KK01 - Wombat Strategy

by Claire McNab

  Melodie took a white-toothed snap at the doughnut. It was, I noticed, dripping with chocolate icing. Chocolate's one of my weaknesses. "I went out with him once," she said indistinctly.

  Now this was interesting. Ariana still hadn't told me what Deer had been doing in her office yesterday, and in the excitement of discussing what I'd be paid and confusing stuff like health insurance and social security, I'd forgotten to ask her.

  "You only went out with him once?"

  She swallowed the last of the doughnut. "My acting. Dave wasn't all that interested."

  I folded my arms and sat on the edge of the desk. "No? That's a surprise."

  "I can't date anyone who isn't supportive of my career. I mean, it's a jungle out there. Do you have any idea how many hicks bus into L.A. every day expecting to be discovered?"

  "How many?"

  Melodie frowned at me. "A real lot," she said. "Every audition's a zoo."

  "When do you hear about yesterday's audition?"

  "I haven't even got a call-back yet. That reminds me, I've got to get hold of Larry and see if he's heard anything." She added with a hint of satisfaction, "My agent. Larry Argent. That's the first step in an acting career. You've got to have an agent, and they don't take just anyone. You have to have talent, looks, and," she gave me an intense stare, "that star quality..."

  "So no probs for you, Melodie."

  This got me an indulgent laugh. "You're so cute!" She sobered. "There's a million would-bes with talent and looks and star quality. You gotta have luck too. Be seen by the right people." She sighed. "It's real hard work, I can tell you."

  I'd opened my mouth to ask what reason Dave Deer would have to be a client of Kendall & Creeling when Fran, her expression dark, came into view. "You write this? About the tea?" She flapped the list in my face.

  "That would be me."

  "You're asking for a teapot."

  Melodie watched with interest as Fran looked me up and down. "A teapot," Fran repeated. "A teapot? What's wrong with tea bags?"

  "Can't live without a teapot. And I forgot to ask for a tea-strainer too, please."

  Fran cocked her head at me and smiled a truly cynical smile. "Let me get this straight. You want me to get a teapot and a tea-strainer?"

  "Yes, please. And tea. A packet of the loose stuff. And make it fair dinkum tea, not those yucky tea bags with flavors."

  "Hey," said Melodie, "when I'm stressed after an audition, black currant tea is just about the only thing that can calm me down."

  Fran rolled her eyes. "Stressed? Give me a break."

  "Could I add something to the list?" I asked.

  "And that would be? Russian caviar? Truffles, maybe?"

  She reminded me strongly of my Aunt Millie, who's as sour as a lemon and has a line in sarcasm that could wrinkle paint.

  "Porridge," I said. "And not the flavored sort—"

  "Yadda yadda yadda."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Fran made an elaborate act out of adding porridge to the list. "Satisfied?"

  "This is just bonzer of you, Fran," I said, with the warmest smile I could manage. "I'm ever so grateful." I continued to grin at her benevolently.

  My Pollyanna act was practically guaranteed to irritate most people, and Fran was no exception. "Oh, Jesus," she said. "I'm gone." She paused at the entrance to say to Melodie, "Dentist first, then shopping. Don't expect me before lunch." She slammed the door behind her.

  "I suppose you wonder how Fran keeps her job," said Melodie.

  "It had crossed my mind."

  "She's Ariana's sister's daughter."

  Ariana had a sister? I found myself deeply interested and was about to ask a few questions when Bob Verritt interrupted with, "Melodie, I've got an urgent integrity check. The client's getting antsy. You can take Fran along."

  "No can do. Fran's at the dentist."

  "Again? She's as bad as you."

  "Cosmetic dentistry's an art," said Melodie, clearly stung by his comment. "It can't be rushed."

  "I suppose you'll have to take Lonnie, then."

  I piped up, "I can go instead of Fran."

  Bob looked me over. "You'll have to change your top. That T-shirt won't hide the camera lens."

  "Good as done."

  Melodie laughed. "You don't have a clue what this is about, do you?"

  "Not a clue. But I'm here to learn the ropes."

  "Excellent," said Bob, although I could tell he had reservations. That made me a bit niggly. I'd show him I was a quick learner.

