Inconveniently, someone chose this moment to call Kendall & Creeling. While Melodie was answering the phone, Brucie said to me, "Well? What's the good oil? Did you see Dingo?"

  "Just for a few minutes."

  "And…?"

  "And nothing, Brucie, yet."

  "Bruce," he said, grimacing. "Bruce."

  "Oh, sorry. I keep forgetting. Bruce it is."

  I became aware that Melodie was staring at me. She said into the receiver, "Say it again, Tiff."

  Tiffany apparently said it again, because Melodie's face went dead white and her eyes narrowed to slits. "You're sure?" she said.

  Apparently Tiff was sure. Melodie put down the receiver with exaggerated care, got slowly to her feet, fixing me with a look that threatened severe bodily harm.

  "Corblimey," said Brucie, seeing the California girl he'd just admired transformed into something dangerously feral.

  With horror I realized I'd dallied too long. The receptionists' network had beaten me to it. "Let me explain," I said to Melodie.

  "How could you, Kylie? You knew I was counting on Olive. You knew!"

  "The whole thing was an accident, honestly, Melodie."

  "Olive was mine!" A tremor ran through her. "And you can't even act."

  "It was my Aussie accent," I said. "That's the only possible explanation."

  Melodie pointed at me with a dramatic gesture. "You…you… Benedict Arnold!"

  "Who's Benedict Arnold?" Brucie asked.

  Melodie flashed a corrosive glance in his direction. "A traitor," she hissed, "like Kylie."

  "Hey, fair crack of the whip," Brucie protested. "Kylie's got lots of faults, but being a traitor isn't one of them."

  "Thanks for the ringing endorsement," I said.

  To my consternation, Melodie put her face in her hands and began to cry. "My big chance ruined," she wailed.

  A furious Melodie I could cope with, but a weeping Melodie made me feel lower than a snake's belly. "I'm sorry-"

  "Sorry? You're sorry?" Melodie pushed past me and tottered off down the hall, her shoulders heaving with heavy sobs.

  "Holy mackerel!" said Brucie.

  I was about to go after her when the phone rang. It was a call for Lonnie. As I put that through to him, another call came in, this time for Harriet. I rang her line, and before I put the call through I said, "Harriet, this is a true emergency. Can you take over the front desk when you're finished with this call?" Harriet, agreeable as always, said she would.

  Brucie had settled himself on the corner of the desk. "What in the hell did you do?" he asked with a grin. "And who's this Olive sheila?"

  "Where to begin?" I said.

  Fran appeared, scowling. "What's wrong with Melodie? She just ran past me, sobbing."

  "Let's put it this way, Fran, it's a bit complicated."

  "I did catch a few words. Something about someone two-faced snatching the role of a lifetime from her."

  "That would be me," I said.

  ****

  I left early for my appointment with the entertainment lawyer Harriet had lined up, just to get out of the office. Brucie was entertaining Fran with stories about his mother. Fran had met Aunt Millie, and heartily approved of her bleak view of life, as it matched Fran's own.

  Melodie had cried herself out and had returned to her post at the front desk in ice-princess mode. She had been cruelly wronged, and frigid dignity would be her response.

  "We'll talk later," I said to her as I opened the front door.

  Melodie's glance was frosty. "There's absolutely nothing left to say, so please don't bother.
"

  I could hardly blame Melodie for her angst. On the way to my car I brooded over whether I should have taken the role or not, but decided there was no guarantee Melodie would have got it anyway. In fact, since Earl Garfield was still auditioning for Olive when he grabbed me by mistake, the odds were Melodie had already dipped out.

  For a moment I considered sharing this insight with Melodie, Perhaps not.

  I was just about to get into my Toyota sedan when Lonnie, hot and bothered, came hurrying over. "Kylie, before you go…"

  "What's up? Is there some prob?"

  "I must congratulate you. It's wonderful you're in the cast of Darleen Come Home. I know you'll do an excellent job."

  "Thanks," I said, feeling a mite suspicious. Lonnie had a devious look about him.

  "Pity Melodie's so upset, but she'll get over it."

  "I hope so," I said. After a pause, I asked, "Is there something else?"

  "Now you mention it, there is. You see, Pauline's got this ambition to be the most successful star wrangler in history. She wants to take Glowing Bodies to the top of the event coordinating universe."

  "Good on her," I said. "Hope she makes it."

  "That's where you come in."

  I stared at him, astonished. "What?"

  "No one's ever been able to wrangle Earl Garfield. He doesn't attend industry events, period. For event coordinators he's the holy grail, especially since he dates reclusive heiress Queenie Van Dorn. To deliver both of them to a major function would be an unbelievable coup."

  I could see where this was going. "No way, Lonnie," I said firmly. "I'm not getting involved in the star wrangling business in any way, shape, or form."

  Misery flooded Lonnie's face. "I've sort of promised Pauline you’d…

  "I'd what?"

  "Please, Kylie, I'm pleading with you. Would you at least speak with Pauline. Please?"

  "Lonnie-"

  "I'll never ask another favor."

  I looked at my watch. I'd be late if I didn't get going.

  “Tomorrow, let’s- "

  “Oh, thank you, Kylie!"

  "Thank you? Hold on, Lonnie."

  But he was already hurrying off. His last words, as he disappeared into the courtyard, were, "Pauline will be so pleased."