"Chantelle! Long time no see!" was shrieked in our direction. The young woman's long hair was a rich red, her hot pink dress was miniscule, her physique anorexic, her delight at seeing Chantelle almost alarming.
"Ashlee, hi," said Chantelle without a great deal of enthusiasm.
If this was the Ashlee I thought it was, then the teeth she was flashing were of the snap-on variety.
Ashlee had turned her fevered attention on me. "And I suppose this is your special friend, Chantelle?"
"G'day. Kylie Kendall's the name."
The snap-ons disappeared. "Oh," Ashlee said, "you're foreign."
"Actually, I'm an American citizen," I said, "thanks to the fact my dad was a Yank, and I was born here in L.A."
"But your funny accent-Cockney, isn't it?" Ashlee looked quite pleased with her powers of perception. "Cockney," she repeated with emphasis.
"My funny accent's Australian," I said. "Australian."
"Oh?" Ashlee didn't seemed convinced. "It sounds like Cockney to me."
"It isn't," snapped Chantelle. "We've got to move along. See you later, OK?" She watched Ashlee totter off on her very high heels. "Occasionally, you get a bad apple in the receptionist pool," she said gloomily.
"Ashlee's a bad apple?"
Chantelle grinned at me. "Rotten to the core."
NINE
Very early next morning I kissed Chantelle goodbye and set out to walk the couple of kilometers to Kendall & Creeling. I'd got into the habit of leaving a set of casual clothes at her place, so if I stayed the night, I could change into shorts, T-shirt and running shoes, bundle whatever I'd been wearing into a shoulder bag and jog-or more likely, briskly walk-back home.
Because I wanted to go through my notes before going to UCLA, I hadn't intended to spend the night at Chantelle's apartment. However, as Bloodblot Horror II had scared the living daylights out of me, the thought of being alone in the dark after what I'd seen on the screen had given me the heebie-jeebies. If I'd had an inkling of how bad it was going to be, I'd have skipped the screening, the way the stars of the movie had.
Last night, after a reception thingo in the lobby of the cinema, people had started to move into the theater. At that point I'd noticed the celebrities drifting in the opposite direction.
"Where are they going?" I'd asked. "Is there special seating for them?"
"They're leaving," said Chantelle. "The stars of Bloodblot II came to be seen by the fans, not to view the movie. They'll slip out the back way, hop into their limos, and beat it."
After enduring the vile, gruesome images of Bloodblot Horror II, I'd wished I'd done the same. Chantelle, of course, had taken the carnage in her stride. I'd clutched her hand and shut my eyes at the worst spots, but even the screams from the audience didn't drown out the ghastly sound effects of slicing, dicing, and disemboweling. One good riling, though-I'd had no opportunity to brood about Ariana and the Natalie sheila.
Later, Chantelle had been warmly appreciative of the effect Bloodbot had had on me. "You're clingy tonight, honey. I like that."
"I wouldn't call it clingy," I protested. "It's just that I'm a bit of a scaredy-cat when it comes to horror movies."
Chantelle's eyes had lit up. "There's some great ones I'd love you to see. For instance, the DVD of Death Gurgle is out next week. And another really good one, Eviscerate, is already in the stores, and-"
"Are you serious? Or are you teasing me?"
Chantelle had given me a ravishing smile. "Both," she'd said.
Now, in the early-morning light, the butchery of Bloodblot Horror II didn't have the same clout. I felt a little embarrassed that I'd allowed a mere movie to frighten me. Hell's bells, there were enough real horrors in the world without worrying about fictional ones.
I turned my thoughts to the major challenge ahead of me. Today I was lobbing into UCLA in my undercover role. Before I left for the campus, I'd just have time to shower, dress, gulp down a bowl of porridge, and do a lightning check of the information any real graduate student would know. I reminded myself I'd have to devote a few minutes to soothing Julia Roberts. It seemed to annoy her intensely when I stayed out all night. It wasn't lack of food, as I always left her ample provisions, so I'd decided it was that she missed me. This gave me a warm feeling.
"Did you miss me, Jules?" I said as soon as I opened Kendall & Creeling's front door.
Julia Roberts, who was reclining on Melodie's reception desk gymnastically washing her nethers, paused with one hind leg high in the air. She considered my question for all of three seconds, then resumed washing.
"Hiding your true emotions, I see. Well done, Jules. It's the way to go these days."
"Good morning, Kylie."
My heart did a rollover. "Crikey! You gave me a fright."
Ariana smiled faintly. "Sorry. I came in early to catch up on some work."
"Are you OK?" This was the question I'd told myself not to ask, but this morning, looking at her white, drawn face, I couldn't stop myself.
I thought Ariana would brush me off, but she didn't. "Yesterday I was-I was taken aback. Penelope Braithwaite stirred up old memories. My apologies for leaving everything in the meeting to you. It wasn't very professional of me."
The impulse to comfort her was almost overwhelming. But if I took two steps and put my arms around her, I was pretty sure she'd freeze me out so fast my head would spin. Instead, I offered the great Aussie restorative, used in situations ranging from a simple case of fatigue right through to the total loss of one's home in a bushfire. "How about a cuppa?"
"Tea? I'd rather have coffee."
I followed Ariana to the kitchen, Julia Roberts bringing up the rear. Once there, Jules parked herself in front of her empty food dish and looked meaningfully at me.
"You ate all the chicken and liver?" I said. Julia Roberts twitched her whiskers impatiently. Last night's dinner was old news. Today was a new gastronomical adventure.
While getting tuna-and-whitefish bites for her breakfast snack, I noticed Fran had posted a diagram on the cupboard door detailing escape routes from the building, TAKE TIME TO CHECK THE LOCATION OF YOUR NEAREST EXIT she had put in large scarlet letters along the bottom. Since, as I'd pointed out to Fran earlier, the choice was the front door or the back door, this information did seem rather unnecessary. I said so to Ariana.
"Visitors to the building may not know the location of the exits," she said with her usual cool logic.
I had to concede she was right. An outraged meow brought my attention back to the most important item on the agenda, breakfast for Jules. She watched intently as I poured a moderate measure of tuna-and-whitefish bites into her bowl. I swear she was counting the little fish-shaped things. Apparently the total wasn't to her liking, because she narrowed her eyes.
"A larger helping, Jules? Of course. What could I have been thinking of?"
Ariana gave a small laugh. "You need to acquire a dog, Kylie. Gussie treats me with great respect, firmly convinced I'm the head of the household."
Ariana's German shepherd was the perfect combination of strength, intelligence, and grace. Gussie was fiercely protective of Ariana, but to those she knew and trusted, there couldn't be a sweeter, more even-tempered dog. And Gussie had a bonzer sense of humor. I'd seen her grin when she found something amusing.
"What's that saying about dogs and cats?" I remarked, filling my kettle at the tap. "To dogs, humans are absolute monarchs, but to cats, they're servants?"
"Something like that." Ariana looked at me over the rim of her coffee mug. Her face was so pale that her eyes, if it were possible, seemed even bluer than usual. "You must be curious."
She didn't need to elaborate. "I confess I am," I said.
Ariana grimaced. "I don't blame you. I overreacted and made it seem more significant than it really was."