  Half an hour later, Melodie and I were getting into her little convertible. Naturally I headed off to the wrong side because I expected the steering wheel to be on the right, where it would be in Oz.

  "We drive on the other side of the road in Australia," I said as I went round to the passenger seat.

  "That must be real strange."

  Melodie leaped in, started the engine, shoved it into reverse, and stamped on the accelerator in one continuous movement. We shot out backwards onto Sunset Boulevard, were narrowly missed by a bus, and then zoomed forward, all before I could get my seat belt fastened.

  The traffic was, well, unbelievable. I'd had a taste of it in the taxi yesterday, but this morning it seemed even worse. I couldn't remember even the cousin of a traffic jam in the 'Gudge, except once when our footy team won the Country Challenge Cup for the first, and probably only, time. Here in LA. there seemed to be a zillion vehicles driven by people all busting to get somewhere fast.

  We drove along Sunset, with me twisting my neck around to see all the sights and memorize street names. We turned right at Fairfax and picked up a bit of speed. Melodie was singing along with a golden-oldies radio station as the wind whipped her blond hair behind her like something out of a shampoo ad. Mine, being shorter, just churned around on my head.

  I had to admire the way she drove, zipping her sports car around larger vehicles and into tiny gaps, leaving blaring horns behind her. "There's a lot of four-wheel drives," I observed.

  "Four-wheel drives?" When I pointed at one, she got what I meant. "We call them sport utility vehicles, SUV for short."

  "Don't you ever signal?" I asked after she changed lanes for the umpteenth time.

  Melodie broke off in the middle of the chorus of "Pretty Woman"—it was hardly fair she could sing, on top of her looks—to say, "What for?"

  "Oh, I don't know. So other drivers would have some idea what you were going to do, maybe?"

  "They know," said Melodie. "No one's run into us yet, have they?"

  "Crikey, a few were close."

  "Ah!" Melodie swiveled her hand around in a gesture I presumed meant I shouldn't get my undies in a knot.

  Without warning she suddenly turned the wheel and we shot into a crammed parking area fronting a shabby row of little shops. "That's the one."

  cardsharp cards announced the sign above the door.

  Melodie had taken the lone parking spot, snaffling it from a bloke in an old Yank tank, who'd been approaching from the other end of the lot in a cloud of gray exhaust. He screeched to a halt behind us, leaned out, and went completely off his nana.

  "I'll set that hoon straight," I said, reaching for the door handle.

  Melodie grabbed my arm. "No hassles. "We're on a job, remember? Besides, he could have a gun."

  The bloke yelled a final insult, then took off. As practice for my budding career in private investigation, I memorized his plate number, then got out to survey the scene. Cardsharp Cards was jammed between a fast-food chicken place and a frozen yogurt shop. This wasn't a bustling shopping area; the activity was provided by a few stray bits of paper blowing around. A shopping cart piled with odds and ends was abandoned near the Cardsharp entrance. I suddenly realized what I'd taken to be an untidy bundle of clothes next to it was actually a person sitting on the ground, smoking. It was a woman, not old, but thin and withered, as though most of the moisture had been sucked out of her.

  The door of Cardsharp Cards was wr
enched open and a man in shirtsleeves came out. "Get outta here!" he bellowed at the woman at his feet. "And take your motherfucking cart with you." He kicked it so it slewed around, narrowly missing her.

  "That's Eddie," said Melodie, glancing at the photograph his wife had provided. "A regular sweetheart."

  I'd had a crash course in integrity tests from Lonnie while he wired me up. Basically, Melodie was to tempt this guy, to see if he could be trusted to stay on the straight and narrow.

  Eddie, hands on hips, was glaring at the woman, who'd made no attempt to get up. "You've got ten seconds," he ground out, "and then..." He drew back his foot, obviously aiming to kick her this time. "One, two, three..."

  The woman scrambled to her feet, spat on the ground near Eddie's shoe, then took the shopping cart and trundled away slowly, stopping every now and then to look back at Eddie with a sneer. He waited until she'd disappeared around a corner, dusted his hands, and went back into his shop.

  "Let's get him," I said, all fired up.

