"Jacobs is more than suspicious," said Bob, "but we'll need an audit, both at the Aussie end and here in L.A. before we can be sure. And remember, Alf, Chicka, you can't act any differently toward him. OK?"
Alf wasn't happy. "All right, we'll try."
Chicka was woebegone about something else. "And Paula Slade's really Tami Eckholdt's sister, put there to spy on us? You sure about that?"
"Absolutely," I said. I trusted Lonnie to get it right.
"Don't breathe a word to Melodie," said Chicka, "but I was dead-set on asking Paula for a date. Suppose that's got the kibosh now."
"Chicka's a sheila magnet," said Alf with a touch of pride.
Chicka and Melodie had raised my eyebrows, but I could see what Chicka might see in her. Chicka and Paula/Patsy! Blimey!
"I almost forgot," said Alf, "but Tami's taken a real liking to you, Kylie. We've got a script conference at Lamb White this afternoon. Tami said if you were free, she'd love to see you."
I had serious misgivings about Tami Eckholdt, but this was another chance to get in with the Lamb White people, so how could I turn it down?
"I'm not tottering around in those high heels again," I said.
Alf looked quite disappointed. "No? You looked bonzer yesterday."
"Have you tried wearing them?" I said. "The really, really high ones? Instruments of torture."
"I know all about it," said Alf, with a world-weary manner.
Looking at his jumbo brown leather ankle boots, I said, "I very much doubt it."
"Alf's fair dinkum," said Chicka, grinning. "You should have seen him onstage in the chorus line at the Wollegudgerie Footy League Celebration Dinner. He was all got up in green chiffon and high heels. Laugh? I near wet myself!"
Fifteen
I was sitting in my office updating my notes on the Hartnidge case when the phone rang. It was Fran, who was manning the front desk, as she usually did when it was Melodie's lunch hour. "Kylie, something's wrong with Melodie."
"What's happened? Is she sick? An accident?"
"No idea," said Fran, who actually sounded concerned. "She just rushed in a minute ago, wearing dark glasses, and went directly to the bathroom. Didn't say hi. Didn't natter on about the audition."
"Nothing about her audition? That sounds serious. Do you mind staying at the front desk while I see what's up?" After Fran had assured me, with requisite sarcasm, that there was no place she'd rather be, I went off to locate Melodie.
Because our offices were in a converted house, the staff bathroom was just that-a bathroom with bath, shower recess, and toilet. I found Harriet outside the door, jigging up and down.
"Kylie," she said. "Thank God! You know what pregnancy does to your bladder? I've got to go, right now, but Melodie won't open the door."
"Use my bathroom. Meanwhile, I'll see if I can extract her from this one." I knocked gently on the door. "Melodie?"
I could make out someone inside wailing, "Go away."
"I'm not going away." I tried the handle. Locked, of course. "Melodie, open this door."
"I can't."
Good thing I had excellent hearing. The door was a substantial one, and Melodie's voice was faint. "You mean the door's jammed? Are you saying you want a locksmith?"
"No locksmith!" This was followed by loud sobs.
"Melodie, open this door, or I'll break it down."
"You wouldn't."
"I would!"
A pause was followed by the sound of the door being unlocked. I went in, closely followed by Julia Roberts, who'd been attracted by the commotion. Melodie plunked herself on the edge of the bath and buried her face in her hands. Sobs shook her slender body. Julia Roberts gave me a look that clearly said, It's your problem, before walking gracefully out of the bathroom.
"What the hell's the matter?" inquired Lonnie, putting his head around the edge of the door.
"If you want a bathroom, use mine." I sat beside Melodie and gave her a few comforting pats on the back. "There, there."
Lonnie came all the way into the room. Bending down to look closely at Melodie's hunched form, he said, "What happened? You blew the Refulgent callback?"
Melodie raised her head. I was ashamed to find myself relieved to discover that when Melodie sobbed, her skin became blotchy and her eyes got pinkish-red. Up to now I'd suspected I was the only one in L.A. who looked a wreck after crying. Not that I ever cried…
"I did not blow the Refulgent callback." Melodie was very indignant. "I'll have you know I've been cast in the Refulgent commercial. If you don't believe me, ask Larry, my agent."
"Then why all this weeping and wailing?" Lonnie asked.
Melodie bowed her head. "I didn't get the speaking part I was hoping for."
Lonnie put his hands on his plump hips. "You're telling me you're just an extra on the set?"
"An extra?" outraged, Melodie leapt to her feet. "I'm not just an extra. If you must know, Lonnie, I have an important role. I follow Beach Refulgent Girl and Amusement Park Refulgent Girl. I'm Laundry Refulgent Girl."
"But no dialogue."
"Will you shut up about the dialogue! It's not an easy role. I'm in this Laundromat, you see, and I have to wink at this good-looking guy, then toss back my head with a laugh"-she paused to give a pale shadow of the tinkling laugh she'd been perfecting for weeks-"and then I smile a Refulgent smile."
"But no actual dialogue?" said Lonnie.
I had to physically restrain Melodie, or I suspect there would have been blood on the floor.
Denting the pink convertible Cadillac had depressed Alf mightily. He drove the car with only a trace of his former verve. "I'll be returning this damaged beauty to the rental place," he said. "For LA. I need something tougher. Maybe a Hummer. What do you think, Chicka?"
Chicka wasn't for the Hummer. "How about a truck with a decent bullbar? That'd give you a fighting chance in the traffic around here."
Trucks seemed to be a favorite subject in the Hartnidge family. For the next twenty minutes I heard just about every possible comment one could make about a truck and its equipment. I let my mind drift, contemplating an interesting thought that had occurred to me. Although the Hartnidge twins were virtually indistinguishable, and dressed pretty close to identically, I'd always known who was Alf and who was Chicka. I'd never mixed them up.
"Who was born first?" I asked.
They broke off their truck talk to look at me. "I'm the eldest," said Alf. "Can't you tell? Chicka here's my baby brother."
"Only by ten minutes," he said.
"Being the firstborn changes you," Alf declared.
Chicka muttered something that sounded like, "And not for the better," but fortunately at that point our destination came into view.
The arch over the driveway into Lamb White's studios had the words lamb white: movies of integrity in scintillating blue letters on a silver background. The guards at the gate had the same words on their uniform jackets.
Each of us had to produce proof of identity. Our names were then checked off a list, and we were given visitor badges to wear. Our vehicle was searched. One guard shook his head over the state of the Cadillac's grille.
"A bloody Hummer, mate," said Alf in explanation. "A bloody Hummer."
"Backed into you, did it?"
"No, mate," said Alf. "The Hummer cut me off. Believe me, I've got reflexes like a tiger, but I still couldn't stop in time. Whacked right into the big bastard."
There was much head-shaking all round, then finally we were waved through.
The exclamation queen, Rachelle, was sitting at the reception desk, her curly black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her notable cleavage hidden by a demure blue outfit that proclaimed lamb white: we care so much across her left breast.
Rachelle flashed a professional smile our way, then did a double take, obviously recalling us from the barbecue. "Don't tell me! I know you! The twins! And you!"
"Kylie."
"And you, Kylie!"