  Melodie, who'd changed into a tight, glittery top and slapped on lots of makeup before we left, said, "Follow me in after a minute or so, but check your equipment first."

  I had a miniature video camera clipped to my belt and hidden under my favorite pink hibiscus shirt. The lens and microphone, attached to the camera by a thin wire, were both so tiny they fitted into a buttonhole.

  Lonnie had showed me how to operate the camera, reminding me to always make sure that my chest was pointing in the right direction and that nothing would muffle the microphone or obscure the lens.

  Hoping the microphone wouldn't pick up my racing heart (I was a bit nervous, this being my first real job), I pushed open the Cardsharp door, trying to look like an ordinary person in search of a greeting card. I tripped over the say it with a card! doormat, but the man behind the counter didn't notice—his attention was all on Melodie. I could see why. Melodie was walking with a swinging hip movement that had him hypnotized.

  Trying not to breathe too heavily, as I didn't want the picture to be jerky, I made my way along a display of greeting cards. This was harder than I thought, keeping my chest pointed in the right direction while I seemingly surveyed the contents of the racks.

  Eddie ran a hand over his slicked-back hair, licked his lips, and stepped from behind the counter. He was a reasonably good-looking bloke, if you liked the flashy sort. "And how can I help you, pretty lady?"

  "I'm looking for love and friendship cards." There was a break in Melodie's voice, and her lips trembled.

  Eddie's expression was all warm concern. "If you don't mind me saying so, you seem upset."

  "It's nothing." Brave smile. "You know, I'll never understand men—how they think."

  "Boyfriend trouble?"

  Melodie batted her eyelashes. "How did you know?"

  Eddie spread his hands. "In the card business, you learn to be sensitive to these things."

  "We've had a fight. I thought a card..." I could almost see tears in her eyes. "Todd says it's over, but it can't be."

  "Todd must be a fool. A beautiful woman like you!"

  "Thank you," Melodie breathed.

  "I'm Eddie."

  "Melodie."

  "What a lovely name."

  I got a bit closer, hoping to get a clear recording of their conversation.

  Melodie gazed up at him. "Thank you, again."

  Eddie shook his head. "I know just how you feel, Melodie. My girlfriend and I just broke up."

  "You're not married? All the nice ones are taken, I've found."

  "Not this nice one," Eddie declared. "I haven't met the right girl"—meaningful pause—"yet."

  I managed to turn my snort into a sneeze. Eddie glanced in my direction. I picked up a card and examined it closely. His attention snapped back to Melodie.

  Touching her lightly on the arm, Eddie said, "You know, it's the loneliness that gets to me, know what I mean?" A moment, then he added, "Even in a crowd, I can feel so isolated, so alone."

  Jeez, this was vomit-making.

  Melodie nodded a sad agreement. "It's so hard to trust again."

  Eddie took her hand. "We're both in the same boat, you and me. I wonder if you'd like a drink, maybe something to eat, somewhere nice."

  "You're asking me on a date?"

  "Why not? We're both free. And you shouldn't let one bad experience sour you on life."

  "I'm not sure..."

  Eddie practically melted with sincerity. "Fate has brought us together, Melodie. We shouldn't waste the opportunity we've been given."

  "I don't know...it's so soon..."

  "At least give me your number."

  She shook her head. "I'll call you. Tomorrow, perhaps."

  A flicker of annoyance on Eddie's face was quickly replaced with an understanding smile. He handed her a business card. "You can call me here, at the shop. Or on my cell. The number's there."

  "Not at home?" Melodie purred. "I love to have sexy conversations, don't you? When we're both in bed and on the phone..."

  Thinking fast, Eddie said, "There's a problem with my home phone—the whole street's out."

  "You know, Eddie," said Melodie, "I don't know if I'm all that interested."

  "Please, Melodie, I'd love to take you out. We'll have fun together." There was a pleasing note of desperation in his voice as he saw his chances slipping away.

  Melodie mused for a moment. "I'll think about it, Eddie, but don't hold your breath."

  His expression as he watched her sexy walk out the door was half randy and half angry resentment. With pleasure I delivered a final blow. "Mate," I said on my way out, "your cards aren't much chop. Pitiful, really. Wonder to me you stay in business."

  Melodie was waiting for me in the car. "His wife was right. Her Eddie's an asshole."

  I grinned at her, pleased that I'd done my part without a hitch. "A regular bull artist," I agreed.

  Then my smile went south as I remembered that I wasn't the only deceived one around. Being half a world away from Raylene hadn't helped at all. If I didn't want to get all weepy again, I had to get mad.

  "What's the matter?" asked Melodie, starting the engine. "You've got a funny look on your face."

  "It's my killing look."

  Melodie started to laugh, then broke off to peer at me. "Stop it," she said, "you're scaring me."

  FIVE

  On the way back we took a detour to some special vegetarian place to pick up lunch. It took some time, as there was a long queue. Melodie, still in her temptress outfit, collected scads of attention from the blokes around. She didn't seem to mind, though, flashing her smile in all directions. "You never know who you'll see," she said in a confidential tone. "People in the biz often come here."

  "What's the biz?"

  She gave me a look of kindly scorn. "The entertainment business," she said in explanation. "The biz. You'll have to learn all about it if you're going to succeed in this town."

  So far today I'd only had one doughnut for fuel, so I ordered up big when I made it to the counter. I had some trouble working out the American money when I paid.

  "How come your bank notes all look the same?" I asked Melodie as we walked back to her car.

  "You mean bills. And they're not the same." She stopped to take out a couple for my inspection. "See, they're different."

  "But they're pretty well all the same color."

  "Are you saying Australia's got colored money?"

  "Blood oath, it has. Every denomination is different, and—"

  "Aaaagh!" Melodie galloped off as fast as her high heels and tight skirt would allow. "I'm here! I'm here!" she called.

  Her words were directed at a very large woman in a too-small uniform standing next to Melodie's convertible. When I came up, I heard the woman say in a satisfied tone, "Meter's expired."

  Melodie clasped her hands for all the world like she was begging for her life. "Oh, please," she said. "Don't write me a ticket. I'm positive I put in enough quarters. Someth
ing must be wrong with the meter."

  The woman tapped the offending meter. "Expired," she said. Then she made a big deal of checking the license plate and jotting it down on the gizmo she was holding.

  Melodie wasn't giving up. "I can't have been more than a minute or two over. Oh, please. I got a ticket last week, and I can't afford to pay that one. And now..." Her shoulders drooped.

  "Standing at an expired meter." This dame was having fun, I could tell.

  "I'm begging you not to write me a ticket."

  There was a sob in Melodie's voice. It was so convincing I decided maybe she did have a career in acting.

  "Once I've started a ticket, can't stop. Regulations." She slapped the ticket into Melodie's hand. "Have a nice day."

  "Damn!" Melodie said once we were in the car. "If it had been a guy, I'd have talked my way out of it. I've gotten away with it thousands of times."

  When we drove into the office parking area, I felt a little thrill to read the name on the wall beside the gate, kendall & creeling investigative services. I couldn't claim the Kendall part referred to me. Not yet. I made a silent promise to myself I'd be able one day to point to it and say, "P.I. Kylie Kendall at your service."

  "What the hell kept you?" demanded Lonnie from the reception desk. "I've been stuck here for hours answering the phones." A lock of his hair had fallen over one eye, and he looked quite endearing, rather like a plump toy.

  While Melodie soothed Lonnie, I took the salads we'd bought down to the kitchen. I would have loved a cuppa, but there was no tea, no teapot, no strainer, and no Fran. I looked around for something to drink. A large water cooler brooded in one corner, and the fridge was full of bottled water, plus many cans of Diet Coke.

  There was a rustle of plastic bags, and Fran tottered in. "You and your teapot," she snapped. "Had to search high and low, I can tell you."

  "Is there something wrong with the tap water?" I inquired. "Doesn't anyone drink it?"

  Before I could help, Fran had made her way across the kitchen and swung the shopping bags onto the counter. It must be a trial to be so short, I thought, looking at her diminutive form.

  She answered my question in a withering tone. "Nobody I know drinks water from the faucet." Vinegary smile. "You can be the first."